《Hiding a House in the Apocalypse》


 Chapter 1: Elder Kim

    Chapter 1: Elder Kim


    The story of how the world went to ruin and became a mess is a long, tedious, and complicated one, but within it, there are always interesting chapters.


    Let''s call it my wise preparation for the future, Park Gyura.


    The idea that a crisis is approaching humanity has been discussed by intellectuals, from old scholars to YouTuber Lekka, but among ordinary people, only two types have actually prepared for the crisis.


    Either the wealthy who have so much money overflowing that they can build bunkers on their private land, or madmen who deny reality and invest everything in ambiguous possibilities.


    I am the latter.


    As soon as I sensed the crisis, I boldly disposed of my assets and prepared for the impending disaster.


    I didn''t inherit much wealth, but I had saved up.


    I worked in a profession where I had to save money, and towards the end, I worked like crazy, sleeping for only about four hours a day, while learning skills in the meantime.


    Simple electrical work, construction, heavy equipment operation, drug and chemical synthesis, basic medicine, and more. If I couldn''t understand something, I bought books or instructional videos to keep for reference.


    The most important thing was deciding where to set up my base.


    It wasn''t easy to make that decision.


    I sought advice from survival experts, civilians who survived in war zones, wilderness explorers, and the community of "Viva! Apocalypse!" which I will introduce later.


    After careful consideration and deliberation, I selected a place based on four key criteria.


    First, a place where there are no people around, and where people are unlikely to come even in a similar situation.


    Second, maintaining an appropriate distance from a major city.


    Third, the terrain of the hiding place.


    Fourth, the price.


    The first one is fundamental.


    For someone preparing their own fortress for the apocalypse, the most dangerous threat is not monsters or zombie hordes, but other humans.


    In fact, humans have been the major threat to my apocalyptic life all along.


    However, its not easy for humans to live solitude.


    The second condition may seem to contradict the first, but it is a very important requirement.


    If you can maintain contact with the city, you can obtain necessary supplies and valuable information in a similar situation.


    Venturing out into the dangerous outside world from a secure hiding place is very risky, but not being able to see the approaching massive storm from inside the bunker is a guaranteed death sentence.


    The third condition is the foundation for the ongoing struggle that will last until my death.


    The hiding place must be able to monitor all directions and not be easily discovered from the outside.


    Defence is the next consideration, no matter how easy the terrain is to defend, once the hiding place is discovered, it won''t be easy to protect it alone.


    Among all animal species, humans have the most intelligence.


    Oh, soil quality and underground water are important too.


    The ground should be soft enough to dig deep inside, and underground water will be my source of drinking water after the water supply is cut off.


    Of course, all these conditions had to be considered within the limits of my wallet.


    Money may become worthless when the world collapses, but to prepare before that happens, you need money in the end.


    The place I eventually chose was a secluded field nestled between an Air Force base and a golf course.


    It was sparsely populated, easy to observe, and at an appropriate distance from the major city, but it had a fatal flaw.


    The land was a blind spot, meaning there were no roads.


    I had to negotiate with the adjacent landowners, offering free labour for harvesting crops and a usage fee in exchange for the right to use their land.


    It wasn''t an easy task.


    "You came from Seoul? Alright, let''s do our best."


    I don''t remember the name of that old man now, but his last name was definitely Kim. He was the owner of the land, a sturdy and stocky man with a thick Chungcheong Provinces accent, and he was in his seventies, but my first impression of him was not very good. [TL: The Chungcheong region in korea is divided into two provinces so we dont know which province it is ha ha ha.]


    As luck would have it, even someone like me, who had experienced detachment, occasionally felt a sense of irritation, thanks to Kim Elder''s constant nagging.


    At every opportunity, he would fuss and demand everything to be returned to its original state. Blocking the only road with obstacles was a daily routine, and he frequently came by to ask for help with various tasks.


    When he showed up at my container home at 3 in the morning, knocking on the door and asking for assistance, I truly felt the urge to push him off a cliff.


    Well, what could I do? It was a cheap deal.


    With the money I saved on buying affordable land, I invested it all in heavy equipment, construction materials, and everything necessary for survival.


    I acquired excavators, loaders, drilling machines, forklifts, and more.


    Calling in professionals to build just one bunker might have been cheaper and more specialized, but my plan was to constantly expand and improve my own shelter.


    My 220,000 square meters of land was the foundation and stronghold of my life in a collapsing world, something I identified with myself.


    Naturally, I initially hired people.


    With only knowledge gained from the internet and lectures, I couldn''t match the skills and know-how of professionals in the field.


    "No, sir. Are all these yours, sir? What exactly are you planning to do?"


    The construction workers, upon seeing my collection of heavy equipment, all had a surprised reaction.


    "Well, I somehow got interested in this field."


    I replied somewhat ambiguously, trying to gain their favour.


    Elder Kim sighed heavily as he watched the departing Benz.


    "When I gave it away, that land was much more expensive..."


    "You mean the land you gave to your son."


    Kim Elder nodded and took out a cigarette, not looking at me.


    I helped him light it, and he started talking with a bitter laugh.


    "I treated the land I gave to my daughter was like your land. It was just worthless farmland. But who could have known that a 10-lane road would be built in front of it? Who could have predicted that a tunnel would be dug on that piece of land, and a new city would be developed?"


    His life turned out exactly as expected.


    He wasn''t a great or good father.


    He was just an insignificant father who frequently administered punishments to his family and wielded violence.


    He lived his entire life as a grumpy old man, but in his last days, the land he had received became valuable, levelling him up to a wealthy father.


    If that hadn''t happened, his children might have cut ties with him a long time ago.


    To quickly end the conversation, I asked abruptly, "Why don''t you sell that house? Selling it and moving somewhere else would solve the problem, wouldn''t it?"


    "I can''t. I can''t do that."


    The old man exhaled white smoke and looked up at the sky.


    "My late wife''s spirit is there. She put up with someone like me all her life..."


    I still couldn''t figure out what I had done right in his eyes.


    One thing was clear: that short conversation had created a 10-lane road in his heart.


    After that day, he no longer blocked the construction vehicles from coming, and he didn''t complain anymore.


    With no clashes, our relationship naturally improved, and from my side, I even approached Elder Kim to offer my help with labour.


    There was no harm in getting along with a neighbour from the next town, after all.


    There was something else.


    Elder Kim taught me knowledge about agriculture, something that was difficult for a city dweller to learn.


    "Farming is important. The lunar calendar is important. The solar calendar is useless. You need to follow the lunar calendar. It''s all about the solar terms. Solar terms are crucial."


    He even vaguely noticed what I was trying to do.


    "Are you one of those recent survivalists? A doomsday preparer or something like that?"


    "Well, something like that."


    "To do that, don''t you need some land or something similar? Even if the world collapses, you still need to eat vegetables, right?"


    "Is there anything you can grow underground?"


    "With sunlight, water, and fertilizer, you can grow anything. Nowadays, seedlings are so good. The most important thing is dedication."


    After that, several solar terms passed, but his children never came to visit.


    When China started a war and launched missiles that struck the metropolitan area, Elder Kim rushed to my bunker.


    It was the first time I had seen him in such a bewildered state.


    "Please, find out what happened to my son."


    After communication was restored and the list of casualties was confirmed, I had to deliver the unfortunate news.


    Elder Kim just shook his head silently.


    He didn''t cry or sob.


    I wondered what had come over him.


    "Now, the world is about to collapse. Would you mind coming to my bunker if you''d like?"


    I made an inappropriate suggestion that didn''t align with my principles.


    Elder Kim raised his head and looked at me.


    He smiled at me.


    "Just wait a moment. I have something to prepare."


    "Do you have something to prepare?"


    "I have something to give."


    He was a man who could smile more warmly than I had imagined.


    When I found Elder Kim again, he was hanging from the crumbling house''s main beam, like a swaying reed.


    Beneath his lifeless body, carefully wrapped seedlings lay.


    There was no way to recover his remains.


    The nuclear attack alarm echoed from all directions, heralding the end of the world.


    I quickly gathered only the seedlings and took refuge in the bunker.


    Ultimately, it was a wise choice.


    Following that, the raging flames of nuclear fission consumed the collapsing house and the remains, leaving no trace behind.


    Chap List | Next

 Chapter 2: Gangster

    Chapter 2: Gangster


    Firearms are probably the most efficient weapon ever created by humans. They are especially effective against other humans. It''s not just about shooting and killing or injuring humans. Just the presence of a firearm when interacting with others or when you need to reveal yourself has the effect of restraining the actions of the other party. It''s like an etiquette injector that makes others humble just by having it.


    The firepower against humans goes without saying. After all, firearms were not originally designed to kill people. There''s a saying that the effectiveness diminishes against monsters or zombies, but I can''t fully agree. The usefulness of an item depends on how it''s used.


    Anyway, to survive in the post-apocalyptic era, firearms are necessary because, as Nunu said, the greatest enemy of humanity is humans.


    But this is South Korea. Getting firearms here is difficult, and even attempting to acquire them is illegal. You could go to the United States to prepare for the apocalypse, but they have their own problems.


    Think about the popular battle royale games from before. What fun would it be if you just landed from an airplane and started shooting immediately? You need moments of farming, punching, and duking it out.


    Of course, for someone like me, it would be more fun if I had firearms from the beginning. It happened when Elder Kim was still alive.


    Elder Kim had a hunting shotgun. It was usually kept at the police station, but during hunting season, he always took it out to show off his lousy marksmanship.


    "When I was in the army, you know, those communist bastards infiltrated. I was hiding behind the acacia bushes, and when one of those communist guys revealed himself from behind a tree, I shot him right between the eyes with a deadly shot!"


    Later, through personal connections, I found out that Elder Kim was in civil defence, and he even participated in the communist suppression operation. However, his shotgun was a reasonably useful weapon.


    Shotguns had good stopping power and could be handled by someone with no shooting skills. But it wasn''t enough to prepare for the future.


    My eyes were on the nearby Air Force base. It was a joint base with the U.S. military, so there was U.S. military equipment, and according to rumours, a few Hunter units, specialized in hunting monsters, were stationed there. Getting Hunter equipment would be the best outcome, but what I wanted was a large supply of ammunition and several assault rifles.


    However, that was not easy. How would I infiltrate an Air Force base guarded jointly by the Korean and U.S. militaries to steal weapons and ammunition? Originally, my plan was a bit rough.


    In case of a war with China, that Air Force base was a top-priority target. It was right next to the U.S. military base in Korea. According to the Chinese war plan I learned, the U.S. military base next to my house was a pre-emptive nuclear strike target.


    So, after the nuclear explosion, I would calmly put on a suit, collect firearms and useful items, basically go on a treasure hunt. That was my initial rough plan.


    It might sound absurd, but to obtain high-quality weapons, I thought this method was the most realistic one.


    In a world where anyone can create online communities or chat groups, there are also internet communities for those preparing for the impending apocalypse. One of these communities is called "Viva! Apocalypse!" It''s a community of people like me, preparing for the end of the world.


    Not just anyone can join. You need to have Melon Mask''s satellite internet equipment called the "Galaxy Link," and on top of that, you have to pay a monthly fee of $100. [TL Note: Yeah Melon Mask sounds funny but if you remove the M, you should understand more :D]


    Despite the expensive entry requirements, there were quite a few users, and it was popular enough to have a separate Korean-language board. I posted a question on the Korean board.


    Soon, there were several replies, but none of them provided any useful information. Most of the responses were irresponsible suggestions like attacking police stations or small military bases to raid their armoires.


    My mentor and spiritual guide, "John Nenon," also gave an unhelpful opinion. It was because the security in South Korea was not as lax as it seemed. You might be able to raid weapons, but there was no guarantee you would be safe doing such things in a country with high-resolution CCTV cameras everywhere.


    In the midst of this discouragement, an unexpected proposal came from an unlikely source.


    "Isn''t this a bunker? The ones that doomsday preppers are building these days."


    The proposer''s name was Kim Wangsoo, and he was an employee of a construction company responsible for the first bunker construction.


    His nationality was Chinese, or more precisely, he was a Joseonjok (ethnic Koreans in China). Until Kim Wangsoo revealed his identity, I thought he was born and raised in Korea.[ Note: He is an ethinic Korean from China now living in South Korea]


    He looked younger than me, dressed better, had a more refined appearance, and spoke in a trendy and fashionable manner.


    While other workers hesitated and mumbled when I asked them to build a bunker on an empty plot of land, Kim Wangoo showed a keen interest in the bunker.


    "Even in China, there are a lot of people like that. Party cadres and capitalist kids with connections are already setting up bunkers in rural areas. They''re much larger and more sophisticated than yours."


    It''s not just interest. Kim Wangsoo had considerable knowledge and insights, as well as information about China that I wasn''t aware of.


    "War? Well, sooner or later, it''s bound to happen, isn''t it? Even though Western news doesn''t report it, the provinces around Inner Mongolia are all overrun by monsters. Even if they could stop it completely, wouldn''t tens of millions have died by then? The Party is desperately trying to contain it, but to be honest, it''s already over. It''s just a matter of time."


    He seemed envious of me, having both my bunker and the resources to build it.


    "It seems there isn''t much of an age gap between us, but did you make a lot of money? Investing in such a vast piece of land and equipment like this."


    "I hit the jackpot with cryptocurrencies."


    In truth, I hadn''t even dabbled in cryptocurrencies, let alone stocks. I did have some debt though.


    "Cryptocurrencies, huh?"


    Kim Wangsoo leaned in closer, glancing around cautiously.


    "Firearms, like, have you acquired any?"


    "Firearms?"


    "Yes, if the world is really going to end, wouldn''t it be necessary to have reliable firearms? Even with this excellent bunker and stockpile of resources, if you get robbed, honestly, you might as well give up, right?"


    Kim Wangsoo used an exaggerated and somewhat awkward northeastern Chinese dialect. It seemed like he was trying to show off his connections in that region.


    Within the company, Kim Wangsoo was a trusted individual who was diligent, efficient, and received a lot of trust. He was even more recognized than Hong, who had 10 years of experience as an outsider.


    He was definitely smart and shrewd.


    I started the negotiation with the mindset that I should at least break even.


    The results were astonishing.


    "Three AK-56 rifles. 300 rounds of ammunition. Three spare magazines."


    He presented a fairly decent number of rounds with just three rifles.


    The price was quite high, but I had no reason to refuse. If it was necessary to prepare for the impending future, having decent firearms was essential.


    As the construction of the bunker was nearing completion, Kim Wangsoo called me.


    "Boss, everything is ready. Shall we set a date?"


    At that point, I was somewhat wary of Kim Wangsoo. After hiring a private detective, I found out that he was not a Joseonjok gangster but rather a member of the Samhap Society, an organization led by chinese ethnic Koreans.


    I prepared for all possible situations and met with Kim Wangsoo.


    "Wait a moment. Our group will bring the goods."


    We spent quite a long time in a desolate place where industrial waste was dumped.


    The weather was chilly. The air itself wasn''t cold, but there were many clouds, and the wind was strong. Kim Wangsoo''s gloomy background might have been one of the causes of the coldness.


    While waiting for an extended period, Kim Wangsoo frequently checked his phone.


    "."


    I called the number that had twice rang my first phone while he was running.


    "Oh, boss?"


    Kim Wangsoo answered the phone pleasantly.


    Despite running at full speed, he didn''t lose his breath.


    "I wanted to say goodbye before leaving Korea."


    "Goodbye?"


    "Where are you?"


    I revealed myself in front of him.


    From afar, I could see Kim Wangsoo wearing his characteristic grinning mask.


    He quickly closed the distance.


    Within ten steps.


    Suddenly, he lunged at me with remarkable agility.


    I, like him, revealed the axe hidden in my wrist, tearing off the leather case that covered the blade.


    As he dashed, his hand came off the axe, which was now flying toward me in an arc.


    I let out a shallow sigh as I watched the axe fly.


    Thunk!


    The axe deeply embedded itself between the shoulder and neck, but it wasn''t his axe; it was mine.


    Kim Wangsoo, with a shocked expression, tried to turn his head towards me but failed to do so.


    However, his neck no longer responded to his commands.


    With each twitch of his muscles, blood spurted out from between the severed flesh and bone exposed by the axe.


    He took a step towards me, removing his hand from the axe to show me he meant no harm.


    Kim Wangsoo moved frantically, swinging the axe in every direction, but it narrowly missed me each time.


    "Ar... Are you a soldier...?"


    He tilted his head.


    "G-Gangster?! No...!!"


    "Why are you doing this?"


    I asked while sighing softly, looking at the dying man.


    "If you had asked, I could have given you a place."


    A smirk tugged at the corner of Kim Wangsoo''s mouth.


    "B-Bastard..."


    That was his final word.


    He slumped down, and a cell phone popped out of his pocket.


    Unlocking it with his still-warm but lifeless face, I found the messenger app I had seen before.


    The conversation window was full of simplified Chinese characters that I couldn''t read, but the Korean emoticons released by the Korean version of the app gave me a sense of discomfort.


    A penguin character tilted its head, asking, "When are you coming?"


    "Huh."


    There was no time to dwell on this.


    The sirens announcing a nuclear strike were wailing like they would shatter eardrums.


    At that moment, as far as I knew, our elderly Kim was still alive.


    How long had it been since the storm passed?


    The Geiger counter indicated that it was safe to leave. [Note: Its like a meter to measure radiation in simple terms. You can search if you want detailed information]


    I got into the old SUV I had hidden in the bunker and headed towards the air force base, just in case.


    But...


    "This... Can such a damn thing happen..?"


    An involuntary exclamation escaped my lips.


    Beyond the collapsed buildings, there was a wealth of firearms and weapons.


    Although I had hoped for hunting equipment, this was more than enough. It could even equip an army, far exceeding what I had anticipated.


    My rough plan had eventually been the right answer: to loot weapons from a military base after the world went to ruin.


    I looked towards where Kim Wangsoo''s vehicle had been.


    The blackened vehicle was lying there, looking pitiful.


    Even now, I occasionally wonder. Would Kim Wangsoo and his family have survived if I hadn''t traded with him?


    I don''t think so.


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 Chapter 3: Mentor

    Chapter 3: Mentor


    Everyone has their own plans.


    Even among apocalyptic believers like us who share a common ideology in broad strokes, there are often differing thoughts on specific practical approaches. For example, whether to make contact with the outside world after the apocalypse, adopt extreme isolationism, form groups, or simply survive with a few close family members.


    In the apocalyptic community "Viva! Apocalypse!" that I joined for a monthly fee of $100, debates among apocalyptic believers would often arise.


    Rather than actively participating in these debates, I observed the results, which were rarely constructive. Most disputes devolved into tedious keyboard battles, eventually culminating in battles of asset validation.


    I had invested more money and acquired excellent facilities and better weapons, so my arguments were correct, so to speak. While it might be a distasteful scene, boasting about wealth isn''t necessarily wrong. More money undoubtedly allows for better preparedness.


    For example, the self-sustaining facility using nuclear batteries that I truly desired was an amount I could never afford with my current funds. But for Mr. Donald Orris living in the United States, selling just one of the yachts in his collection would fetch a sum of money that would make anyone''s eyes widen. [Note: I wonder does if he means Donald Trump]


    Of course, money is not the only source of persuasion. Individual strength, experience, and abilities can sometimes carry more weight than wealth.


    There is a man here.


    Community Username: John Nenon


    Commonly referred to as "John-nenon." He is Korean.


    There''s nothing particularly special about him.


    John-nenon is a professional hunter.


    A hunter is someone who hunts monsters in front of monster nests called "Rifts" and serves as protectors of humanity. To become a hunter, one must meet very strict qualifications and pass rigorous tests. In other words, not just anyone can become a hunter. Moreover, hunters have significantly greater combat abilities than ordinary humans and have access to more classified information due to their profession.


    However, within the category of hunters, there are different ranks, and John-nenon has not certified his own rank. All he has is his professional hunter''s license. Well, within the apocalyptic community, "Viva! Apocalypse!" where everyone is a survivalist, this license is an absolute validation.


    The reason I mention this friend, John-nenon, is not only because of his hunter certification.


    John-nenon had a philosophy of survival that was almost identical to mine, especially in terms of creating extensive survival facilities in sparsely populated areas that could still access major cities while keeping human contact to a minimum.


    There was a lot to learn from him.


    His post about removing mould, why cement putty is more suitable than lime putty for floor construction when his underground bunker became infiltrated with groundwater and condensation, and how to manage groundwater depending on geological strata types provided me with valuable knowledge as a rookie carpenter.


    The idea of not relying on a single underground bunker for long-term survival but creating multiple bunkers resonated with my thoughts. Particularly, the idea of installing remotely triggered explosives or booby traps in the auxiliary bunkers, so that with the push of a button from the main bunker, any intruders could be easily cleared, was brilliant.


    Furthermore, his unparalleled knowledge, his willingness to provide helpful answers to questions, and his status as an active professional hunter made John-nenon a popular figure within the community, especially among Korean users.


    However, he was not a perfect person.


    Firstly, what changed was the community itself.


    As the signs of the apocalypse became more visible and the number of people, especially Koreans, increased within the community, strange symptoms began to appear. People who were envious of John-nenon''s dominant popularity and influence in the community started to emerge.


    Initially, it was a small group of people who passively criticized him, attempting to tarnish his reputation.


    Instead of openly criticizing his informative posts, they attacked his information by presenting alternative perspectives.


    The man who I thought shared the same thoughts with me, at least in terms of the content of the community, acted differently than I expected.


    Perhaps he felt a sense of belonging in this otherwise meaningless community or was becoming conscious of public opinion, because he suddenly decided to reveal his face.


    Up until that point, he had indirectly showcased his well-built forearms and strong chest muscles through thin T-shirts, but the reason he chose to reveal his face was clear: to avoid being accused of deception.


    However, his demeanour appeared modest compared to his well-toned physique...


    Was that the reason?


    Within the community, the reactions grew even colder, and people began openly attacking him.


    The primary subject of these attacks was John-nenon''s hunter rank.


    John-nenon was indeed a professional hunter, but he held the lowest rank among professional hunters, known as D-Rank Hunters.


    Some even claimed to have discovered his real name, which, according to them, was Koo Sanghyo.


    Instead of stepping down from his position, John-nenon decided to take a bold approach.


    He organized a gathering for members of the "Viva! Apocalypse!" community, specifically targeting Korean users.


    Since I had just completed an important project and was in the process of devising new plans, I decided to attend the gathering to seek advice.


    There were ten attendees at the apocalypse believers'' gathering.


    The age range was diverse, with many energetic individuals in their 50s who had both economic means and vitality.


    The majority of attendees were in their 30s and 40s, especially those in specialized professions that included the word "expert."


    I, in my 20s, seemed to be a minority, and it appeared that I had joined the community more out of curiosity than a dedicated commitment to apocalypse preparation.


    It was late autumn, and the weather was quite chilly. John-nenon was only wearing a single set of workout clothes.


    However, those clothes seemed to be either undersized and tightly stretched over his compact body, highlighting his well-developed muscles, which he often boasted about, much more than his face.


    "Really?"


    I hesitated for a moment.


    Should I tell the truth or lie?


    "Well, to be honest..."


    I hadn''t even finished my sentence when a group of people rushed out of the store, brushing past me, and gathered around John-nenon like a cloud.


    "Goohyung, what are you doing? The broadcasting station contacted us!"


    "A reporter wants to interview you!"


    These were John-nenon''s new enthusiastic fans.


    As drunk as John-nenon, they alternated their gazes between me and him.


    "Goohyung, do you have something to discuss with this person?"


    One guy looked at John-nenon with a questioning glance.


    Surrounded by his fans, John-nenon stared at me in silence.


    "...


    His lips seemed to part slightly, but soon they closed firmly.


    John-nenon, along with his fans, entered the shop.


    That was the last I saw of him.


    Afterward, I never met him again, and I hardly logged into the community.


    The reason for his disappearance became clear to me soon enough.


    Since the time I stopped attending the gatherings, another group had started attacking John-nenon.


    Unlike the previous subtle and dull attacks, the new attackers wielded lethal weapons.


    Anonymous338: That ** John, he Ctrl+C + V''d the Europe board''s information posts.


    John-nenon''s information posts, which he used to boast about, were not his own work. He had stolen a French user''s posts from the French board and posted them as if he had written them himself.


    While he got away with it when there were fewer people, as more people joined and sharp-eyed users gathered, John-nenon''s actions were exposed.


    The higher you rise, the farther you fall, and John-nenon, who had been the king of the community, suffered a devastating downfall.


    Numerous criticisms were poured on him, and even his fans turned their backs on him.


    At that time, I checked the posts.


    RokaGG: John-nenon, I''m disappointed...


    RKKArA: To the pro hunter who did chin-ups, I saw your hypocrisy~


    Anonymous82: Ka~~~~~ Ah, spit!


    Doyourbest321: How do you plan to take responsibility?


    Hasanius: Kill yourself, ** John!


    It was truly a storm of condemnation.


    According to the stories I heard, instead of defending himself against numerous suspicions and accusations or claiming innocence, John-nenon let out a short, robust roar.


    John_nenon: Nonsense


    After that, there''s no information about what happened to John-nenon.


    There were rumors that the area he was in had been devastated, but I didn''t hear any rumours of his death.


    According to some, there are recent reports that suggest communication believed to be from John-nenon was intercepted.


    Is John-nenon dead?


    Or is he somewhere far away, struggling for survival?


    Sometimes, when I''m transferring fuel at the gas station, I think of that guy.


    At least for me, John-nenon was...


    A great mentor.


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 Chapter 4: Good Omen

    Chapter 4: Good Omen


    Even in the face of annihilation, there are stages.


    Opinions may vary among individuals, but a key indicator for distinguishing these stages is the state of the country.


    The most serious stage always presupposes the collapse of a nation.


    Ever since the Chinese military regime triggered the suicide war, nuclear missiles had rained down on major cities in South Korea, signalling the beginning of the country''s collapse.


    Many people died, and numerous cities were reduced to rubble, but at that point, the South Korean government was still intact.


    There was no need to venture outside.


    Simply receiving shortwave radio or TV broadcasts allowed us to access the national emergency broadcast, keeping us informed about the current situation.


    Due to the EMP, the main TV we used was rendered useless, but I replaced it with an emergency one I had prepared, and then I observed the situation.


    Millions had perished, and about half of the city''s functions had ground to a halt, but Seoul and its nearby regions were quickly stabilizing, thanks to the efforts of military personnel, government workers, and volunteers.


    I had left my well-prepared hideout for a reason.


    "I''m looking for Hunter Lee Sanghoon."


    Among the busy soldiers, I singled out someone who seemed more approachable and asked.


    "Hunter Lee Sanghoon?"


    "Yes, he''s currently the Disaster Relief Coordinator."


    "Don''t you see they''re busy right now?"


    Despite his gruff demeanour, the man became surprisingly kind when I offered a few packs of cigarettes.


    "Oh, you''re looking for Director Lee Sanghoon. He has a pretty common name."


    "Oh. He got promoted, I see. He''s different from when we went to school together."


    "Just wait for a moment. I''ll try to get in touch. What should I tell him your name is?"


    "Tell him it''s Park Gyura, we went to school together. If he doesn''t remember, say I was the top graduate of our class."


    A while later, the soldier returned.


    "Director Lee Sanghoon says he''s in a meeting right now and it''s hard to contact him."


    "Is that so?"


    "What''s going on? If there''s anything I can help with, I''ll do my best."


    I didn''t come here to meet Lee Sanghoon.


    I knew he wouldn''t meet me.


    In fact, I didn''t want to meet him either.


    I had a different reason for dropping Lee Sanghoon''s name.


    "I''d like to request military walkie-talkies and individual identification numbers."


    In some areas, cell phones still worked, but many areas had no signal.


    Especially the farther you were from the city, the more useless cell phones became.


    In these circumstances, the most useful means of communication was the high-performance shortwave transceiver, the K-Walkie-Talkie.


    It was bulkier and had a more complicated user interface compared to cell phones, but it was highly reliable. If you tuned to the public frequency, you could communicate with anyone in the vicinity without knowing their number.


    That alone made it a handy tool. But military walkie-talkies, compared to civilian ones, were a step higher in quality and could access encrypted military frequencies.Updated from


    This meant that, at this point in time, it was possible to obtain information directly from the most reliable military group and source of information.


    "Since you seem to know Director Lee Sanghoon, I can provide you with the walkie-talkie for free. However, I can''t assign you a personal identification number. Those are only given to military personnel or monster response personnel."


    I didn''t expect personal identification numbers from the start.


    The soldier handed me a brand new walkie-talkie, which I carefully checked on the spot to ensure it had no defects and ran a quick test. The results were perfect; it was in good working order.


    This marked the moment when my mission to come to Seoul was fulfilled.


    With the remaining time, I rode my bicycle around Seoul city.


    According to reports, five nuclear missiles had been launched toward Seoul, but four of them were intercepted in mid-air, and only one had landed within the city walls. The number of casualties was still being counted, but it was easily over a million.


    Roads had turned into impromptu parking lots for vehicles that couldn''t go anywhere, and the city was scattered with ruins.


    Particularly, an entry ban had been imposed inside the city walls where the nuclear missiles had hit directly.


    People who had lost their homes roamed around aimlessly, and hospitals were overwhelmed with casualties and injured individuals lying on the streets.


    The security situation didn''t seem too bad, but it was unclear whether the strong security presence or the fact that citizens had little energy left to commit crimes was the reason.


    In reality, this power balance was clearly visible within this cramped underground shelter.


    Strong complexes secured good locations and monopolized resources, while those who didn''t belonged to weaker areas with meager resources.


    It was a distinctly Korean scene.


    Soon, the all-clear alert echoed from various directions.


    All clear! All clear! Citizens are advised to exit and resume their livelihoods.


    After bidding farewell to the family I had spent a short time with, I left the subway.


    When I tried to leave the subway, I noticed the signs distinguishing different apartment complexes and the residents of each complex that I had seen earlier.


    "..."


    Well, they won''t harass me, I hope.


    Koreans couldn''t tolerate bicycle theft, even though they might endure other forms of theft.


    I could feel many prying eyes on me as I passed by with my bicycle. It seemed they were eyeing my bicycle but fortunately, there were no actual threats.


    Well, this was Korea, and we still had a chance to live, and the country was still standing.


    I unintentionally overheard their conversation.


    "I heard the recent bombing hit the downtown area. Apparently, the Chinese included chemical weapons in the missiles. It''s not just us; the damage is extensive."


    Up to this point, their conversation was entirely expected.


    However, one woman''s blunt statement suddenly made me stop in my tracks.


    "They say it''s good luck."


    For a moment, I doubted my ears.


    "?"


    No, not in this situation.


    "You''re calling this good luck? They say there aren''t even a few decent residential complexes left in Seoul, and if everyone else falls, won''t our neighbourhood become the most upscale residential area?"


    If one or two people said something like this, it might have been brushed off, but human behaviour always went beyond imagination.


    Listening and seeing it, it''s an incredible stroke of luck."


    "Our apartment complex will become the top luxury complex in Seoul."


    "My friend used to brag about his neighborhood all the time, but now it''s worthless."


    "I can''t wait for the war to end so we can quickly sort out the rankings."


    "It seems like opportunities only come during a crisis."


    Since the war began, I had avoided looking at other people''s faces whenever possible. After all, we were all going to die soon.


    But this time, I couldn''t help but glance at their faces. They were ordinary people you could find anywhere. That''s why my anger ran even deeper.


    "Isn''t this a bit too much?"


    I asked once more, knowing that I wouldn''t see these faces again.


    Their response was a cold, silent glare. A middle-aged woman with a sardonic smile exchanged glances with the other residents and then said a single word.


    "Go your own way."


    ***


    That day, there was no way to find out the fate of the entire "Rupert Leichter Palace" complex. I had no interest in the people who considered the world ending as a stroke of luck.


    However, I knew what happened to the residents of "Rupert Leichter Palace."


    It was about a month after when a few mutated creatures that could kill humans appeared near my base. It wasn''t monsters that attacked them but rather creatures contaminated and mutated by the pathogen brought by the monsters. They were mutations.


    Some stray cats that used to be taken care of by a mother cat in the area got infected by the mutation genes and turned into creatures the size of tigers. Now, they were determined to exterminate humans using their abilities that had previously led them to the extinction of tigers and natural monuments.


    Their combat power might be weaker than the "Gold Pack," a group of mutated killer dogs operating in the south, but against ordinary people, they were unmatched.


    Tat-tat-tat!


    Gunshots and desperate cries filled the air, along with the agonizing screams in the Walkie-Talkies.


    "Crackle! We are the Rupert Leichter Palace residents'' assembly! We are under attack by monsters! Repeat! This is Rupert Shibu-L Palace residents'' assembly!"


    Listening quietly on the radio, I made one comment.


    "Lucky, aren''t they?"


    Prev | List| Next

 Chapter 5: Anonymous 337

    Chapter 5: Anonymous 337


    "First, you need to roll the wool with your hands to make it round. Beginners may find it challenging to get the right amount, but you''ll get used to it with practice."


    Inside the dark underground shelter, there is the light of a monitor and the warm voice of a man.


    This video is not from before the war. It was recorded at the current point in time, more than a year after the war began.


    Its source is none other than our community, "Viva! Apocalypse!"


    This thriving website continued to operate even after the nuclear missiles fell.


    Watching it cost nearly a hundred dollars a month, excluding satellite communication equipment, and it felt like I was being scammed, but our founder, Melon Mask, was a person with both reputation and responsibility, as well as technical skills.


    The city he lived in was destroyed by nuclear missile baptism, and he probably burned to death inside, but the legacy he left behind became a star in the sky, forever joining humanity beyond the sky in the form of servers mounted on an extra-terrestrial satellite.


    "Viva! Apocalypse!" is one of the few internet communities that still exist at this point in time.


    Even though my mentor, John-nenon, has disappeared, the community still maintains a level of activity sufficient to engage only Koreans.


    Of course, not everyone there is sane.


    I put four of my fellow users on the blocklist.


    There were false religious fanatics who kept talking nonsense about evacuation, attention-seeking individuals who posted their unwanted diaries every minute, schizophrenics who picked fights with anyone, and psychopaths who enjoyed hunting humans and proudly posted about it.


    On the other hand, there were decent people too.


    Anonymous 337, the creator of the "Making Felt Dolls for My Daughter (Part 3)" video that I''m currently watching, is one of them.


    Anonymous 337 was a man with a kind and warm demeanour, an adult-like figure that I didn''t possess.


    Instead of relieving his emptiness inside the shelter with alcohol or drugs, he created toys for his son and daughter and uploaded videos of the process with sweet music and clever editing to the forum.


    His craftsmanship was excellent, and the robot model he made for his son through woodworking could have been sold in stores with its quality.


    He wanted to see his son''s joy when receiving the gift, but he quietly uploaded only the process of the work.


    Perhaps he was hesitant to reveal his family for security reasons.


    In fact, in his videos, no voices other than his own could be heard, which seemed to demonstrate how meticulous Anonymous 337 was.


    I also tried to imitate Anonymous 337''s creation process and make a robot, but with my clumsy hands, I failed to make a robot and ended up creating something that resembled an abomination from the village of unknowns.


    Recently, he has been serializing the process of making felt sheep dolls for his seven-year-old daughter.


    I secretly hoped for the completion of his work with the same high quality as the robot he made for his son.


    "Make the ears like this. It may look difficult, but it''s easy with the right technique."


    His doll was not yet complete, but it was so cute and lovely that I wanted to buy felt and tools when I next visited Seoul to try it myself.


    ***


    It has been one year since the war started.


    The world has become more difficult to live in than when the war began.


    Although there are no longer nuclear missiles or air raids, the influence of the monsters has extended not only near the ceasefire line but also in the southern regions, and trade has been disrupted. The government has already lost control, and recovery seems impossible.


    The community has also been affected by the ominous atmosphere.


    KaosGate: Recently, the number of refugees has increased. They are peeking around my bunker.


    Anonymous 121: Even in the south, refugees started wandering around from the beginning. Be cautious, everyone. If you help the refugees out of pity, they might turn into bandits and come back.


    Posts about refugees have recently been on the rise. Although there may be an actual increase in refugees, several community users have disappeared recently.


    Among them was the diary-posting schizophrenic whom I had blocked.


    In the community, it was concluded that the recent disappearance of users was the work of the refugees.


    Qwer1234: It''s the refugees. They killed and took over the bunkers. They probably killed their families too.


    RealKorean: Keep an eye out for those refugee bastards. I''ll blow their heads off with a shotgun.


    Some users in the community have already declared refugees as enemies.


    Well, I am skeptical.


    Refugees are just refugees.


    There may be some experts among them who have received specialized search training, but how many of them could there be in South Korea?


    Perhaps some of them had bad luck with geography and run into bunkers.


    There were no people with a perspective similar to mine.


    Coincidentally, a person whom I blocked had a similar thought.


    His username is Defender.


    In the community, he is known as a human hunter.


    Since the war began, the human hunter has periodically posted murder certifications.


    He reported what he did irregularly with two photos: one of a victim''s body taken from a distance and another with a black plastic bag covering the victim''s face, along with the victim''s fingerprint taken with ink placed next to the bag.


    He killed different people each time.


    The methods were varied.


    Sometimes he used a gun, and other times he beat them to death with a blunt object.


    When killing women and children, he used only a black plastic bag.


    It wasn''t for amusement.


    "The reason is one and only one. Because they invaded his territory."


    In my opinion, whether it''s a psychotic killer or this guy, it doesn''t make much difference.


    I unblocked him and searched for his posts.


    Defender: It''s not the work of refugees.


    Defender: Didn''t you hire construction companies for the bunkers when they were being built?


    Defender: Be cautious of bunker construction company guys. They know your locations.


    Finally, the human hunter posted his usual murder certification.


    However, this time, he didn''t cover the victim''s body with a black bag.


    His pale and frozen face, along with the usual evidence, was displayed, including a construction contract and an ID card.


    There''s no doubt about it.


    They were employees of the construction company he had a contract with.


    Community users ignored his words.


    Was it because they didn''t want to listen to the human hunter, or because he was revealing a harsh reality that was hard to accept?


    I''ll leave that to the imagination.


    But a more important issue arose.


    My favourite community user, Anonymous 337, had disappeared.


    As a father who was more family-oriented and skilled with his hands than anyone else, his disappearance had a profound impact on me.


    Time passed, and it was transitioning from autumn to winter.


    The temperature had dropped below freezing, and the chilly wind, laden with the scent of impending snow, blew from west to east.


    The situation in the community was getting colder too.


    Anonymous 231: Hey, is Anonymous 423 still alive? It feels like it''s been a while since this guy posted. If he''s alive, at least hit the ''like'' button once. Do it next time.


    Lone_wolf: Kaos_Gate, hasn''t this guy also disappeared?


    As I pulled out the axe from the fallen gun-wielding man, the other axe I had been spinning continued its rotation. I swung both axes simultaneously, hitting the head of the shield-bearing man.


    Crack!


    "Cheolho! Hyeongshiki!"


    Desperate voices of the looters could be heard.


    I quietly hid in the darkness, waiting for the next victim.


    Hong Bujang was not an ordinary guy either.


    "Youngsik, calm down! Going in there means death."


    He calmed down his agitated companion.


    "Cheolho''s dead!"


    "Do we have tear gas? Throw it in. Don''t go into that raccoon''s den yourself; make him come out."


    He immediately suggested an appropriate alternative.


    A faint smile crossed my lips.


    Indeed, Hong Bujang was no ordinary guy.


    I replied by closing the heavy door to the bunker.


    "The door''s closed!"


    "Ignore it. There should be ventilation shafts."


    Hong Bujang also adapted quickly.


    "There''s only one entrance. I built it during the construction. You can tell just by looking at the blueprint. Everywhere else is blocked with concrete. Find the ventilation shaft. If you release gas, let''s see how he comes out."


    It was like playing war game.


    I hadn''t expected to be fighting with a bunch of looters like this.


    But there was one thing he didn''t know.


    After Hong Bujang and his team completed the bunker, I expanded my bunker with the knowledge I gained from them.


    One of those additions was the emergency exit I had created by demolishing a wall.


    Hong Bujang would never know this fact.


    Because he was an incompetent builder.


    He would never imagine that I had become a better builder than him.


    Holding one of the guns, I calmly exited through the second bunker entrance and looked towards the main bunker.


    I saw the looters searching for the ventilation shaft.


    Bang!


    A gunshot rang out, and one man fell.


    Bang!


    Without giving them a chance, I brought down the second one.


    The last one left was Hong Bujang.


    Without a gun, he raised his hands in surrender.


    I approached him with the gun pointed at him and asked, "How many times did you do this?"


    In response, Hong Bujang forced a bitter smile and shrugged.


    "This is our first time."


    With the gun pressed harshly against his forehead, Hong Bujang answered.


    "...Four."


    "You looted quite a bit."


    I ordered him to load the bodies into the truck.


    While the bodies were being loaded one by one into the cargo area, I noticed something familiar.


    "..."


    It was a human-shaped doll made of felt.


    The moment I saw it, I felt something inside me snap.


    "Where did you get this?"


    "From another bunker."


    Hong Bujang replied, panting heavily.


    "Anyone inside?"


    "One man."


    "They must have had a family, right?"


    "..."


    "You killed them all?"


    Thwack!


    I struck him in the back of the head with the back of my gun.


    Hong Bujang screamed in pain, but I gave him new pain to supress his old pain.


    I delivered a couple more kicks to his abdomen, and he quickly knelt down and opened his mouth.


    "It''s true! He was alone! Alone! Damn it! He was already dead when I got there!"


    "Where is it?"


    The location was surprisingly close.


    A 30-minute drive in the truck.


    With Hong Bujang leading the way, we entered the looted bunker.


    It was exactly as I expected.


    This was the place shown in the video.


    There was already a completed central bunker among the looted ones.


    On a familiar warm-feeling desk lay a man, half-decomposed, apparently having committed suicide.


    The splatters of blood around the workspace hinted at his suicide.


    I looked around.


    It was an incredibly narrow bunker.


    It would be challenging to live here alone.


    "Is this where you''re going to release me? You promised, didn''t you?"


    I added another dead body and returned home to check the video.


    Come to think of it, there had never been the sound of children''s voices in his videos.


    That was indeed the case.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 6: Guests

    Chapter 6: Guests


    My bunker is a quiet and secluded place, but it''s not entirely uninhabited. Occasionally, there are wanderers in the vicinity.


    The first type are the scavengers. They are people who aim to loot abandoned belongings rather than engage in violent acts, scavenging everything they can find in the ruins. A group of around twenty scavengers arrived in my area on a green bus. They primarily focused on searching near the Air Force base, but some of them wandered in my direction.


    After briefly inspecting the industrial waste piled up in my area, the scavengers grew irritated with each other and returned towards the Air Force base.


    The second type is the wanderers. They are individuals who have left Seoul in search of new territory, and unlike scavengers, they are more interested in real estate than items. There were rarely any groups of wanderers around my bunker. No one would want to live on the desolate and eerie land resembling a grim cemetery.


    Sometimes, even non-human entities come searching. They are the mutants. Animals infected with mutation genes continue their pre-infection habits and behaviours. Mutant dogs came to my area, probably thinking I might be one of them. Each of these mutant dogs was as large as a lion, and they were formidable opponents. With strength to shatter concrete walls, speed to chase down moving vehicles, and resilience that bullets couldn''t easily penetrate, they were no easy foes. Like any pack, these intruders had a leader, and the ones who visited my place were led by a mutant dog with golden fur, nicknamed "Gold."


    Gold was exceptionally cunning and ruthless, so much so that there was a bounty on him in Seoul, but no one had been able to hunt him down. I had no intention of hunting him either. Although he was dangerous, he was essentially the guardian of my bunker''s honour, wasn''t he?


    While these intruders roamed around my bunker''s vicinity, I hid inside, waiting for them to pass.


    Mutants come with both advantages and disadvantages. Mutated animals maintain their pre-infection instincts and behaviours, but their sense of smell significantly deteriorates. They followed the faint human and domestic scents, but they couldn''t pinpoint my location. However, while the immediate danger passed, they left massive amounts of excrement and urine in my bunker. During their stay, I had to endure three days of drinking only purified water and biscuits.


    Occasionally, even zombie hordes found their way here. Zombies were like reanimated human corpses, behaving just as everyone imagined. They were unintelligent and roamed in hordes, growing in numbers as they went. Mutant dogs had reduced sense of smell after infection, but when humans became zombies, their sense of smell became more acute. They sensed the delicious aroma of my cooking but couldn''t find their way to me. The entrance to my bunker was concealed and reinforced with alloy, so they only wandered near the ventilation shaft emitting scents and eventually moved on to nearby cities.


    During such peaceful and beautiful days, I enjoyed sunbathing with a white cloth laid on the ground, sunbathing and disinfecting myself. Lying on the earthen floor with my arms as a pillow, gazing at the passing clouds, made me feel refreshed.


    After about a year or so since the outbreak of war, I had spent approximately half that time in such peace. However, nothing lasts forever.


    Around late spring when the azaleas were in full bloom, drones began appearing one by one in the sky. They had four wings and were called "quadcopter drones," and these drones were the answer to why I didn''t use common and convenient solar power. No matter how well I concealed my hiding place, if I laid out conspicuous solar panels, it would be like putting up a billboard saying, "Here I am, come kill me!" In fact, to my knowledge, one of the community users was fanatical about solar power.


    Sunpower: Solar power is convenient, highly efficient, and affordable. Why isn''t anyone using it? (genuine question)


    Perhaps that friend found the answer to that question when looters stormed into his bunker.


    People who flew drones in the deserted wasteland could be divided into two main categories. One was government agencies searching for mutants, monsters, and criminals, and the other was looters looking for prey.


    As we watched the cheerful companions of Viva! Apocalypse!'' gradually disappear, we could confirm our self-awareness.


    We may have been better prepared than others, but in the eyes of other people, we were basically treasure goblins.


    Naturally, large survivalist groups dominated the online community.


    Anonymous424: Individuals or families could survive, but hold on a moment. To survive in the long term, you eventually need to form groups.


    Dies_irae69: We''ve expanded our group to fifteen combatants. It''s a bit challenging with my stockpile, but we can''t survive otherwise.


    I don''t agree with their thinking.Updated from


    Sure, you can fend off one or two times momentarily.


    But the opponents are humans, too.


    Hungry and opportunistic ones, for the most part.


    Nine times out of ten, they will return with a larger and stronger group.


    With everything needed for sustenance, clothing, and convenience in life, would you just leave it be?


    The most important thing is to remain inconspicuous above all else.


    Not too long ago, even the unblocked human hunters acted with their own reasoning and committed murder.


    The dead cannot speak, after all.


    Anyway, the threat lurked in my territory.


    I put my favourite sunbathing, sun disinfection, outdoor cooking on hold and watched the situation from inside the bunker.


    It was clear that drones were flying around my territory.


    Scouting occurred throughout the week, mainly concentrated between noon and 1 PM, occasionally with intervals, they sent drones around dusk.


    Night flights were non-existent.


    Drones'' performance, especially regarding cameras, wasn''t suitable for capturing images in the dark, and there was a risk of loss, so they seemed to minimize the risk by limiting flights to daylight.


    The looters, unable to distinguish between mutations and monsters, were doomed.


    Clang!


    Despite the looters firing their guns, the muscular hounds dodged the bullets or took the shots with their robust bodies, relentlessly charging at the humans. The outcome was that humans turned into mere prey for these fierce hounds.


    The agonizing screams and the sound of bones being crunched echoed but soon subsided.


    At the moment when one group of looters was annihilated.


    Was Dongtanmom''s spirit watching this?


    If it was, what kind of expression would he have?


    Perhaps a bright smile?


    However, the human world.


    It''s not that easy.


    Dongtanmom: "Beok!" (Sound of irritation)


    Dongtanmom was still alive!


    The person who had desperately informed us of their dire situation not long ago was now casually saying, "Beok!" like this.


    Users who had been worried about him flooded the comments section like a swarm of bees.


    Anonymous848: Wait, what? Was this a prank?


    Kyle_Dos: Wow, you''re fishing here of all places? Are you mocking people?


    Anonymous458: Seriously, is it okay to do something like this here? Apologize to everyone before you get blocked.


    SKELTON: This is really making me angry.


    In response to the furious users, Dongtanmom posted an apology.


    Dongtanmom: I''m sorry. I had a bout of depression, and I unintentionally wrote and posted something different from the truth~


    Afterward, Dongtanmom continued with his habitual trolling, claiming that he had engaged in such behaviour because he didn''t know how to set up antennas and wasnt helped. He was acting like a shepherd boy.


    However, everything has an end.


    Dongtanmom: This time, it''s not a joke, it''s real! It''s dangerous! This place is not Dongtan; it''s closer to Gwanggyo. There are only about five people here! Please, anyone nearby, come and help! Please give me at least the sound of fireworks. I''m begging you!


    This time, he even uploaded photos.


    The first photo showed five people indistinctly captured on a closed-circuit TV. The second photo depicted the chaos inside the bunker, with smoke streaming from the ventilation ducts. The third photo showed boxes stacked like mountains with "TNT" written on them.


    That was Dongtanmom''s last post.


    But could this, too, be one of his lies?


    Most of the users, including me, thought that Dongtanmom had once again triggered a false alarm.


    It couldn''t be helped when they had clearly written "TNT" on the boxes.


    The truth remained to be seen.


    Because our wise human hunter left a message.


    Defender: A massive explosion rang out near Gwanggyo. It could have been a 10-ton TNT explosion. Did Dongtanmom, the liar, finally bite the dust?


    On that note, this human hunter friend of mine lived around Gwanggyo.


    We shouldn''t get too close


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 7: Cat Mom

    Chapter 7: Cat Mom


    Most accidents are preventable.


    The three cats I''m about to talk about - Gucci, Hermes, and Jackfield - were, in a way, preventable.


    "Ma''am, please don''t feed those cats."


    The woman was a middle-aged woman living alone in the vast wilderness between Seoul and my territory.


    She always covered her face with a mask, scarf, sunglasses, and the like, as if she had been burned during a nuclear attack. I got to know her when I started begging regularly in Seoul.


    When she noticed a sturdy man like me, she would hastily leave with her cart, and I could feel a sense of eerie fear and deep loneliness from her back.


    I observed her several times, and it seemed that she had no husband or children.


    In today''s world, it''s not that rare, so I ignored it and passed by, but she soon became familiar with me and didn''t leave even when she saw me.


    Our relationship, which had been running parallel all along, was disrupted by a single incident.


    Her cats had grown so abnormally large that anyone could see that they were unusual.


    "Hey, can you hear me?"


    No doubt about it.


    It''s a precursor to mutation.


    Now, it''s unimaginable, but when the Chinese government was still intact, South Korea also sent hunters to jointly deal with monster invasions.


    Seeing India and Africa collapse and the repercussions reaching neighbouring countries, it was obvious that South Korea would be next if we did nothing.


    I''ve seen similar things in a newly built, flashy Chinese city that was sparsely populated.


    At that time, humanity was less knowledgeable, so we couldn''t distinguish between mutations and monsters, and boldly claimed that an overgrown sewer rat was a new species of hamster and captured it, and that sample contributed to the creation of the new concept of mutation.


    It''s not something to be proud of, but I played a significant role in the discovery of the existence of mutations.


    Overgrowth beyond the growth limits determined by genes is the most representative precursor phenomenon of mutation.


    The three cats that the nameless woman was feeding were already as large as Golden Retrievers at that time.


    "Do you think those cats are too big, ma''am?"


    "They are Rex."


    She defended herself.


    Some Rex breeds of cat known for their substantial build.


    But the appearance of the three cats, including the tricolored cat reflected in my eyes, was distinctly Korean.


    "What kind of Rex is that? I would believe it if you said it was a desert human-eating beast called Lita."


    "Just ignore it. Who are you to tell me what to do in my own place?"


    She spoke with a venomous voice without even looking at me.


    "Do you want them to harm you, ma''am? Do you want to be eaten by the cats?"


    "They won''t do that. They''re angels. How much they follow me."


    As she extended her hand, the three cats competed with each other to nudge their heads into her hand, as if ancient Western nobles were trying to kiss the king''s seal.


    "..."


    I didn''t say anything more.


    She''s not grieving, and she''s an elderly woman. She''ll figure it out on her own.


    Even my somewhat selfish calculation contributed to me ignoring her and leaving.


    At that time, I was thinking that I should gradually cut off contact with Seoul.


    Since I had received a personal identification code, there was less need to go to Seoul, and more importantly, there was a shortage of people on the front lines.


    Someone like me, a high-end professional, can be taken away with various excuses at any time.


    Meeting three mutations as new neighbours, along with the crazy sniper in the southeast and the gold horde in the southwest, didn''t seem like a bad idea.


    Originally, she wouldn''t listen to anything I said, but still.


    "What are the names of those cats?"


    I asked the departing woman.


    "Why?"


    "They look cute."


    "Hermes, Gucci, and Jackfield."


    Strangely, she didn''t tell me which cat had which name, but I felt like I knew the names of the three cats.


    "Move the net in a crisscross pattern like weaving to create a richer texture."


    A peaceful afternoon.


    Now, I''m making wool felt dolls while watching the anonymous 337''s videos.


    The creature I created looked more like goat than a sheep, but I''ve been steadily referring to the videos of a master to at least make it look like a sheep.


    Like the ones on the shelf up there with Anonymous 337.


    I was concentrating when the Walkie-Talkie beeped.


    Beep! Beep! Beep!


    This sound pattern is a signal that I was contacted directly through my personal identification number.


    In other words, it''s an important message.


    As expected, the sender is Kim Daram.


    "Ah, damn it."


    I couldn''t ignore it, so I pressed the receive button, and a voice that seemed to flow as if it had been waiting suddenly filled the air.


    "Senior, I have a favour to ask."


    "What now? Didn''t you say you wouldn''t ask you for anything again?"


    "I don''t want to do this either, but in these dark times, we have to help each other survive. Besides, you know about the recent incidents where many people died around the golf course you live near, right?"


    "...Rupert Leichter Palace, was it?"


    "See, you know."


    The incident where the three stray cats raised by the nameless woman turned into monsters and turned the residents of the apartment complex into real angels may have been a stroke of luck for me, but it seems to be a serious matter to the central administration.


    Orders have been issued to eliminate Hermes, Gucci, and Jackfield.


    "Sorry, but I can''t hunt mutations anymore. I don''t have the skills or the desire to do it. And I don''t have the equipment."


    "It''s not you who will do it. We''ll send someone."


    "Someone?"


    "A freelance hunter."


    ***


    That freelance hunter appeared in front of me on a rare vintage motorcycle from before the war.


    "Are you okay?"


    I offered her a canned coffee that I had brought to drink.


    A gift seems to be the key to opening a woman''s heart across all eras.


    The woman, who had been sobbing, held the coffee with both hands and finally spoke.


    "...On that day, the people in the apartment left me out and went into the bomb shelter by themselves. It was built during the Saemaul Undong." [TL Note: The Saemaul Undong, also known as the New Community Movement, New Village Movement, Saemaul Movement or Saema''eul Movement, was a political initiative launched on April 22, 1970 by South Korean president Park Chung-hee to modernize the rural South Korean economy.]


    She pointed towards the bomb shelter.


    "When I arrived late, the door was closed. Even though I knocked and shouted, they didn''t open the door. They were telling me to die outside. We didn''t get along because I used to feed the cats. But at that moment, Jackfield showed up and said ''meow!''"


    She wiped her tears as she took off her sunglasses.


    "He led the way like guiding me to the underground shelter."


    Her eyes, even though her eyebrows were melted beyond recognition, were too intense to look at directly, but her pupils held warmth that made animals follow her.


    "Thanks to those kids, I managed to survive. Those kids also survived thanks to me."


    "What happened to the people in the bomb shelter?"


    I didn''t need to see it to know.


    Seeing the black scorch marks near the ventilation shaft.


    "It seems like there was a fire inside. Smoke and screams were coming out all day that day."


    The woman''s survival strategy was revealed.


    All the residents of the small apartment had died.


    It may be a small apartment, but there are 60 households.


    It means that the resources for 60 households belonged to one person.


    As Baek Seunghyun said, it seems they didn''t even bother to loot this secluded, crumbling apartment.


    "Do you still feed them now?"


    "Yes. They''ve grown too big now..."


    "Do you know where they are? Someone more ruthless than that guy might come next time."


    Upon my urging, she seemed determined and tried to open the coffee can herself.


    Perhaps due to alcohol poisoning, she couldn''t even open the can, so I opened it for her, and she accepted the coffee with a lowered head.


    Drinking the coffee infused with my body temperature, she looked into the distance, probably contemplating some kind of resolution.


    "I have an idea of where they might be."


    She led us to a ditch that led to an abandoned rice field.


    While guiding us, she briefly explained the significance of this place.


    "I found those kids here. They were abandoned by their mother, and I took care of them."


    Her intuition was correct.


    There were traces of blood.


    "Hermes, Gucci, Jackfield!"


    She desperately called her beasts.


    Baek Seunghyun and I stood far away.


    I didn''t want to see Baek Seunghyun if possible, so I kept my gaze fixed on the woman and asked coolly, "Is it necessary to do it this way?"


    Baek Seunghyun handed the woman a vest.


    An explosive vest.


    His opinion was valid, as it was less painful than being torn apart by mutations while still alive, but this was morally unsettling.


    "That''s probably the question the deceased would want to ask that lady."


    Inside the ditch, huge beasts with blood flowing out appeared.


    Mutations.


    Baek Seunghyun raised his finger to the detonation switch.


    I had nothing more to say.


    His judgment was valid, setting aside emotional considerations.


    Scholars say that mutations cannot be tamed because they are too intelligent.


    It''s because mutations know how humans think of and treat themselves, just like how humans, who were once the gentlest of sheep, have become the most vehement critics of God. Mutations hate humans by their own choice.


    This is the common belief about the aggressiveness of mutations.


    However...


    "Meow."


    An unbelievable scene unfolded.


    The mutations were following her.


    Just like before they transformed, they were jostling to press their lion-like heads against her, competing to rub their bodies against her, just like in the old days when they used to fight over her touch when she cared for them.


    "Look at how good my babies are. Even in this state..."


    "..."


    The undeniable common belief was refuted head-on by the nameless woman and her cats.


    However, that brief miracle was erased in an instant from the man''s fingers, who was absorbed in reality.


    Click.


    A monotonous switch-clicking sound rang out, and an explosion occurred. Light and a deafening noise swallowed everything.


    "What a fucking job I have."


    It was probably the first time.


    He looked at Baek Seunghyun seriously.


    Baek Seunghyun, who had been observing me closely all along, avoided my gaze at that moment.


    "...This fucked up world."


    After muttering what seemed like a grumble, he left the scene as if fleeing.


    The woman''s body had disappeared without a trace.


    Only one mutation with its lower body blown off was still gasping for its last breath.


    I looked down at the cat.


    It was Jackfield.


    The ugliest of the three who used to nod like a person before and even after the mutation, ceased to breathe.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 8: Demian04 and Yuri

    Chapter 8: Demian04 and Yuri


    Most of us doomsday enthusiasts are almost exclusively men, and usually single men at that.


    I''ve never seen a female participant at John Nenon''s gatherings, nor have I ever read a post on the community where someone implied they were a woman.


    If you think about it for a moment, the reasons become clear.


    Doomsday enthusiasts, in other words, are those who pray for the world to end and live their lives in anticipation of doomsday.


    If they were grateful for the current state of the world and living in harmony with it, they would probably wish for the present to continue rather than prepare for doomsday.


    If the monsters suddenly disappeared and there was no war, what would have become of our fate?


    In my case, Park Gyura, it would be utterly fucked...


    Not just a downfall, but a plunge into the abyss.


    The evidence of this is still intact on my phone, which now has no signal.


    [Web Message] (Shinheon Bank) Mr. Park* Gyu, Notice of Scheduled Auction for Collateral Loan


    [Web Message] (Sanwang Money) Mr. Park Gyu, Notice of Debt Assignment Regarding Lady''s Loan Delinquency


    [Web Message] This is Sinra Credit Information. http://sinramoneytaker.co.kr/....


    As if pouring cement on a pile of crap wasn''t enough, in the end, I didn''t have enough money and went so far as to take out a loan with no intention of paying it back.


    It was hard to imagine that there would be a cheerful female user in a place where such gloomy guys gathered.


    However, recently, a female user appeared without any warning.


    It had been one year and seven months since the war began.


    Living in a bomb shelter for over a year, everyone experiences a common problem: a lack of excitement.


    I don''t drink or smoke.


    If I''m in a safe place, I might have a light drink, but drinking alone is associated with addiction, and addiction leads to death.


    Cigarettes are a reasonable form of entertainment, but they are also valuable barter items and have the power to summon people.


    As someone who had been forcibly abstaining from smoking for a long time, I knew first-hand that the sense of smell of a human being was no less than that of a dog.


    However, it was not easy to find entertainment elsewhere.


    They don''t broadcast dramas at the broadcasting station every day of the week, and there are no places to meet friends for a drink.


    I don''t have a team to play sports like soccer.


    If people pursuing group survival were to come, I wouldn''t know, but people like me pursuing individual survival can''t even play table tennis.


    I thought about taking up fishing as a hobby, but I gave up because the radiation levels at nearby reservoirs never seemed to decrease.Read latest chapters at novelhall.com Only


    As time went by, more guests came, and as the time spent in the bomb shelter increased, my hobbies naturally turned into things I could do inside the room.


    Honestly, at this point in time, the most fun entertainment would probably be the "Viva! Apocalypse!" community for us doomsday enthusiasts.


    It''s a place where people with similar thoughts gather to talk about their common plight.


    There are also strange users like AI MJ, Dongtanmom, and Defender, but there are also exemplary users like me.


    At this point, more than a year has passed since the war began, and even I, who used to be a lurker for years, were actively posting on the community.


    The reasons are complex.


    I was bored, of course, and I could feel the joy of communication. And I didn''t want to see our precious community disappear as I watched one comrade after another disappear.


    The result is as follows:


    SKELTON: (SKELTON Daily) Dinner tonight, hehe


    SKELTON: (SKELTON Story) Hot news I heard on the military frequency yesterday


    SKELTON: (SKELTON Making) I tried making a felt doll!


    SKELTON: (SKELTON Video) SKELTON''s Beatbox (3)


    For some reason, my appearance on the community was becoming more and more like John Nenon.


    But I didn''t completely imitate John Nenon.


    John Nenoneonly added "(John-nenon)" as the title, but I wanted to make it more elaborate, so I added detailed topics like "(SKELTON Video)" behind the title.


    However, unlike John Nenon, I had no popularity, and my views, likes, and comments were non-existent.


    I had no talent in drawing or writing, and I had no knowledge to teach others.


    It was the limit of an ordinary guy with no special skills.


    Looking at users like DragonC, a webtoon artist who drew his daily life in a beautiful comic style, or Anonymous 118, who uploaded various homemade games despite their crudeness, I couldn''t help but feel like I understood why John Nenon was so heavily criticized.


    As I continued to work in the lowest ranks of the popular cast, I naturally noticed friends who were similar to me one by one.


    Even though their views were close to binary, they still posted self-written novels with determination, grotesque individuals who took pictures of their own naked bodies with baseless confidence, and those who serialized Simongki''s Diary, like Simongki Papa.


    Among this subgroup, there was a user named Demian04.


    He consistently uploaded self-drawn pictures done with a ballpoint pen, and in terms of talent, not even a hint of it was visible.


    His subjects were always long-haired women (at least that''s how they appeared), and he drew their breasts ridiculously oversized (even if we excuse it as overly exaggerated).


    But Demian04 went a step further by attaching two rice cookers to the women.


    Did you have trouble eating during your infancy?


    Demian04 mainly uploads contemporary art drawings and rarely writes posts expressing his thoughts or opinions. His consistency in uploading grotesque and poorly drawn chest monsters (that''s how they appeared) might be the reason why I remember him.


    But suddenly, this guy started talking a lot.


    (Search Results: Semian04 - 4,553 results)


    ...


    Demian04: Yuri, you''re so beautiful~


    Demian04: I picked a flower for you and took a picture today.


    Demian04: Current status of Demian''s food storage.jpg


    Demian04: (Demian04 Food) Dinner tonight, a bit lonely to eat alone~ hehe


    Demian04: (Demian04 Art) Fanart of Yuri!!


    Demian04: (Demian04 Story) Just chased away refugees...


    ...


    He used to write fake diary entries and spew nonsense.


    From his behaviour, he seemed young, but I remember that the texture of the skin on his hands in his verification photos made him look older than me.


    The problem is that this guy has been missing for a year now.


    A friend who wrote a diary every day without fail suddenly disappeared for one reason and one reason only.


    He was robbed of his bunker and murdered.


    But the people who killed kurogod are playing a very interesting game.


    After taking everything Kurogod had, they discovered our community, and they''re targeting my cheerful comrades with a young and beautiful woman as bait.


    Human Hunter said one word.


    Defender: Do you think anyone would fall for this idiotic fishing?


    Yes.


    Demian04: (Demian04) Yuri~ You''re really beautiful today too~ (Heart-fluttering emoticon)


    It''s Demian04.


    He chased after Yuri in every post she made, enthusiastically pressing the like button and praising her.


    Some of the users with big mouths tore him apart.


    Especially a user named SUNBI was the most aggressive in criticizing Demian04.


    SUNBI: Well, if a young friend does this, what can you do. Learn to control yourself. I''ll send you a video privately, so have a good time with yourself and be a philosopher~


    That''s fine up to that point. It''s healthy for a man to be infatuated with a beautiful woman.


    Besides, the real-time photos of Yuri in leggings that she took had a destructive power that even I felt like saving.


    However, everything comes to an end.


    The looter soon revealed her true intentions.


    Yuri_need_man: I''m lonely and need protection. Is there a man who can let me stay for just one night?


    The looter dangled the bait of death.


    An irresistible weapon, along with a brain-melting picture of a woman in lingerie.


    One result flowed past me as if it were a prophecy.


    Demian04: Y-Yo!


    The prophecy had come true.


    Demian bit the bait in less than a second.


    "Oh... damn it."


    One year and a half have passed since the outbreak of the war, and our community users, while not as close-knit as Rupert Leichter Palace, had a somewhat strong sense of solidarity. Therefore, everyone joined forces to criticize him, even Psycho Human Hunter.


    Of course, I, Park Gyura, played my part as well.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON Advice) Demian, please, you can follow my lead, so please look at reality.


    The most vehement criticism of this situation came from Sunbi.


    SUNBI: Yuri, I warn you. If you lay a hand on our community as a whole, you will never get away with it!


    As the community''s backlash grew, the looter changed tactics.


    Yuri_need_man: Many people are jealous, so let''s talk via DM~


    Direct messages, meaning private messages among themselves.


    It''s a natural course of action, but after that, no one saw Demian04 again.


    Sunbi, who had been trying to correct Demian''s behaviour, seemed disappointed by the incident and disappeared without a trace.


    The most mysterious outcome of this incident was Yuri''s disappearance.


    Perhaps they had planned to have a little fun and then disappear, the wolves who had disguised themselves as community users. They never appeared on the forum again.


    ***


    A week passed since then.


    For some reason, I became curious about Demian04''s past.


    What kind of person was he before and during the war?


    He first started his activities immediately after the war.


    Back then, he posted only artwork without much talk.


    At that time, his favourite subject matter was landscapes, not crudely drawn women with large breasts.


    Unlike his crude portraits, his landscapes were outstanding, particularly a landscape he named "No. 04," which depicted a sunset over the sea with a solitary lighthouse island. It was incredibly beautiful, to the point where I printed it out and hung it in my bunker.


    I thought that had concluded the Demian episode, but there was more to the story.


    Defender: It might be a bit late, but here''s Yuri''s verification


    Demian04 was not the only one who attended Yuri''s murder conspiracy.


    Our human hunter was also there, and he mercilessly killed all the looters and the women, and now he had posted the verification photos on the forum.


    What he posted was not just looters.


    Our former brothers also verified, concealing their faces.


    The bodies of those who were stripped and beaten to death had a different feel from the looters killed by the human murderer.


    But it''s not just one, it''s two.


    Why two?


    Defender: Who do you think is the other one?


    Who could it be?


    Defender: 10


    10?


    Defender: SUNBI.


    "Ah."


    Prev | List | Index

 Chapter 9: Neighbor

    Chapter 9: Neighbor


    Bang!


    In the late afternoon, as I sat idly in a folding chair, gazing at the sky, I would occasionally hear gunshots coming from the south.


    The dull yet widespread pattern of gunfire.


    It belonged to the sniper who lived in the southeast.


    There used to be a small town there.


    The distance was approximately 5.5 kilometers in a straight line.


    It was a relatively bustling area with a church, a market, a town bank, a community centre, and an elementary school.


    But when the war started, the entire area turned into a desolate wasteland, with only a few concrete buildings resembling skeletal remains.


    Here, my only neighbour, the crazy sniper, lives.


    The reason for the adjective "crazy" is because this sniper shoots at anything that passes by.


    Their actions of trying to kill anyone who enters their territory resemble that of a human hunter, but if you look deeper, there is a world of difference between the two, as vast as the difference between heaven and earth.


    A human hunter kills to protect their territory and keep it hidden.


    On the other hand, the crazy sniper shoots first and then observes.


    There is no other choice.


    They lie in wait in high-rise buildings that overlook every direction, using a scope to survey the world and eliminate anything that enters their effective range.


    Of course, this sniper is also a human being.


    She has a warm heart like any other human and knows how to love.


    Just as I know the sniper, she knows me as well.


    The story takes place three months after the outbreak of the war.


    It was the end of the year.


    The bustling crowds, sparkling trees, children throwing tantrums inside department stores, snow covering the streets, and the eerie figure of Santa Claus upon closer reflectionall of these are distant memories that cannot be recovered after the war.


    At that time, I was preoccupied with assessing the condition of the weapons I had brought back from the US military base.


    The firearms and ammunition were safely stored inside a reinforced bunker, and there was no direct contact with damage or radiation from nuclear fallout, but there were concerns about radiation contamination since they had been in the area hit by a nuclear explosion.


    Fortunately, the inspection results concluded that the firearms and ammunition were still usable, and I left them in my armory.


    Unfortunately, there were no weapons beyond rifles.


    There were no hunter''s equipment, let alone anything more powerful than grenades.


    It should not be hastily concluded without confirmation from military personnel, but the base had been abandoned before the nuclear strike.


    Evidence of a hasty departure was evident, with shredded documents scattered everywhere, materials seemingly discarded in a hurry, and coffee mugs left untouched on desks.


    The situation in the United States was not much better.


    The nuclear strike on South Korea was just the tip of the iceberg.


    Hundreds of missiles had been launched.


    The US military, often referred to as the Space Force, had managed to intercept most of them.


    However, there existed a special division within the US military responsible for dealing with such incidents.


    The Monsters.


    Monsters were beings created by different principles and logic from humans, originating from a different dimension. They possessed both biological and non-biological characteristics and had abilities and miracles that humans did not possess. They were bent on annihilating humanity, the natural enemies of mankind.


    These monsters emerged from rifts called "Fissures" in dimensions, and these fissures had two characteristics.


    One was their even distribution.


    Each fissure opened at regular intervals.


    There were four in South Korea, but the most lethal one was the Paju Fissure.


    The reason it was particularly lethal was because the fissures had another featureIntensity.


    The intensity of a fissure was proportional to the number of humans residing nearby.


    The Paju Fissure covering the metropolitan area had the highest intensity rating, while the Jeju Fissure had the lowest.


    Having a large population and a vast territory was traditionally a criterion for distinguishing a powerful nation from a weaker one, but now it had become a requirement for a country to decline rapidly.


    The rapid decline of India and China, both of which had large populations and territories, was not a coincidence.


    The United States, with a smaller population and territory than the two, was relatively better off, but it was by no means a safe haven.


    Its vast territory and substantial population couldn''t be ignored.


    In fact, before the outbreak of the war, there were signs of the US military redeploying its forces from key countries back to the homeland.


    Before the war, you would often hear statements like there wasn''t a single US soldier left in South Korea.


    But the supposedly extinct US military had encroached into my territory.


    They had a hefty Humvee with a mounted 12.7mm machine gun.


    The Humvee charged through the golf course and into my territory, and at that moment, I recalled an ancient saying: "In this world, it''s all about luck; the rest is just trivial."


    No, seriously, why now?


    What have I done wrong?


    Is it a crime to pick up discarded weapons?


    Amidst a whirlwind of thoughts, the Humvee came to a halt in front of my territory''s 11th bunker.


    A young blonde woman stepped out of the car.


    She was as tall as me, but her physique was well-built, and she wore a helmet and a bulletproof vest, holding a heavily armed gun with various attachments. Her state of armament was far superior to mine.


    At that time, closed-circuit cameras and surveillance equipment had not been restored.Updated from


    The ones I had were burned to a crisp along with Old Man Kim''s house during the nuclear strike.


    As a result, I had to rely on scanty information that only came through the tiny observation windows.


    Soon, she moved into a blind spot.


    I stayed put.


    I hadn''t yet determined how many U.S. soldiers had infiltrated my territory.


    There could be as few as one or as many as three or more lurking inside that steel beast.


    Fighting well-trained and armed U.S. soldiers wasn''t what I desired, but if they were targeting my territory, I had no other choice.


    I had to kill them all.


    For a while, there was no movement inside the Humvee.


    Rustle.


    I sensed movement from the side of the main bunker.


    Only then did the woman seem to realize that I meant no harm.


    However, that didn''t mean the situation was completely diffused.


    She still showed a slight tension and spoke in broken Korean.


    "Medicine. You?"


    "What kind?"


    The woman pointed to the child.


    "Wait."


    I offered her not only fever reducers and cold medicine but also antibiotics and a can of powdered milk.


    She seemed surprised by my kindness, especially when she saw the powdered milk.


    "Don''t come back."


    The mother and child left without a word of thanks, almost turning me into a would-be robber, carrying the treasure I had almost taken.


    It wasn''t long before I got a new neighbour from the southeast.


    She was still in the jungle, fighting the prejudice to protect the child thrown into the jungle with her.


    There was only one more interaction after that.


    On a dark night, the young girl came alone to my underground shelter.


    She had grown taller since she had last seen me, and with tearful eyes, she wandered around my underground shelter looking for me.


    After revealing myself, the child said, "Mom, sick."


    The child seemed to have adapted better to the Korean jungle than her mother, who appeared like a wild animal caught in a trap, whimpering in pain.


    After prescribing appropriate treatment and leaving medication, I turned and left.


    There was no need for any conversation, and there was no need to mix words.


    On the day I was about to turn away after finishing my work, the child suddenly grabbed my wrist.


    "Name."


    The child was asking for my name.


    "Park Gyura."


    "Pekyu?"


    The child raised her index finger and looked puzzled, so I smiled wryly and gave her a nickname instead.


    "Skeleton."


    The child seemed to savour the name for a moment, then smiled brightly and echoed, "Skeleton!"


    Time passed, and it''s now Christmas Eve.


    In the community, there was a trending virtual Christmas tree decoration content converted from something that an anonymous game developer, Anonymous118, circulated before the war.


    It wasn''t anything extraordinary; it featured a Christmas tree drawn with a single sprite with ten blank spaces, and each blank space could be filled with one of nine decorations chosen by different users as a message of encouragement.


    SKELTON: (Please decorate my tree) Please decorate my tree too~


    There were still no like-minded users for me, so my Christmas tree remained empty, but sometimes, emptiness could be better than being filled.


    IamJesus: Who the hell are you?!


    At one point, I had blocked this self-proclaimed Jesus Christ, a mentally unstable individual. Now, his tree was filled with congratulatory messages from anonymous users.


    <Leukemia, Liver Cancer, Rheumatoid Arthritis, ALS, Myocardial Infarction, Stroke, Pulmonary Embolism, Asthma, Tuberculosis, Paralysis, 3rd Degree Nerve Pain>


    Even the human hunter received numerous messages.


    As I watched with a smile,


    Ding~


    Something had arrived.


    [Anonymous user has sent a message to SKELTON~]


    I checked it out.


    One spot on my empty tree had been filled.


    <Jonner Non>


    "Huh?"


    Jonner Non?


    What''s this? What does it mean?


    My questions were momentarily pushed aside by the static noise of K-WalkieTalkie that suddenly rang out.


    -Zzz... Zzz!


    It was 11 PM.


    I couldn''t recall any instance when someone had used the public frequency at this time in this remote place.


    Soon, I learned the identity of the culprit.


    "Merry Christmas~."


    The voice of the mischievous young girl echoed through the speaker.


    "Skeleton!"


    There was no mistake.


    She was my neighbour.


    I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should reply with my name, but the outcome had been decided from the moment I felt a smile forming on my lips.


    "Merry Christmas."


    I should have asked for her name.


    It was a brief interaction, but that day, I had a deeper sense of fulfilment than any Christmas tree message, and I brought out whiskey, something I wouldn''t typically bring out, to savour the moment.


    "Ah."


    As I opened the door, the cold air brushed away the warm atmosphere I had built up, but my heart felt refreshingly cool.


    I looked up at the sky.


    The winter sky, pitch black and scattered with countless stars.


    Since realizing that I had not been chosen by God, I hadn''t offered any prayers.


    I clasped my hands together and prayed to the night sky.


    May the gunshots of that mother and daughter echo for a long time.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 10: Chaebol (1)

    Chapter 10: Chaebol (1)


    What will happen to the chaebols when the world collapses? It''s a topic that would pique the curiosity of any South Korean.


    Recently, a community user named "gijayangban," who is quite active, shared the current status of one chaebol family.


    gijayangban: I found the hideout of Seokju Group''s Chairman Park Cheolju! It''s Cheolju, indeed~ Mr. Cheolju!


    The update from gijayangban regarding the chaebol was enough to cast a shadow over the minds of us, the doomsday pessimists.


    They had built a fortress of concrete, large enough for dozens of people to live comfortably on top of a gentle slope. Inside, they had established a self-sustaining ecosystem that could handle everything from agriculture to manufacturing and entertainment.


    When I saw the mini golf course inside the fortress captured by a drone, I couldn''t help but exclaim, "Wow."


    Indeed, it was the work of a chaebol. When you have assets in the billions, you can create something like that. Not that I envy it; after all, it''s something I could never emulate, no matter how hard I tried.


    Apart from Park Cheolju, who gijayangban posted about, many of South Korea''s leading chaebols had built similar or even less impressive fortresses to prepare for disasters.


    There weren''t many chaebols who left South Korea because, aside from the fact that foreign countries were not necessarily safe either, the power and influence that worked in South Korea didn''t necessarily carry over abroad. Most of them had left their conglomerates behind.


    From being the rulers of modern Hyundai with thousands or even tens of thousands of employees to becoming the head of a single household, they had reduced themselves and worked to survive.


    In this world destined for destruction, that might be a rational choice, but some chose a different path.


    After my initial encounter, I tried to visit Seoul at least once every two months.


    Each time I went, the surroundings had deteriorated, become more miserable, and above all, more dangerous.


    Whenever I entered Seoul, I passed through Gangnam, a prestigious district in South Korea that was once renowned. Now it had deteriorated into a refugee camp filled with all sorts of tents and makeshift buildings.


    Every time I entered the refugee camp, I noticed a particular building that stood out.


    Amidst the crumbling buildings, this one had a signboard in relatively good condition.


    [Pafung]


    Once one of the top conglomerates that had swayed the South Korean economy back and forth.


    This building had been erected approximately a year and about four months ago, or in other words, three months after the outbreak of the war.


    As I passed through the bustling refugee camp, I saw a crowd of people gathering like a cloud, so I went to investigate, and indeed, there was a tantalizing smell wafting through the air.


    Upon inquiry, I found out that Pafung Group had directly emptied their pockets to set up a free food kitchen.


    Operating a food kitchen in the situation where the economy was functioning correctly versus operating one when trade had come to a halt was like night and day.


    Pafung had set up several of these kitchens at major locations in Seoul.


    Although Pafung was one of the top conglomerates, wouldn''t this be a heavy burden?


    Anyway, I had nothing else to do, so after waiting in line for a full two hours, I received a bowl of mixed noodles and beef soup that could pass as a funeral menu and even half a paper cup of soju for adults.


    When I was in the underground shelter, I didn''t even drink alcohol, let alone smoke, but here, I readily accepted it.


    "Cheers!"


    This Park Gyura was quite an easy-going guy, transforming into a Pafung man with just one bowl of food and a glass of soju!


    However, while I was enjoying my meal, I overheard some disturbing conversations around me.


    "Seems like the Chairman is trying to get into politics."


    "It''s obvious."


    "Is he spending money like this during these times? No way. It''s not for the welfare of the people."


    Honestly, it irritated me to hear such things. If you''ve been well-off during these difficult times, shouldn''t you at least be grateful? Why do people keep suspecting others'' motives? Even when they''re not exactly living righteously themselves.


    I wanted to express my gratitude for the soju from Pafung, but upon deeper reflection, I realized that such a level of loyalty might not be necessary.


    After suppressing my anger and leaving the restaurant, something caught my eye.


    "Jepung Ho."


    A middle-aged man in a lively jumper and well-tailored suit pants was shaking hands and introducing himself to the people who had come to eat. "Have you enjoyed your meal? I''m Jepung Ho."


    Jepung Ho.


    A member of the Pafung Group.


    Afterward, there were other men who resembled him in appearance, middle-aged and above-average, as well as a young man and pretty young women who were presumably his children, standing awkwardly in formation.


    As if possessed by a ghost, I headed in their direction.


    My intention was to shake hands with the chaebol''s daughter.


    However, when I got closer, I noticed that the young ladies were standing behind him, and in reality, it was the vigorous-looking Jepung Ho who shook hands with me.


    "I''m Jepung Ho."


    Meeting and shaking hands with the actual head of a conglomerate at such close proximity was a first for me.


    When I first saw him, I realized that a person''s eyes could shine like this, not as a hunter but as an ordinary individual.


    Furthermore, his hand was rough and firm, and I sensed an unknown strength in his hand, beyond mere grip strength.


    From the stories I heard later, it seems there will be a parliamentary election soon.


    It''s not because all the members of parliament died, but because their terms have already expired.


    However, the fact that the death rate among South Korean members of parliament was only 1% in a war where 18% of the South Korean population vanished was indicating some profound and meaningful outcomes.


    ***


    After getting some beef soup, I arrived at a building located below.


    This building belonged to the National Crisis Management Committee, abbreviated as the NCMC.


    In this post-apocalyptic world, this ultra-legal institution, often referred to as the modern equivalent of a prime minister''s office, was the most powerful and influential organization in South Korea since the outbreak of the war.


    The main reason for my visits to Seoul was that I had many acquaintances within the NCMC.


    I had gained quite a lot from these connections.


    The most important information, of course, was related to War, military frequencies, spam, edible oil, holiday sets, and so on.


    That day, it seemed strangely deserted, especially because there were no female employees who usually asked me for favours every day.


    As I was walking, an unfamiliar person approached me, breaking the silence.


    "Could I have a moment of your time?"


    With a stoic face, lifeless eyes, an extremely formal tone, and posture, he seemed quite indifferent.


    I didn''t respond to her words.


    It had been a month since I last met Jepung Ho.


    This time, we met at the headquarters of the Pafung Group, designed by a world-renowned British architect.


    While the Pafung headquarters had survived even nuclear attacks, it had faced issues with its power system and elevators. Instead of the ultra-fast elevators within the building, I had to take a temporary outdoor elevator, which moved slowly, to reach the 55th floor.


    "Ugh."


    It was incredibly cold.


    Once upon a time, only those who were considered powerful figures in South Korea could enter this meeting room. Besides me, there were a bunch of people dressed in suits, who seemed like employees within the group, using their staff badges. It seemed like the group still maintained some semblance of order, even though international trade was impossible.


    I was curious.


    Did they still receive their salaries? Did they get the performance bonuses their employees used to brag about?


    As I greeted everyone with a friendly face in the free cafeteria, Jepung Ho, who had been so willing to shake hands earlier, sat at the central seat in the meeting room, facing away from me.


    Instead, a man who appeared to be his secretary, a man in his mid-fifties with a scholarly appearance, interviewed me briefly.


    My career, combat experience, rank, and so on.


    Most of my records had been erased anyway.


    I said what I could.


    "I''m a D-rank. I''ve stood in front of Fissures before, and I have some combat experience, but I''ve never been the main fighter."


    Jepung Ho let out an uncomfortable cough, indicating his discomfort.


    I didn''t really care.


    I was just curious.


    Why would a conglomerate leader suddenly participate in monster hunting?


    Even though the world had changed due to the loss of trade, wasn''t this an excessive career change?


    Unfortunately, none of the others in the suits provided an answer to my question. The moment I revealed my weak career, I was stamped as something like office equipment in their eyes.


    A little while later, they asked me to leave.


    I didn''t really have anything to say, but I did have one question.


    In the corridor, there was another group of people who seemed different from those in the meeting room. They were huddled together, looking friendly. I approached someone who seemed approachable and asked.


    "Why is the Chairman going on a monster hunt?"


    Regrettably, unlike the others, this person didn''t show me a staff badge, so I couldn''t know her names, but she seemed like the Chairman''s granddaughter or niece.


    She thought for a moment, then looked around to make sure no one was listening before sighing and telling me her story.


    "Do you know that the Chairman was planning to run for a seat in the National Assembly?"


    "Yes."


    "Well, that plan fell apart."


    "Why?"


    "The incumbent lawmakers effectively extended their terms."


    "That''s unfortunate."


    Later, I found out that it was almost unanimous. There were only two votes against it, and in my opinion, those guys are even more despicable.


    "The Chairman''s plans fell apart because of that. He had been supporting both the ruling and opposition parties indiscriminately all this time. Starting with convenience support for individual lawmakers and repairing the broken National Assembly building. So when we complained at the group level, they told us that if we found a vacant electoral district in the National Assembly, they would secure a seat for us. That''s how it happened."


    "Is that ''electoral district'' where we''re going?"


    "I won''t be going. The Chairman and his loyal followers will."


    Contrary to my first impression, she didn''t seem like a Pafung person at all. Instead, she seemed to hold a clear grudge against Pafung.


    It finally made sense to me.


    This woman had no lingering affection for Pafung. In fact, she seemed to carry a deep-seated resentment towards it.


    "There."


    Suddenly, the woman''s eyes sparkled.


    "You''re a hunter?"


    "Not at the moment."


    "I have a favor to ask."


    She approached me.


    A subtle fragrance wafted into my nose.


    "Can you please stop my father?"


    She handed me her father''s business card.


    "This madness, please make him stop."


    At that moment, the door to the meeting room opened.


    At the forefront was Jepung Ho.


    With a serious and dignified expression, he walked down the corridor with unwavering determination, his eyes ready to shine brightly at any moment.


    Following him, about a dozen men in suits silently accompanied him, each with their own expressions.


    The company executive who had interacted with me earlier looked at me and said firmly, "Hunter Park, let''s go."


    "Do I need to go too?"


    "Yes."


    I turned to the woman who had spoken to me.


    Many people passed between us, but her gaze was fixed solely on me.


    I hesitated for a moment, but it didn''t last long.


    "It might not turn out well."

 Chapter 11: Chaebol (2)

    Chapter 11: Chaebol (2)


    The biggest damage caused by the war was not a nuclear attack but the stealthy underwater ambushes happening beneath the cold waters.


    South Korea, heavily dependent on foreign imports for almost all resources, would face destruction if its maritime routes were cut off.


    When China''s submarines attacked the trade routes, South Korea''s sea lanes were paralyzed, and its economy received a death sentence.


    Even the Chaebols couldn''t escape their fate.


    However, there was a slightly higher chance of survival compared to other groups.


    Among their subsidiaries were construction, distribution, and even shipbuilding companies, as well as defence industry companies.


    So, why?


    The equipment deployed in the operation zone was more impressive than one could imagine.


    Armed with flamethrowers and 20mm autocannons, there were five unknown new armoured vehicles, three 40kg-class quadcopter drones capable of air support, a platoon of foreign mercenaries who seemed to have a military background, and around two hundred support troops armed with various personal weapons.


    There weren''t many young people among them.


    The youngest were in their late thirties, while most were in their forties and fifties.


    The person in charge of the operation was a man named Choi Yisa, who held the rank of Lieutenant Colonel in the army, but had no prior experience in large-scale monster operations.


    There was one hunter among them, but he was not a familiar face to me, and he wasn''t a proper hunter either.


    By "proper hunter," I mean someone who has graduated from an internationally recognized "school," received systematic education and training, accumulated more than a year of real-world experience under the guidance of a verified supervisor, spent more than a year in combat in front of a gate located in a crack zone, and obtained a C-level or higher rating.


    Like my mentor, John Nenon, who dropped out of school, those who left midway were considered D-level and were excluded from major monster battles.


    However, these D-level individuals had once held the reins of power in South Korea.


    "I''m Park Sangmin, a sitting member of the National Assembly and a hunter. Please take care of me."


    This man, with his handsome looks, was a member of the National Assembly.


    From what I heard, he entered the National Assembly as a proportional representative by emphasizing his background as a hunter.


    I didn''t know why someone who wasn''t a proper hunter had the qualifications to represent the entire hunter group, but the national emblem badge attached to his similar military uniform looked quite impressive.


    Although the nominal commander was Choi Yisa, the actual leader of the operation was Park Sangmin.


    "There has been a large outbreak of zombies in this industrial complex, but according to research, the lifespan of zombies is one month. After a month, the zombies starve to death. The reason for delaying this operation is to avoid unnecessary combat with the zombies."


    With his good looks, a soothing voice, and an air of trustworthiness, he seemed convincing even when speaking nonsense from the perspective of someone who didn''t know better.


    "What do you think, Hunter sent by the National Crisis Management Committee?"


    For some reason, he kept asking for my opinion on everything, and his intentions were too obvious.


    He was trying to discredit me.


    Because I was a hunter sent by theNational Crisis Management Committee.


    At this point in time, the National Assembly had no real power, while the National Crisis Management Committee held actual authority.


    That resentment had turned into mockery towards me.


    I could laugh it off to some extent.


    At most, it''s three years. That''s his lifespan.


    The problem is the possibility that Park Sangmin might shift the blame for the upcoming operation failure onto me.


    That''s not what I want.


    I''m someone who needs to live quietly, alone, and cut off all contact with others when the time comes.


    "I don''t think it''s a good idea."


    "No, Congressman, you are mistaken."


    "I completely disagree."


    So, I tackled him at every turn.


    It was hard not to tackle him.


    After all, he was just talking nonsense.


    "I see it differently."


    Even a worm wriggles when stepped on, and Park Sangmin had retaliated several times after being stepped on by me.


    "Do you want to see it in live?"


    This is his counterattack.


    Since he has nothing in his head, he tries to discredit my words with sarcasm and nonsense.


    I continued to ignore him and speak my mind.


    "If zombies are going to starve to death, they shut down. They enter a state of hibernation and drastically reduce their metabolism. It''s true that zombies will starve to death if they can''t find nutrients after a month of activity, but we should consider differently when it comes to zombies that have established a base in the city where they can avoid the sun."


    "Oh, come on. Turn off Zombie Wiki."


    Park Sang-min was extremely rude, but the expressions of the middle-ranking members of our group who were observing our conversation did not look pleased.


    Especially the chairman''s change was noticeable.


    Even if you just look at the context of the conversation, it''s clear who is speaking more sensibly.


    The climax of the argument was about the method of entering the industrial complex, our destination.


    Park Sangmin insisted on leading with armoured vehicles, while I argued the opposite.


    "No, Congressman. Have you ever seen zombies being shot at? Have you heard of it? Zombies are sensitive to sound and smell. If you take an armoured vehicle with the smell of oil and the engine noise echoing, you''re just advertising our presence."


    "Enough!"


    "Meeting or not is your choice, senior. Now that he''s also exhausted. Besides, there''s no longer any resources left for him to exert influence."


    What had made me agree to meet Jepung Ho again? In hindsight, it was probably curiosity. What was the end of the fallen conglomerate like? Wouldn''t every Korean want to see that at least once?


    I met Jepung Ho on the 3rd floor of his headquarters building.


    The construction elevator that used to lift me to the 55th floor had stopped working. The luxurious restroom still emitted a metallic smell.


    Jepung Ho had prepared a meal for me and was waiting. The main course was steak with porcini mushrooms, accompanied by a bottle of top-tier wine.


    The mushrooms and wine were excellent, but his meat was clearly inferior to what I had stored in my air-raid shelter.


    "Hunter Park."


    He greeted me with a bright smile.


    His face wasn''t much different from when I saw him at the cafeteria.


    "I looked into your career. Did some background check. You were quite a big shot."


    "I''m a has-been now."


    "Just like me."


    Jepung Ho''s eyes twinkled.


    "You said something about not being worth as much as Joo Inhoon, right? You were on a team with legends like Kang Hanmin and Na Hyein."


    "..."


    The taste of the alcohol suddenly turned bitter. I had almost successfully erased that name from my memory.


    "Why did you call me here?"


    "Looks like you''re planning to refuse no matter what I say, right?"


    "You know me well."


    "Let''s be direct. I''m planning to challenge that industrial complex again."


    "It won''t work. You''ve seen it, haven''t you?"


    "I know it won''t work, but sometimes you have to do what you must."


    Jepung Ho''s half-closed his eyes and stared intently at the wine glass filled with red wine, as if he were back in his childhood. I thought his gaze had become more intense, or perhaps it was the reflection of the dim light on the ceiling that made it seem that way, but I felt like his gaze had grown stronger.


    "I was a bastard child of a mistress."


    "..."


    "My mother is recorded as Jang Misuk, but she wasn''t my real mother. I don''t even know her real name. When I was born, the chance of me inheriting the group was 0%. But I made it happen."


    Jepung Ho''s eyes became more intense. Or rather, he widened his eyes while staring at the dim light on the ceiling, but I mistakenly thought his gaze had intensified.


    "I crushed and trampled everyone who stood in my way and made my father choose me."


    He had the talent for it.


    "Sixty-nine years old. It''s time for me to challenge again."


    "I won''t do it."


    "Just tell me the method. The method to defeat that monster!"


    I couldn''t refuse his request either. Well, he had given me a warm meal and a glass of soju in return.


    "...He''s called a Necromancer. As you''ve seen, he raises the dead and mutates them into zombies. When attacked, he creates a repulsive force field around him, but it doesn''t reflect organic matter like living creatures. It''s extremely difficult to approach him, but if you can get close somehow... There''s one place without a force field, about the size of a coin..."


    Jepung Ho diligently wrote down my information in his notepad, as if he had returned to his childhood and was studying hard.


    After the conversation ended, I asked him, "Why are you so obsessed with this? With your wealth and connections, you can easily prepare for any eventuality, can''t you? You could find a suitable place, protect your family and the people around you."


    "How can I do that?"


    He asked with a trembling voice.


    "When I have thousands, tens of thousands of employees who believe in me and follow me?"


    The reason for his strangely intense gaze was now clear to me. He was a boss through and through, someone who led and was followed by people. No, perhaps he had equated himself with the the Group.


    ***


    Jepung Ho''s final venture ended in failure.


    The fact that the father of the woman who had spoken to me was not on the list of casualties brought me some small satisfaction.


    The cafeteria that Jepung Ho had ambitiously set up had turned into a den of drug addicts and was now abandoned, a despicable place that no one cared to visit.


    This was the end of the conglomerate that I had known.


    Thanks to that, I was able to transform from a perennially unpopular user to one with some influence, writing a popular post.


    But it seems that Jepungho''s story is not yet over.


    About a year and ten months after the outbreak of the war, a photo appeared on the community.


    gijayangban: This is a photo I found on the net. Doesn''t someone look familiar?


    In the photo, there was a horde of zombies.


    It seemed like they were operating in a rural area and formed a massive group numbering in the thousands.


    But the zombie at the forefront, with a familiar face, was unmistakable.


    No doubt about it.


    The zombie in a tattered suit was Jepung Ho, the chairman of the Pafung Group.


    While most conglomerates had abandoned their groups and settled in the fortresses of their few remaining family members, this influential entrepreneur was still leading thousands of followers, wandering through the abandoned ruins.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 12: Lottery

    Chapter 12: Lottery


    It has been 1 year and 8 months since the war started.


    It''s a lazy spring day where the air is gradually getting warmer.


    Gunshots can be heard in the distance.


    Is it starting again?Read latest chapters at novelhall.com Only


    I wonder how many bullets that mother and daughter have.


    They seem to be shooting thousands of rounds, so maybe they''ve set up a bullet factory.


    Lately, it seems she has been teaching their daughter how to shoot as well.


    Sometimes I hear two gunshots in a row.


    Is this early education for the apocalypse?


    That crazy sniper is a great marksman.


    She can make ordinary people retreat with just a shot that chills their spines, like the reflection in the rear-view mirror of a vehicle. But when it comes to direct threats like zombies or looters, she never fails to put bullets right between the eyes.


    Not to mention the ample supply of grenades.


    I''ve seen crates with claymores and guided missiles like Javelins inside.


    What''s bothering me lately is not the gunshots from the mother and daughter.


    It''s a good sound.


    What''s really getting on my nerves right now is the roar of the transport planes crossing the sky.


    Lately, there have been more transport planes.


    To the extent that it rivals the period just before the war.


    I heard that the resistance in China has completely disappeared, so what''s the problem?


    Recently, there''s been a sudden craze for lottery tickets in Seoul.


    It''s definitely a trend.


    Anonymous848: I heard the rumours too, and they say it''s pretty good?


    Kyle_Dos: I had to visit Seoul briefly, and everyone was talking about lottery tickets.


    Anonymous458: I heard it''s really a life-changing jackpot if you win first place!


    Looking at what our community members are interested in, who are prepared to face the world and pile up their dreams...


    I thought I was a somewhat heavy person.


    Should I say dignified, someone who doesn''t easily get swept away by trends?


    SKELTON: (Skeleton Question) Where can you buy lottery tickets?


    But I am curious about it?


    If you don''t know, you should ask.


    Unfortunately, unpopular users like me don''t get many replies.


    What could be the problem?


    Could it be that (Skeleton Question) my post is the issue?


    It''s purely a feeling, but I feel like there were more replies when I was active normally than there are now...


    Fortunately, before my impatience hit rock bottom, someone replied.


    Defender: You don''t buy them. You have to participate in national labour to get them.


    "..."


    The one who replied was the Human Hunter.


    I''m grateful, but this guy is still a bit off.


    Why didn''t he just not comment on my post?


    But this time, there was a reason for his reply.


    Defender: Lottery Ticket Verification


    This guy actually bought a lottery ticket.


    <Hope Lottery>


    His lottery ticket verification was the beginning of his "lottery series" that he wanted to write.


    Defender: I''m going to serialize lottery stories from now on. Those who want to see can see, and those who want to ignore can ignore.


    It''s amazing.


    This psychopath who used to only post murder verifications is now writing about the hottest topic lately.


    His actions became well-known during the Damien04 incident, but suddenly doing something virtuous like this probably has something to do with the Christmas tree incident.


    The image sharing sarcasm has shocked the Human Hunter quite a lot and had retorded.


    Defender: Wait, did I really do something wrong?


    Seeing that, I was convinced that this guy is a real psychopath.


    mmmmmmmmm: Inspired by Defender''s post, I left the bunker and participated in the national labour support. I went to the Jungnang District, where the military personnel at the entrance were demanding entrance fees like bandits. Despite the frustration, my curiosity about the lottery got the better of me. I managed to secure a spot in the national labour by doing some hard labour in front of the district office, and I received a lottery ticket.


    This guy, I had known him for quite some time, but he wasn''t the type to write a lot of posts, let alone post such strange and twisted content.


    While I understood his happiness, it was somewhat embarrassing. So, I said a word.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton Advice) m9, do you really think winning the lottery is a promotion? Let''s keep it reasonable.


    It turned out I wasn''t the only one who thought that way. Following my Skeleton advice, several users gave him a piece of their minds.


    But our lottery winner, m9, didn''t stop.


    mmmmmmmmm: If you''re jealous, just admit it. Let''s be honest. Don''t you all want to get out of the bunkers? Some people are running out of supplies. Some nearly froze to death last winter, and of course, you guys have no women, right? The losers abandoned by society.


    m9 continued to spread vitriolic comments.


    It was the moment a new villain emerged on the forum.


    Of course, the community friends wouldn''t stand for it.


    Anonymous848: Block him.


    Kyle_Dos: I''m blocking this guy too.


    Anonymous458: What''s Human Hunter doing? Isn''t he going after this guy?


    Blocking and ignoring. It was a measure taken by our community users against those who disrupted the forum''s order.


    Although m9 had once been on the blocklists of many users, he unexpectedly rose to prominence as a ''named'' character and left a short, bold message in response to the criticism.


    Defender: Do you believe in this country, or not?


    m9 didn''t respond.


    Maybe he didn''t want to die.


    After all, he was just killing people entering his house, and he wasn''t hesitating to engage in remote murder missions. He crawled into Seoul pretending to be a regular person, worked in national labour, and even enjoyed toilet paperall in all, he didn''t seem like someone who should be underestimated.


    But this guy, m9, at least for me, had some good memories.


    I know him.


    He was a member of the original fan club of John nenon.


    He was one of my few friends in my early twenties.


    He might not remember me, but I remember him.


    I remembered him grilling meat at a makeshift meat restaurant as I listened to K-Wokey Tofu.


    Should I contact using the personal identification number?


    One-on-one communication using personal identification numbers.


    A privilege of the apocalypse enjoyed only by those with personal identification numbers.


    "Senior contacted me first. What''s going on? I don''t have much to do right now. Well, there are plenty of positions on the front lines. It''s overflowing."


    Through the radio, faint jazz music could be heard.


    The scenery and the air on his side were probably quite different.


    "I have one thing I want to ask."


    I inquired about the apartment in question.


    I had contacted this troublesome junior myself because I had doubts that the apartment would be built properly. Even if conglomerates were officially recognized as nobles now, there was no company capable of taking on the construction. Even if they tried to recruit people, how would they secure the materials and set up a self-sufficient system, especially for a large complex that would house thousands of households? Above all, the fact that the government was distributing such a lottery felt fundamentally distorted.


    "Hope is..."


    The image of Kim Daram exhaling cigarette smoke came to mind.


    "Nothing more than an illusion."


    She was probably looking at the ruins outside the window. A city destined to lose its present and even its future, a city of impending doom.


    After a brief silence, she added another piece of information with a shallow sigh.


    "We''re going to Jeju Island. We''ll withdraw by next spring at the latest."


    Just after she finished speaking, strangely, the roar of a transport aircraft from above echoed loudly within my bunker.


    "..."


    A single question that had been on my mind for a long time was answered.


    "Don''t tell this story to anyone else. It''s quite confidential."


    I naturally accepted her request.


    I was the only one who knew, and I hadn''t told anyone else.


    I did what I could.


    SKELTON: That apartment has a very high probability of not being built. You never know how things will turn out in this world, so make sure to take care of your bunker and resource management.


    I sent a direct message to m9.


    That day, it was my own way of showing gratitude for his diligent work in grilling and cutting meat at the makeshift meat restaurant.


    A reply came shortly.


    mmmmmmmmm: Block.


    He doesn''t accept goodwill as it is.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 13: Laptop

    Chapter 13: Laptop


    The downfall of a metropolis is often compared to the crash of a plane running out of fuel. It may fly on inertia for quite some time after losing power, but when it can no longer sustain lift, it makes a noisy descent to the ground, ending with a violent explosion.


    Seoul, like Beijing, Mumbai, Jakarta, and Hong Kong, followed suit. The disappearance of the major cities in the background was a painful part of my plan, but it wasn''t an unexpected variable. The South Korean government''s determination to protect the Republic, no matter what, remained strong. Now that all that hope has vanished, my job is not to save Seoul. It''s not something I can do, and it''s not something I should do.


    I urgently need to use the currency of the apocalypse, which is cigarettes. Even if Seoul falls, cigarettes will still hold power, but if the market itself shrinks, the quality and variety of goods available will diminish as well.


    What I need right now is a new laptop. A black spot appeared on the existing laptop screen, and it wasn''t very pleasant. It wasn''t a problem when playing games or watching videos, but it was quite annoying when using the community.


    I do have a spare laptop, but it''s a gaming laptop... Anyway, I decided to dispose of the cigarettes and prepare for the trip to Seoul.


    "This is Skeleton. What''s the status of Route 13?"


    "I''ve confirmed your personal identification number. Hello, Skeleton? It''s peaceful right now. Safety has been secured on the entire route. If you plan to pass through, please do so within six hours."


    I slowly rode my bicycle toward Seoul. There were a few electric vehicles on the road, and people on the side of the road were dismantling and scavenging parts from parked cars that had stopped running.


    When I safely entered Seoul, the atmosphere was quite bright. Reconstruction projects under the name of "National Labour" were underway everywhere, and numerous people were clearing rocks, digging with pickaxes, and cleaning the streets.


    Advertisements announcing that singers and idols, who had previously closed their shows due to the pandemic, were now performing, including bus and other electric public transportation, roamed the empty streets.


    On the community, I hadn''t paid much attention, but elementary and middle schools had reopened after a long closure.


    High schools and universities were also planning to reopen next year.


    So, was it because of that?


    Food distribution decreased, power outages occurred more frequently, and the duration of these inconveniences grew longer, but the citizens saw even that as a sign that Seoul was being rebuilt.


    However, the atmosphere in Seoul, when seen up close, was quite different from what was shown on the surface. Everyone was singing songs of hope, but there was a sinister and dreadful shadow lurking beneath.


    What made this shadow less problematic was that people chose not to look closely. Whenever I visited Seoul, the atmosphere at the "International Residence," where I stayed overnight, was ambiguously caught between hope and despair.


    The International Residence was a place that had been converted from a former gosiwon (a type of small lodging) into accommodation.


    It was old and run-down, but it hadn''t suffered much damage during the war, so it was suitable for staying a day or two.


    The owners of the residence were a middle-aged couple, each of whom had brought their own parents with them. They had two children who were around middle school age.


    It was clear from the beginning that the couple''s relationship was not good. The source of their discord seemed to be their parents.


    The husband''s side had brought his father, who had shown symptoms of dementia due to the shock of the war, and the wife''s side had her mother, who had a peculiar habit of sitting in front of the gosiwon and staring at passing people with an embarrassed expression.


    Usually, it was the wife who nagged more.


    However, recently, something had changed. Even the husband, who had remained silent despite his wife''s incessant complaints, seemed to have run out of patience and started to fight back.


    "So, should we send your mother to a nursing home in the cou


    "Why? It''s a government-guaranteed welfare program."


    "Then why don''t you send your father first?"


    "You know that he has dementia, right?"


    "That''s why we should send him even more!"


    But the argument ended in the wife''s victory.


    "Whose house is this? It''s not your father, is it? It''s our dad''s money that was used to buy this house! How can someone be so shameless when they didn''t bring a penny when they got married?"


    "."


    It was only fair.


    Even to an outsider, the husband seemed like a pitiful person, with nothing to offer except his face.


    He always sat weakly at the counter, either absentmindedly puffing on a cigarette or lying on the floor, doing nothing.


    I''ve never seen him work since the war started, but from the conversations, it seemed like he didn''t work even before the war.


    Nevertheless, he left something for his children.


    A good-looking face.


    If the cracks in the relationship between couples'' parents were like faults, their children were the adhesive that barely held that fragile relationship together.


    Especially the eldest son was truly an outstanding child.


    It was as if they had selectively bred the good qualities of their father''s personality and their mother''s diligence.


    Or maybe it was a mutation, given that both parents lacked the deep and refined character that seemed to manifest in him.


    "Sir, you''ve been coming here often lately, haven''t you?"


    "I''ve told you several times, don''t call me sir."


    "If there''s more than a ten-year age difference, I should call you sir."


    "I''m only eighteen, you know?"


    He had a mischievous side, but he was much better than his older sister, who treated people like a chicken, she probably had adolescence syndrome.


    He was fourteen years old and currently attending middle school.


    Reportedly, he had quite good grades.


    He was popular and had many friends, a typical mother''s favorite.


    It was said that he had a lot of potential girlfriends, but he rejected them all himself.


    Most importantly, this young friend had a pretty decent laptop.


    From 6 PM to 7 PM, it was internet time.


    The drug allowed by the country.


    Recruitment Guide for the 27th intake of the National Hunter Training Institution "Guard."


    "Can''t you see the innocence in my eyes?"


    "Apocalyptic prepper?"


    The boy gazed at one of the stars with a faint smile.


    "You know well."


    "I wanted to be an apocalyptic prepper too."


    "Oh, really?"


    "Why not? It''s fun, isn''t it? Creating your own hideout, stocking up on things you like. Wasn''t it fun for you too?"


    "I did have some fun, but it was tough later when I ran out of money."


    The boy handed me his laptop.


    "How about trading it for some cigarettes? You must have a lot."


    "Selling them to kids will get me in jail, you know?"


    "It''s a different time now, right? My pitiful dad always puffs on cigarettes and I will sell the rest to buy gifts for mom. Before I go to school!"


    I traded cigarettes with the boy. I bought them for a much higher price than the market rate, but it was a satisfying deal in many ways.


    As the deal was made, the elderly man with Demetia, who had been standing like a statue in the background, turned his head towards us and shouted something, but it was barely audible.


    "When I enter that school, I won''t have to hear my mom and dad argue anymore, right? I can even send my grandparents to a better place."


    When we came downstairs together, the boy''s words were much more impressive. He was a deep kid. I wondered how a child like him could survive in such a household.


    The next day, when I was about to leave the international residence, the atmosphere in the restaurant was festive. It wasn''t the guests or residents who filled the restaurant, but the landlady''s friends. The landlady sat prominently in the centre of the restaurant, surrounded by other women.


    "I envy you. Our kids hang out with gangster-like kids."


    "I heard it''s not easy to pass, but he managed to, didn''t he?"


    "Hunter school entrance students'' families get additional housing rights, is that true?"


    Amidst numerous praises, envy, and jealousy, the landlady beamed with a bright smile.


    "Ah, our Yeongmin''s dad. He may be like an enemy, but I''m a bit grateful. For raising such an excellent child. Well, Yeongmin''s dad, even if people are lazy, their nature is good, right?"


    Watching the family, about to disintegrate before, now bonding more closely than any other family due to the boy''s decision, I left the residence.


    The boy''s laptop was extremely satisfying.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton NewCom) A new laptop hehe


    There were no comments, but for my post the view count was quite high. It was a moment where I could feel the envy and jealousy of my fellow community members.


    The cheerful smile of the landlady had been copied onto my face.


    It wasn''t until two months later that I reread the recruitment brochure for Hunter School, which was stored on the laptop.


    I accidentally stumbled upon a private folder hidden by the boy. Alongside the recruitment brochure, there were daily schedules, photos taken with elementary school friends, family photos taken abroad, and an unusually large number of photos of an unnamed girl.


    I hesitantly read the back of the recruitment brochure that I hadn''t gotten to earlier, filled with a sense of unease.


    A warning message written in a corner immediately caught my attention.


    Final candidates will undergo three high-level psychic sensitivity tests, and during the process, may be exposed to some accidents.


    "Some accidents."


    Nonsense.


    I knew very well what those tests entailed. It was a trial of death, filtering out those not chosen by the gods. I, as someone with more experience than anyone else, understood it well.


    The tests were a trial of death.


    When I returned to Seoul, I visited the international residence first. From the beginning, something didn''t seem right. The old man and woman who used to guard the entrance were nowhere to be seen. With growing unease, I entered the store.


    As luck would have it, there was a change in ownership.


    "What happened? Do you have any questions?"


    "Well, the previous owner..."


    At that moment, an old man walked past the store outside. In tattered clothes and unwashed, he resembled the old man who used to live in this house, even in the deep darkness.


    "Don''t go. Don''t go. Don''t go..."


    Mumbling, he staggered away as if walking on an unfamiliar street.


    In the darkness beyond him, a lively girl was smoking with a rough group of people. She, too, looked like the boy''s sister who used to live in that house.


    Our eyes met for just a brief moment, but the girl turned her gaze away, expressing her displeasure strongly.


    The moment I saw that, I stopped the question I had intended to ask.


    "No, it''s nothing."


    On the brighter side of the street, a businessman was hawking lottery tickets, exchanging them for cash among the crowd.


    I joined the group and asked about the price of the lottery ticket, eventually exchanging one lottery ticket for two cigarettes.


    After that, I didn''t visit the international residence.


    I don''t know anything about that family''s news.


    So, their fate remains hopeful.


    Just like my unverified lottery ticket, for which the draw has already been done, but I haven''t checked the results yet.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 14: Typhoon

    Chapter 14: Typhoon


    Before the war began, the doomsday preppers were not a well-received group in society.


    Even just looking at their characteristics, it''s hard to find any virtues that the world would applaud.


    People used to talk about those who claimed to analyse their minds, saying that underneath the doomsday prepper''s thinking, there were delusions of grandeur, egoism, and resignation.


    Well, except for delusions of grandeur, it''s a fairly accurate statement.


    I won''t deny it.


    With that thought in mind, I incurred debt, dug a bomb shelter, and appeased old Mr. Kim''s preferences.


    But not just anyone can be a doomsday prepper.


    First, you have to become numb.


    You need to be able to brush off the deaths of people who have nothing to do with you.


    You don''t have to be like an inhuman hunter who kills ruthlessly, but you shouldn''t empathize with others'' pain.


    When the world collapses, millions of needy people will emerge, and helping each one will only lead you to the same fate.


    In my idealized vision of a doomsday prepper, they are cold-hearted spectators.


    No matter what happens around them, whether hundreds of people die or there are heart breaking stories, they ignore it all and live only for themselves.


    Such a person deserves to be a legend.


    Wouldn''t the last of the humanity often referred to as legendary in stories?


    Unfortunately, I fell short of becoming a legend.


    I received information that it was coming the day after I confirmed the International Residence.


    I stayed at a different accommodation for one night and then made my way to the National Assembly Building. Unexpectedly, I obtained valuable information there.


    The information I obtained here is the biggest reason why I maintain a connection to the city.


    [Typhoon-like massive monster moving south through the Kill Zone]


    [Estimated to be of the Kraken type]


    [Approximately 22 km/hour. Expected to turn southwest after bypassing Seoul]


    [Estimated time to extinction: about 56 hours]


    Inside the NCMC''s lobby, information uploaded to the internal network was being updated in real-time on a computer set up there.


    "A Kraken type..."


    I''ve encountered one in China.


    You could call it a living building.


    It''s a monster that can repel all known weapons with its enormous size, break through the Kill Zone, and demolish the defence line.


    However, it''s not invincible, and by my standards, it''s not that dangerous either.


    It has low intelligence, simple patterns, and as long as you''re prepared, there''s almost no chance of dying. If you leave it alone, it will eventually self-destruct, so there''s no need to worry.


    People often say that hunters, especially saviours, are the archenemies of monsters, but in reality, the most powerful enemy of monsters is the Earth itself.


    Monsters from another world, once they cross the rift, inexplicably begin to lose their life force and start to collapse for unknown reasons.


    The larger they are, the stronger they are, and the faster they collapse.


    Of course, there are exceptions, but the one that appeared now is of the self-destructive type.Read latest chapters at novelhall.com Only


    To put it metaphorically, it''s like a typhoon.


    It wreaks havoc in human territory during its lifetime, destroying everything in its path, but it loses momentum and self-destructs after some time, making it no different from a typhoon that changes course after passing through an area.


    It''s a chilling sight.


    Without knowing the information, if I had been inside a bomb shelter, I wouldn''t have known that disaster was coming, and I would have faced the fate of being deleted after saying, "Huh?" as if I were an extra in a monster movie.


    What was I doing, getting myself killed?


    No matter how you think about it, it''s as if I''m going to die while writing a post on the community.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton Surprise) ?!


    Like this.


    It seems like I''ve become a user that people avoid rather than like in the community lately...


    Why haven''t I been blocked much, I wonder?


    Unfortunately, there was no contact from Kim Daram.


    I understand.


    She doesn''t even know exactly where I live and she''s extremely busy.


    While staying in the NCMC lobby, I saw her walking briskly into the elevator with stern-faced soldiers, former hunters, bureaucrats, and politicians.


    But I still hope she would give me a simple warning.


    With no response, I drove straight into the sniper''s area. Time was running out, so I passed through Gold''s area. Mutated dogs began to chase me, drooling just like from the games.


    I managed to fend them off with gunfire and speed, eventually arriving in the sniper''s area. However, the greeting I received was sharp gunfire.


    Bang!


    A bullet pierced the ground beneath my feet, sending dirt flying. I spoke into the radio.


    "Can''t you hear me? Everyone''s going to die!"


    No response. I said it again.


    "Are you going to let your daughter die too?"


    That seemed to have an effect. The sniper and her daughter emerged from the darkness.


    "Skeleton!"


    The girl smiled brightly and waved at me.


    "The car?"


    The sniper nodded, and I said, "Gasoline. It''s low."


    "Get in."


    I didn''t think she would get in right away. I thought persuasion was necessary. But to my surprise, the sniper easily got in the car.


    "See?"


    She fastened her seatbelt and said in hesitant Korean, "What?"


    "The monster."


    There was a reason I listened well.


    "Hold on tight."


    We drove away from the area, and on a hilly ridge with a view below, we witnessed a giant monster appearing in our territory. Like a building with legs, it trampled the ground, firing a web-like malicious ray that swept away all living things without a trace.


    The deadly ray that destroyed only living creatures barely grazed my underground shelter zone. If I had been down there, I probably wouldn''t have died cleanly. I might have been split in half.


    The sniper, who had been through countless battles, was reduced to a frightened lamb in front of this strange creature that defied the world.


    Watching them for a moment, I finally said, "Wait right here."


    "What?"


    "Take a picture. Click."


    "Why?"


    "I have a printer at home, so I''ll print it for you."


    It''s a dog-eat-dog world, but we should still have memories. Coincidentally, as I took the photo, the typhoon covering our territory disappeared. The monster that had been trampling and burning the land began to transform into particles, disintegrating.


    Against the backdrop of a pitch-black landscape with no lanterns, the colour and shape of that light scattering in the wind were chillingly beautiful.


    "Beautiful..."


    The girl mumbled as if lost in thought while looking at it, and her mother held her hand, staring at the merging of this world and the world beyond.


    Click.


    One photo was saved in the folder.


    ***


    SKELTON: (Skeleton Photo) Untitled 03


    My photo created a small ripple in the community. I received many precious comments and a few likes. Especially, there were many comments about how cute the girl was in the photo.


    Some asked what the photo was about, but I didn''t answer, respecting the privacy of the sniper''s family.


    Unfortunately, my information didn''t really help our community members because our friends weren''t on the path.


    Even Keystone, who I thought was dead, was alive.


    Keystone: I thought I was going to die from nausea. Did this guy block me?! Well, whatever.


    Oddly enough, the person I wanted to block didn''t block me.


    Defender: Skeleton, this guy is seriously cool, isn''t he? He has a sense of aesthetics. Handling light may be rough, but he captures the composition well.


    No, he seems to be actively interested in me instead. At that level, I''d rather have a stalker.


    A human hunter sent me a message with an attached photo. In the photo, my back was clearly captured as I rode a quad bike with the sniper and her daughter.


    Message from Defender: Skeleton. Is this you?


    SKELTON: No.


    Message from Defender: Thanks to you, my life was saved. Thank you. I''ll definitely repay this favour.


    "Ha..."


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 15: Burden

    Chapter 15: Burden


    The location where the human hunter took the photo can be estimated. It was once a fertile farmland, bathed in golden hues before the war broke out.


    It''s marked as farmland, not a mountain or forest, and digging up the land and conducting construction there isn''t an easy task.


    In reality, I have never seen any signs of construction work in that area, despite frequently passing by.


    The human hunter must have passed by that spot by chance. He sometimes emphasized that he was around Gwanggyo, and the landscape reflected in the murder confirmation photos he persistently uploaded hinted that he lived in mountainous terrain with dense forests.


    Perhaps this guy, the human hunter, isn''t the type to wander around conspicuously?


    However, it doesn''t seem like he''s using a vehicle or any other mode of transportation.


    Around the tracks left by my SUV, all I found were footprints from men''s-sized sneakers. The footprints pointed eastward, but they abruptly disappeared in the overgrown reed marsh.


    But why would he be heading east? I don''t want to know, and I don''t have a way to find out.


    The problem is this guy''s recent activities.


    [Defender has sent you a friend request.]


    Viva! Apocalypse! has a friend feature; this was the first time I had learned about it. Why? Because I''ve never received a friend request.


    But why does it have to be this guy?


    Honestly, I don''t like this guy. It''s inevitable that people have to be killed in this world, but his actions of eagerly waiting for the war to start and then killing and certifying multiple people were somehow twisted.


    Even after unblocking him, my feelings didn''t change much.


    [Accept] [Reject]


    There are two clear choices here.


    For some reason, I still haven''t pressed the reject button.


    It''s been 1 year and 10 months since the war started. Today, the external temperature is 32 degrees Celsius, in the middle of summer.


    I''m not afraid of summer. The indoor temperature is 24 degrees Celsius, which is the current temperature of my shelter.


    Yes, my shelter has air conditioning.


    On the dining table, there''s the pasta I made earlier, and I''ve just prepared shaved ice with syrup and canned red bean.


    If you take a bite of the pasta, which has been adequately warmed, and then add the shaved ice to your mouth, "Ah~," a feeling of happiness tinged with pain floods over you.


    It''s one of the joys of summer.


    I''m a person who knows how to live comfortably.


    I didn''t post a picture of the shaved ice on the community. I''m already disliked for no apparent reason, and if I were to engage in such trivial pretense, the only people left to read my posts would be weirdos like the human hunter!


    Although I''m not as popular as other users on the forums, it''s no exaggeration to say that the quality of my life is top-notch.


    No, you might have to look for someone who lives as well as I do among the chaebols who built fortresses.


    The core of my luxurious life is more than anything, ample electricity.


    Starting from the power facility, it''s different. Most community users use small generators like gasoline or gas, but I run a large diesel generator suitable for factory use.


    Named Skeleton Heart, this generator boasts an enormous size that surpasses even a single fortress. It''s rightly called the heart of my hideout.


    The performance is certainly impressive. With just fuel, it generates an immense amount of power, instantly filling dozens of batteries and still having surplus energy to spare.


    The disadvantages are the installation cost, noise, and the enormous gas emissions. The installation cost was covered by buying a cheap piece of land, and the noise is not a problem since it''s set up in a neighbourhood with no people around. However, the gas emissions have been a persistent headache throughout the entire construction of the shelter.


    I had to drill a total of seven ventilation holes and go through numerous trials and errors to establish a duct system.


    Even with all that, when the generator is running, black smoke billows out through the ventilation holes. I tried installing a dust control system to reduce the smoke, but from a distance, you could still see seven smoke pillars rising from the area where my shelter can be observed with the naked eye.


    So, the generator is usually operated only at night. But, especially on rainy or windy days, I intentionally run it even when electricity is not needed to charge the batteries.


    However, there are conditions for this abundance. There must be no people around.


    The smoke is masked by the darkness of the night, but the noise and ground vibrations caused by the generator operation can be felt within the area where it can be observed with the naked eye.


    Bang! Bang!


    That afternoon, the sniper and her daughter were actively firing shots in the south. It felt different from usual.


    Was a battle taking place?


    Soon, K-Walkie Talkier sounded, accompanied by noise and muffled Korean.


    Chijijik! Skeleton. A group of people is heading your way.


    Since the day the typhoon came, the sniper and I have maintained a somewhat loose alliance as neighbours in the area.


    We haven''t officially joined forces, but our relationship has improved somewhat.


    Information sharing is one of the aspects of this improved relationship.


    I asked with a wry smile into the radio, "Did you guys chase them away?"


    There was no answer on the radio, but just before the transmission was cut off, I faintly heard the laughter of the daughter.


    The ones the sniper drove away were refugees.


    Once a hot topic on the community, refugees have become rare visitors lately.


    In the year following the outbreak of the war, many refugees left the harsh environment of Seoul for the provinces, but most of them failed, and rumours about their failures spread.


    In addition, as the war stabilized, the government began to show hopeful messages and actions, causing the number of refugees to decrease dramatically in the past few months.


    But now, of all times, refugees are here.


    They headed straight for my territory.


    At best, it would last a few more hours. The freezer that had maintained sub-zero temperatures for so long would succumb to the summer heat, potentially causing my valuable food supply to spoil.


    Not being able to connect to the community added to the agony.


    "..."


    Once again, I thought of the human hunter. He had sent me a friend request, which I hadn''t declined.


    Choi Jungryeong''s group didn''t approach my territory during the first day, but after that, they started exploring various areas, like curious children. They showed particular interest in the pile of shelters that led to my main bunker.


    Each time, I blocked their way with my firearm, but fear was easily diluted.


    People who were initially surprised to see me now approached and talked to me casually.


    "Hey, mister. How do you survive here? Do you have any food?"


    When the thermometer inside the freezer indicated minus one degree Celsius, Choi Jungryeong came to find me.


    "We''re in a tough situation. Could you spare some food?"


    "Food?"


    "There must be some, right? You''re a doomsday prepper, aren''t you? You must have stocked up in the bunker."


    "Even if I do have some, why should I give it to you?"


    "Because we''re all Koreans. We should help each other."


    Choi Jungryeong chuckled, looking at his group.


    "Even though you seem to live alone, can you handle all of us?"


    The agreed-upon date had passed, but Choi Jungryeong hadn''t kept his promise. Two days later, he and his group continued to roam around my territory casually.


    That afternoon, things took a turn.


    Someone knocked on the emergency door of my main bunker. It was the entrance to the twelve shelter entrances that I had built, leading to my main bunker.


    "Hey, there''s a door here!"


    They had found it. My precious main bunker.


    "Push it! Push it!"


    "Yo, open up!"


    After an agonizing moment of shouting, a moment of silence followed. Then Choi Jungryeong''s voice echoed loudly from right in front of me, separated only by the steel door.


    "Are you in there? Huh? Beyond that door, isn''t your bunker? I know everything. I know it all."


    He was taunting me.


    I was determined to take action.


    "I have something to discuss."


    For the first time, I appeared unarmed in front of them. In my hand was a cigarette.


    "The sun is strong right now, so it must be hot inside. Wait inside the bunker, and I''ll bring some drinks and food. Start with the cigarettes."


    Choi Jungryeong smirked and spoke informally.


    "You should have done that earlier."


    He looked at me with accusing eyes.


    "I know there''s a bunker over there behind that steel door. I know it all."


    He seemed to revel in his victory.


    He took a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke streaming into the air as he grinned.


    "Your place won''t be plundered. You''ve worked hard to prepare it, haven''t you? You and us, we''re going to be neighbours when we settle in the U.S. military base anyway. Right? It seems like you live alone, but when we bring our families later, I''ll introduce you to some nice women. All of my friends'' daughters are pretty. Like idols!"


    His friend request ended with an explosion.


    I hunted down the person who had barely survived the explosion with my firearm. It was Choi Jungryeong.


    "H-How can this happen...? How..."


    His death didn''t bring me any satisfaction.


    There were more important matters at hand.


    I quickly turned on the generator and supplied power. The freezer, which had gone off, began cooling again, and the bunker''s comfort returned after the sweltering heat. I smiled with genuine satisfaction for the first time in a while.


    Was that why?


    [You have accepted Defender''s friend request.]


    I finally accepted the friend request I had postponed. The human hunter seemed quite pleased.


    Defender: (Defender Touched) Skeleton, this guy used to avoid me like crazy, but now he finally accepted my friend request! Thanks!


    "..."


    I had momentarily forgotten.


    Both the human hunter and I were just ordinary people trying to survive in this apocalyptic world. We both had burdens to bear, and when those burdens were touched, we would struggle. The only difference was that the human hunter''s burden was a bit too heavy.


    That''s it.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 16: Adoption

    Chapter 16: Adoption


    Avoiding combat isn''t just because of the danger.


    The aftermath is a real pain.


    One of the dummy bunkers was destroyed, and handling the bodies was also tough.


    Burying them one by one is impractical; there aren''t enough places to bury them.


    In the end, I piled the bodies into the partially collapsed bunker and set it on fire.


    One of the invaders had made it to the front of the main bunker and was partially burnt, so I had to drag him out.


    While moving him, bodily fluids mixed with dirt and made the floor filthy.


    Clearing the bodies alone is not an easy task.


    I also had to dismantle the tents they set up and erase any traces.


    All of this is work, hard labour.


    During the battle, I didn''t shed a single drop of sweat, but during the clean-up, I sweated so much I felt dehydrated.


    There were no spoils of war.


    The invaders'' possessions were of such low quality.


    Especially the food was unbelievable, even just looking at it.


    The food they brought was dog food.


    To be precise, it was a substance made by grinding dog food and mixing it with unidentifiable meat, hardened like a nutrition bar, but it was something I couldn''t possibly put in my mouth.


    When I saw that, I felt impatient.


    A solution is needed.


    These guys who appeared this time are just the tip of the iceberg.


    The bunker facilities under the US military base remain intact, even surviving a nuclear attack.


    That allowed me to loot the underground facility first, and then the scavengers came and took everything, leaving nothing behind. But if converted into a living space, it might be better than my bunker.


    I never thought I would live in a place where a nuclear bomb had dropped.


    But then someone like Lieutenant Colonel Choe appeared.


    When one appears, there are usually others to follow.


    I need to deal with the US military base.


    I must take measures to prevent anyone else like him from coming.


    But how should I do it?


    Should I set a fire?


    Or should I use the heavy equipment stored in the bunker to block the entrance?


    Nothing seems to hit the mark.


    I need a more powerful and straightforward approach.


    For example, creatures like monsters.Follow current novels at novelhall.com)


    Or a group of gold and its mutants would work too.


    But how should I acquire them?


    And how can I keep them from attacking people on sight?


    I thought about moving the sniper mother and daughter, but even I wouldn''t go near them, so I gave up.


    Frustrated, I added plenty of sugar to my coffee and connected to my mental oasis.


    I clicked on the popular posts tab.


    Let''s see.


    Before I started working, I uploaded a photo of a dog food bar.


    I thought I might get some comments in a short amount of time.


    But it''s not on the popular posts list.


    Did I only get one like?


    But then...


    "No way? What is this?"


    I almost let out a curse.


    Keystone: This is what the kids in Seoul are eating these days, lol.


    The photo Keystone posted was none other than the picture of the dog food bar I had uploaded.


    He had stolen my photo and was eating up the popularity!


    SKELTON: (Skelton, puzzled) I took this photo, though?


    I tried to protest, but there was no response.


    Have I seen such a shameless person before?


    I complained on the forum, but no one paid any attention.


    Even my only internet friend, the human hunter, didn''t show up that day.


    As I simmered in anger, I glanced at the remaining popular posts, and there was a title that caught my eye.


    Kyle_Dos: What''s this?


    Feeling down, I clicked on it.


    A single photo appeared.


    Probably somewhere behind the bunker, in the mountains.


    It looked like an ordinary photo with unremarkable grass and trees, but within it, something eerie and distinctly peculiar gave off a chilling presence.


    A pale cylinder with a glossy, non-reflective surface.


    Kyle_Dos: I went to sleep and woke up to find this suddenly appeared. Does anyone know what this is?


    Various responses were posted, but no one gave a proper answer.


    It''s something you couldn''t possibly know.


    That''s something only countries on the brink of destruction can observe.


    The name of that pale cylinder is a capsule.


    It''s a monster''s egg.


    ***


    Monsters start deteriorating the moment they enter Earth, but there are exceptions.


    The first exception is classified as "Infiltrators."


    Infiltrators are usually small species that can survive independently in Earth''s environment without deteriorating.


    The type that turned Chairman Jepung Ho into a zombie necromancer falls into this category.


    However, they have weak combat abilities, though the term "weak" is relative.


    The second exception is environmental change, not individual species.


    When the energy from another world flowing out of the rift exceeds a certain threshold, the area around it warps into a shape similar to the world beyond the rift.


    This is called Erosion.


    In these eroded lands, monsters can survive regardless of their size or strength.


    I''ve seen eroded lands in China.


    The distorted form of the world we knew, twisted with malevolence, left us with no words other than "Apocalyptic."


    What appeared in Kyle_Dos''s photo is the first type.


    That''s the egg of an infiltrator.


    Use a special type of bullet that the reflective force field cannot penetrate to attack the capsule from a distance, causing the monster inside to come out. Then, handle it according to the type that emerges, following the manual.


    "If I die, escape in my truck. The key is in it."


    "What?! You''re going to die?!"


    I didn''t come here with the intention of dying, but there are no guarantees in this world.


    However, not taking risks when you need to act is connected to the 100% certainty of death that will come later.


    I know it well.


    I know how my unreliable colleagues in China died, how they became hopeless, and how they went insane.


    "Let''s get started."


    The two axes surged with enough force to split the pale surface of the capsule.


    Just before the axes made contact.


    "Huh!"


    I stopped the axes with all my strength right before they touched the surface.


    It was a feigned attack.


    In human society, this might fall under the category of a prank, but monsters are not human.


    So, they react.


    Swish-


    I witnessed it.


    The shimmering axe blade that appeared in the space in front of my neck.


    It was a reflective force field.


    A reflective force field is a monster''s ability to distort and twist attacks directed at itself and return them to the attacker.


    There are limits to the physical quantities that can be distorted, but humans have no defence against the retaliation caused by this distortion.


    It''s one of the many reasons why humans can''t defeat monsters.


    Fortunately, I had controlled my strength, so there was no chance of my axe accidentally decapitating me.


    I let out a sigh of relief and retrieved the axes.


    The space at the point where the axes made contact rippled like a black water surface, and then it disappeared as if melting into the space.


    "It''s safe."


    When monsters don''t want to come out of the capsule, they create a force field.


    During that time, it''s difficult to stop attacks that can''t be blocked by the force field, and the capsule is torn open to reveal the monster.


    I don''t know the reason.


    Maybe they haven''t finished putting on makeup, or they want to sleep a little more, or maybe they''re having a community meeting with other monsters.


    Well, they must have their own reasons.


    Anyway, using this inclination to check for safety is my own way.


    If I had to name it, it would be the Skeleton-style Capsule Test.


    With a moment of safety secured, I loaded the capsule onto the truck with Kyle_Dos''s help.


    Thunk!


    Loot acquired.


    "You really have no fear, do you? What if a monster jumps out from inside?"


    Kyle_Dos rolled his tongue as he looked at the capsule loaded onto the truck.


    "If I''m unlucky, I''ll die."


    "You''ve got a point there."


    "Anyway, I have to go now since it''s urgent."


    "Okay. Be careful."


    There was no need for many words between us.


    Both Kyle_Dos and I got what we wanted from each other.


    Besides, this isn''t the end.


    Why? Because I''ll see your face on the community in a few hours.


    Kyle_Dos waved his hand.


    "Is this going to be a top-secret matter this time?"


    I nodded.


    "Next time, please like my post! I''ll be counting on it."


    "Depends on the content."


    Kyle_Dos chuckled and raised his thumb, showing understanding.


    Feeling the strong bond of the community, we said our goodbyes.


    Thud


    The spot where I placed the capsule was not a US military base.


    That''s too close to my home.


    The location where I left the adorable baby monster was in the middle of a road that leads to both the US military base and my territory.


    It''s about 5km away.


    A distance similar to the sniper mother and daughter who are my neighbours.


    I have no idea what might come out of there.


    It could be someone who creates zombies like the Necromancer type or someone like the Spider type who preys on the construction industry.


    At least they won''t come towards my direction.


    Monsters tend to go where there are more people.


    It''s not 100% certain, but...


    Still, this young one''s performance is reliable.


    Static: This is Exploration Team 23! There''s a strange object ahead!Static: This is Road Control Headquarters. Drone observations confirm that it''s a monster''s egg. Turn around and get away from the egg as quickly as possible. This is not a recommendation, it''s an order. Repeating...


    ***


    A month has passed since then.


    So, it''s been 1 year and 11 months since the war started.


    In the community, topics about the anxiety and complaints related to the influx of refugees have been popular in recent days.


    Among them were Keystone''s posts.


    Keystone: Damn, it''s screwed!


    He said refugees have set up a camp in front of Keystone''s neighbourhood.


    Is this destiny?


    The whole world may be in chaos, but I''m enjoying a leisurely late summer.


    Refugees?


    I don''t give a damn.


    Even at this moment, the adorable baby monster is still peacefully sleeping inside its round capsule, protecting my territory from the pests trying to enter.


    But wait a minute.


    Someone unexpected is about to disrupt my peace.


    User ID: Sergent


    I received a message from Lee Sanghoon.


    This guy, who is manoeuvring through the collapsing Republic of Korea, is my saviour.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 17: Colleague (1)

    Chapter 17: Colleague (1)


    That school was a brutal place.


    They ranked all the students from 1st to last based on their grades, and they displayed it prominently for everyone to see.


    The weak were weeded out, and they were pushed to leave on their own.


    It emphasized competition over cooperation and demanded mechanical coldness over humanity.


    Creativity was not tolerated, and obedience and discipline were enforced.


    It had to be that way.


    Because our enemy was merciless and allowed no room for mistakes.


    The boys and girls who had just graduated middle school became machines within those walls.


    Machines, meant to stand against humanity''s enemy: the monsters.


    Our motivations were varied, and in my case, it was hatred.


    After losing my parents and sister to the monsters and becoming an orphan, my hatred had grown to an unimaginable extent.


    Lee Sanghoon, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of me.


    He came from a well-off family, his parents were alive, and he entered that school with honour and prospects.


    The boy who grew up with golden spoon, with nothing left but venom for me, might have considered defeating me an impossible task from the start.


    From enrolment to graduation, he only managed to be second best, blocked by the wall called me.


    Back when he entered, he probably never thought that the number "2" would become his trauma.


    But our competition ended in an entirely unexpected way.


    The game changed.


    To put it in musical terms, it was as if musicians competing in a classical music competition suddenly had to switch to rock and heavy metal.


    Musical genres are a matter of taste, and I believe there''s no ranking.


    However, the music that prevailed on the battlefield was rock and heavy metal.


    Mozart and Salieri were left behind and became something boring and distasteful inside.


    A guy who had been in the corner without any attention suddenly emerged as a hero and stood in the spotlight''s centre.


    We were pushed to the periphery of the stage, tormented by the secretive mockery and disdain that always came to such people.


    One left, and one stayed.


    The one who left became a savage, and the one who stayed became a bureaucrat.


    Their competition was over.


    The only thread connecting them was cut.


    I thought I would never see him again.


    But that guy found me himself.


    What on earth could it be?


    Elder Kim once said that it''s rare for someone to contact you with good intentions after a long time.


    "You placed the capsule on Road 13, right?"


    "How did you know?"


    I admitted right away.


    I know this guy''s personality well.


    Lee Sanghoon is a perfectionist.


    He tried to perfect even the smallest tasks, and that''s why he always lagged behind me.


    "Why would you do something like that? What are you going to do if you tear the capsule open and summon a monster in the middle of it?"


    "Summoning? What do you mean?"


    "You still don''t know that?"


    "I don''t know?"


    "The true nature of the capsule has been identified as a makeshift portal. It''s a kind of makeshift rift used by infiltrators."


    "...Is that so."


    It''s been quite a while since I retired from active duty.


    I knew that the capsule wasn''t like an egg, but the fact that my knowledge had become outdated was quite bitter.


    "Why did you put it there?"


    "Try to guess."


    "Do you not want refugees to come near your bomb shelter?"


    "Is that it?"


    Scouting, perhaps?


    This isn''t the direction I want this to go.


    "Is there something you want me to do there?"


    I had refused in the past.


    But it seems that Lee Sanghoon, who has become an influential figure, doesn''t know that fact.


    "There''s a vacant instructor position. The instructor candidate died three days ago. We received recommendations for other candidates, but there wasn''t anyone suitable. At that moment, I saw you moving the capsule."


    "An instructor?"


    "Isn''t being an instructor better than rotting away underground? You''ve been living alone as far as I know, without saying a word or having any friends for almost two years. Isn''t that punishment in itself?"


    "Not at all, is it?"


    First of all, I seriously questioned it.


    Is it for real?


    For the past two years, there have been occasional moments that were as irritating as hell, but most of the time, I lived comfortably and independently.


    I have online friends, and writing in my diary is enough for me.


    So what if my posts on the forums don''t get many likes?


    I even have neighbours I exchange Christmas greetings with.


    "Are you serious?"


    Lee Sanghoon''s voice wavered.


    It''s an unbelievable situation.


    I confirmed my answer once more, making it clear.


    "I like it here."


    Going to Jeju Island might be warmer than here.


    But that''s all.


    There, I would have to deal with people I don''t want to see and face reality.


    I didn''t like that, so I got out and became the unpopular user, Skeleton, who I am today.


    There''s another reason.


    If you have firearms, it might be easy for a woman to kill a man, but it''s not easy to move and deal with a dead man.


    Even if I do it myself, it''s quite an ordeal to handle several body parts, but does the human hunter, like in fiction, kill intruders with ease?


    It''s not an easy task,even if the intruder is a strong man.


    And if it''s a woman, it would be even more physically demanding.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton''s opinion) Defender-nim, looks like a man, right?


    I added a word, but not a single like was received.


    No, then why did you send a friend request in the first place?


    Anyway, I''m still far away from the refugee issue that''s posted on the forum.


    Thanks to the capsule.


    Around the capsule, military personnel and a few hunters remain on guard, blocking the road.


    Even if they''re just rookies who graduated from school, they''re probably hunters.


    Thanks to them, I haven''t heard any gunshots recently.


    "Hey, are you alive?"


    It''s so quiet that I''m calling the sniper mother-daughter duo every now and then.


    "Yes."


    They ask for medicine every time.


    Especially painkillers.


    Perhaps what she really wants is narcotics.


    Living in a high place without properly washing or eating, and blocking the approach of anyone who comes and goes, must be incredibly tough.


    I sometimes think about it.


    The thought of giving them my underground shelter.


    It won''t be easy.


    Even if they promise to come, I can''t trust them, just like she can''t trust me.


    There''s always the possibility that our relationship of nearly two years could end with a sudden gunshot.


    It''s been one year and eleven months since the war started.


    The time when the scorching heat subsides, and the self-sown rice fields sporadically turn golden and bow their heads.


    Seoul may be getting worse, but I calmly walked through the fields, harvested a small amount of rice, and prepared for threshing.


    I''ve never threshed rice in my life, but there are instructional videos, so it should be fine.


    I wonder if at least one bowl of rice will come out.


    Anyway, even such trial and error is enjoyable for people like us, whose lives are already determined, because time is more of an obligation to consume than a foundation.


    With a bag containing a gun and the harvested rice, I was heading back to my territory.


    K-Walkie-talkie emitted a unique signal tone.


    It was a contact based on personal identification number.


    Could it be Sanghoon again?


    Now, whether to answer the call or not is up to me.


    Seoul is gradually becoming a source of disaster rather than a meaningful base.


    I checked the walkie-talkie.


    Personal Identification Number: DARAM


    It''s not Sanghoon; it''s Kim Daram.


    I hate this girl almost as much as Sanghoon, but she''s been through a lot under me, so I answered her old request for contact.


    "It''s been a while, Kim Daram-nim."


    Requests or appeals will all be rejected.


    There''s a reason for that.


    The capsule.


    Should I call her a very versatile friend?


    First, a sigh came through the walkie-talkie.


    Wiping the sweaty forehead with the sleeve while wondering what he was going to say next, I waited for his next words.


    "Sanghoon is dead."


    "What?"


    For a moment, I doubted my ears.


    "Sanghoon? Sanghoonis dead?"


    "Yes senior Sanghoon-nim."


    I''ve never liked him.


    I probably wouldn''t even feel bad if he died.


    But surprisingly, it seems that there''s a stubborn part of fate.


    Sanghoon''s death came as an unexpected shock.


    Well, I spent ten years in the same area, same time, and fought together and saved each other''s lives.


    The strongest memories were ironically from the time when our relationship was at its worst.


    Those memories from our school days.


    The image of that guy who always sat in the front row of the classroom, shaking a large skull with a crew cut back and forth while raising his hand and asking questions, even though the content was obvious.


    Without context, the back of that cheeky kid, who blatantly asked questions just to gain favour with the instructor, suddenly filled my vision.


    Feeling a slight confusion, I asked, pointing the walkie-talkie as if poking it.


    "Why did he die? Killed in action? Or swept up in the protests?"


    "Suicide."


    The moment I heard those words, the image of Sanghoon from my student days turned and looked back at me.


    His face was so blurry that I couldn''t recognize it.


    What did he look like, anyway?


    Sanghoon, that guy.


    In the midst of unsolved questions, I asked in a trembling voice, rougher than I could have imagined.


    "...Why?"


    For some reason, my voice was trembling so harshly that even I was surprised.


    Kim Daram replied with a sigh and a tired voice.


    "We need one or two people to take responsibility, don''t we?"


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 18: Colleague (2)

    Chapter 18: Colleague (2)


    I once visited the funeral home when Sanghoon''s father died.


    It was grand.


    He was of a ripe age, having seen Sanghoon at a late age, and he had enough years, plus he had suffered from cancer for three years, enduring treatments that felt like torture.


    The mourners crowded around non-stop.


    Next to the special room where his father was laid to rest, there was a small regular room.


    The room was dimly lit, and there were hardly any people. The wreaths were from an unfamiliar company.


    In the centre of the dimly lit funeral home was a portrait of a man who still looked young, and below it, there were people who seemed to be his wife and children, all bowing their heads, listening to the noise coming from the next room.


    The stark contrast was so vivid that it stayed in my memory for quite a while.


    The memory was brought back by a single sentence from Kim Daram.


    "They say they''ll keep the funeral home running until tomorrow morning. It may be him but in the current situation, opening a funeral home at a university hospital is a kind of privilege."


    "Are you going?"


    "I have to go."


    With a sigh, Kim Daram replied.


    "I don''t want to go, but I have to. He was my senior, my team leader, and my head of department. Why? He came to my wedding and gave us 30,000 won each as a congratulatory gift. Of course, I have to go, right?"


    "Wasn''t the minimum 30,000 won back then?"


    "No, it was 50,000 won even then."


    "Ha, it''s definitely Sanghoon."


    "It''s definitely Mr. Sanghoon."


    For a moment, we both reminisced about the past, smiling wryly to ourselves.


    Kim Daram broke the temporary silence.


    "Will you go, Senior?"


    "Me?"


    It would be right to refuse.


    It''s in line with the circumstances, and there''s a reason for it.


    But for some reason, I couldn''t give a straightforward answer.


    "Well, uh..."


    "I see. You have a capsule on the way, right? It''s night now. You might get shot for no reason. Just send your condolences from afar."


    I wanted to talk more, but the conversation naturally ended.


    After disconnecting the walkie-talkie, I sat in silence for a while, lost in thought within the underground shelter.


    Many thoughts came to mind, but it felt like holding a rope made of sand.


    Nothing was clearly grasped.


    I focused my thoughts on the recent past.


    Sanghoon had invited me for a drink.


    Perhaps it was a sign of reconciliation to offer that to me.


    Or was it a request for help towards me?


    Above all, what did he mean by the words "stab in the back" that he said last?


    The dead don''t speak.


    Therefore, Sanghoon wouldn''t answer my questions.


    Nevertheless, I decided to go find him.


    I felt that going to that place was the only way to relieve the unanswerable questions that were tightly entangled.


    I relied on a single bicycle to move through the pitch-black darkness.


    I could use a vehicle, but there are barriers I created on the road.


    To bypass them without making any noise, there was no other way but the bicycle.


    But my intention was thwarted by a motorcycle approaching from a distance, emitting a loud noise and light.


    "What are you doing there?"


    The man asked bluntly, revealing his guard, as he removed his night vision goggles and showed his face.


    We both recognized each other''s faces almost simultaneously.


    "What? Aren''t you Park Gyura?"


    It''s Baek Seunghyun.


    He''s my senior by a year, but he works behind the scenes as a freelancer under the pretext of being a hunter, handling all sorts of dirty and dangerous tasks.


    "Where are you going?"


    "To Seoul."


    "I can accompany you for a while."


    He stared at the distant light.


    "Why don''t you just let me go?"


    "Well, I want to, too."


    Baek Seunghyun smiled wryly and lit a cigarette.


    "...Because I''m not in charge."


    Baek Seunghyun''s walkie-talkie emitted a noisy ringtone.


    "Sir, what is it?"


    I stared at Baek Seunghyun in silence.


    "Hunter?"


    Baek Seunghyun put on night vision goggles with three lenses and looked back towards the source of the light.


    "One of our juniors sensed you."


    "Sensed...?"


    Baek Seunghyun let out a snort.


    "Real hunters, indeed. Different from small fries like us."


    In the end, I found myself standing in front of the barrier I wanted to avoid.


    There was no other choice.


    In the distance, a group of people stood under the bright lights. At the forefront were military police. They weren''t the issue, merely the backdrop. The problem lay in the three figures standing arrogantly behind them.


    They were all wearing the same jacket, with a patch on the upper pocket area depicting a roaring tiger, its teeth bared. A Roaring Tiger. It was the emblem of the new hunters, trained and developed in line with the latest doctrines that emerged about six years ago. In our post-apocalyptic era, they are referred to with the following title: "Sir."


    A man in his early twenties, with blond dyed hair, called out to Baek Seunghyun. "So, who''s this guy?"


    Behind him stood a man who yawned while carrying a large shield on his back and a woman who constantly looked at her phone.


    "Former hunter."


    He didn''t bow his head, but Baek Seunghyun''s expression and attitude seemed as if he had already bent it multiple times.


    "A former hunter? Like, an old guy like you?"


    "Haha, that''s right."


    The man with blond hair and a puzzled expression turned to his colleagues as if to say, "Isn''t this guy strange?" A smug smile played on his lips.New novel chapters are published on


    "Why is a former hunter, like, returning to a place like this instead of leaving the city intact? You''re not a criminal or anything."


    Clang!


    How many times have I experienced this sensation?


    The feeling of crushing them.


    I retrieved memories that had long been dormant.


    The dance of death that I had learned, excelled at, and had now become a fading legacy.


    Within it, the monster was nothing.


    At zero distance, where it couldn''t deploy a defensive barrier, the creature was just a slow and sluggish body waiting to be slaughtered, like a log.


    In a final desperate attempt, the monster shot out thorns from its entire body, but my axe had already targeted its head, bypassing the path of the thorns.


    Clang!


    Two axes embedded themselves in the monster''s head.


    From the deeply embedded axe handles, I could feel the monster''s convulsions.


    A lullaby that once comforted my endless hatred.


    "Is this the Professor...?!"


    In the silence, Baek Seunghyun''s voice rang out.


    Thump.


    Defeated, shattered, and mangled, the monster collapsed to the ground.


    White light seemed to ignite its body, and the monster transformed into white particles, beginning to fade away.


    I took a deep breath, retrieved my two axes, and turned around.


    The juniors who hadn''t recognized me as their senior looked at me with astonishment.


    Eyes filled with disbelief.


    That''s all they could do.


    Because they are different from us.


    They received education and training based on different doctrines than ours.


    But they must know at least a little.


    That there were warriors who dominated their era, who protected their era.


    "Do you want me to cremate it?"


    The one who walked with me in those days, the one who opened the path for me, was waiting for me in the cold darkness.


    ***


    "Oh, goodbye!"


    The woman who had given me a ride didn''t even turn to look at me and hastily said goodbye before leaving.


    The corridor leading to the funeral parlor was the same as the one leading to Lee Sanghoon''s father''s memorial.


    It was the same place where a rich man had been placed.


    But the atmosphere was quite different.


    There were no flower wreaths filling the corridor, and there were no mourners either.


    An unattended darkness, and a young, glamorous woman guarding the place.


    With a powerful presence, I gazed at Lee Sanghoon''s portrait.


    "Sanghoon."


    Now, I clearly remembered.


    This was what he looked like.


    ***


    "Moving to Jeju Island, that''s what Sanghoon had planned," Kim Daram came to the funeral and called me outside.


    "If anyone knows why Sanghoon decided to do something like that, it would be you, as his senior," she said, nodding her head, reciting the theories we had learned in school.


    "...The strength of the rift is proportional to the population around it."


    "Sanghoon''s plan was to send the best manpower to the relatively weak Jeju area and prepare for the future. As you know, monsters are just a phenomenon; they aren''t an army with intent."


    "But isn''t this a plan that he can''t carry out alone?"


    "The President and the top brass approved it. The problem is..."


    She turned her saddened eyes towards the distant street.


    "It means that those who weren''t chosen will be abandoned. That''s why this chaos has erupted."


    "Why did he take all the responsibility upon himself?"


    "Who would want to take responsibility for sacrificing tens of millions of lives? The one who made the decision was the lowest-ranking among those involved."


    "What about Sanghoon''s wife and child? I didn''t see them at the funeral."


    "They are already on Jeju Island."


    "I see."


    Kim Daram lit a cigarette.


    "Moreover, Sanghoon, for some reason, attached his own name to that plan."


    "Sanghoon''s plan?"


    "Sanghoon Plan. Why did he do that? He knew it wouldn''t end so easily with just a makeshift solution."


    "..."


    It seems vaguely familiar, but I can''t grasp it.


    "Oh, and one more thing. Sanghoon mentioned something about you before he died."


    "What did he say?"


    "He kept bringing up the back of your head."


    "The back of the head?"


    "Yeah. He said he wanted to punch that back of your head that always blocked his way and talked big in front of him when we were in school."


    So that''s what it was.


    Well, I guess I could be annoying.


    Blocking his way like that.


    "But before he died, he smiled and said, ''Now I think I can really hit that back of the head.''"


    "Do you have any new insights?"


    Kim Daram looked around and sighed.


    "Well, I''m not sure. After meeting Senior Kang, he kept laughing and suddenly started talking about it."


    "Kang Hanmin?"


    "Sorry, is that an unpleasant name?"


    "No, it''s fine. I''ve toughened up my mental fortitude with a Skeleton-style unpopular training method."


    "Unpopular?"


    I looked around.


    Beyond, the crowd was roaming the darkness, huddled together without any candlelight, shouting the desperate word "survival."


    One world was coming to an end.


    I was there.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 19: Premonition

    Chapter 19: Premonition


    I received a TV broadcast for the first time in a while.


    It seems the president made a significant statement.


    I didn''t pay much attention.


    I had to constantly go back and forth between the bunker inside and the outside because the sewage pipes were clogged.


    I didn''t really need to listen carefully.


    "The government moving to Jeju Island is not true."


    They''ve been talking nonsense from the beginning.


    I started working on the pipes with the TV on.


    The main culprit for the clog was the fallen leaves and garbage around the sewage outlet.


    I can understand the garbage, but where did all these leaves come from?


    "The recent increase in military aircraft taking off is not for relocating government assets to Jeju Island, but due to Japan''s threat. On the 3rd, the Japanese Self-Defense Forces sank without warning an Indian humanitarian asylum ship carrying over a hundred South Korean citizens who had departed from Busan..."


    I went back and forth between the broadcast and the bunker.


    There is some distance between the sewage pipes and the bunker.


    While the main bunker shelter is located near a spacious meadow with a small stream running through it, the flow is minimal, and there are too many eyes watching, so I installed the sewage outlet closer to the riverbank.


    In the end, it was a wise decision, but it can be quite annoying at times like this.


    "Some government assets have indeed moved to Jeju Island, but this was a decision made unilaterally by the National Crisis Management Committee''s Information and Strategy Division Director, Lee Sanghoon..."


    I thought about turning off the TV, but I kept it on, thinking that I might not have the chance to hear such broadcasts again.


    I reinforced the sewage outlet with wire mesh and sent water through it.


    It looked clean.


    I also cleaned the purification tank.


    Using hoses and pumps, I sucked up the sludge at the bottom of the tank and sent it elsewhere.


    Even as the pump sucked up my waste, I occasionally listened to the broadcast.


    "The government will release its stockpile within three days and begin unrestricted distribution. Additionally, we plan to conduct urgent free screenings for children and adolescents. Contrary to some media and rumours, our government has stockpiles of major consumer goods, including food and medical supplies, sufficient for three years..."


    I considered the option of sending the wastewater directly to the river without a separate purification tank, but the smell of human waste is quite strong, and sediment sticking around the sewage outlet only alerts others to the fact that people are living here. So, with the help of my mentor, John Nenon, I installed the purification tank.


    Of course, I regret it every time I clean it, but it''s a wise decision when you endure those brief difficult times.


    My bunker is not just a temporary refuge; it''s where I will live until I die.


    "Oh, crap!"


    Sewage splashed on my face.


    I cursed and returned to the bunker, where a warm voice greeted me.


    "Our government will always be with the people."


    I turned off the broadcast at that point.


    It seemed like a waste of electricity, and I didn''t think there was a need to listen further.


    Still, I had some gains.


    Three days.


    At least three quiet days, I hope.


    But all I can feel is a bad premonition.


    Day 1.


    I checked the surroundings of the bunker and inspected its state.


    I focused on checking whether the detonation wires connected to the main bunker from the dummy bunker shelter were functioning properly, inspecting each one individually.


    There were no defects, but there were two places where the camouflage was exposed.Updated from


    It might seem like a trivial matter, but in a crisis, these small differences can make the difference between life and death.


    After carefully camouflaging the detonation wires, I installed a new explosive device in front of the secret passage entrance from the dummy bunker to the main air-raid shelter.


    It''s not strong enough to blow the door off its hinges, but it''s strong enough to easily eliminate anyone lurking inside the main bunker with the push of a button, as before.


    I also prepared death traps and shelters that only I can use behind the secret entrance.


    In the afternoon, I worked on turning the meat I had previously put in the dryer into preserved food.


    What I was making is called "Pemmican," which is made by drying meat until it''s crispy, grinding it finely with a blender, mixing it with dried cranberries, and solidifying it with oil.


    It has a relatively long shelf life and is said to be nutritious.


    I didn''t plan to make it right away.


    Although it''s called preserved food and it''s more efficient than canned food but my taste is a bit picky.


    It was more like insurance for situations where you couldn''t use a freezer or a generator.


    However, not everything goes as planned, as the case with the Cho Jungryeong incident.


    We don''t know when another Cho Jungryeong might invade my territory.


    The time will come when it gets cold, but it''s unpredictable.


    Three days of peace should be enough.


    I divided my scarce time and tried to make it while watching a video, and thanks to the excellent cooking skills of the chef, it turned out quite edible.


    However, apart from the fact that it''s preserved food, it''s not something I would recommend.


    It''s too addictive.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton Cooking) Tried making Pemmican!


    So, I posted it on the community by taking out some of my time.


    There were no likes, but there were quite a few comments because it was fresh content.


    Even the Human Hunter, who rarely had free time, left a comment.


    Defender: I prefer a man who can cook well.


    When I saw that comment, I became serious.


    Message from Defender: Don''t mess around. Shall we meet up?


    "Ugh."


    This guy is not necessarily a threat to me.


    His combat abilities are estimated to be quite high, but that''s about it.


    In a situation with many variables, the outcome depends on his preparedness and luck, but in a situation where variables are eliminated, the likelihood of me losing to him is extremely rare.


    It''s just that it doesn''t sit right.


    Everyone probably has a movie genre they don''t like.


    In my case, it''s horror movies.


    Considering life itself is a horror, do I really need to watch them?


    The Human Hunter is like one of those horror movies.


    And that horror movie keeps playing over and over again.


    Message from Defender: It''s not a joke, it''s serious. I''ve tangled with people connected to the military. I''ve been scouting the area for the past two weeks, and it looks like I''ll have to fight soon. I don''t know about the others, but I trust you, Skeleton. Please help me.


    This guy isn''t the type to lie, and I could vaguely tell that from his actions so far.


    What should I do?


    Maybe the answer had already been decided in advance.


    Skeleton: (Loyal Skeleton) Where are you?


    Defender and I are quite similar in many ways.


    Message from Defender: (Defender moved) Skeleton, you''re awesome!


    The meeting place that Defender requested turned out to be an unexpected one.


    It was in the vicinity of a deserted amusement park in Yongin.


    It had been thoroughly abandoned due to chemical contamination during the war, making it an unlikely choice.


    The surrounding area had been a grey area with no government control for a long time.


    There was one area nearby where an infiltration-type monster had taken over, but it was not dangerous unless you got too close. However, the vacuum created by that monster had attracted all sorts of criminals.


    While there hadn''t been any reported mutations, the most feared thing during travel was unexpected gunfire.


    Deciding to meet Defender significantly increases the probability of danger.


    I couldn''t help but hesitate.


    After a while of no response, he sent me a message.


    Message from Defender: Is it difficult for you to come? If it is, should I come? It''s a pity for me, but I don''t have a car, so I''ll have to walk.


    Skeleton: No, I''ll come. Just tell me a safe route.


    It might be risky, but it''s better if I go. I don''t want to reveal my territory. Despite the Human Hunter''s bragging, my territory is not easily discoverable.


    I discussed the meeting schedule with the Human Hunter through messages.


    Since it''s a dangerous area, we had to discuss the route in 100-meter increments while looking at the map.


    This was the last ordinary day on the third day before the stormy night.


    The next day, everyone waited for Keystone to deliver the next news with a mixture of tension, anticipation, and an inexplicable feeling.


    I also repeatedly refreshed the page with an expressionless face, unable to tell whether I was nervous or hopeful.


    keystone: (Update) Current status of the bastards in the neighbouring tents - They still haven''t left.


    Anonymous118: Doesn''t the server response seem slower than before?


    IAmJesus: The hungry He has filled with good things, and the rich He has sent away empty-handed.


    unicorn18: My little buddy has become so stiff...


    Anonymous552: Current situation in Seoul.jpg


    Kyle_Dos: The above post is bait.


    SKELTON: What should I have for lunch today?


    ...


    ...


    My hometown of eternal tranquillity.


    As the afternoon approached, Reporter Yang finally posted an article.


    gijayangban: Current situation in Seoul.jpg


    The results exceeded everyone''s expectations.


    The government kept its promise.


    They are currently distributing the promised food and providing support like medicine.


    I stretched, feeling half relieved and half helpless.


    We somehow made it through this crisis.


    A transport plane passed over my bunker, making a loud noise.


    For a change, should I try sun-sterilizing my bedding?


    While I was tidying up my bedding, K-Walkie Talkie made a sharp beeping sound.


    Caller ID: DARAM


    It was Kim Daram.


    "..."


    Someone once said that bad premonitions tend to come true because people don''t count good premonitions. But how often do people actually count their good premonitions?


    If someone has a life where they can count good premonitions,


    "Senior. How''s the bunker? Is there room for three, including me?"


    They might have a happy life after that.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 20: Paradise

    Chapter 20: Paradise


    My underground bunker is not just a simple refuge.


    It has been meticulously designed to preserve the past way of life even in the face of the world''s destruction, with vast resources invested.


    While it may not compare to the fortresses of some conglomerate executives, I have prepared everything to an excessive degree.


    From food and fuel to essentials and medicines, I have prepared to the point of having various equipment and miscellaneous items whose purpose I don''t even know.


    Even the firearms and ammunition that were lacking have now been acquired; my fortress is completely flawless.


    This fortress is meant for me alone.


    From the design phase, I did not consider any elements that would accommodate anyone other than myself.


    Even the toilet is situated openly in the middle of the residential floor of the underground bunker.


    Due to design convenience considerations such as optimal plumbing, this is how it ended up, but if I were to live in communal quarters, I would have to expose myself every time I needed to use it.


    The same goes for my stockpile.


    While I could live comfortably with the amount of supplies I have for myself, it would not be the same if I had to share them with others.


    Yes, my underground bunker is my own paradise.


    "I might need to go there."


    Someone is trying to infiltrate that paradise.


    I know this person well.


    If there are some special circumstances...


    However, she is not alone.


    "...Three people?"


    That''s too many.


    Even one person is burdensome, but to bring two more along with her.


    And they are people I have no connection with.


    I can roughly guess who they might be.


    It''s probably Kim Daram''s husband and their son.


    They are people unrelated to me.


    Kim Daram''s husband is someone I only exchanged handshakes with at their wedding, and I only know her son''s name is Dongtak; I have never actually met him.


    "Sorry, senior. This must be quite sudden for you."


    Kim Daram was one of the few decent individuals I encountered among the countless military personnel I met.


    Above all, her positive attitude appealed to me.


    Even in the most desperate and hopeless situations, she never lost her laughter and hope.


    Although she has become a wife, a mother, and a high-ranking member of a group since then, the Kim Daram I first met was no different.


    An awkward silence took me back to the past.


    It was during my time as the team leader, leading the hunting team.


    Back then, I wasn''t a welcoming figure.


    Rather, I was someone to avoid.


    It was inevitable because the past Park Gyura was rigid, unyielding, and harsh to both himself and others.


    Due to my severe personality, my colleagues left the team one by one, and my superiors distanced themselves from me. Even my juniors didn''t approach me; they didn''t even try to get close.


    "Get out of my team. I don''t need someone who lingers around my team and watches like a spectator."


    Even my team members were terrified of me.


    "Why do you always speak in your own terms? Not everyone can be the same. Even if this place demands such uniformity, there should be room for individual differences, right?"


    "Never show your face here again."


    Did anyone even consider joining my team when the existing members were leaving?


    Oh, there was one friend who showed interest.


    "Hahaha! Second place again! I am always second place!"


    Now, the liberated Lee Sanghoon burst into laughter and approached me.


    "But next year will be different."


    Whether it was then or now, Lee Sanghoon, who loved women, brought a woman I hadn''t seen in a while to the year-end party.


    "When the year changes, do you think your skills will improve?"


    I stared at Lee Sanghoon''s left arm, which was in a cast, with deliberate intent.


    "Not necessarily, but you know. Can you find new team members?"


    "..."


    "Word has already spread. If you''re under him, you''ll die of a nervous breakdown before you die from monsters."


    "I haven''t had any encounters with monsters, so it''s just talk."


    "Well, you''re really hungry right now. There are two restaurants. One is good at food but has terrible service, and the other is mediocre in terms of food but has excellent service. Where would you eat?"


    "I''d choose the latter."


    "You know it too."


    "Is a restaurant the same as a battlefield?"


    Back then, I didn''t think much of it.


    I thought everyone felt the same way because I was consumed by hatred for monsters.


    Honestly, I didn''t care if someone like me was a superior or colleague.


    As long as I could kill monsters, as long as I could personally eliminate those creatures that had taken everything from me, I was willing to endure any cold and harsh treatment.


    But reality is never as straightforward.


    Lee Sanghoon''s words, which had sounded like the ramblings of a charlatan, had come true.


    Even when I achieved the best results and took on the most dangerous tasks as the team leader, no one wanted to join my team.New novel chapters are published on


    Applying to transfer to other teams was also not easy. No one accepted me.


    It wasn''t that I, as the team leader, was the problem.


    It was the fact that Park Gyura, the human being, had become a pariah to everyone.


    Amid the comings and goings of colleagues who couldn''t stand each other, I fell into deep resentment. It was probably around that time that I tried alcohol for the first time.


    That''s when someone appeared.


    She was a junior from a year below, a friend who had suffered a major injury on the battlefield and had been bedridden for quite some time.


    We were only vaguely familiar with each other''s faces, so she approached me with a broad smile and introduced herself.


    "I''m Kim Daram. Call me just Daram."


    "Is this a joke?"


    "Haha."


    Still, there was at least one friend who expressed concerns, even if they didn''t fully agree with me.


    Defender: There''s nothing more dangerous than parents with a kid. Have you ever wanted to kill someone else''s kid when you saw them make a mess?


    There were comments along those lines.


    Kim Daram acted quickly.


    "Can I take a look around before I come?"


    She wanted to see the place she was going to live.


    There was an option to ignore her, but meeting her might have been inevitable from the moment she contacted me.


    After all, without that friend, I might not have been here now.


    Kim Daram had always been positive and had acted as a bridge, connecting me with new team members. Thanks to her, I was able to continue my life as a hunter.


    Occasionally, I had connected her with people like Woo Minhee or Gong Gyeongmin, but my team had survived largely thanks to her.


    If things hadn''t changed, we might still be fighting monsters together on the battlefield.


    Well, that guy had harboured as much intense hatred as I had.


    My junior arrived at my sanctuary.


    She drove a military jeep and walked into my sanctuary with muddy shoes.


    I scrutinized her face with mixed feelings, but somehow, her expression was quite different from what I had expected.


    "Wow..."


    Her eyes showed considerable shock.


    "Quite the living conditions here."


    It did seem like living conditions here.


    "What, like this? Here? What''s wrong with this garbage? Is this a place for people to live?"


    But is it right to express such strong disgust?


    So, what about my underground shelter?


    With a slight sense of pride, I revealed my sanctuary to her.


    I opened the heavy bunker door and revealed my secret main shelter to someone else.


    "Welcome to the Skeleton Proud Palace...!!"


    "!!"


    The emotion that appeared in Kim Daram''s eyes was surprise.


    Well, of course.


    Who else could create such a large, splendid, and magnificent underground shelter on an individual basis?


    "Did Senior make all this?"


    "Proud."


    It''s possible because it''s me.


    But Kim Daram''s amazement quickly turned into disappointment and disdain.


    "What is this, a toilet?"


    Moreover, the expression I interpreted as amazement was actually shock.


    Kim Daram turned away and muttered.


    "...You can''t raise a child in a place like this."


    Only then did I notice a clear emblem hidden in the clothes she was wearing.


    Yes, she always wore good clothes.


    She worked in an office with a good view, where the air smelled nice, while listening to the voice of the chairmen.


    No matter how much life pushed her away, she had climbed too high for me, to places that my feeble imagination couldn''t fathom.


    "I''m really grateful for your consideration, but it would be difficult to live here. I realized that Dongtak has a fear of confined spaces."


    She showed me a picture of her son.


    "Hey, you named him well."


    "What does it mean?"


    I asked her with half-anger and half-relief.


    "Well, you''ll have to figure out how to survive on your own."


    Kim Daram burst into laughter.


    "I''m Kim Daram."


    "Daram..."


    "I''m the one who called you even when I was under that professor."


    As she laughed heartily, the image of the past Kim Daram overlapped with her face.


    Yes, this girl was overly positive.


    To the point of being foolish.


    "I won''t give up on going to Jeju Island, but I also have to consider contacting the military. I''m thinking about the warlords too."


    Kim Daram handed me a luxurious paper bag.


    "Here, a gift."


    Inside the bag were high-end pastries.


    As she was about to get in her car, she turned to look at me.


    "You don''t seem to have aged at all, but you do look a bit older in the sunlight."


    "Is, is that so?"


    "Is it because your expression has brightened?"


    She stared at me intently.


    "Have you met any women lately?"


    "No."


    "Anyway, I''ll contact you once I have a plan."


    She appeared like a whirlwind and then disappeared. I watched her for a while with a faint smile tinged with bitterness.


    Everything is relative.


    Someone else''s proud paradise can look like a pitfall to someone else.


    The cookies she left behind inevitably spoke of this bittersweet reality.


    "Wow, damn."


    These cookies are really high-quality.


    Prev | Index | Next

 Chapter 21: Theme Park (1)

    Chapter 21: Theme Park (1)


    I once read a post about the most distressing nightmares that South Korean men have before the war, and for someone like me, it''s nightmares about being redeployed.


    In my case, it''s nightmares related to debt.


    As a chronic debtor, I received relentless pressure from my enormous debts, and the never-ending stream of documents is particularly memorable.


    Notices of payment, seizure orders, collections, notices of trial dates, verdicts, property declaration orders, notices of forced auctions, and more. Various types of "fan letters" from my creditors.


    I don''t really want to imagine a future where there was no war.


    I don''t have a job, so personal rehabilitation is out of the question. Perhaps bankruptcy was the only ending?


    So, to be completely honest, when I heard the news that a war was coming, I was somewhat relieved...


    For some, the apocalypse didn''t bring only negative consequences. Some found newfound vitality and even a sense of purpose in the midst of this new change.


    My only online friend, the Human Hunter, was a fish that could swim freely only in the turbulent waters of disaster.


    Kim Daram visited my hideout, and on that day, as always, the Human Hunter sent me a message.


    Message from Defender: When are you coming? Skeleton. I''m waiting with bated breath.


    I may not always pay my debts, but I''m someone who keeps promises.


    SKELTON: Wait for me. I''ll bring a gift.


    Even for the sake of my social image within the community, promises had to be kept.


    I contemplated my mode of transportation, but in the end, I chose my trusty bicycle.


    It''s quiet, easy to discard, and, ultimately, if I''m ambushed properly, it wouldn''t make a difference.


    Since there are no mutations here, something slow but quiet would be the best choice.


    Before departing, I maintained the chain and pumped air into the tires, then loaded up an ammo box.


    As always, my arsenal consisted of a single rifle, a pistol, and two axes, a minimalist travel kit.


    However, this time, unlike usual, I wore a bulletproof vest underneath.


    The rifle rounds would undoubtedly pierce it, but it''s better to have it than not.


    According to the information provided by Defender, there are three major danger zones around the meeting point.


    The first is the monster-controlled zone.


    According to the Human Hunter''s explanation, these monsters don''t roam but establish their roots in one place, appearing to be sedentary types. As long as you don''t enter their territory, they are generally harmless.


    The second threat is the area controlled by zombies.


    Many zombies have taken over an abandoned apartment complex and have entered a dormant state. However, some still roam in reconnaissance form, looking for unlucky victims. Nonetheless, the zombie area is located southwest of the meeting point, off the beaten path, and quite far away, so it doesn''t seem to pose a substantial threat.


    The third threat is the rest of the area.


    That''s right. The ultimate threat is humans.


    Human Hunters couldn''t provide a definitive answer regarding where they would be, how they would attack, or what tactics they would use. Unlike monsters or zombies, humans frequently change their positions, devise new tactics and strategies, and set traps.


    Nevertheless, he could provide information about areas to avoid and groups of humans to stay away from.


    One thing he emphasized was clothing.


    Message from Defender: Don''t mess with guys wearing red pants if you can help it.


    Always being cautious and planning ahead reduced the risks of an operation, no matter how dangerous it seemed.


    The relatively dangerous journey was unexpectedly peaceful and smooth.


    When I reached the midpoint, the veil of night was gradually falling over the land.


    From a hill by the river, I saw ghostly white lights illuminating the abandoned streets.


    It was the monster''s territory.


    An independent species capable of surviving in Earth''s environment, their mission was not to kill or exterminate humans. Their role was to gradually transform their surroundings, the areas they had claimed, into something resembling their own homeland.


    Humans were considered nothing more than obstacles to be excluded during this process.


    Just as darkness shrouded me, the monster''s territory was hidden from view. I couldn''t discern what type of monster it was, but at the very least, I confirmed that it was a sedentary species.


    On the other hand, the human looters I feared the most were nowhere to be found along my route.


    Passing through three potential ambush sites, all I found were abandoned vehicles, debris, charred remains, and the scorched bodies.


    The threat appeared unexpectedly in a different location.


    Zombies.


    They were far away from my path, but they were quite active in the vicinity of the path.


    I didn''t see them, but the eerie chorus of corpses spreading under the pale moonlight implied that their numbers were far from small.


    There were at least a hundred of them.


    Had they recently awakened from their dormancy?


    I cautiously continued along the remaining path, making sure to keep quiet.


    We had agreed not to use the walkie-talkies.


    Unlike my empty territory, this area had quite a few people and factions, so using walkie-talkies would only reveal our presence.


    If the Human Hunter had personal identification number, we could communicate on unique frequencies instead of the risky public frequencies, but I was the only one with personal identification number.


    Instead, we had detailed arrangements for the meeting place and expected time, and the Human Hunter sent me a photo of the meeting spot.


    The meeting place was beneath a massive fir tree that seemed to stand upright as if it were a gigantic Ferris wheel inclined at the axis of the Earth.


    Approaching the theme park, I searched for a similar tree.


    There it was.


    Although the viewing angle was different, the tree looked as though it was protruding rather than leaning against the moonlight, just like in the photo.


    No people were visible in the vicinity.


    I pulled out my weapons and slowly approached.


    I opened up all my senses, prepared for all possibilities.


    After a while, I sensed a presence.


    It was a person.


    Someone was standing behind the tree.


    My heart raced with excitement.


    Was I finally meeting the troublemaker from the community?


    What did he look like?


    Perhaps he would have a surprisingly kind appearance.


    After all, human nature had nothing to do with one''s appearance.


    But this breathing...


    It was too faint to be a man''s.


    "That''s why I need bullets."


    *


    Defender''s base was not in the bunker shelter, but in an old mansion overlooking the theme park in the mountains.


    It was more of a mansion than a house.


    Overall, it looked old and rundown, but it was equipped with luxurious amenities, including detached houses, warehouses, and garages.


    Was this why they chose to kill rather than hide?


    The scent of grass burning from their bodies was replaced by the smell of the weeds growing inside a small greenhouse made of vinyl, which was difficult to identify.


    Inside, the young woman Defender looked at the upscale box in my hand with curious eyes.


    She still seemed wary of me, but her persistent gaze indicated her interest.


    "What... is that, Skeleton?"


    She soon asked in a timid voice.


    "This?"


    It was Kim Daram''s high-quality cookies. He had brought them halfway eaten, intending to give them as a gift to the human hunter. He thought it might raise Defender''s favourability and improve his reputation naturally.


    However, the real Defender I saw was not as good as I had imagined. He had one more mouth to feed.


    So, I thought about taking the cookies home to eat them myself, but I ended up bringing them along when I received an unexpected invitation.


    "It''s a gift..."


    I reluctantly offered the cookies to the female Defender.


    She opened the box and looked at me with a bright smile.


    "Skeleton!"


    She seemed genuinely pleased.


    "..."


    I avoided her gaze and looked around the house.


    Unlike my underground bunker, the spacious open hall with its sense of space was refreshing to the eyes.


    It was definitely an affluent household. Traces of money were evident everywhere.


    However, the magic-like erosion and wear and tear unique to the post-apocalyptic era had not spared this place either. There were worn and crumbling parts here and there.


    Soon, the male Defender brought out a steaming cup of tea.


    "Oh."


    He laughed heartily as he looked at the cookies.


    "Skeleton! You''re a cool guy. A real man I can respect!"


    "..."


    Unwillingly, the female Defender whispered something into the male Defender''s ear.


    "My little sister asked why the guy isn''t acting like a real man."


    "?"


    Who''s talking about whom?


    I glanced at the female side, and she tried to avoid eye contact while pretending to be distracted.


    I sighed and spoke up, "What''s that crying noise?"


    That''s the point.


    The crying of a child brought me here.


    "Let''s have some tea for now."


    The siblings both picked up their tea cups simultaneously.


    I smelled it.


    A pleasant aroma.


    It had a luxurious scent that was a world apart from the cheap iced tea in my underground bunker.


    But I didn''t drink the tea.


    Don''t accept everything they offer.


    It''s the etiquette of a person surviving in the era of destruction.


    But unlike me, the Defender siblings eagerly devoured my cookies.


    I couldn''t resist, so I grabbed one and put it in my mouth, and as I bit into the cookie, I involuntarily took a sip of the tea.


    It was delicious.


    A perfect match!


    I guess I should have trusted my internet friend a bit more.


    As I looked at the empty box with regret, the male Defender spoke up.


    "Pioneer."


    "Pioneer?"


    "There are some guys outside Keystone''s house, right? They''re in the same category as those guys."


    "Is that so?"


    "But their quality is far from good."


    The male Defender flicked his finger toward his sister.


    Upon seeing this, the female Defender unfolded her laptop and showed me the screen.


    In the photos taken with a mobile phone, there were several middle-aged men standing awkwardly with gloves on and guns in their hands.


    I didn''t think there was anything special about them until I noticed that all of them were wearing red pants, and two children were sitting under the armoured vehicle.


    "What''s this?"


    The male Defender sneered coldly.


    "Scavengers."


    "Scavengers?"


    "They use kids to get the people hiding in the bunker, take everything from them, kill the men, rape the women, and use the kids for their business."


    "Despicable."


    "That''s why we''re going to kill them."


    The human hunter revealed this while wearing a strangely joyful expression as if he was savouring the idea of murder.


    For some reason, talking about murder seemed to bring him a great deal of pleasure.


    Prev | Index | Next

 Chapter 22: Theme Park (2)

    Chapter 22: Theme Park (2)


    As they had not revealed my name, I decided to categorize the siblings as Defender and Defender''s younger sibling for co


    "Skeleton."


    Defender''s younger sibling called out to me with a small voice and gestured towards me.


    When I looked to see what she was doing, it was none other than a community.


    She was writing a new post.


    Defender: (Breaking news from Defender) Skeleton has arrived at our house!


    Skeleton is so sweet. I thought a celebrity had come. It''s just like a walking sculpture. It''s 2 meters tall, wearing a formal tuxedo, and even a Bentley! I''m a guy too, but I was captivated at first sight.


    The mouse cursor was in front of the "Send" button.


    "No, no, no! Don''t do it. Don''t post it."


    "Why?"


    "Come on, what''s the point of posting such nonsense?"


    She pursed her lips and suddenly turned on the notepad, typing excitedly.


    You''re not popular, you know. So...


    "But why?"


    To make you popular.


    "But I am already famous, aren''t I?


    Skeleton, you''re infamous.


    "..."


    And everyone else is making friends, so why shouldn''t we?


    "Can''t we just talk about it?"


    Some things can''t be expressed in words.


    "But can''t you express them through writing?"


    I never thought there were humans who communicated with notepads in front of people.


    "That''s just how she is, my sister."


    Defender said as he loaded a magazine full of bullets into his pocket.


    I thought there might be some dark backstory, so I looked at him curiously, and he continued with a smirk.


    "No, nothing like that. She''s liked typing more than talking since she was a child."


    Click


    As he skilfully locked the bolt back and checked the chamber, I asked, "There are a lot of them on the other side. Are you going to kill them all?"


    About twenty people in red pants.


    They were better armed than the previous intruders.


    Everyone was armed with automatic rifles, and there was even an armoured vehicle.


    While we would need to assess the individual abilities of the soldiers, in terms of scale alone, it was a threatening force.


    I wondered how we would deal with such a difficult fight.


    "First, we should kill the kids, right?"


    Defender said without raising an eyebrow.


    "If we kill the kids, won''t one or two of them come looking for them?"


    I was serious.


    I really meant it.


    "One by one, we kill them to reduce their numbers. And if they start to gather, we ambush them and clear out the camp."


    "What about the armoured vehicle?"


    "My younger sibling is good with drones. Especially at dropping things with drones. She''s even killed people by dropping bricks instead of bombs."


    His younger sibling showed herself with two thumbs.


    "I''ve thought about that much. What do you think?"


    "It''s an impressive plan, but it lacks a backup."


    "Isn''t that how fights go? Especially against such small-time opponents, plans don''t mean much. The situation might change anytime and the plan might crumble at any moment."


    "Do we really have to kill the kids?"


    "Should we let them live then?"


    Defender chuckled.


    His younger sibling, who had been looking at the monitor, turned her chair around and stared at me intently.


    Feeling an unspoken pressure, I spoke up.


    "Isn''t it better to let them live?"


    "Why? They''re not my kids."


    When Defender looked at his younger sibling, she nodded with a mysterious smile.


    Defender looked at me again.


    "Or Skeleton are you planning to take them and raise them?"


    "..."


    "What does your younger sibling think?"


    In a tone that seemed to imply she had been waiting, the younger sibling spoke with her distinctive murmur-like voice.


    "At this point, those kids have already lost their parents. They have an unlucky fate. This era isn''t on their side."


    I instantly understood.


    Defender was indeed not just one, but two people.


    It wasn''t a solo act.


    The two siblings had joined forces to create a horror movie called "Human Hunter."


    After a moment of silence, Defender offered a different opinion.


    "Actually, there''s a way to ignore them. Anyway, this place is steep, and there''s no proper road for them to come up. They move along the road."


    "Then, do we really need to fight?"


    Avoiding unnecessary fights was my principle.


    "That might be true. But won''t we eventually have to fight? You can''t hide forever. Besides, it might happen before that."


    Defender stared at the monitor.


    "Our friends will die."


    His younger sibling added, pointing at the screen.


    "Our forum friends."


    "It''s a community..."


    It was a reasonable point. Even if we posted a warning about the danger on the forum, how many people there actually had the heart of a snake like Defender? Even I had little confidence in such a situation.


    "Do you have combat experience?"


    I asked Defender.


    Thud!


    An explosion occurred in the distance. The armoured vehicle that had been speeding seemed to have crashed into something in the theme park facilities. It was a fleeting moment when I wanted to dismiss it as a minor coincidence and ignore it.


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    With the sound of explosions, various coloured objects flew into the sky and exploded, creating a beautiful radial pattern in the night sky.


    Fireworks.


    A large number of fireworks set up in a pre-war launcher were launched into the sky in a colorful display, breaking the long silence with their brilliance.


    "Wow! Look at this! Hey!"


    "Waaah!!!"


    Watching the siblings enjoy themselves like children, I suddenly thought. Maybe it wasn''t such a bad thing for these guys to get rid of the Red Pants'' atrocities. They just wanted to kill the Red Pants and seemed to have achieved their goal with excitement. In that sense, this theme park had certainly done its job.


    Why not, people had come for enjoyment, and they had thoroughly enjoyed it.


    With that thought, I silently gazed at the miracle that chance had brought me, which had not overwhelmed me.


    The game was over, and it was time to settle accounts.


    "What are you going to do with these people?"


    The remaining children and women.


    The price of shallow hypocrisy.


    "I already told you, I won''t take them. No, I can''t take them."


    Defender stared at me as if trying to pierce through me.


    "...I won''t either."


    Multiple thoughts raced through my mind, but in reality, I knew.


    My gaze had been fixed on one outcome from the beginning.


    I silently watched as people walked into the darkness, fumbling awkwardly with firearms.


    One child turned and looked at me, puzzled.


    Their fate was not something I wanted to think about.


    Click, click.


    Behind me, Defender was taking authentication photos.


    "Skeleton."


    He approached me and handed something to me.


    "What''s this?"


    As I took it, I realized it was a drawing.


    It depicted a handsome young man who seemed overly idealized, the kind you would expect to see in a women''s romance manga.


    "My sister drew this."


    Indeed, under the picture, there was some pretty writing that said, "To Skeleton."


    Come to think of it, he does look a bit like me...?


    "Anyway, it''s not like you are going to come back home, right?" Defender relayed his sister''s message.


    Definitely, Defender had a knack for seeing into people''s hearts. That was true for both his sister and himself.


    "Why are you suddenly doing some self-reflection?"


    "It''s a psychopath''s thoughts, I know."


    Defender smiled strangely as he bit on a cigarette.


    His pupils were following the last flicker of the flames.


    "This park... I came here with my sister when I was young. Holding hands with our father and mother."


    He released a white puff of smoke into the night sky.


    "Our father was a terrible man."


    "..."


    Then, I heard his sister''s voice through the earphones.


    "Let''s talk more next time after we get to know each other better."


    This time, Defender handed me a piece of paper.


    Unlike the carefully crafted drawing by his sister, what Defender gave me was a crude note.


    <Defender''s Summons>


    "What''s this?"


    "If you need help, send a DM."


    Defender shook hands and walked into the darkness with brisk steps.


    "I''ll go now."


    Then, his sister''s voice came again.


    "Skeleton, let''s be friends from now on?"


    Holding the drawing and the note they left behind, I stood there for a while, gazing at the silent mountains, park, and the sky.


    Many things had happened, but in the end, all I felt was exhaustion.


    It was a kind of fatigue you''d feel after playing to your heart''s content in an amusement park and returning home.


    That night, Defender spammed the forum.


    Defender: (Defender''s Confession) Skeleton, I really like you!


    Defender: (Defender''s Confession) Skeleton, I really like you!


    Defender: (Defender''s Confession) Skeleton, I really like you!


    Defender: (Defender''s Confession) Skeleton, I really like you!


    Defender: (Defender''s Confession) Skeleton, I really like you!


    Defender: (Defender''s Confession) Skeleton, I really like you!


    Defender: (Defender''s Confession) Skeleton, I really like you!


    ...


    ...


    Fortunately or unfortunately, I didn''t witness that horrendous confession in real-time.


    "What the hell...!!"


    I was being chased by those damn zombies!


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 23: Injection

    Chapter 23: Injection


    Would there be anyone in this world who likes zombies?


    There is.


    They are scientists.


    Monsters are impossible to capture or leave corpses in any way, making analysis and research by humans impossible, while zombies leave corpses.


    At the current point where about half of the world has collapsed, there were surprisingly people who were concerned about the rights of zombies in the early days of the apocalypse.


    In retrospect, they may not have been worried about zombies themselves, but rather about their own future as zombies.


    Among the research papers on the mutation factor that affects the brains of deceased humans, the most cited data from Professor J. Catterer was from such a zombie rights activist.


    As for me, zombies are...


    Crack!


    Something extremely irritating.


    Especially when I meet them when I''m tired, I really want to close my eyes like my departed colleagues.


    "Krrrrr!"


    Crack!


    But the reason I fiercely swing my axe and defeat them is not because I''m afraid of dying, but because I have a lot to lose.


    My underground shelter. My sanctuary where my blood and sweat have been poured in. I''d rather watch the world collapse than see someone else sitting in it.


    With this mindset, I mercilessly defeat the zombie bastards and reach the safe zone.


    "Sigh..."


    I heave a sigh and check my injuries.


    There''s a saying that if you get bitten by a zombie, you become one, but it''s nonsense.


    The mutation factor that causes zombies only affects the brains of deceased humans.


    It''s a widely held belief in the academic world that it perishes like an invader on Earth if it tries to infiltrate a highly functioning human brain.


    There are some dissenting opinions, citing the occasional appearance of zombies even in places without necromancer types, but that''s because the mutation factor was buried somewhere in the body and it caused a mutation in the dead brain, turning it into a zombie.


    Still, there''s always a possibility.


    I grope from head to toe and move around, but there''s no sign of anything.


    My transportation, the folding bike, is also intact.


    The Defender siblings'' gift is unharmed.


    I put a piece of chocolate in my mouth to replenish calories and energy.


    "Sigh..."


    It''s a hassle to go outside.


    But in the end, it might be better for my mental health than staying cooped up in one place.


    But that was my nave thinking before I found out about the atrocities the Defender siblings committed on the community message board.


    Unaware of the grim future that awaits, I feel the sweetness of chocolate spreading through my tired body and gaze at the mountains and terrain that rise in the vague mist, taking in the surrounding scenery.


    I roughly know the location.


    I''ve looked at it several times and remembered it.


    However, something unexpected happened.


    The lights in the abandoned apartment turned on.


    It used to be where the woman who fed the stray cats lived.


    There shouldn''t be anyone living there after she died.


    Has a new resident moved in?


    The apartment is only about 6 km away in a straight line from my area.


    However, in between, there are low mountains and a creek, and the road is not a major road, but rather a winding secondary road, making the actual distance quite far without a means of transportation to cross the rugged terrain.


    There''s no particular strategic value, but the fact that someone has entered the area of my control aroused my interest.


    *


    People mostly choose hunger as the answer to the question of what drives them. But in my case, it''s curiosity.


    I''m not a lazy person, but the way I move when I''m curious and when I''m not is entirely different, even in my own opinion.


    The most notable difference is in my actions.


    Going straight to the abandoned apartment instead of returning home was largely due to my unchangeable personality.


    "Under the 22nd Pioneer Corps, the 218th Pioneer Unit."


    As expected, they are pioneers.


    I checked the remnants of bullets.


    I have plenty of pistol bullets, but not many rifle bullets.


    My physical condition is not in its best condition either.


    The fatigue from prolonged travel and combat hasn''t recovered.


    That means there''s a possibility that my body might not move the way I want it to at a crucial moment.


    I, who usually avoid combat, felt compelled to take action because of my aversion to the pioneers as a group.


    The fact that there are pioneers nearby, even though they have little to do with my territory, is a matter of concern.


    I approached the apartment with the intention of conducting a light reconnaissance at the very least.


    "!"


    There''s something.


    In the darkness.


    Could it be that my senses have dulled due to fatigue?


    I couldn''t even hear the sound of breathing.


    Regretfully, I peered into the darkness.


    There was a person, or something similar, sitting there without any movement.


    Upon closer inspection, it was an elderly person.


    She was not in her seventies, but rather closer to her eighties, sitting on a cold rock with the appearance of a worn-out industrial product, glaring at me.


    "Grandma?"


    The old woman didn''t say anything and seemed to have no intention of responding.


    Even when I called out to her, she just revealed her toothless mouth and continued to stare at me with a meaningless gaze.


    Suddenly, a scream erupted from above.


    "Hey, you bastards! Hey! Hey! You bastards!"


    "What? What? What? Who are you, you bastards?"


    It''s coming from the apartment.


    I asked for her understanding in advance, saying, "I''m sorry, but I''m busy."


    "No, take this."


    She handed me something.


    It was a food made from dog meat and some unknown ingredients, something I couldn''t eat.


    "I''ll just take your good intentions."


    "Just take it for now."


    Suddenly, she insisted forcefully, "Take it!"


    So, I reluctantly accepted it, and behind the dog meat, I found a request along with someone''s contact information.


    Why is everyone here like this?


    It felt somewhat presumptuous for me, a young person, to judge the elderly people here, but there was something odd about the elderly people in this place.


    They seemed like people who had not been loved.


    As I left the apartment, feeling more exhausted than when I faced a horde of zombies, I noticed an elderly woman who had been guarding in front of the International Residence.


    She passed by me, and I offered her a nutrition bar that I didn''t need anyway.


    "Please, have this."


    Only then did the elderly woman move as if she were alive.


    Her hand in her pocket was holding a lighter.


    "Thank you. Thank you. Namu Amida Butsu. Namu Amida Butsu."


    "Why are you here alone?"


    "I didn''t take the shot."


    "What?"


    "I didn''t take the shot, so they won''t let me in."


    The elderly woman put the dog meat-like food in her mouth and chewed slowly.


    "What shot are you talking about?"


    "The zombie shot."


    "Zombie shot?"


    "They say there''s a shot that won''t turn you into a zombie if you take it."


    Such a thing didn''t exist.


    If you didn''t want to turn into a zombie, you had to wash yourself, clean your clothes, and remove the mutation genes.


    "What did you come here on? Did you walk?"


    "I came by bus. They gave me a ride on a bus. The driver and the director saw this apartment as they passed by and suddenly let me off here, saying this place looked good."


    "I see."


    It was going just as I had expected.


    With no time to spare for sentiment, I was about to leave.


    "...If you take that shot, you''ll die."


    The elderly woman murmured from behind.


    "It''s poison. Your hair falls out. You die as water flows from every hole in your body. Everyone else died except me where I used to be..."


    Whether it was due to receiving nutrition or being stimulated emotionally, the elderly woman began to sway her body back and forth, chanting Namu Amida Butsu.


    "Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu." [A Buddhist chant]


    It was a week later when I visited the apartment again.


    The foul language that had been heard from afar was replaced by a peaceful silence.


    I noticed new tire tracks on the road, covered in dirt and dust.


    The tattered flags were gone, and the elderly woman who had been guarding the entrance was naturally absent.


    A large pit at the back emitted a pungent odor, along with the smell of burning.


    This pit seemed to be the source of the black smoke that had lured me back here.


    Upon closer inspection, I found charred wood and white ash mixed haphazardly inside, with occasional bones remaining from the fire.


    It was a human skeleton.


    I felt a presence behind me.


    A zombie stood there, swaying.


    In its hand, it held an pickaxe. It was the old woman who used to sit in front of the apartment, reciting incantations.


    There was a bullet hole in her forehead, dried blood caked around it.


    Seeing this gruesome sight and the realization that I would have to lay this corpse to rest, I couldn''t help but utter words without thinking.


    "Just give her an injection, okay?"


    He set fire to a piece of paper with contact information that another elderly women had given him earlier and tossed it onto the old woman''s corpse.


    Coincidentally, the flames transferred to the pickaxe that the old women was holding.


    "Namu Amida Butsu," I said, offering a Buddhist prayer for the deceased as I climbed the apartment stairs.


    It was an action I took hoping to find survivors or any other clues, but it yielded little.


    Finally, I climbed to the rooftop and looked out at the unspoiled autumn landscape, bathed in the still-fresh sunlight.


    I could see moving figures.


    People.


    On the deserted field where no one had uttered a word, groups of people were waving flags and moving east and south.


    Even at a glance, their numbers were substantial.


    Suddenly, Defender''s words came to mind.


    "You can''t hide forever."


    I had some self-confidence, but when I saw that crowd, I keenly felt how fragile the foundation of my self-esteem was.


    Nevertheless, they say there''s no such thing as a meaningless task in the world.


    I didn''t fully agree with that statement, but the elderly woman who was reciting mantras inspired me.


    Thud!


    I cleared away a fragment of the collapsed bunker.


    Beyond the fragment, a secret underground passage leading to the main bunker was revealed, shrouded in secrecy.


    If you can''t hide forever, you should at least hide well.


    The people who had brought the elderly residents to this apartment had chosen it as a high-speed nursing home because, to their eyes, the apartment''s exterior lacked any real charm.


    I planned to set up a camouflage house in the spot where the bunker had collapsed.


    It should be inconspicuous enough to fool even the zombies.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 24: Belief

    Chapter 24: Belief


    Belief is not exclusive to faith in God.


    There are various kinds of beliefs.


    Belief in love between lovers, belief in one''s luck held by successful entrepreneurs, belief in a coach who persistently employs an underperforming player, and so on.


    I once witnessed a similar belief in a real estate caf that I briefly joined when I was looking at land.


    If I were to recall vaguely from a post written by someone who seemed to estimate a house as their entire asset:


    Real estate always goes up - even in a war, even when missiles are falling, even if the country collapses - it always goes up.


    That was the feeling I got.


    Generally, I agree with that, but I don''t think real estate will always go up even in extreme situations like a war.


    There are also people in our community who hold similar beliefs.


    mmmmmmmmm: (Breaking News) United States declares national normalization!


    mmmmmmmmm: (News) Optimization of the Ichon-Yeoju food belt


    mmmmmmmmm: A cargo ship has arrived in Busan!


    This friend, who constantly spouts crazy nonsense, m9, didn''t always have an obsession with the future.


    He was a normal user with a very rational mindset and typical values, based on the forum.


    m9 started to change after winning a lottery for a state-of-the-art apartment called "The Hope."


    Up until then, m9 was just one of the regular users, but suddenly, he started selling the way of life he had chosen.


    However, the users of our Viva! Apocalypse! Korean forum are not easily swayed.


    Having nothing better to do, they spend all day on the forum and know very well how to deal with strange individuals.


    Our chosen method is non-response.


    Without the need for words or debates, we impose social sanctions by collectively ignoring the person.


    Considering that the primary purpose of this forum is communication, collective ignorance is a medium punishment, akin to a death sentence.


    But this is not someone else''s story.


    I am also in a little dangerous situation...


    SKELTON: What should I have for breakfast?


    Despite carefully crafting a post, even removing my own prideful thoughts from the title, no one left a comment.


    The reason is the human hunter.


    Previously, they had posted a flood of comments saying "I like Skeleton!" and that single act pushed my reputation down a notch.


    A user who was friendly with me informed me of this fact via message.


    Message from Kyle_Dos: Are you really close to Defender? Do you know what kind of image he has here?


    I know.


    Everyone dislikes him, but because his posts are distinct and provide a lot of content, it''s necessary to just leave him be.


    Now, that strange guy is trying to tarnish my image, and it''s not impossible.


    The role model is m9, as mentioned earlier.


    M9, who received social execution as a group ignoramus, suddenly rose to prominence after breaking his long silence.


    The users who had blocked him even unblocked him and began searching for his posts.


    The catalyst was a recent post by m9.


    mmmmmmmmm: "The Hope" has arrived.


    The post had no explanation and included three low-quality videos.


    In the first video, m9 held a selfie stick and skipped over his journey from the bunker to Seoul, with many edits.


    M9''s face on the screen looked older than mine, and for some reason, he was raising two dogs inside the bunker.


    Welsh Corgi? French Bulldog? Probably one of those breeds.


    "Now, this is the road connecting my bunker to Seoul. As you can see, it''s very safe! The soldiers always protect it, you know? Thieves? There are none. But what''s the use of good security? If you stay in the bunker, your body rots."


    While my area was just starting to flourish as a pioneer, there were orderly columns of soldiers and armoured vehicles marching along the road near m9''s bunker.


    For some reason, the military was heading towards Seoul rather than the front lines, and it seemed like a good thing for m9.


    "Now I''m going to reveal my new apartment! Antis! Wake up and see! You''re dead now, and you''ll never have a place like this!"


    Perhaps due to having suffered a lot before, m9 vented his long-held resentment toward the camera in a refreshing manner.


    However, this person.


    "Especially this Skelton! You, this guy. What? You''re saying it won''t be built? What? A reliable source? Ha! How can someone be like that? Just curse, but don''t touch people''s hopes so insidiously!"


    Why is he fixated on me?


    Anyway, through the videos, I could understand the current situation of The Hope.


    Given the times, the country had rapidly constructed not an entire complex but a pilot block for testing, where they would accept residents and test living conditions, using the data obtained there to develop the rest of the blocks.


    M9 was one of the tests moving into that pilot block.


    But something felt strange.


    No matter how you look at it, even if it''s just one apartment, it should take some time to build.


    Selecting the land alone would easily take more than a year.


    How on earth did they shorten the construction period?


    The answer was in m9''s video.


    I doubted my eyes for a moment.


    "Wow..."


    It couldn''t be helped because,


    That apartment, it was leaning.


    Especially on the day he left the bunker and entered The Hope with military escort(?), he even boasted about receiving 122 comments.


    To some extent, foreign users on overseas forums even came to ask what was happening.


    As is the case with all things, the gossip surrounding m9 was quickly consumed and forgotten.


    The bigger issue was that this small incident involving m9 was easily overshadowed.


    The clue was already in the video m9 had filmed.


    The army marching in formation toward Seoul.


    They were the military units that had been guarding the eastern front.


    As a group, they had revolted and turned their units around to "advance" toward Seoul.


    Their justification was closely related to the truth.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, the government of South Korea is lying to you. Already, all government officials, including the President, have moved all equipment, elite personnel, especially the hunters, to Jeju Island. They''ve abandoned us."


    It wasn''t just one army that entered Seoul.


    Another army had entered Seoul from the west.


    Their justification was valid as well.


    "The duty of the Republic of Korea''s military is to defend the territory and the people, as stated in the tattered constitution. Politics is an area that should not be interfered with, inspected, or touched by the military. General Lim Myungsoo will protect Seoul from all threats to uphold the Republic of Korea''s citizens, the National Assembly, and the constitution."


    Two armies confronted each other within Seoul.


    The capital of a already divided country had now become split again into east and west.


    Soldiers in the same military uniform stood face to face at crossroads, erected barricades, and prepared combat supplies.


    The army supported by the National Assembly and the rebel army entered negotiations over their demands, but the likelihood of a successful resolution was not high.


    Journalist Yang, who had experienced various incidents in Seoul, expressed his despair for the first time.


    gijayangban: Choosing Seoul might have been a mistake.


    At that moment, I tried to contact Kim Daram.


    Kim Daram didn''t answer my call.


    Was she on a transport plane that crossed my area, or were there other reasons for not responding to my calls?


    As Kim Daram''s response was increasingly delayed, I read through the forum silently for a moment.


    I noticed a conspicuous author.


    mmmmmmmmm: The army coming is good news.


    It was m9.


    I searched for his posts after a long time.


    mmmmmmmmm: (From the Seoul desk) Reasons Why There''s No Civil War.txt


    mmmmmmmmm: Don''t touch "The Hope." Why? Generals live here!


    mmmmmmmmm: (Negotiation imminent) General Apartments! The Hope!


    mmmmmmmmm: When negotiations are over, our neighbourhood will skyrocket~


    Even when everyone sensed a catastrophe, he was singing a hymn of faith.


    I knew that m9 had blocked me, but out of pity, I sent him a message.


    SKELTON: Do you really not know how dangerous this is?


    I didn''t expect a reply.


    But a reply came.


    And it came right away!


    Message from mmmmmmmmm: I know. But what do you want me to do about it?


    Plot twist.


    m9 hadn''t blocked me.


    Moreover, he knew that his choice had been wrong.


    Was that the reason?


    As if he had been waiting for me for a long time, m9 sent me a message without hesitation.


    Message from mmmmmmmmm: Alright. Skeleton. Defender''s friend. You won''t kill people, will you?


    SKELTON: Don''t treat me like those people.


    Message from mmmmmmmmm: Skeleton, you keep showing interest in me. Hey, can I come to your bunker? Huh? Can I come with my two dogs? If you want, you can even catch and eat them.


    SKELTON: Blocked


    One day, two years and one month after the war began.


    Still no contact from Kim Daram.


    Civil war had broken out in Seoul.


    Two armies wearing the same uniforms, speaking the same language, pointed their guns at each other, and the flames of anger engulfed them.


    The civil war that lasted for a week turned most of Seoul into an inferno and created millions of refugees.


    From within that hell, a photo emerged on the forum.


    The photo depicted an apartment building standing alone against the backdrop of a sky that seemed to be on fire and actual burning ruins.


    It was an apartment I knew.


    The Hope.


    A symbol of hope.


    And one man''s faith.


    Only one generation had moved in, but the state-of-the-art apartment was still standing, leaning like a landmark of hope in a corner of Seoul at this very moment.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 25: Residue (1)

    Chapter 25: Residue (1)


    According to the foreign word notation system announced by the Ministry of Education in 1986, foreign names should be spelled according to the local pronunciation.


    Back in China, I didn''t adhere to this guideline for complex reasons.


    At the time, I had no intention of learning or understanding their language.


    We were unwelcome guests, and we came with unwelcome intentions.


    Our purpose was not to save China.


    The orders I received from the government were to collect data on the types and behavioural patterns of monsters appearing in high-intensity fissures, changes occurring in the fissure area, especially their effects on humans, and so on.


    As a result, we made various excuses to avoid the battles they desperately needed and only chose the areas and battles we wanted.


    The vast experience and data we gained there indeed proved valuable to the defence efforts in Korea and contributed to making me a harbinger of doom.


    There was a person named Ma Wonggab in China.


    He was just an ordinary resident of the erosion zone, but after witnessing monsters passing by without any hostile behaviour, he had a profound realization, as those who have profound realizations tend to do, and founded a new religion.


    The name of this new religion, "Preservationist Sect", brought great ridicule from the Chinese who worked with me, as it sounded like a name that a human who spent most of their time watching online novels or martial arts novels would come up with.


    However, despite their ridicule, ""Preservationist Sect"" rapidly spread in the erosion zone and followed a similar trajectory to the cult that led to the downfall of the Qing Dynasty.


    Among the Korean dispatched hunters, there were more who killed members of this cult than monsters.


    Perhaps Defenders were not that skilled.


    Now, both Ma Wonggab and his religion have been consumed by the flames of annihilation, but things that burn share a similar nature.


    For example, instead of fleeing, they would stand their ground and wait for themselves to burn like a forest tree.


    I knew someone who had that combustibility.


    **


    Thump! Thump! Thump!


    I could hear gunfire in the distance.


    Is it starting again?


    They said they were negotiating on the radio.


    It''s been two years and two months since the war began.


    Still, there''s no contact from Kim Daram.


    Checking the outside temperature, it''s minus 5 degrees Celsius.


    I feel like the weather is colder than usual, probably due to the global nuclear war that happened last year.


    I got up in my heated tent, washed my face, and prepared a meal.


    For breakfast, half a head of cabbage harvested not too long ago.


    I roughly chopped it and tore it apart with my hands, eating one piece at a time.


    Before the war, I couldn''t have imagined having a meal with just cabbage, but at this point, after getting tired of canned and preserved food, it''s a reasonably fresh seasonal delicacy.


    While filling my stomach, I glanced around with binoculars.


    Another group of refugees is passing through the golf course and heading south.


    Isn''t that the direction where the sniper mother and daughter live?


    I might hear gunshots again soon.


    After finishing my meal and letting it settle, I went on a light patrol around the area.


    Nothing out of the ordinary.


    It might be a premature conclusion, but could today be another peaceful day?


    While our peaceful neighbourhood remains unaffected, civil war is raging in Seoul.


    A war that could change the fate of South Korea, where millions of citizens are being used as pawns, and at this very moment, they are exchanging gunfire and committing acts of violence against each other.


    The civil war hasn''t only brought negative effects. At least for me, it''s been a short-term boon.


    When the civil war started, refugees were visible, but those persistent pioneers have completely disappeared.


    I wonder if the pioneer teams were under military control, which is why they might have been dragged to the battlefield.


    But strangely, within our community, you can hardly find any discussions about the civil war. Occasionally, there are photos of shells falling near people''s homes, but that''s about it.


    Thinking back to before the civil war, when discussions about it dominated the forums, this is a significant change.


    The direct reason might be that the journalist who used to provide information from Seoul has fallen silent, but at this point, discussing the civil war seems like an unnecessary topic.


    It''s already happened, and we can''t do anything about it. Moreover, the aftermath of the civil war will greatly affect our lives, regardless of who wins or who seizes control of Seoul, and that''s not in a good direction.


    So, perhaps that''s why within the community, light and trivial topics unrelated to the civil war have thrived an unspoken agreement to turn away from reality.


    I also joined in by posting meaningless posts.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton sound) Skeleton''s Beatbox 23


    Must have a unique personality and background suitable for storytelling.Bonus points if you have family or neighbours with episodes.Females preferred.Looks don''t matter; I''ll adapt the appearance.Please refrain from lying.Hunter training organization 13th generation graduate.Former S-rank hunter (before the level system reset, highest rank achieved).5 years of activity in Beijing, China; callsign: "Professor."Made significant contributions to discovering mutation mechanisms.A real badass.Also has neighbours (including a cute little girl).


    That secret weapon was none other than the sniper mother-daughter duo living in the southeast.


    If I could take a photo with them and send an impressive story to DragonC, maybe he would show some interest?


    I immediately contacted the sniper mother-daughter duo.


    "Skeleton? What''s up?"


    "Can I see you for a moment?"


    "Okay, what''s it about?"


    "What do you mean, ''what''s it about?''"


    "Morphine, fentanyl, etc."


    After three months in the academy, even the sniper''s Korean had improved significantly. It''s because they spent their days on the rooftop, listening to the radio or using walkie-talkies.


    "Skeleton!"


    The daughter greeted me enthusiastically.


    It seemed like I hadn''t seen her in a while, but I might see her soon, as Christmas was approaching.


    "Skeleton, what did you eat today?"


    "Cabbage."


    "Cabbage? What''s that?"


    "I mean, it''s like primitive kimchi."


    "Primitive kimchi?"


    While we were having a pleasant conversation, the mother intervened.


    "No meeting if you''re not giving drugs."


    "Just one second. Snap a photo. Okay? Chocolate!"


    Communication was cut off.


    The operation was a failure.


    There was nothing I could do.


    Drugs are a last resort used only when surgery or extreme pain cannot be endured.


    Even I had difficulty obtaining them, and I couldn''t just give them away for trivial reasons.


    But anyway, could that mother-daughter duo survive two Korean winters?


    Food aside, enduring two Korean winters wouldn''t be an easy task.


    In the end, my ambitious webtoon debut came to a failed conclusion.


    Three days later.


    That was the day when a fighter jet passing overhead was hit by a missile, breaking apart in the sky and crashing down to the west.


    DragonC had announced the protagonist of "The Remnant."


    Surprisingly, the chosen protagonist was someone I knew quite well, one of the few people in the community whose face I had seen.


    DragonC: The lead role in "The Remnant" has been decided as Kyle_Dos!


    Kyle_Dos.


    He was an active member of the forum, and although he wasn''t particularly outstanding, his reputation wasn''t bad either. He was part of a group known as the "Friendship Family" alongside Anonymous848 and Anonymous458.


    However, he was just an ordinary userneither particularly likeable nor particularly remarkable.


    When I met him in person to retrieve capsules, he was just an average guy in his early thirties from South Korea. He wasn''t a hunter, nor was he a trained soldier.


    So, what made him so special that he captured DragonC''s heart?


    The reason lay in a post Kyle_Dos had written himself.


    Kyle_Dos: I actually found a wife not too long ago.


    His story began shortly after I had collected capsules near the anti-aircraft bunkers.


    With fewer worries on his mind, Kyle_Dos, a seasoned doomsday prepper, patrolled the area around the anti-aircraft bunkers rigorously, allowing no small changes to occur.


    Then one day, it happened.


    It was probably late spring, as Kyle_Dos remembered.


    Kyle_Dos had come face to face with something he had forgotten but had always thought about.


    A woman.


    She was young, attractive, and, above all, in need of protection.


    The process of Kyle_Dos, with his not-so-charming personality, and the attractive woman meeting, struggling, getting to know each other, and eventually becoming one, had all the virtues of a universal story. It also carried the potent pheromones that stimulated the fantasies of lonely men.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 26: Residue (2)

    Chapter 26: Residue (2)


    Kyle_Dos: I was patrolling the area as usual.


    It was a sweltering day.


    The underground bunker was filled with oppressive heat and humidity.


    There was a generator, but its power output was limited, so luxuries like air conditioning were out of the question.


    A roar echoed from the north.


    It seemed like another monster had burst out of the fissure.


    When the colossal creature appeared earlier, I had been lucky. It had come within just 4 km of my location before abruptly changing course.


    But the strange transformation of the surrounding vegetation and the eerie whitish light instead of the usual red in the dawn and dusk rays were unsettling even for someone like me, who was ignorant of the fissure''s mysteries.


    At that time, my hobby was foraging. While I had preserved foods that were as moisture-deprived as bricks and plenty of canned goods, consuming such food for an extended period was not good for one''s mental health.


    As a remedy for my depression, I had prepared sweet treats like jams and sugar, but if sweet foods alone could cure it, there would be no one in this world suffering from depression enough to go to the hospital or contemplate suicide.


    As a change of mood, I went to a nearby stream.


    By the stream, the makeshift stalls of the valley traders, left untouched by time, lay there, turning back the clock.


    Sitting on a suitable stall, I used my military dagger to catch a big crab lurking in the water. It was not a lobster, just crab-sized, but it was filled with flesh and tasted reasonably good, except for its eerie whitish colour.


    I caught enough crabs to fill a large pot and headed back home.


    There were flowers I had never seen before in bloom.


    It wasn''t just one or two; it was a field of whitish flowers composed of hundreds, even thousands of blooms, unfolding before me like destiny.


    Among the meticulously arranged flowers, I noticed something entirely different from the whitish blossoms, something white and radiant writhing in the center.


    It was a woman.


    Her entire clothes were torn off, and she seemed to have been severely beaten and had lost consciousness, but her shape and curves undeniably belonged to a woman.


    I brought her back to the underground bunker and nursed her diligently, undeterred by the bunker''s stifling heat and humidity.


    I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve as I applied antiseptic to her scratched wounds and carefully applied ointment to her face, which still retained its beauty despite the bruises and swelling.


    It took quite some time for the woman to regain consciousness.


    When she finally did, she covered herself with a thin blanket, trembling, and asked in a shaky voice, "I''m not sure what happened, but don''t worry. I''m not your enemy. This place is safe. If you need anything, please tell me."


    That was the first meeting between Kyle_Dos and the woman he had found.


    The prologue of DragonC''s story received enthusiastic praise.


    Anonymous458: Wow, why can''t I find a woman like that?


    roka3218: Such a beautiful story.


    Anonymous848: Jealous! Kyle_Dos! All I see around me are corpses.


    kimcic: I don''t usually read manga, but maybe because it''s your story, I found myself shedding tears without realizing it.


    unicorn18: Is she a virgin?


    ...


    ...


    But not everyone shares the same opinion.


    There were some negative comments, and I won''t deny that I am one of them.


    Defender: Just fantasy. Fantasy. Just show the status screen.


    SKELTON: Hmm... it is well written.


    Unfortunately, Defender and I posted our comments within an extremely short time interval of 1 second, which only intensified the suspicion that I was a Defender fanboy. I even earned the ignominious title of a troll.


    But a few people understood my true i


    Kyle_Dos himself was one of the rare few who recognized Skeleton''s true worth.


    He sent me a message.


    Message from Kyle_Dos: Skeleton, I''m really sorry, but I have a favour to ask.


    And that favour is an extension of the previous request.


    Another capsule has appeared, and not just one, but two.


    This is not good.


    The erosion is faster than expected.


    The descriptions in DragonC''s prologue and the fact that the plants themselves are changing are solid evidence that the area has already entered the early stages of erosion.


    In the academic world, they argue that the corrosion zone itself does not pose any harm to humans, citing the example of the 200 million believers of the Preservationist Sect who have established their base in the erosion zone.


    My thoughts are different.


    Humans cannot survive in the erosion zone.


    It''s as if humans are losing something crucial, much like the monsters vanishing from the Earth.


    To put it another way, everything becomes transient and loses its meaning.


    Where did those 200 million believers they talk about go?


    The erosion zone is genuinely dangerous.


    I sent a reply to Kyle_Dos.


    SKELTON: Where you are living is extremely dangerous. It''s not about the capsules. If you can escape, please do.


    Message from Kyle_Dos: Where should I go?


    I hesitated for a moment.


    Corrosion was progressing faster than I had anticipated.


    I took out a mask and covered my nose and mouth.


    Scholars claimed that the air in the erosion zone was harmless, but it was my own experience.


    The air here was undeniably harmful.


    I detected Kyle_Dos''s bunker amidst the white haze.


    The bunker appeared to be a mass-produced burial-type bunker manufactured in a factory, like the cheap ones, with a ladder leading inside.


    The hatch was open.


    I prepared my gun and axe while feeling pity.


    Inside the bunker, there was no sign of any form of life.


    Instead, the smell of decaying corpse was so strong that it could penetrate even through my mask.


    I turned on my lantern and entered.


    There was something that looked like a power switch, and surprisingly, the light came on when I pressed it.


    The light revealed dozens of women in swimsuits filling almost the entire bunker wall with their pictures.


    Among them were also explicit photos of women exposing their breasts.


    However, despite all these beautiful women, the bunker''s cramped space couldn''t be concealed.


    On top of the bed, a body was decaying with its throat slit.


    Decomposition was so severe that it was hard to identify properly, but the clothing, maggots, oozing fluids, and the long hair that had stiffened with the pus all indicated that the deceased was of the same gender as the women filling the bunker''s walls.


    The time of death seemed recent, but there were no signs of looters.


    Supplies like food, laptops, and satellite equipment were intact.


    Is there about a year''s worth of food left?


    The abundant variety of medicines caught my attention, especially.


    I opened the laptop.


    The laptop had gone into sleep mode, but as soon as my hand touched it, it magically powered on and showed me exactly what the previous owner had been working on. It was the forums, and Kyle_Dos was composing a message.


    I''m going to the flower garden with my wife. To the place where I met her. I''ll take some time to gather my thoughts and then tell you the next part of the story. Just wait a bit, don''t rush me.


    The recipient was DragonC.


    Perhaps he was discussing the next plot for the webtoon.


    As I removed the bodies and looked around, I found two more corpses. They were in worse decay than the women, making it difficult to determine the exact cause of death, but both were male and appeared to have been shot from behind.


    I continued to scan the area.


    In the place where there used to be the capsule, there were new capsules, and behind them, another entity had nonchalantly taken its place, like a tumour.


    It was too large and heavy to carry on my bicycle.


    After gathering all the valuable items from the bunker, especially painkillers, I closed the hatch, covered it with dirt and fallen leaves, and marked the area with a sign.


    I was about to leave when I recalled the last message Kyle_Dos had intended to send to DragonC.


    He mentioned going to a flower garden.


    I decided to take a look.


    There was no such flower garden anywhere.


    I climbed up the valley mentioned in the webtoon, but it was futile.


    The season had withered everything, and the forest seemed too barren to harbour a flower garden.


    Just as I was about to give up, a single house passed by me as if from the dreams.


    Kyle_Dos claimed he had found his wife, rescued her, and slowly built a bond as a married couple.


    But what if that was a lie?


    What if his story was distorted with lies?


    In that case, there were several possibilities to consider.


    The first was the possibility that the woman had been dead from the beginning.


    Severely beaten and unconscious, the woman might have died before she was discovered.


    Kyle_Dos might have brought the lifeless body to his hideout and gone on to talk to her, confess love, and spend time with her in the same bed.


    Then, as the body decayed, he might have patched up the unresponsive corpse, talked to it, confessed love, and even continued to share a bed until the body decomposed to the point of no return, eventually forcing Kyle_Dos to leave the bunker and disappear.


    The second possibility was more gruesome.


    While patrolling, Kyle_Dos might have stumbled upon a group of survivors, including the young woman.


    Initially, he might have intended to send her away, but her beauty could have awakened primal instincts within him.


    Once he regained his senses, he might have realized that everyone else in the group, except the woman, had died. Kyle_Dos might have claimed the woman as his own through violence and persuasion. The honeymoon period ended with the woman''s suicide, and only then did Kyle_Dos realize his mistake. He left the bunker and vanished.


    The final possibility and I hope this is the truth was that everything, including the woman, was a fabricated creation of Kyle_Dos.


    In other words, the woman never existed from the beginning, and Kyle_Dos never brought her to the bunker.


    For a long time, in the confined madness of this narrow chamber, he couldn''t bear the loneliness. Desperate for more than just a dream, he created a woman out of his imagination, beyond the boundaries of reality.


    In the hazy mix of dreams and reality, Kyle_Dos left the bunker with his "wife" and went on dates. Afterward, an unrelated woman arrived at the bunker, hanged herself, and died. Perhaps, this is the entire story.


    I am witnessing it all.


    The flower garden that Kyle_Dos intended to go to in the end.


    It consisted of thousands of capsules.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 27: Junior

    Chapter 27: Junior


    As the darkness fell, I spent the night at a refugee camp.


    Sleeping amidst the expelled and hungry people was no different from risking one''s life, so I had to be content with huddling for warmth next to a drum barrel where a fire was burning.


    While I closed my eyes for a moment, a young man approached me.


    He had a face in his early twenties, maybe even late teens. It was a youthful face that you could trust.


    Boldly, he reached out his hand towards my bicycle.


    I opened my eyes and warned him, "Don''t touch it."


    The young man was startled but seemed determined, as he attempted to touch it again.


    Quietly, I pulled out my gun, and only then did he raise both hands and back away from me. However, the group behind me, who were tending to another fire, sent me cold glances.


    As dawn broke, another gang of thugs joined them.


    They hesitated in front of me, exchanged intense glances, and slowly approached me, brandishing a variety of crude weapons clubs, pipes, rebar twisted into makeshift weapons, bicycle chains, and more. My fatigued eyes were overwhelmed by the sight.


    The middle-aged men who had been by my side, tending to the fire, lowered their heads and discreetly moved away.


    There didn''t seem to be any intention to seek help or prevent the approaching mob, but that was fine.


    As the approaching group of thugs came closer, I subtly revealed an automatic rifle wrapped in cloth.


    It was a means of communication in this era of ruin.


    The young gang members surrounding me exchanged intense glances and then turned and left.


    After they departed, the middle-aged men quietly returned, and I also showed them the automatic rifle.


    "..."


    I waited by the fire, watching as the sun began to rise.


    Shortly after, as soon as the military personnel revealed themselves at the outpost, I headed to the military headquarters.


    I had one purpose: to report the numerous capsules that had appeared around Kyle_Dos'' anti-aircraft bunkers.


    Originally, the capsules fell under the jurisdiction of the NCMC, but since all the National Assembly members had fled to Jeju Island, the military was the only place to handle this matter.


    Of course, I had already taken plenty of photos and recorded the coordinates.


    Honestly, I wasn''t inclined to do this.


    Even if I reported it, I might only suffer disadvantages. Perhaps the military already knew about it, but if they didn''t, the fall of Seoul would lead to my demise as well.


    Even if I anticipated unfavourable results, I had no choice.


    It was a matter that had to be reported.


    I was a hunter of the old era.


    I was a primitive hunter who faced colossal monsters with only my courage, audacity, skills, and a meager weapon.


    To a primitive hunter like me, thousands of capsules were too many.


    As of now, two years and two months had passed since the war began, and the South Korean military had split into two factions: the Legion Faction and the National Assembly Faction.


    The stronger of the two was the Legion Faction.


    The main units that had defended the frontlines rose up in discontent against the government''s unequal treatment and policies.


    Since the units that had guarded the frontlines became the core, they held overwhelming superiority in terms of numbers, quality, and equipment.


    In reality, they believed in their own power and initiated the civil war.


    The faction I was about to visit was their adversary, the National Assembly Faction.


    The National Assembly Faction was the only regular army in South Korea supported by the National Assembly itself. They were weaker in terms of equipment and troops compared to the Legion Faction but had the greatest weapon of all: legitimacy.


    No matter how well they disguised it, the essence of the Legion Faction was a coup d''tat force united by self-interest.


    While loyalty was maintained during the initial stages of the civil war, the conflict had turned into a war of attrition, forcing frontline units to switch sides due to dissatisfaction.


    Eventually, as frontline commanders who harbored grievances against the relentless attrition defected to the National Assembly Faction, the Legion Faction had to rethink their strategy from the beginning.


    It might not be an overly hasty conclusion, but could the National Assembly Faction win this civil war?


    Even if they did win, it would be a victory marked only by scars.


    I had arrived at the heart of the National Assembly Faction.


    "What''s the matter?"


    Unlike lower-ranking units, bribery did not work here.


    Given the situation, security was tighter than anywhere else.


    Tanks, including armored vehicles, were parked on the ground, and in the sky, at least ten drones patrolled various altitudes and zones, vigilant about their surroundings.


    Creepy signs were scattered everywhere.


    ["Photography, loitering, drone flight prohibited Violators will be executed on the spot"]


    I had no choice but to wait in line, following the strict security measures.


    "How did you get here?"


    After waiting for two hours, I finally had a chance to talk to the customer service representative.


    "Can I meet the Monster Handlers? It''s an extremely urgent matter."


    As soon as I uttered those words, I noticed a slight change in the representative''s expression.


    "What''s the matter?"


    "I''ve found capsules. Over a thousand large clusters. I have all the data and coordinates."


    "Capsules?"


    "The eggs of monsters."


    I showed a picture.


    The same pale white garden that Kyle had seen.New novel chapters are published on


    But unlike me, the representative seemed completely unaffected by the sight of the garden. They just glanced at the picture and repeated the same words they had said to the previous complainant.


    "Is that so? That''s a big problem. I''ll look into it."


    The representative gestured for me to leave.


    "You can go now. Next!"


    Perhaps this person wouldn''t take any action at all. They wouldn''t confirm or report anything. The reason was obvious. They were trying to ignore me and treat me like an insignificant person because my presence made them uncomfortable, and they didn''t know about my past.


    I considered leaving for a moment, but it wasn''t a matter of emotions. It was like leaving my home when a pile of explosive materials was right in front of me and the fire hadn''t ignited yet it was a shortsighted choice.


    I plan to live for at least another five years. My personality may be more unpredictable than I think, so I may not become the last hope of humanity as I hope, but I still intend to do my best to save what''s left.


    "Excuse me, I''d like to speak to Colonel Jung Daekyung."


    There might be more aggressive ways to create a commotion, but I consider myself a somewhat sophisticated person.


    "Colonel Jung Daekyung?"


    "Yes. He was on assignment with the NCMC."


    "Oh, you mean Jung Joonchul. Just a moment."


    Networking is a sophisticated method used by people with careers, like me. I don''t like it, but it''s necessary at times.


    "Hello."


    "Yes."


    "Who should I say is calling?"


    "Park Gyura. Just give him those two syllables."


    "Mr. Park Gyura. Okay, just a moment."


    "I overcame it in the past."


    I''m not sure if I overcame it or if my emotions just dulled, but at least it was a fact that the Viva! Apocalypse! forum members gave me a strong mental support.


    Why, from an unpopular user to a Defender''s friend, and now even a troll spammer.


    I couldn''t fall any further.


    "Since we''re on the subject, how are Han Min and Hyein doing? There''s almost no way for a regular person like me to know about their activities."


    "Oh my."


    A look of pure astonishment appeared on Woo Minhee''s face.


    "Is it really Park senior?"


    "Is there a problem?"


    "No."


    She stared at me with interest for a while.


    A rather unwilling time.


    After the boring gaze was over, Woo Minhee sighed lightly and spoke.


    "Both seniors are in Jeju Island."


    "As expected. Are they doing well?"


    "They must be living well. After all, they are the saviors."


    "Saviors... Do you have any news about Daram?"


    "No."


    "I see."


    "Anyway, it''s nice to see that Park senior is in good health."


    Woo Minhee stared at her two steel fingers like hooks, raising them as if to examine them.


    "I ended up like this..."


    "..."


    Did she think she should have died then?


    Anyway, the reunion with Woo Minhee should be classified as a positive development.


    "A capsule, and a cluster at that."


    For now, we could communicate.


    "It''s the first time since China. To see a cluster like this. During the ceasefire, we''ll need to coordinate with the artillery battalion. By the way, when you were in active duty, what was the maximum range for capsules in this condition?"


    "3,250 meters. To be safe, 3,500 meters."


    "Now it''s 5,500."


    "Has it gotten longer again?"


    "They must be learning about us little by little."


    Click-


    Woo Minhee adjusted her prosthetic hand.


    The sharp, claw-like fingers of her prosthetic hand were probably custom-made to her specifications.


    "It''s a lot~. But we have to clear it, right?"


    Woo Minhee stood up from her seat.


    With this, one worry was lifted off his shoulders.


    She may have a dirty personality, but she is someone who handles her work with certainty.


    "We''ve met like this, it''s fate. Since I''ll be around here for a while, should we exchange contact information?"


    Woo Minhee shared her identification number with me.


    Her identification was "Redmask."


    I didn''t really want to exchange, but I couldn''t refuse, so I shared my identification number with her.


    "Skeleton?"


    Woo Minhee suddenly laughed and looked at me intently.


    "What''s with that reaction?"


    "Oh, it just reminded me of a foolish human."


    "..."


    Could it be him?!


    No, it couldn''t.


    It couldn''t be someone like Kim Daram or Lee Sanghoon. It couldn''t be the new Hunter who was known as the Red Woman to the fanatics, doing something like running a community for fugitives out of dissatisfaction.


    With a strange smile on her face for a while, she handed me a gum-sized piece of paper that was divided into two colors like a rete-maru.


    "No kids, right?"


    "Yeah."


    "I didn''t think there would be, but I asked out of courtesy."


    "What''s this?"


    "It''s a simple power sensitivity test sheet."


    "Something like that exists?"


    "Because humans are desperate too. If there are kids around you, try chewing on it occasionally, and if there''s a change in color, contact me."


    "Kids?"


    "They say scientists do it. Awakening like mine is most likely to occur in the cerebral cortex of adolescents around the second sexual characteristics development."


    "If I contact you?"


    "They''ll probably send him and his family to Jeju Island."


    Woo Minhee turned away.


    The sound of her prosthetic scratching the ground like tearing the eardrums resounded.


    "Then I''ll see you again."


    She stopped with her back turned.


    She whispered in a low voice, her back facing me.


    "I still hold you in high regard, senior."


    With the sound of scratching the eardrums, she disappeared to the other side.


    The flower garden of Kyle will burn down.


    Another flower garden will bloom around, but at least my demise will be postponed.


    With mixed feelings of half satisfaction and half bitterness, I left the headquarters.


    White things were falling on the desolate ruins.


    It''s the first snow.


    Christmas is coming soon.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 28: Magic Potion (1)

    Chapter 28: Magic Potion (1)


    I had a dream after a long time.


    As someone who strives for short but perfect sleep, dreaming is somewhat shameful, but the dream itself was intriguing.


    In the dream, Park Gyura was preparing for the future in the United States, not in Korea.


    He easily acquired firearms and built a massive fortress in the heart of the wilderness, defying the conglomerate chairman.


    From the highest tower of that fortress, he shot and killed intruders such as Yankees, cowboys, superheroes, and a crazy mouse. He then crushed monsters with an 18-wheeler trailer and somehow ended up having dinner with the President of the United States.


    In the climax of the dream, I tried to say something to the President.


    But I couldn''t find the words.


    I knew what I wanted to say, but I wasn''t familiar with his language, and I doubted whether my expression would be appropriate.


    At that moment, I realized I was a stranger in that land, and I woke up with a feeling of impending doom, as if something was brewing in the future.


    I felt this way when I thought about the people I would meet soon.


    Gunshots have become more frequent lately.


    Considering the one-sided nature of the gunfire, it doesn''t seem like a battle is taking place, but the frequency of the gunfire is unnaturally high.


    Could there be a problem?


    I don''t think it''s a situation where I need to communicate, so I''m just watching, but worry is getting the better of me.


    Perhaps the frequent shootings are not just because there are intruders, but rather a sign of madness.


    It''s been two years since the war started.


    That''s plenty of time for one person to go insane.


    The sniper has always asked me for drugs.


    But what kind of drug can soothe her empty heart?


    If there''s a magic potion, I don''t know.


    But where can I find this magic potion?


    People are creatures who care about their reputation.


    Even now, there are friends on the message boards looking for Kyle_Dos:.


    Anonymous848: Kyle_Dos:! Are you alive? Where are you?


    Anonymous458: Kyle_Dos:! I''m sorry. I heard you''re becoming a webtoon protagonist. I''ve said some bad things, so I''m begging you to come back!


    Today, DragonC uploaded the latest episode of his webtoon.


    In the latest episode, Kyle_Dos fought desperately to protect his wife against invading deserters. In the final moments, he realized something profound, held hands with his wife, and shared a last kiss before pulling the pin on a grenade while watching the enemy closing in.


    Boom!


    It ended in an explosion.


    The reactions were overwhelmingly emotional.


    Anonymous458:


    roka3218:


    keystone:


    THE_LAST_MAN:


    Anonymous848:


    kimcic:


    gijayangban:


    Defender:


    James_Catterer: TT


    James_Catterer: Can somebody translate this to English? :)


    ...


    ...


    Everyone shed tears through their keyboards.


    Even Defender.


    But there were two of us who didn''t react the same way.


    SKELTON: Hmmm....


    unicorn18: Was she a virgin?


    Objectively speaking, they were a bunch of fervent guys.


    One was a friend of Defender who was always "no fun," and the other was a guy who had turned into a real unicorn, just as his username suggested.


    Anonymous848: Skeleton, aren''t you being a bit too much?


    Anonymous458: It feels like you misunderstood the concept this time.


    DragonC: Skeleton?New novel chapters are published on


    roka3218:


    kimcic: Sir


    keystone: You''re the only one who keeps saying "hmm"...


    ...


    ...


    Anyway, it feels like I''m the only one having a blast getting beaten up in sets like this. Even Defender seemed wary.


    Message from Defender: (Defender in shock) Skeleton... is that you? A psychopath...?


    I may have been unfairly accused, but I am innocent.


    I went to Kyle Dos''s bunker myself and made efforts to confirm the truth. That''s my honest impression.


    To be frank, it wasn''t exactly an explosive ending, was it?


    I didn''t share any news about Kyle Dos on the bulletin board.


    I thought there was no need for it.


    I felt it was better to leave room for interpretation rather than making it a clear-cut explosive ending.


    And in the middle of it is Seoul.


    Even if Seoul falls, there will be people who can survive there.


    Seoul''s value will keep rising, not falling.


    Even if it turns into ruins, everything needed will be there.


    If my area is on the verge of erosion, giving up the bunker might be an option.


    By then, there won''t be many people wandering around in South Korea.


    The most formidable enemy will be gone.


    Bang!


    Why are humans the most feared enemies?


    You can easily see that just by looking at the looters who invade the sniper''s territory.


    Bang!


    A group of looters is attacking a position about 1.2 km away from the sniper''s building.


    Two barefooted men, completely naked, appear on the ridgeline like moles and disappear as they run.


    There''s a reason they''re doing this crazy thing in the middle of winter.


    To taunt the sniper.


    Bang!


    No matter how skilled a sniper is, they can''t easily hit a fast-moving target 1.2 km away.


    Every time a gunshot goes off, the half-naked men either strike a pose the sniper, taunting her, and each time, laughter can be heard from below the ridgeline.


    Bang!


    Another nervy shot pierces the air, but the bullet simply disappears into thin air.


    "."


    It may look like a comedy from a distance, but for the people involved, it''s extreme stress.


    Because those guys who are ready to kill her and take everything are taunting her from a point where they can easily reach her.


    In the natural world, it''s no different from a predator finding a hedgehog and, instead of attacking it, observing it and figuring out how to kill and eat it.


    They will nibble at your nerves, tormenting you while watching until the other party finally collapses.


    "Kiyahat!"


    One of them leaps onto the ridge, spreading his body wide like a gymnast and making a bizarre noise.


    Bang!


    A nervous gunshot rings out, but before the gunshot can spread, the half-naked looter dives into cover.


    Bang!


    Another bullet hits one of the men.


    "Kiyahoou!"


    Bleeding from the gunshot wound, the man screams as he enters cover, and laughter echoes from below the ridgeline.


    Only humans can do such things.


    Only humans have a clear purpose to kill their own kind.


    Monsters don''t have that kind of purpose.


    That''s why, despite their deadly strength, I place monsters below humans.


    I eventually reached the sniper''s territory, going all the way around.


    I saw three bodies frozen underfoot.


    Judging by the dog tags on their arms, they seem to have died in the fall of autumn when the pioneers were rampant.


    "."


    Is there no time to clean up the bodies?


    I recalled the sniper''s whining about looking for drugs.


    Perhaps she is in a critical condition.


    She may have come to her limit.


    I shook my hand with some determination.


    Soon, a light reflected in the mirror from the building.


    It''s Morse code.


    "Wait."


    I waited for the contact to arrive, not the sniper.


    Soon, in front of me was not the sniper but her daughter.


    Children really grow quickly; she had grown even more than when I saw her last.


    But the U.S. military helmet on her head still looked bigger than her head, and the rifle slung over her shoulder didn''t suit her body either.


    "Skeleton."


    The sniper''s daughter stared at me with a cold face.


    You can tell just by looking at her face.


    She''s under considerable stress.


    Her nutritional status isn''t at a critical level, but it''s not abundant either.


    "Let''s go."


    I didn''t offer any words of comfort.


    What they need is a solution to the problem.


    I came here to solve this problem.


    But under no circumstances will I provide drugs.


    Because drugs are not a shortcut to magic potions.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 29: Magic Potion (2)

    Chapter 29: Magic Potion (2)


    "Skeleton, over here."


    As I entered the low building following the sniper''s daughter, I was met with an unexpected sight.


    American franchise signs, a statue of Colonel Sanders frying chicken, comic book hero movie posters, American road signs, various forms of English typography, extinguished English neon signs, English newspapers, and a superhero''s shield - within this unnecessarily spacious and disorganized building, it was filled with things that were distinctly American, evoking images of the United States.


    On the upper floor, in a room cluttered with makeshift barricades where the wind could freely enter, the sniper crouched with her rifle aimed down below.


    Without taking her eyes off the scope, the sniper said, "Enemy. RPG. They have it."


    The sniper''s daughter, kneeling beside her with binoculars, scanned the area below. "I don''t see it."


    "It''s hidden," the sniper added.


    "RPG is dangerous. They''re aiming for us," she explained in hesitant Korean.


    Even though her Korean was a bit shaky, I understood the situation. The people drawing attention upfront were acting as decoys. Someone with a portable rocket launcher was hiding somewhere, planning to blow the sniper and her daughter to pieces.


    The reason the sniper had called me was probably for that very reason. But that''s only the sniper''s judgment. I needed to assess the situation based on my own criteria.


    Based on my experience on the battlefield, people cornered in a dire situation tend to exaggerate the situation more than reality.


    "I''ll take care of it in a moment; just draw me a simple map," I said, taking the sniper''s rifle in her place. The grip was slippery with sweat.


    Taking my position and looking through the high-powered scope, I could indeed see them clearly. These weren''t ordinary looters. Among the countless looters, these were individuals who had trampled over others, killed, and survived to level up.


    The ones causing a ruckus up front were probably just cannon fodder. There were also many women mixed in, but they didn''t look like combatants.


    "Skeleton," the sniper handed me a map.


    I looked at her left foot. Even with the sub-zero wind blowing in, she had only wrapped it in bandages and was standing awkwardly with her weight on her heels. The unnaturalness in her movement when she got up from her seat earlier was probably due to this injured left foot.


    I looked into her blue eyes directly. The madness I was worried about didn''t seem too evident. There was just a sense of sadness, anxiety, and deep fatigue casting a shadow.


    "What happened to your leg?"


    "I need medicine," the sniper said, her face showing self-blame as she stared at her injured left foot. "My leg is rotting."


    "We''ll look at it later," I replied.


    I examined the map she had drawn. She had highlighted only the essential points, as expected of someone with a military background.


    After a brief inspection, I reached a conclusion. With these numbers and this level of firepower, it was impossible. Moreover, the enemy was cunning hunters.


    Knowing that we were outnumbered, they were using a strategy of slowly and patiently suffocating us with their superior strength. Showing the RPG wasn''t an immediate threat; it was just a way to unsettle us. They probably aimed to make us anxious, fuel our imagination with impending doom, and accelerate our downfall. The sniper understood the situation as well.


    "It''s going to be a tough fight," I said.


    "And?"


    "I have a safe place. We can take shelter there."


    The sniper''s eyes twitched with unease, but she, too, was a soldier who understood her situation better than anyone else. She looked down at her injured leg with a melancholic expression.


    "Suu," the sniper called her daughter.


    Suu. That was her daughter''s name.


    Even in extreme circumstances, they seemed to have a close relationship where they understood each other''s intentions without needing to speak.


    Suu understood her mother''s intention and leaned her head sideways, allowing her mother to embrace her.


    She whispered something in English. Perhaps it meant she didn''t want to go. While hugging her daughter, the sniper gazed at me with wet eyes.


    "I''m sorry, Skeleton. I knew it was dangerous. I knew, but I called you."


    She confessed her inner thoughts belatedly, and I asked her calmly, "Do you have any other weapons?"


    "Different weapons?"


    "There were a lot of Chinese weapons in the bunker before. Where are they now?"


    The sniper gently pulled his daughter away and locked eyes with me.


    "Sue."


    His daughter nodded, adjusted her helmet, and swiftly ran ahead.


    "Skeleton, follow her."


    As I left the spot, the sniper gestured to me.


    It meant to go with the daughter.Follow current novels at novelhall.com)


    I tilted my head and followed Sue.


    The weapons were stored in a warehouse on the second floor.


    I was right all along.


    From recoilless rifles to 7.62mm machine guns, Claymores, grenades, and Javelins, there were enough Chinese weapons to call it a weapons department store.


    But there was a reason why the sniper didn''t use those weapons.


    Among them was the Javelin, which could be considered her most powerful weapon, but both of them had run out of batteries, and the other weapons, while powerful, had issues with range and accuracy.


    Considering that she could no longer walk properly, these weapons were practically unusable.


    But that didn''t matter to me.


    I found a usable weapon.


    An unknown recoilless rifle.


    I had fired one before when I was in Paju.


    It was lightweight, reliable, and had excellent firepower.


    Effective range: within 200 meters.


    A decent means of communication.


    "Let me borrow two of them."


    "Two of them?"


    I nodded in response to the sniper''s question and asked her, "What''s your name?"


    She hesitated for a moment at the question but then answered with unwavering eyes.


    "Rebecca."


    Now I had a powerful weapon in my hands.


    I had two of them, but there would be only one efficient opportunity.


    The conclusion was simple.


    I had to kill as many of them as possible in a single shot.


    Especially the heavily armed veterans deep within.


    The drug-addled bullet sponges would come next, but if their numbers were too large, it could be problematic.


    So, the approach I chose was surprisingly similar to the sniper next door.


    Quietly lie in wait, bide my time, and wait for that one chance.


    But these marauders were not easy prey.


    Unlike the pioneers we encountered at the theme park, they were loosely spread out, with sentries posted in all directions.


    I waited.


    The marauders taunted the sniper with drugs, alcohol, and bullets, trying to wear her down.


    Every time, the sniper and his daughter returned fire, but there was no significant gain.


    I hid in the bushes, fully exposed to the cold rising from the ground, waiting for nightfall.


    "Hey, you bastard. Do it properly! I told you to keep your eyes open!"


    From the enemy''s position, a rough voice could be heard, as someone ruthlessly beat the sentry with a club, setting an example for everyone.


    There''s something.


    A magic that can grant her wish.


    "Hey, Rebecca."


    I called her.


    "Come on."


    I opened my laptop and accessed the community.


    <Viva! Apocalypse!>


    "What''s this?"


    Suu also became interested and approached.


    Now it''s time to cast the magic.


    Magic that I thought had nothing to do with me.


    This magic can be cast with just a few clicks, without the need for an incantation or a magic circle.


    The magic began.


    With a stuttering scroll.


    Anonymous45: Is it actually hard to find protein-rich plants in the wild to eat if one is starving?


    In_domini_LK: it depends on the season and location.


    PennKIX1978: Wild Amaranth is pretty high in proteins.


    anonymous71: meet my WAIFUs.


    ...


    ...


    Awkward English Titles.


    That''s right.


    This is the Viva Apocalypse English forum.


    In fact, this is the main forum, and there are many more users here than us.


    We can use translation functions, but our experience with it is quite limited.


    The Korean forum is my hometown, after all.


    But for this beast from a different world like me, the growls of similar beasts might be more fitting.


    "What''s this? Could they be living people?"


    Well, it''s the resonance of the same hometown.


    "Of course."


    I smiled and made room as I looked at Rebecca''s bright face.


    The sniper clenched the keyboard with trembling hands and finally transmitted her own language to the world.


    SKELTON: Hi guys :)


    "Get out."


    I admit it.


    This Park Gyura is no gentleman.


    "Get out."


    "Just a little more."


    "No, we stayed up all night. How much longer will you do this?"


    "Just a little more."


    The sniper is a problem, but her daughter is not to be underestimated either.


    "Skeleton, what''s this?"


    "Hey hey hey! Put that away. The kids shouldn''t see that."


    She is a ghost that finds embarrassing things.


    It''s like seeing the ferret that my sister used to raise.


    I chased away the disastrous mother and daughter around noon.


    "...Thank you, Skeleton."


    "Thank you, Skeleton!"


    The mother and daughter expressed their gratitude to me belatedly.


    The sniper whispered something to her daughter.


    Suu nodded and asked me in fluent Korean.


    "She''s asking why you helped back then."


    "Back then?"


    "When she changed her mind when we first tried to escape."


    "Well..."


    I smiled faintly.


    I didn''t need to say it.


    The image of Rebecca holding her daughter, looking at me with wet eyes, was eerily similar to the image of my dying mother holding me.


    "It''s because she''s my neighbour."


    It''s half true.


    I drove them away with all my might from the main bunker, but I did propose giving them one of the spare bunkers.


    Anyway, it seems like this mother and daughter are nearing their limits.


    Rebecca still seemed hesitant about her territory.


    I didn''t try to stop her.


    Sharing living space with someone else for just half a day is not as easy as it sounds.


    We need more preparation.


    Both for the mother and daughter and for myself.


    I watched the mother and daughter climb the stairs of the abandoned building from beside the truck.


    Rebecca, limping along, nodded her head in thanks as she looked at me.


    Out of the blue, I asked her, "Do you still need the drugs?"


    Rebecca smiled bitterly and shook her head.


    Suu clung to her and shook hands with me.


    I watched their figures for a while before leaving.


    I hope there''s a magical medicine that suits me.


    "..."


    We''ll just exchange messages on the radio for Christmas.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 30: Sea Monkey Papa

    Chapter 30: Sea Monkey Papa


    I''ve never raised animals.


    I spent a long time in a place where I couldn''t raise animals and frequently encountered mutations, so I couldn''t develop a fondness for animals.


    In fact, among the hunters with war experience, there is no one who raises animals.


    However, in our community, a few users do raise animals.


    They actively nurture animals, choosing a communal survival approach.


    Anonymous424: Our dog handlers


    Dies_irae69: Look at our dogs


    These friends who gather with like-minded individuals or family members tend to dominate a fairly large area, focusing on exposed houses rather than bunkers.


    Since they talk a lot, food reserves cannot keep up with consumption, so they need to farm, which inevitably requires a large amount of land.


    Well-trained dogs help secure a large area.


    They can set boundaries, intimidate wandering outsiders, and even be used in combat when necessary.


    But their love didn''t last long.


    Dies_irae69: Our dogs... I killed them all...


    It''s inevitable.


    Not killing animals that have started to mutate is no different from suicide.


    Raising animals during the apocalypse requires determination.


    Either a willingness to kill mutated animals or a greater determination to embrace them.


    Here, there is someone with greater determination.


    He raised Sea Monkeys.


    I learned about SeamonkeyPAPA when I was getting used to life during the apocalypse and starting to accept the apocalypse as part of my life.


    In the early days of the war, I was quite on edge.


    Even a suspicious shadow on the horizon would make me hold my gun for hours in a defensive posture, and I would check my equipment almost obsessively, close to developing PTSD.


    It was my first experience of the apocalypse as an individual, not as a hunter, so I was frozen in fear.


    As time passed and I became accustomed to the changing situation and gained experience, I became more relaxed.


    I started writing on the community forum as a lurking user.


    At that time, SeamonkeyPAPA was an unpopular user with a similar personality to mine.


    He worked hard on creative activities, trying to gain attention, but his efforts didn''t get much recognition.


    In my case, it was just bad luck, but SeamonkeyPAPA had taken the wrong approach from the beginning.


    Who in the world would feel cuteness or emotion when they saw something like Sea Monkeys?


    Most people who first saw his posts clicked on them out of curiosity about what Sea Monkeys were, and when they found out that these creatures were like tiny fleas that couldn''t even be seen properly in their tanks, they clicked the back button without a second thought.


    The official name for Sea Monkeys is brine shrimp, creatures similar to shrimp.


    They are hardy, easy to raise, and active, so they were popular as novelty pets at the end of the 20th century, but they quickly lost popularity and became disposable creatures that children briefly raised or flushed down the toilet before they died.


    <Sea Monkeys are swimming very actively! They can survive in high salinity water, and they have even been found in the "Death Sea"! However, if you raise them in freshwater, they will die!!! Even if they don''t die right away, they will eventually die!>


    SeamonkeyPAPA had experience in video editing, and for each video he uploaded, he put a lot of effort into explanations and care information, trying to widely promote the existence of Sea Monkeys, which we didn''t know much about.


    He used exclamation marks frequently.Follow current novels at novelhall.com)


    Of course, he knew that he was at the bottom of the popularity ladder, but SeamonkeyPAPA had something in mind.


    He prepared a masterpiece despite the odds.


    It was a combination of various laborious technical tasks.


    Feeding them fluorescent food to make Sea Monkeys shine even in the dark, adjusting the lighting meticulously so that even a weak camera wouldn''t blur their appearance in the dark, beautiful New Age-style classical music, Sea Monkeys glowing, multiple angles, slow motion, painstaking subtitles, and an excessive number of exclamation marks.


    These elements were combined to create a labor-intensive video that was posted on the forum.


    SeamonkeyPAPA: A magnificent and grand nocturnal performance by Sea Monkeys, "danse en groupe."


    I clicked on his post to see what he was about to post around the same time, and Sea Monkey Papa said he had invested 18 hours in shooting and preparing the video, adding a proud remark.


    Eighteen hours.


    My video barely took one minute.


    It was an astonishing dedication.


    As always, reality is harsh.


    If I were to recreate the scene at the time, it would feel something like this.


    unicorn18: Red Archive Hotaru-chan.jpg


    SUNBI: The thrilling buttock valley of a mysterious Western woman


    SeamonkeyPAPA: A magnificent and solemn group dance "danse en groupe" by self-illuminating Sea Monkeys


    Defender: Certification


    Anonymous118: Super Maria No-installation Execution Version


    SKELTON: (Skeleton Video) Skeleton''s Beatboxing (3)


    Just looking at the titles, it doesn''t seem much different from the present.


    But when you click on the view count feature, the dark truth is revealed.


    unicorn18: Red Archive Hotaru-chan.jpg (22 views)


    SUNBI: The thrilling buttock valley of a mysterious Western woman (93 views)


    SeamonkeyPAPA: A magnificent and solemn group dance "danse en groupe" by self-illuminating Sea Monkeys (8 views)


    Defender: Certification (232 views)


    Anonymous118: Super Maria No-installation Execution Version (1,023 views)


    SKELTON: (Skeleton Video) Skeleton''s Beatboxing (3) (5 views)


    That''s right.


    SeamonkeyPAPA''s long-awaited masterpiece has only 8 views.


    Only 8 views.


    After investing 18 hours, he only received 8 views, which implies that fewer than 8 people clicked on his post, considering that one user can click multiple times.


    Even if I were SeamonkeyPAPA, I would have been in despair.


    Surely, it''s just a coincidence.


    It must be.


    I want to believe that.


    But I can''t let my guard down.


    Woo Minhee has always been fond of online communities and such.


    In contrast, I''m a person who doesn''t even participate in group chats.


    Yet during my contact with Woo Minhee, the online forums seemed to be in an uproar.


    Defender: No, just kill them all. It''s obvious they''re dangerous, right? They''re mutations.


    SeamonkeyPAPA: Shut up, you motherless murderer! What do you know, you lower-class bastard who grew up without parents! What right do you have to tell me what to do with my sea monkeys? My sea monkeys!


    Defender and SeamonkeyPAPA.


    Two users who had no connection were now causing a clash.


    Watching their keyboard battle, I was puzzled.


    I don''t know.


    It''s a bit unsettling.


    I''ve always thought of SeamonkeyPAPA as someone who simply liked sea monkeys, a quiet middle-aged gentleman, and maybe a professional in his early 50s. His voice was polite, and he exuded an easygoing atmosphere.


    But the true nature of SeamonkeyPAPA that was revealed during the keyboard battle was completely different.


    It was more childish than disgusting.


    He spewed out vulgar and obscene insults so extensively that he wouldn''t want to put them into words. 30% of those insults were slang referring to genitalia, and the remaining 30% insulted other people''s parents. The rest were exclamation marks that SeamonkeyPAPA seemed to like.


    SeamonkeyPAPA: You ****!! You ****!!! Damn ******! ******* ******, you!! ********!!


    It changes like this.


    On the other hand, Defender responded calmly, but it''s a well-known fact that his patience isn''t very high.


    Defender: I''m saying this out of concern. If you want to die, go ahead. But what about the insults to my parents? Can you take that back?


    Defender: I''m thinking about the reservoir in your picture. I know that reservoir. I think I know where you are.


    In an instant, the icy glare of Defender, especially the brother, came to mind as if it were drawn.


    This seems a bit dangerous, doesn''t it?


    I''m sure everyone on the forum felt the same way.


    Right now, Defender is sincere.


    If I were SeamonkeyPAPA, I would have apologized or at least taken my hands off the keyboard.


    But SeamonkeyPAPA didn''t do that.


    SeamonkeyPAPA: *********!!!!


    "Ah."


    Defender: You want to die?


    SeamonkeyPAPA: You ******!!!


    SeamonkeyPAPA: You ********!!!!


    "This is too much."


    This goes far beyond crossing the line.


    No matter how much Defender doesn''t physically harm the forum friends, this is not right.


    I immediately sent a message to SeamonkeyPAPA.


    SKELTON: Even though its Defender, his words are correct, it''s dangerous. Apologize and end it. Why are you fighting like kids?


    It''s my own way of mediating.


    If SeamonkeyPAPA wanted, I was willing to calm down Defender.


    I didn''t want another colleague and forum user to disappear like the Mina incident.


    A while later, I received a reply from SeamonkeyPAPA.


    Message from SeamonkeyPAPA: *******!!!!


    Is it because of a profanity filter?


    Or is it because what happened to him and the change in his image is too significant?


    The user who messaged me didn''t seem like anything more or less than Sea Monkey.


    Message from SeamonkeyPAPA: *******(Random characters)


    SKELTON: *********


    Defender: Verified


    Two days later, the post that Defender put up was filled with horror and mystery, reminiscent of a horror movie.


    Defender used the reservoir as coordinates to find SeamonkeyPAPA''s residence.


    Whether he was sincere or saying it to make the situation better, Defender intended to shake hands and SeamonkeyPAPA apologized.


    Defender easily found the bunker.


    The door inside the bunker was open, and inside, there were SeamonkeyPAPA''s belongings, an old notebook, and various other equipment.


    However, SeamonkeyPAPA''s presence was nowhere to be found.


    It wasn''t just SeamonkeyPAPA.


    Inside the bunker, the shadow of poverty and destitution cast a melancholic veil.


    Defender: That guy, he was almost out of food and supplies. Judging by the boiler''s condition, it seems he hasn''t lit it or used heating for a long time. Posting on the forum itself is a luxury for him.


    The food that Defender found with SeamonkeyPAPA was a moldy week-old bread, two boxes of soju, and an open half-bottle of whiskey from 17 years ago, all scattered on the floor.


    Defender recalled the post SeaMonkeyPapa had posted and drained the water from the reservoir.


    All in an effort to kill those abhorrent mutations.


    When all the water had been drained, there wasn''t a single Sea Monkey left.


    In the slimy puddle, a skeleton corpse lay in a salute, like an exclamation mark.


    The post that painstakingly explained how Sea Monkeys would die if placed in freshwater casually came to mind.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 31: Gold (1)

    Chapter 31: Gold (1)


    Christmas season arrived without fail.


    Recently, a former game developer who changed his nickname from Anonymous 118 to Foxgames had set up a tree decorating site, following last year''s tradition.


    Users of the ever-present forums had flocked together to decorate each other''s trees.


    Unlike last year, this year, my Christmas tree was adorned quite well.


    "Hmm, is this enough? Nah, boring, hmm... I should pay more attention next year, hmm hmm, Defender1, Defender2."


    Haha, our forums friends can be mischievous. I adorned Defender''s tree.


    True to the named user style, Defender already had three trees full and the fourth one was on the process of being filled when I luckily managed to add my nickname to the candy cane decoration in the last spot.


    "KILL, squawk!, Cimongkipapa: why?, Cimongkipapa, Memento Mori, Skeleton Friend, DragonC, Born to Kill, Cimongkipapada, SKELETON."


    Outside, heavy snow had been falling for three days straight. My area and its surroundings had turned into a white wilderness. With the snow piled up gently, even the neighbouring golf course had regained its former charm.


    Given the weather, there were hardly any human shadows around. Since the war, the only signs of life in the deserted wilderness were the occasional appearances of goral and wild boars searching for food.


    It promised to be a rare peaceful and tranquil day, at least until the fierce howling of the wild from the southwest.


    ***


    The monster invasion is linked to mold. A definite source of contamination, called a fissure, caused mold to grow in the vicinity. The mold then spawned various malicious pathogens, which, in turn, fed on the mold. Mutation was one of those pathogens, one of the worst enemies civilians could encounter.


    There were various kinds of mutations. In Africa, there were lion mutations, in India, elephant mutations, and in China, panda mutations, each reigning supreme in their own right. However, the real problem mutations were those originating from livestock, the animals humans primarily raised.


    Chicken, cattle, horses, pigs, sheep, goats, and more. I hadn''t heard of hamsters being affected. Among them, the most threatening was a mutation derived from dogs, the ancestors of which used to hunt humans. They had high basic combat abilities and intelligence. In my area to the southwest, there was a pack of mutated dogs.


    The leader of that pack was a cunning and ruthless dog known as Gold, named for the golden fur covering its entire body. Despite government efforts to eradicate them when Korea was relatively intact, the eradication teams often returned empty-handed. Once, they even came close to my area, but recently, they had settled down in the southwest, proving themselves as dominant figures in the dog-eat-dog world.


    From the Gold pack''s territory came the fierce sounds of wild howling, echoing competitively. Were the mutated dogs fighting each other?


    The primitive violence in their roars continued into late afternoon.


    "Skeleton, did you hear that strange noise?"


    It seemed Sniper Mother and Daughter also heard the noise.


    Suu was the one who initiated communication.


    "Seems like mutations. Anyway, be careful, and Merry Christmas."


    "Merry Christmas. My mom also says Merry Christmas. And she''s asking if she can use the computer around New Year''s."


    "Why?"


    "She wants to do a countdown to New Year''s with the people on the forum, following U.S. Eastern Standard Time."


    "Well, the computer is acting up for a bit now. I''ll find a way to get you a satellite device and a laptop soon, so please be patient. Is your mom okay?"


    "Yeah."


    "Alright then."


    After ending the communication, I cleaned and maintained my weapons. I had received several weapons from Rebecca in exchange for internet usage fees. A Claymore anti-personnel mine, an recoilless rifle, a 7.62mm machine gun, and around 200 rounds of ammunition. Although I had enough explosives, I was still short on firepower. The Javelin battery she gave me was part of my homework. If I could restore the battery, she promised to give me a tank-killing weapon. Its power was beyond words.


    It would be best if such a situation didn''t arise, but we couldn''t predict fate. Although there was a ceasefire in Seoul at the moment, no one knew when fighting might break out again. I pondered how to charge the dusty battery tester and charger when I realized the sun had set.


    I took a quick wash and entered my heated tent, turning on the hot water mattress to get some sleep.


    At that moment, motion sensors and other devices in my inner bunker flashed.


    "..."


    Something entered my territory.


    Inside the main bunker.


    I turned on the eavesdropping device and listened closely through the speaker.


    I could hear distinct sounds of heavy breathing and dragging footsteps through the speaker.


    Soon, the closed-circuit screen revealed the intruder''s identity to me in black and white.


    The intruder was not human.


    It was a wounded and dying mutant dog that had made its way into my territory, dragging its feet towards me.


    The gazed intently at a house as if targeting it.


    It was the village chief''s house.


    Elder Kim, a well-known dog meat enthusiast, had a strong liking for dog meat. He used to secretly slaughter the breed of dog he raised in his nearby rural house, to the extent that it made it to the news. Seeing it growling so fiercely, one might wonder if he had caught a known dog or if it had almost become prey itself.


    Gold took another step.


    Its steps noticeably slowed down. The hind legs seemed to have lost their strength, and it moved forward only with the power of its front legs, dragging the lower body forward.


    It ventured through the collapsed stone wall.


    The wall that had been precariously holding up the lion-sized mass collapsed, showering bricks all around. The thick dust cloud momentarily concealed it.


    Clank.


    Mutated dogs with high intelligence knew how to use tricks.


    He waited for the dust to settle while carefully observing the surroundings.


    its rough breathing had been coming from the same place all along.


    As the dust cleared, the its figure reappeared in front of me.


    It was lying curled up in front of the ruined house, licking its wounds.


    Behind its feeble tail, a tilted doghouse stood precariously, as if performing an acrobatic act.


    Slowly, it walked through the broken stone wall and looked at the house.


    This house, it looked familiar.


    I didn''t have a strong memory of it, but it occupied a corner of my memory of the living village landscape.


    Isn''t this the place where a dog used to park loudly whenever he passed by?


    It was this house.


    Where Gold used to live.


    On the flipped doghouse, the name he was called by was written.


    <Mix>


    "Mix."


    When I called its name, it looked at me.


    "...Gold is better."


    Humans are said to be vessels composed of memories.


    In that respect, this dog was not much different from humans.


    Mutation, they say, cannot be tamed according to conventional wisdom.


    A woman who lived alone, relying solely on a cats in a place where there was no family or neighbours.


    Here, another miracle was about to happen.


    It began to emit a strange rhythm with its breath.


    At first, I thought it might be exhaling its last breath, but that wasn''t so.


    Unlike humans, this beast, with no regulated vocal cords and no knowledge of pitch, was imitating a human song with its rough breath.


    "Happy birthday..."


    "Hey."


    I called out to it.


    It turned its head towards me when the song reached the part that goes "To my beloved."


    "Do you want to live?"


    My long-standing and disease-like curiosity was triggered.


    Prev | Index | Next

 Chapter 32: Gold (2)

    Chapter 32: Gold (2)


    First, thanks to Kyle_dos.


    If it weren''t for the substantial amount of medicine I brought from his shelter, I wouldn''t have had the courage to try and treat this creature.


    It''s not a remarkable treatment.


    I applied powdered disinfectant to the exposed rib area and covered it with gauze.


    Gold, aside from growling briefly in pain during treatment, didn''t show any hostile behaviour towards me.


    After treating its wounds, I provided it with food.


    I had made the food myself, boiling some of the meat that had been thawed in the freezer, which had gone bad during the previous incidents, and mixing it with nutritional supplements and antibiotics.


    Gold wrinkled its nose at the smell.


    "Grrr!"


    "Oh, come on."


    Even dogs can be picky eaters.


    Well, after always eating tasty things like antelopes and wild boars, it''s natural to be put off by half-rotten frozen food.


    But it seemed like it understood that it had to eat this to get better, so it reluctantly chewed and swallowed the food I had prepared.


    Watching it eat the food I had provided, I felt like I was starting to understand why people keep animals.


    It''s as if my heart is slowly filling up as the bowl empties.


    I continued to monitor the progress while trying to understand a little of what it''s like to be a cat mom.


    Like what it feels like when it looks at me with those eyes, trusting me to some extent.


    I felt a sense of accomplishment, and more than anything, I felt like I was doing something that no one else had done before, taming a mutation.


    However, as its wounds healed and it regained its strength, my sense of accomplishment gradually turned into anxiety.


    I knew just how dangerous mutation dogs could be.


    In close combat, mutation dogs are often more dangerous than most monsters.


    When it stuck its head into the ground and looked at me, I sometimes felt the urge to aim a gun at it and pull the trigger right away, because the image of it suddenly attacking me and chewing me up passed through my mind.


    But every time that impulse arose, I remembered the time when it followed me and mimicked the human''s song, and it helped me suppress it.


    Above all, the person who gave me the greatest inspiration was the woman who Baek Seung Hyun had killed.


    The woman who could confidently confront a giant cat several times her size, her belief in herself as she tamed the mutation, that was the true secret.


    But no matter how hard I tried to control my impulses and instill trust, I was inherently defensive.


    The thought that Gold might suddenly attack me grew stronger in my mind with each passing day.


    Then, one day, another visitor entered my territory.


    It was a bus.


    K-Walkie Talkier picked up the public radio signal.


    "Are there any survivors in this area? We''re not raiders or an army. We''re ordinary civilians, and we''ve come here with a purpose."


    That voice.


    I''ve heard it somewhere before.


    "If there are survivors, please respond. We''re not enemies. We just want to gather some information. You can reply via radio, but we''ve also prepared a small gift. It''s oil. Oil."


    It clicked.


    It was Ji Changsu


    He had aged a bit and looked a bit haggard, but it was indeed the loyal Ji Changsu who had followed the path of the Jepung Ho to die


    But when I looked through the binoculars, I saw that it wasn''t just Ji Changsu who had come.


    Next to him stood the woman who had been trying to stop her father from committing suicide, looking somewhat subdued.


    Was it Ji Younghee?


    She stood awkwardly behind her father with a somewhat resentful expression on her face.


    "...What should I do?"


    I don''t particularly feel compelled to reveal myself because of a single can of oil, but these are people with connections.


    They did bring five armed men with them, but it seemed like they didn''t have much to do with me.


    I am not such remarkable person that they''d come looking for me from a distant place, especially when they seem to be heading southeast.


    "Stay quiet and hide," I told Gold, subtly.


    "Just wait for me here for a moment."


    It quietly moved deeper into the slate-roofed structure.


    "There are survivors here."


    I responded with K-Walkie Talkie.


    They didn''t recognize my voice.


    "I''m Park Gyura."


    As expected, they didn''t have anything to do with me.


    We exchanged brief greetings and I invited them in.


    Gold growled, but I have a little test to try.


    "Have you been living in a place like this?"


    Ji Changsu stared at my hideout with a surprised expression.


    It''s not unreasonable for him to react like that.


    Objectively, the rusted container house that looked like it could collapse at any moment wasn''t a place where people could live.


    "If you don''t have anything to take, people won''t come looking for you. Should I call it minimalism?"


    I offered this explanation while weaving a tale I had heard from somewhere.


    The experiment was successful.


    My hideout didn''t look inviting from the outside, and even up close, it gave off a feeling that one wouldn''t want to enter.


    Since they hesitated to enter my hideout, we talked outside.


    Bringing Ji Changsu here was a remnant of the past.


    He showed me a photo that he had printed out with a printer.


    "Take a look at this."


    It was a photo I had seen in the community.


    It was a picture of Chairman Je Pungho.


    Even after becoming a zombie, the entrepreneur who led thousands of followers was printed haphazardly on an A4 paper.


    The voice of Ji Changsu could be heard.


    Gold turned away from Ji Younghee, swiftly left the area, and disappeared into the steep slope beyond the hill I had built my house on, leaping across a deep stream and heading towards the plains on the other side.


    The direction he was headed was southwest.


    The field he used to dominate.


    Clank.


    Ji Younghee aimed her gun at Gold.


    I forced her gun down.


    She looked at me with a protesting gaze.


    I stared at Gold as it moved farther away.


    "...Let it go. It''s just a waste of bullets."


    "Did you really try to raise such a monster? As a hunter of all people?"


    "I didn''t raise it, exactly. I just looked after it for a while. It had severe injuries. Don''t even animals show gratitude?"


    "I doubt it''ll be grateful to Mr. Park, though."


    Ji Younghee secured the controls and slung the rifle over her shoulder.


    "I didn''t do it for it to be grateful."


    On the edge of the field beyond, distant dots gradually became visible.


    Even without binoculars, it was easy to identify them.


    They were mutation dogs.


    It seemed they had heard the howling of Gold.


    Among them was a newcomer.


    I confirmed it with binoculars.


    Indeed, it was a newcomer.


    A creature with black, short fur reminiscent of a pit bull, with a devilishly contorted face, and nearly the size of a bull.


    Was it him?


    The one who wounded Gold, drove it away from the pack, and took its place.


    In appearance and size, it stood out among regular mutation dogs.


    I''ve seen many mutation dogs, but that one was exceptional.


    Ji Younghee muttered beside me, "I really don''t want to go."


    But why did Gold turn to the black one?


    Could it be that he''s attempting another challenge?


    To regain his lost pack and territory?


    A pack.


    While his body had recovered enough to move around, it wasn''t in a condition to wrestle with such a huge opponent.


    Judging by the size and demeanour of the black one, even in peak condition, Gold wouldn''t stand a chance.


    The effort he had put in for the past few days would be a waste if he were to die so senselessly, but it was out of my hands.


    Gold stood its ground in front of the black one.


    The other dogs, the newcomers who seemed to form a new pack with the black one, stood behind it, watching over Gold.


    Their threatening posture revealed that they already didn''t consider Gold part of their pack.


    The black one looked at Gold and growled, a growl so loud that it could be heard vividly even kilometers away.


    It was almost like a shockwave.


    Despite this intense barking, Gold nonchalantly took a step closer to the one who had taken everything from it.


    "Gold."


    I felt a sense of disappointment.


    If it were to come back to me, I was willing to treat it well.


    I would even give it unspoiled meat.


    Contrary to my expectations, the situation escalated rapidly.


    The black one opened its mouth, revealing razor-sharp teeth.


    "..."


    Was it going to end like this?


    Gold turned to look back.


    It felt like it was looking at me.


    In the next moment, something unexpected happened.


    Gold lowered its tail and suddenly flipped its body, exposing its belly.


    A submissive posture.


    Gold, who was once the leader of the pack, was acknowledging the dominance of a stronger opponent and seeking acceptance back into the pack.


    "..."


    A sigh escaped me involuntarily.


    I felt a mix of disappointment towards Gold and a curiosity that was akin to my obsession.


    Could it be that mutations couldn''t be tamed after all?


    Perhaps failure was inevitable.


    The essence of the animals we call dogs is the gray wolf.


    I saw that nature in it when it devoured the punitive force.


    Not all gray wolves want to become dogs.


    Some are tamed, but some die as wolves.


    "..."


    It had chosen the path of a wolf, not a dog.


    That was all.


    "Even dogs know how to change their attitude depending on the situation," Ji Younghee quipped from beside me.


    "My father might be worse than those dogs."


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 33: Gold (3)

    Chapter 33: Gold (3)


    Now that Gold had joined the group, it was only natural for me to join Ji Changsu''s group as well.


    Because Gold, who knew of my existence and whereabouts, was undoubtedly going to lead the group and come to kill me.


    "It''s as if we have an army of ten thousand with Hunter Park Gyura by our side!"


    Ji Changsu''s subordinates, who were former employees of the company he managed, didn''t seem particularly enthusiastic, but they were well-armed and had the power of numbers.


    Mutations were honest adversaries.


    When lacking firepower, they were like nightmarish creatures, but with sufficient firepower, hunting them down was no different from what Europeans did on safaris in Africa.


    "Don''t start shooting from too far away. Wait until you can see the whites of their eyes before opening fire. Precise shooting is more important than anything else."


    I hid my forces below a gentle hill and climbed it alone.


    There they were.


    Five mutation beasts.


    They might be a handful for rifles, but we had a medium machine gun.


    However, the numbers seemed fewer than before.


    I had seen at least ten in the group earlier.


    Moreover, the one I was desperately searching for was nowhere to be seen.


    Gold. Where had it gone?


    It had appeared as though it had been accepted into the group.


    Ironically, this was a good thing.


    The fact that Gold was not present here meant that it wouldn''t get caught up in the impending massacre.


    With half relief, I opened fire on one of the mutation beasts.


    Bang!


    Blood splattered from its shoulder, but that was all.


    These creatures didn''t die easily from a single bullet.


    To aim for the weak cartilage below the jaw, shatter the skull, or target the gap in their enormous heads like a shield to reach the heart were textbook ways to one-shot kill them. But finding someone crazy enough to attempt such things in real combat was exceedingly rare.


    The mutation beasts growled and then charged towards me at a terrifying speed.


    The battle had begun.


    I quickly descended the hill, and I could see Ji Changsu and his employees checking their firearms in haste.


    "They''re coming soon. Get ready."


    I didn''t think this would be a particularly difficult fight.


    As long as we held our positions and took down the ones that appeared, the battle would be over.


    There were only seven of us armed with 5.56mm automatic rifles.


    Bullets could miss; it didn''t matter. While they were fixated on us, the medium machine gun would wipe them all out.


    No matter how strong the mutations were, they wouldn''t stand a chance against the punch of a 12.7mm machine gun.


    The person in charge of the important medium machine gun was someone we could trust.


    He was a veteran from a Legionnaire background, with experience fighting on the front lines, who Ji Changsu had recruited.


    Furthermore, just in case, Ji Yeonghee was at the bus''s steering wheel with the engine running, ready to charge and rescue us if things went awry.


    If Kim Daram, who currently couldn''t be reached, existed, we would kill them all and still survive.


    Click.


    I loaded one more round into the magazine just in case and attached it to my firearm.


    "Alright, here they come."


    Behind the ridge, I heard the harsh breathing of the creatures.


    Soon, the first one revealed itself from below the ridge.


    Ratatat!


    The medium machine gun spewed fire.


    With just three shots, one of the mutation beasts was pulverized, its blood spraying into the air.


    I raised my thumb in approval.


    "Nice shot."


    But...


    "Oh no."


    I had underestimated them.


    No, I had underestimated Gold.


    It had appeared during the early days of the war, reigning as the ruler of the southwest, surviving numerous pursuits and punitive expeditions, and making the group prosper until now.


    It was like a founding monarch among humans.


    In reality, when I faced it, it was as cunning and sly as someone with four legs. He was smart enough to be called a tribal leader.


    Gold had its sights set on the bus.


    "Jeong Joongsa-nim!"


    I immediately shouted a warning to my colleagues.


    Jeong Joongsa swiftly entered the ventilation duct, showing his veteran skills, but Gold had a different target in mind.


    Bang!


    It was the machine gun.


    Gold''s teeth crushed the barrel of the machine gun with brutal force.


    "Krrr."


    We lost his maximum power as soon as the battle began.


    Ji Yeonghee immediately stepped on the gas pedal and threw Gold off the bus, but the fact that we had lost the machine gun remained unchanged.


    To make matters worse, gigantic creatures began to appear on the ridge above us.


    Ji Changsu''s employees began to retreat with pale faces.


    "Don''t worry. It''s not over yet. Follow my orders..."


    This fight.


    "Yeonghee! Yeonghee! Come this way quickly!"


    "Uuaaaah!"


    "They weren''t supposed to come!"


    "Run!"


    "Where to?!"


    No luck.


    Or maybe I unknowingly underestimated that dog named Gold.


    Why did I think it would act like a normal dog?


    Its a human wearing a dog''s mask.


    Even if it had been born as a human, he would have been an exceptional warrior.


    Tatatatang!


    The gun spat out bullets.


    Amidst the chaos of battle, I was constantly puzzled.


    Was the sudden change in behaviour from the dog a response to my kindness, a resentment towards the mob that had watched its fall, or perhaps the expression of its innate nature, overshadowed by the mutations?


    After all, a dog is nothing more than another expression of a wolf without humans.


    ***


    The adventurer''s journey to find its former boss ended in vain.


    He hadn''t lost any people, but he had lost important weapons, and the people themselves had been broken.


    His employees looked at me as if I was a monster.


    "Is he really the same human as us? I''ve seen awakened a few times, but this one''s on a different level."


    "Was the rumour about an S-rank hunter true? What about that dog?"


    "I don''t know. Everything is so confusing."


    Amidst the familiar murmurs, Ji Yeonghee came towards me without hesitation.


    She stared at me intensely.


    Feeling uncomfortable under her intense gaze, I tried to avoid eye contact.


    "Why are you looking at me like that?"


    She smiled mischievously.


    "Want to go to Jeju Island together?"


    "What?"


    "The ferry to Jeju Island is leaving soon. I have tickets. You can get a ticket to a place where you can start a new life."


    "This is so sudden..."


    "Do you happen to be single?"


    Ji Yeonghee gave me a sly smile.


    Even though she was a bit dirty and her hair was messy, she still had a significant appeal.


    Feeling overwhelmed by her intense approach, I avoided her gaze.


    "Well, I am, but..."


    She looked up at the sky and said, "They say that if you cross paths twice, it''s fate. We''re already on our second meeting, right?"


    "... "


    "If you''re at that level, I probably won''t become a widow twice. And I think you''ll adapt to a new life on Jeju Island more easily."


    She folded her hands and fidgeted with her fingers.


    She was taking off the ring from her finger.


    I turned to look at her, feeling the sparkle of the ring that had slipped off her beautiful finger piercing my eyes.


    "Is this a proposal, by any chance?"


    "Yes. A sincere marriage proposal."


    She showed me the ring on her finger with a smile.


    Soon, her gaze shifted to the mangled body of a mutated creature on the ground.


    "In times like these?"


    "..."


    I understood, but a marriage proposal so suddenly? Honestly, it was bewildering.


    The other person is a beauty, comes from a wealthy family, and even in this chaotic era, they have the resources to get buses and mercenaries, even heavy machine guns. I get it, but isn''t it a bit too early?


    "I''m sorry, but I''m not thinking about marriage yet."


    I took a step back.


    "You''re old enough, aren''t you? Aren''t you in your mid-thirties soon?"


    "I''m still in my early thirties."


    "Is there something wrong with me?"


    Ji Yeonghee approached lightly.


    Could it be the scent of a woman, subtle enough to stimulate my instincts, wafting to my nose be from her?


    Or maybe it''s her movements, knowing how to use her charm well.


    Honestly, she''s an attractive woman.


    If I were to give up, it would leave lingering regrets.


    I''m a sturdy man myself. It''s inevitable to be attracted to a young and beautiful woman.


    But I don''t see this kind of union as right.


    I don''t know much about her, and even from a common-sense perspective, it''s not a proper match.


    Above all, I could see the intent behind it.


    The kind of intention that only humans, or rather cunning creatures, can have.


    "You''re quite attractive, Miss Ji Yeonghee."


    "Is that so?"


    She looked at me with an expectant expression, but the answer had been decided from the beginning.


    "I will decline this proposal."


    Surprise crossed Ji Yeonghee''s face for a moment, but she quickly nodded with a faint smile and left my side.


    "I see. I''m sorry. I said something unnecessary."


    The outcome was good.


    It was the result I wanted.


    But as I watched her walk away, I couldn''t help but feel a sense of regret.


    "..."


    In the distance, I could hear the howling of dogs.


    Over there, the black dots were moving farther away on the abandoned field.


    Gold and his new pack.


    They fought fiercely with me, and when the dogs began to sense defeat and flee, it swiftly left and made them his subordinates again.


    Perhaps the true winner of this fight is that cunning son of a bitch.


    I raised my thumb towards it with respect as it moved further away.


    In response, the barking of the dogs reached my ears.


    It felt like they were saying, "Happy birthday." Or something like that.


    ***


    After that, there were occasionally animal carcasses scattered in the territory.


    Gazelles, wild boars, and occasionally even a striped hyena.


    I do have books on butchery and bone carving, but I''ve never actually tried it myself. Maybe I should give it a try soon.


    I''m running out of meat as well.


    Sometimes, as I patrol the area, I can feel the gaze of Gold from the opposite ridge, his golden fur fluttering as it watches over this side.


    I never shared this story with the community.


    Prev | List | Next

 Chapter 1

    How the world fell apart and became a complete mess is a long, tedious, and complicated story, but even amidst that chaos, there are plenty of interesting episodes.


    For instance, you could call it the wise foresight of me, Park Gyu.


    The idea that humanity was on the brink of a crisis had been endlessly drummed into people''s heads by everyone from intellectuals to YouTube clickbait creators. But among civilians, there were only two types who actually prepared for the impending disaster.


    First, the nouveau riche, who had so much money that they could afford to build private bunkers on their properties. Or, the second group¡ªdaring risk-takers who denied reality and were willing to gamble everything on a vague possibility.


    I was the latter.


    As soon as I sensed the coming crisis, I decisively liquidated my assets to prepare for the apocalypse.


    I hadn¡¯t inherited much, but I had accumulated some wealth.


    My job demanded that I save money, and towards the end, I pushed myself to the limit, barely sleeping four hours a day while increasing my workload like a madman.


    Even so, I wasn¡¯t rich like the nouveau riche, so in between my grueling work, I taught myself various skills.


    Basic electrical work, construction, operating heavy machinery, chemical synthesis, rudimentary medicine, and so on. If there was something I didn¡¯t understand, I bought books or downloaded video tutorials to study.


    The most important decision was where to settle down.


    It wasn¡¯t an easy choice to make.


    I consulted survival experts, civilians who had survived war zones, wilderness explorers, and a doomsday prepper community I¡¯ll introduce later called Viva! Apocalypse!


    After extensive deliberation, I selected a location based on four essential criteria:


    First, it had to be an area where no one lived and unlikely to attract people even in an emergency.


    Second, it still needed to maintain a reasonable distance from a major city.


    Third, the terrain of the shelter.


    Fourth, the price.


    The first criterion is the most fundamental.


    For anyone trying to build a fortress for the end of the world, the biggest threat isn¡¯t monsters or hordes of zombies¡ªit¡¯s other humans.


    In fact, humans have consistently been the greatest threat to my apocalyptic life.


    But humans are also creatures that struggle to survive alone.


    The second criterion may seem to contradict the first, but it¡¯s just as crucial.


    If you can establish trade with the city, you can secure essential supplies and valuable information in times of need.


    Leaving the safety of your shelter to venture into the dangerous outside world is highly risky, but isolating yourself in a bunker without seeing the incoming storm is a guaranteed death sentence.


    The third criterion serves as the foundation for the endless struggle I¡¯ll face until the day I die.


    A shelter must allow for surveillance in all directions and should be hard to discover from the outside.


    Defense comes after that.


    No matter how defensible the terrain is, once the shelter is discovered, it won¡¯t be easy to defend it alone.


    Humans, apart from insects, are the most populous species.


    Oh, and the soil and groundwater matter too.


    The ground needs to be soft enough to dig deep, and the groundwater becomes your lifeline once the water supply is cut off.


    Of course, all these conditions had to be within the limits of my wallet.


    Currency would become worthless once the world collapses, but preparing for that collapse still required money.


    The land I chose was a wooded area nestled between an air force base and a golf course.


    It was sparsely populated and easy to monitor. It also maintained a reasonable distance from the city, but it had a fatal drawback.


    The land was inaccessible¡ªit was so-called blind land.


    It was an unavoidable choice.


    Blind land is far cheaper than other plots, sometimes by several times or even dozens of times.


    It was further devalued by unscrupulous waste disposal companies that used it as a dumping ground for construction debris, leaving it piled high with industrial waste.


    Still, thanks to that, I secured a reasonably large plot.


    It was expansive enough to rival the adjacent golf course.


    The issue of no road access was resolved by negotiating with a neighboring landowner. I agreed to pay a usage fee and provide free labor during harvest season. It wasn¡¯t easy, though.


    ¡°You¡¯re from Seoul? Well, alright then. Let¡¯s see how you do.¡±


    I can¡¯t recall the old man¡¯s first name, but his surname was definitely Kim.


    He was a wiry, short man in his seventies, speaking with a Chungcheong dialect. My first impression of him wasn¡¯t great.


    And true to form, Kim Elder¡¯s temper was enough to occasionally provoke murderous impulses even in someone as enlightened as me.


    Whenever he had the chance, he¡¯d throw tantrums, demand restoration of the land, block the only road with obstacles, and frequently show up asking for help with odd jobs.


    When he knocked on my container house at three in the morning, demanding assistance, I was tempted to throw him into the nearest rice paddy.


    But what could I do? Cheap things come with strings attached.


    The money I saved by buying cheap land was poured into heavy machinery, construction materials, and survival supplies.


    I purchased an excavator, loader, drilling machine, and forklift.@@@@


    I shook my head.


    ¡°They passed away in an accident.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°It was a long time ago,¡± I replied casually. ¡°Still, that seemed rough.¡±


    Kim Elder let out a deep sigh, his breath seeming to sink into the ground.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t give him a garbage plot,¡± he murmured, his eyes following the departing car. ¡°Back when I transferred the land, it was worth much more than the one I gave to his sister...¡±


    ¡°Ah, so you¡¯re talking about the plot you gave to your son.¡±


    Kim Elder nodded, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and placing it between his lips. I lit it for him, and he took a deep drag before exhaling with a hollow laugh.


    ¡°The land I gave my daughter wasn¡¯t anything special either. It was blind land, just like this¡ªworse, even. It had a hill of useless dirt attached to it. But who could¡¯ve known they¡¯d build a ten-lane road right in front of it? Who could¡¯ve guessed a tunnel and a new city would pop up nearby?¡±


    His life story was as predictable as it was pitiful.


    He hadn¡¯t been a good father, not even a decent one.


    He¡¯d spent his life terrorizing his family with drunken rages and violence¡ªa pathetic excuse for a man.


    The only thing that redeemed him in his children¡¯s eyes was the fortune he stumbled into when the government seized his land. Without that, they might have cut ties with him long ago.


    Wanting to wrap up the conversation quickly, I asked bluntly, ¡°Why don¡¯t you just sell the house? You could move somewhere else and start fresh.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not an option. I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    Kim Elder exhaled a puff of smoke, tilting his head back to gaze at the sky.


    ¡°My wife¡¯s ghost is in that house. She put up with my bullshit her whole life...¡±


    To this day, I still don¡¯t know what I did to earn Kim Elder¡¯s trust.


    One thing¡¯s for sure: that brief conversation opened a ten-lane road in his heart.


    After that day, he stopped blocking construction vehicles and complaining.


    With no more conflicts between us, we naturally grew closer. I even volunteered to help him out with odd jobs now and then.


    After all, living next door to someone is easier when you¡¯re on friendly terms.


    And there were perks.


    I learned valuable farming knowledge from Kim Elder, things a city kid like me would¡¯ve never picked up otherwise.


    ¡°Farming isn¡¯t about the Gregorian calendar; it¡¯s about the lunar calendar. You¡¯ve got to pay attention to the seasons. That¡¯s what matters.¡±


    He also seemed to figure out what I was up to.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of those survivalists, aren¡¯t you? A doomsday prepper or whatever they call it?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°If that¡¯s the case, you¡¯ll need seedlings. Even if the world ends, you¡¯ll need vegetables to eat, right?¡±


    ¡°Do you think I can grow anything underground?¡±


    ¡°As long as you¡¯ve got sunlight, water, and fertilizer, you can grow anything. These days, seedlings are top-notch. The key is dedication.¡±


    As the seasons passed, Kim Elder¡¯s children never came to visit him.


    On Lunar New Year and Chuseok, I¡¯d spot him standing alone in the yard of his crumbling house, staring blankly toward the road.


    When China launched its war and missiles struck the capital region, Kim Elder came running to my bunker in a panic.


    It was the first time I¡¯d ever seen him so shaken.


    ¡°Can you find out what happened to my son? Please.¡±


    When communication was restored, I checked the casualty lists.


    I had to deliver the tragic news.


    Kim Elder hung his head silently, neither crying nor wailing.


    And for some reason, I made an uncharacteristic offer.


    ¡°The world is going to end soon. If you¡¯d like, you can come stay in my bunker.¡±


    Kim Elder lifted his head to look at me, a faint smile spreading across his face.


    ¡°Just wait a moment. I need to prepare something.¡±


    ¡°Prepare something?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something I want to give you.¡±


    It turns out he was capable of a warm smile after all.


    When I went back to check on him, I found him hanging from the beam of his crumbling house, swaying like a dead leaf.


    At his feet lay neatly packaged seed packets, meticulously prepared with care.


    I couldn¡¯t recover his body.


    The blaring of nuclear strike sirens tore through the air, announcing the apocalypse.


    All I could do was grab the seeds and retreat to my bunker.


    In hindsight, it was the right call.


    The fiery blast of nuclear fusion that followed erased the crumbling house and his remains without a trace.

 Chapter 2

    Firearms are probably the most efficient weapon humanity has ever created.


    They are particularly effective against humans.


    It¡¯s not just about shooting someone to kill or injure them. Simply carrying a firearm when interacting with others or revealing oneself is enough to restrain the other person¡¯s actions.


    You could call it an etiquette-inducing device that makes others humble just by its presence.


    The offensive power against humans is undeniable.


    After all, weren¡¯t firearms specifically designed to kill humans?


    There¡¯s a saying that their power is reduced against monsters or zombies, and while I partially agree, I can¡¯t fully agree. A tool¡¯s utility depends on how it is used.


    In any case, firearms are essential for surviving in the post-apocalyptic era.


    As I¡¯ve said repeatedly, humanity¡¯s greatest enemy is humanity itself.


    But this is Korea.


    In Korea, obtaining firearms is not only difficult but outright illegal, unlike in the United States.


    One could prepare for the apocalypse in America, but even there, it¡¯s a double-edged sword.


    The initial difficulty of a country where everyone is armed to the teeth versus a country where firearms are banned is as different as heaven and earth.


    Think of the once-popular battle royale games.


    What fun would it be if you landed and immediately got shot?


    There needs to be a phase where you loot, brawl with fists, and compete in smaller skirmishes.


    Of course, it would be more fun for me to have a firearm from the beginning.


    This was when Kim Elder was still alive.


    Kim Elder owned a hunting shotgun.


    During normal times, it was stored at the police station, but during pest control season, he would take it out and flaunt his laughable shooting skills.


    ¡°When I was in the military, you know, some North Korean spies infiltrated. I hid behind some acacia bushes, holding my breath, and when one of them appeared from behind a tree, bam! I planted a bullet of liberation right between his eyebrows!¡±


    Later, through personal connections, I found out that Kim Elder had only served in the reserves and had never participated in any counter-spy operations. Nevertheless, his shotgun was a decent weapon.


    Being a shotgun, it had high stopping power and could be handled adequately even by someone who wasn¡¯t a skilled marksman.


    But such a weapon was insufficient for future preparedness.


    My eyes were always on the nearby air force base.


    Since it was shared with the U.S. military, it housed American equipment. According to rumors, there were also hunters specializing in anti-monster operations stationed there.


    Getting hunter equipment would be the best outcome, but what I really wanted were several combat rifles and a large stockpile of ammunition.


    However, that wasn¡¯t easy.


    How could I possibly infiltrate an air force base guarded by both Korean and American forces to steal weapons and ammo?


    My initial plan was a bit rough.


    If a war broke out with China, that air force base would be a primary target.


    The U.S. military base right next to it would make it a prime candidate for preemptive nuclear strikes in Chinese war plans.


    Once the nukes were dropped and the base was in ruins, I would stroll in wearing protective gear and retrieve the weapons and any usable items.


    This was my rough draft of a plan.


    It sounded absurd, but if I wanted high-quality weapons, this seemed like the most realistic option.


    Sure, I could try acquiring firearms through Southeast Asian gangs or Russian sailors, but at best, they¡¯d only deal in pistols.


    However, as reality turned out to be harsher than anticipated, and the world¡¯s flow diverged from my expectations, even someone like me, Park Gyu, began to feel anxious.


    SKELTON: ¡°How can you acquire proper assault rifles in a country like Korea or Japan, where security is tight and firearms are banned?¡±


    We live in an era where people create group chats and communities for everything.


    Naturally, there¡¯s also an online community for those preparing for the apocalypse.


    That¡¯s Viva! Apocalypse!¡ªa haven for eccentric folks like me.


    Membership isn¡¯t open to just anyone.


    You need a Galaxy Link satellite internet device developed by the world-renowned entrepreneur Melon Musk, and on top of that, you must pay a hefty monthly fee of $100.


    Despite the lavish prerequisites and steep cost, the community had quite a few users, enough to have a dedicated Korean board.


    I posted my question there and soon received multiple replies, though none were particularly helpful.


    Most were irresponsible suggestions like raiding police stations or small military bases with like-minded comrades to loot armories.


    Even my respected mentor, ¡°John Nae-non,¡± didn¡¯t have practical advice to offer.


    Korea¡¯s law enforcement wasn¡¯t lax.


    You might pull off a heist, but in a country plastered with high-resolution CCTVs at every corner, there was no guarantee of safety afterward.


    Just as I was about to give up on the $100-a-month community, an unexpected proposal came from an unlikely source.


    ¡°This is a bunker, isn¡¯t it? One of those apocalypse prepper things everyone¡¯s building these days.¡±


    The proposer¡¯s name was Kim Wang-soo, an employee of the construction company I had hired for my first bunker.


    He was of Chinese nationality¡ªmore specifically, ethnic Korean from China.


    Until he revealed his identity, I had assumed he was a native-born Korean.


    He looked younger than me, dressed better, spoke with a trendy accent, and carried himself with a modern vibe.


    Unlike other employees who tilted their heads in confusion at my request to build a bunker in the middle of nowhere, Kim Wang-soo showed great interest.


    ¡°There are many like you in China. Party officials and capitalists with connections to the Party are all rushing to build bunkers in rural areas¡ªmuch bigger and more serious ones than this.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t just interest.


    Kim Wang-soo possessed significant knowledge, insight, and even information about China that I was unaware of.


    ¡°A war? Sooner or later, it¡¯s bound to happen, don¡¯t you think? It doesn¡¯t make the Western news, but all the provinces near Inner Mongolia have been overrun by monsters. Millions, maybe billions, have died. The Party is desperately trying to contain it, but honestly, it¡¯s over. It¡¯s only a matter of time.¡±


    He seemed to envy my bunker and the resources I had to build it.


    ¡°You must¡¯ve made a fortune. Such a vast plot of land and all that equipment.¡±


    ¡°Hit it big with crypto.¡±


    In truth, I¡¯d never touched crypto or even stocks. I was an ultra-conservative investor.


    A call came through on my first cellphone¡ªthe one I hadn¡¯t used in years, keeping it active only for emergencies.


    The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number.


    I hesitated, but when the same number called again, I felt uneasy.


    Checking the surveillance monitors in my bunker, I spotted an unfamiliar vehicle parked near the property.


    A man stood outside, looking anxious, one hand in his pocket and a cigarette smoldering between his fingers.


    The moment I saw his face, I froze.


    It was Kim Wang-soo.


    A flood of questions filled my mind. Should I meet him? Ignore him? Prepare for a confrontation?


    Before I could decide, he made his move.


    He opened the car door, spoke to someone inside, then sprinted toward the bunker with shocking speed.


    In his hand was a weapon.


    An axe.


    Of all things, an axe.


    ¡°...¡±


    Picking up the first phone, which had rung twice with the same unknown number, I dialed it back.


    ¡°Ah, boss?¡±


    Kim Wang-soo answered warmly, his voice unnervingly casual despite the urgency in the situation. Even while running at full speed, his breathing remained steady and unbroken.


    ¡°Kim Wang-soo? What¡¯s going on? Why the sudden call?¡±


    ¡°I just wanted to bid you farewell before leaving Korea.¡±


    ¡°Farewell? Where are you?¡±


    I stepped out into the open, revealing myself.


    In the distance, I saw Kim Wang-soo¡¯s characteristic broad, charming smile spread across his face, his energetic demeanor as radiant as ever. He was quickly closing the gap between us.


    Ten paces away.


    Suddenly, he pushed off with his foot, surging forward with explosive speed.


    From within his sleeve, a hidden axe emerged, its leather casing discarded in midair as it traced a sharp arc.


    Watching the axe flying toward me, I let out a shallow sigh.


    Thunk!


    The axe buried itself deep between the shoulder and neck¡ªnot mine, but his.


    Kim Wang-soo¡¯s face twisted in shock as he struggled to turn his head, looking back at me. But his neck was no longer obeying his commands.


    Every spasm of his muscles caused the embedded axe to tear further into his flesh, spurting fresh blood between the ruined sinews.


    I stepped aside, releasing the axe lodged in his body, allowing him a clearer view of me as he collapsed.


    Kim Wang-soo flailed desperately, swinging his axe wildly, but each attempt missed me by the smallest margin, slicing through empty air.


    ¡°A... a soldier...?¡±


    I shook my head.


    ¡°A gangster? N-no...!¡±


    ¡°Why did you do this?¡±


    I exhaled lightly, fixing my gaze on the man who was now bleeding out in front of me.


    ¡°If you had asked, I would have given you this place.¡±


    Kim Wang-soo¡¯s lips curled into a faint smirk.


    ¡°Sha... xiang di mei...¡±


    Those were his final words.


    As his body slumped to the ground, a phone tumbled from his pocket.


    Still warm, his lifeless face unlocked the device¡¯s screen with ease, revealing the familiar messenger interface.


    The conversation thread was filled with simplified Chinese characters, unreadable to me. Yet, amidst the text, I recognized an image¡ªa penguin emoji sold in Korea.


    Tilting my head, I stared at the tiny penguin character asking, ¡°When are you coming?¡±


    ¡°...Hah.¡±


    There was no time for reflection.


    The sirens began to wail¡ªa deafening roar signaling an imminent nuclear strike.


    At that moment, our Kim Elder was still alive.


    *


    How much time had passed since the storm had subsided?


    The Geiger counter chirped, signaling that it was finally safe to venture out.


    Climbing into the old four-wheel-drive vehicle I had carefully tucked away in the shelter, I headed toward the airbase.


    It was a cautious move. Just in case.


    But then¡ª


    ¡°What the... is this some kind of sick joke?¡±


    The words slipped bitterly from my mouth.


    Beyond the collapsed buildings lay a mountain of firearms and weapons, scattered and abandoned.


    No Hunter equipment, unfortunately. Still, this haul was nothing short of miraculous¡ªa jackpot. Enough to arm a private army and then some.


    In hindsight, my rough plan to scavenge weapons from a military base after societal collapse had proven to be correct after all.


    I glanced toward the spot where Kim Wang-soo¡¯s vehicle had been parked.


    The charred wreck of the car lay on its side, grotesque and blackened, a grim relic of the past.


    Even now, I occasionally wonder.


    If Kim Wang-soo hadn¡¯t made that deal with me, could he and his family have survived?


    I don¡¯t think so.

 Chapter 3

    Everyone has a plan.


    Even among doomsday preppers like us, who share similar overarching philosophies, opinions on specific strategies often diverge.


    For example, should one attempt to engage with the post-apocalyptic world or embrace extreme isolation? Should you form a collective, or survive only with a small group of family and close friends?


    On the doomsday prepper forum Viva! Apocalypse!, where I paid a steep $100 monthly membership fee, debates often flared up over these differences.


    I preferred observing from the sidelines rather than participating in these arguments. And from what I saw, truly constructive debates were rare.


    Most arguments devolved into endless keyboard battles, stubbornly running in circles, only to culminate in the ultimate "wealth flex."


    It usually boiled down to, "I have more money, I''ve spent more on better facilities, and I own superior weapons, so my perspective is the correct one."


    Distasteful as these scenes were, the arguments of those flaunting their wealth weren''t necessarily wrong.


    After all, more money undeniably enables better preparation.


    For instance, one thing I desperately wanted was a self-sufficient nuclear power generator. But that was far beyond my means. For someone like Donald Orris in the U.S., though, selling one of his yachts from his collection would more than cover the cost.


    Of course, wealth isn''t the sole source of authority.


    Strength, experience, and skill can often carry even more weight than money.


    Take one individual, for example.


    Community ID: John_nenon


    Known to us as Jon Nae-non. He''s Korean.


    What made him special wasn¡¯t necessarily his wealth.


    John Nae-non was a professional Hunter.


    Hunters are those who protect humanity by hunting monsters that emerge from dimensional rifts known as breaches. Becoming a Hunter requires passing extremely stringent qualifications and exams.


    In short, not just anyone can become a Hunter.


    Moreover, Hunters are much stronger in combat than the average human. Their profession also grants them access to classified information that regular people wouldn¡¯t even know existed.


    That said, the Hunter profession has its own ranking system. And John Nae-non never disclosed his rank.


    All he ever verified was his professional Hunter license.


    But even that was enough to establish his credibility within the Viva! Apocalypse! forum, where most members were untrained and speculative doomsday enthusiasts.


    I once watched a wealthy forum member, notorious for showing off his expensive prepper setups, back down the moment John Nae-non revealed his Hunter credentials.


    However, what really drew my attention to John Nae-non wasn¡¯t just his Hunter status.


    He shared a survival philosophy remarkably similar to mine.


    His idea of establishing large, permanent survival facilities in secluded areas¡ªclose enough to cities for access yet remote enough to avoid unwanted visitors¡ªaligned perfectly with my own thoughts.


    He was someone worth learning from.


    When the underground bunker I had painstakingly built began to turn into a mold-ridden hellhole due to groundwater seepage and condensation, his posts provided invaluable knowledge. From effective mold eradication techniques to why cement putty is better suited for flooring than lime putty, and how to manage groundwater based on aquifer types¡ªhis expertise saved me countless hours of trial and error.


    His concept of building multiple decoy bunkers instead of relying on a single shelter for long-term survival also inspired me. The idea of rigging decoy bunkers with remote-detonated explosives or booby traps to eliminate invaders at the press of a button was so ingenious it left me awestruck.


    John Nae-non wasn¡¯t just knowledgeable; he was approachable, answering questions with patience and detail. Combined with his credibility as a professional Hunter, it was no surprise he became a popular figure in the community, particularly among Korean users.


    But even he wasn¡¯t perfect.


    Every one of his posts was prefixed with ¡°[John Nae-non].¡±


    For instance:


    [John Nae-non] The Necessity of Low-Frequency Communication for Long-Term Survival (Part 3)[John Nae-non] Just Ate Omakase, Haha[John Nae-non] (Confidential) Current Chinese Frontline Status as of 2023[John Nae-non] Tonight''s Dinner, Haha


    Why he did this, I¡¯ll never understand.


    Still, the content of his posts was consistently high-quality and professional.


    Over time, though, things started to change¡ªboth for him and the forum.


    As the signs of an impending apocalypse became more apparent, the forum attracted more users, particularly Koreans. That¡¯s when trouble began.


    Jealousy brewed among certain users who disliked John Nae-non¡¯s dominance in the community.


    At first, it was subtle¡ªpassive-aggressive comments that indirectly criticized his posts. Instead of outright attacking his information, they¡¯d present alternative perspectives to undermine his credibility.


    It wasn¡¯t long before open hostility emerged.


    And rather than ignoring it, John Nae-non seemed to care deeply about public opinion within this trivial community. He went as far as revealing his face in an attempt to assert dominance.


    Up until then, he had only hinted at his muscular physique through photos of his thick forearms or chiseled chest in tight shirts.


    The reveal was clear: he wanted to send a message¡ª"Don¡¯t mess with me."


    Unfortunately for him, his face didn¡¯t match his imposing body. He looked surprisingly kind and innocent.


    If anything, this only fueled the negativity. Critics began openly mocking him, questioning his Hunter rank and speculating that he was merely a lowly D-rank Hunter¡ªthe bottom tier.


    Eventually, rumors about his real name surfaced. Allegedly, his name was Goo Ssang-hyo.


    Instead of stepping down from his role as the community¡¯s star, John Nae-non tried to tackle the criticism head-on.


    ¡°Are you... a Hunter?¡±


    ¡°Me? A Hunter?¡±


    ¡°You seem familiar...¡±


    ¡°Do I?¡±


    I hesitated, debating whether to tell the truth or lie.


    ¡°Actually¡ª¡±


    Before I could finish, a group of people burst out of the restaurant, surrounding John Nae-non.


    ¡°Hyung! What are you doing? A TV station contacted you!¡±


    ¡°A reporter wants an interview!¡±


    They were his newer, more fervent fans.


    Clearly as drunk as he was, they glanced between him and me with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.


    ¡°Hyung, is there something you need to discuss with this guy?¡±


    One of them stared intently at John Nae-non.


    Encircled by his fans, he hesitated for a moment before turning back to look at me.


    ¡°...¡±


    His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something, but then pressed firmly shut.


    John Nae-non turned and walked back into the restaurant with his fans.


    That was the last I ever saw of him.


    After that, we never crossed paths again, and he rarely appeared on the community forums.


    I returned to the Viva! Apocalypse! forum about a year before the outbreak of the war.


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    As I sipped my coffee, I tilted my head in confusion at the monitor.


    John Nae-non¡¯s posts were gone.


    Every single one.


    Dozens of detailed informational posts, along with thousands of casual, diary-like ramblings, had vanished without a trace.


    It didn¡¯t take me long to figure out why.


    After I stopped attending meetups, another group of users began targeting him.


    Unlike the subtle and indirect criticisms he¡¯d faced before, this new wave of attackers wielded far deadlier weapons.


    Anonymous338: "This scumbag John Nae-non just copy-pasted posts from the European board."


    The vast library of knowledge John Nae-non had prided himself on turned out not to be his own.


    He had plagiarized content from a French user active on the French-language board, passing it off as his own work.


    When the community was smaller, no one noticed. But as the number of users grew and sharper-eyed members joined, John Nae-non¡¯s charade was exposed.


    The higher you fly, the harder you fall.


    The once-revered king of the community was brought down in a spectacular collapse.


    A deluge of criticism poured in, and even his loyal fans turned their backs on him.


    I managed to dig up some of the posts from that time:


    RokaGG: "I¡¯m so disappointed in you, John Nae-non..."


    RKKArA: "Nice seeing you cling to the bottom rung of pro Hunters with all your lies~"


    Anonymous82: "Kaaaah... spits!"


    Doyourbest321: "How are you planning to take responsibility for this?"


    Hasanius: "Kill yourself, John Nae-non."


    The comments were a maelstrom of vitriol.


    Apparently, rather than defend himself or attempt to prove his innocence, John Nae-non responded with a short, defiant outburst:


    John_nenon: "Your mom."


    That was the last anyone heard from him.


    As for his fate, nothing is certain.


    There were rumors that the region he lived in was utterly destroyed, but no confirmation of his death ever surfaced.


    Some claimed they¡¯d intercepted communications recently that might have come from Jon Nae-non.


    Is he dead?


    Or is he somewhere far away, fighting for survival in his own way?


    Sometimes, when I pump fuel from my depot, I think about that man.


    To me, at least, John Nae-non was...


    ...a great mentor.

 Chapter 4

    Even an apocalypse has its phases.


    While opinions differ, the primary metric for distinguishing these phases is the state of the nation.


    The severe stages are invariably marked by the collapse of a country.


    South Korea''s collapse began when Chinese warlords initiated their suicidal conflicts, and nuclear missiles struck key cities across the nation.


    Countless lives were lost, and numerous cities were reduced to rubble. Yet, even at that point, the structure of the Republic of Korea held firm.


    There was no pressing need to venture outside.


    Simply tuning into shortwave radios or picking up TV broadcasts provided updates on the emergency status of the nation.


    My main TV had been fried by an EMP, but I replaced it with the backup I had prepared in advance, watching events unfold with detached interest.


    Millions dead, half of urban functions paralyzed¡ªyet Seoul and its surrounding areas were rapidly stabilizing, thanks to the military, government workers, and dedicated volunteers managing the crisis response.


    I only left my bunker after communications and systems in my area were restored.


    With a battered cargo bicycle I¡¯d prepared for this day, I headed toward Seoul.


    If this were America, where everyone and their dog carried guns, such a journey would be fraught with danger. But this was South Korea.


    The risks of sniper attacks or random gunfire couldn¡¯t compare to those in the U.S.


    Even if I were in America, though, I¡¯d have made the same decision.


    Cowering in fear from the beginning guarantees you nothing.


    That said, basic apocalypse etiquette must be observed, even here.


    I dressed in cheap, tattered clothes, ensuring I looked as unthreatening as possible. My belongings were sparse: three days¡¯ worth of food and water, some cash in dollars, cigarettes for bartering, a single American-made handgun, and a well-sharpened hatchet for self-defense.


    The journey to Seoul presented no major threats. Still, the ruined landscapes and somber air gave me a complex mix of feelings: relief for my preparations, a sense of accomplishment, and a creeping melancholy seeping into my steps.


    But there was a reason I¡¯d left the comfort of my meticulously crafted shelter and ventured toward Seoul.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for Hunter Lee Sang-hoon.¡±


    I chose a soldier who looked approachable among the bustling military personnel and asked.


    ¡°Hunter Lee Sang-hoon?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the current disaster relief director.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you see we¡¯re busy?¡±


    Though curt, the man became noticeably more agreeable after I handed him a few packs of cigarettes.


    ¡°Oh, Director Lee Sang-hoon? His name¡¯s pretty common, you know.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I see he¡¯s been promoted. Always knew he¡¯d go far.¡±


    ¡°Wait here. I¡¯ll try to get in touch. Who should I say is asking for him?¡±


    ¡°Tell him it¡¯s Park Gyu, someone who went to school with him. If he doesn¡¯t remember, mention the top graduate in his class. He¡¯ll know.¡±


    The soldier returned a short while later.


    ¡°Director Lee is in a meeting right now and can¡¯t be reached.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°Is it urgent? If there¡¯s anything I can assist with, let me know.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t expected to meet Lee Sang-hoon anyway.


    Even when I left my bunker, I knew he wouldn¡¯t see me.


    To be honest, I didn¡¯t want to see him either.


    Using his name had a specific purpose.


    ¡°I¡¯d like a military-grade walkie-talkie and a personal identification number.¡±


    In some areas, cell phones still worked, but in many, they didn¡¯t.


    The farther you were from urban centers, the more useless a cell phone became.


    In these situations, high-performance shortwave radios like the K-walkie-talkie were invaluable.


    They were heavier and more complex to operate than a phone but far more reliable. With public frequencies, you didn¡¯t even need the other party¡¯s number to communicate with anyone nearby.


    Even this basic functionality was incredibly convenient, but military-grade walkie-talkies had an additional advantage: access to encrypted military frequencies.


    This meant direct communication with the military, the most trustworthy armed force and source of information at present.


    ¡°Since you know Director Lee, we can provide a walkie-talkie for free. But personal identification numbers are reserved for military or monster management personnel only.¡±


    As expected.


    I hadn¡¯t counted on getting a personal identification number in the first place.


    The soldier handed me a brand-new walkie-talkie, still in its packaging.


    I carefully inspected it for defects and tested it on the spot.


    It worked perfectly.


    One of my main objectives in coming to Seoul was now complete.


    With my remaining time, I cycled around the city.


    According to reports, five nuclear missiles had been launched at Seoul. Four were intercepted midair, but one had struck within the old city walls.


    The exact death toll was still being calculated, but estimates exceeded a million.


    The roads were now massive parking lots of immobilized vehicles, and the cityscape was dotted with ruins.


    Soon, the all-clear for the air raid was announced.


    ¡°Air raid over! Air raid over! Citizens are advised to resume their daily lives outdoors.¡±


    After bidding farewell to the family I had spent time with, I made my way out of the subway.


    As I exited, I couldn''t help but glance at the signs demarcating zones by apartment complex and the residents who guarded them.


    ¡°...¡±


    Well, I doubted they¡¯d cause me any trouble.


    Koreans might tolerate theft, but stealing bicycles was an unforgivable sin.


    As I wheeled my bike past them, I felt numerous shadowy glances inspecting it. Still, no one made a move to act against me.


    After all, life was still bearable, and the nation still stood.


    Unintentionally, I overheard snippets of their conversation.


    ¡°They say the latest strike hit the new city district. Apparently, the Chinese bastards packed their missiles with chemical weapons, and the damage is catastrophic.¡±


    A predictable exchange, really.


    But one woman¡¯s brusque comment made me stop in my tracks.


    ¡°That¡¯s an opportunity.¡±


    For a moment, I thought I¡¯d misheard her.


    ¡°?¡±


    An opportunity? In this situation?


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, it¡¯s a good thing. There aren¡¯t many decent complexes left in Seoul. If every other neighborhood is destroyed except ours, doesn¡¯t that make our area the most prestigious housing district?¡±


    If only one or two people had said this, I might have brushed it off.


    But human behavior always exceeds expectations.


    ¡°Now that you mention it, it really is a great opportunity.¡±


    ¡°Our complex is going to become Seoul¡¯s top luxury housing area.¡±


    ¡°That friend who kept bragging about her neighborhood? Serves her right.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t wait for the war to end so we can finally see how the rankings shake out.¡±


    ¡°Crisis truly brings opportunity, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    Since the war began, I had avoided looking at other people¡¯s faces.


    After all, most of them would be gone soon enough.


    But this time, I couldn¡¯t help myself¡ªI turned to look.


    Their faces were utterly ordinary, the kind you¡¯d see anywhere.


    And that only deepened my anger.


    ¡°Excuse me, but don¡¯t you think that¡¯s a bit much?¡±


    Figuring I¡¯d never see them again, I decided to confront them.


    Their response? A cold glare.


    One middle-aged woman smirked, exchanged glances with her neighbors, and delivered a dismissive retort:


    ¡°Move along.¡±


    *


    There¡¯s no way for me to know the ultimate fate of that entire apartment complex village I witnessed that day, nor do I care to find out.


    I¡¯m not so idle as to waste energy on people who call the end of the world an "opportunity."


    However, I do know exactly what happened to one of their factions¡ªthe residents of the Rupert Reich Palace complex.


    It was about a year and a half after my first visit to Seoul.


    A group of refugees passed near my hideout.


    - Static! Crackle! This is... Rupert Reich Palace Residents'' Association! If anyone is listening, please respond! Repeat! This is...


    They were desperately trying to make contact with anyone in the area using the public frequency.


    I didn¡¯t bother responding. I just listened.


    I had enough food and water to feed hundreds of people, but I had nothing to spare for them.


    Not a single grain of rice. Not even a flake of dead skin from my body.


    If they¡¯ve reached my territory, I can guarantee that, for them, this wasn¡¯t the "opportunity" they thought it would be.


    - Static! Aaargh! It¡¯s a monster! This is Rupert Reich Palace Residents'' Association! We¡¯re under attack by monsters! Repeat! This is the Rupert Goddamned Palace Residents'' Association!


    About a month ago, a few creatures capable of killing people had appeared near my base.


    But the ones attacking them weren¡¯t monsters.


    They were beings corrupted and mutated by the disease the monsters had brought with them.


    Mutations.


    A few stray cats cared for by a local cat mom had been infected with the mutation factor.


    They¡¯d grown to the size of tigers and were now trying to exterminate humans with the same efficiency they¡¯d used to decimate native birds and natural monuments.


    Their combat prowess wasn¡¯t quite on the level of the Gold Pack, the pack of mutated killer dogs active down south, but against ordinary people, they were practically Lu? Bu incarnate.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Gunfire echoed as their walkie-talkie spewed out terrified screams.


    - Static! This is the Rupert Reich Palace Residents¡¯ Association... Repeat! We¡¯re under attack by monsters!!


    I listened silently for a while before picking up my radio and calmly speaking into it.


    ¡°Sounds like an opportunity.¡±

 Chapter 5

    "To start, you need to roll the wool into a ball with your hands. Beginners may struggle with getting the right amount, but you''ll get the hang of it as you go."


    The dim bunker is illuminated only by the glow of a monitor and the warm voice of a man streaming from it.


    This video isn''t a relic from before the war.


    It was filmed in the present day, a full year after the war began.


    The source? None other than our community, Viva! Apocalypse!.


    This peculiar site managed to stay operational even after the nuclear strikes.


    It felt like half a scam watching $100 leave my account monthly¡ªexcluding the cost of satellite communication equipment¡ªbut it turns out that our founder, Melon Musk, contrary to his reputation, was a surprisingly responsible and capable individual.


    The city he lived in was obliterated in a storm of nuclear missiles, and he likely perished in the blaze, but his legacy lives on in the satellites orbiting above, with their onboard servers shining like eternal stars, forever intertwined with humanity''s fate.


    Viva! Apocalypse! is one of the few remaining internet communities still active today.


    Although my mentor, John Nae-non, is no longer around, the community is still lively enough for Koreans alone to keep the discussion boards bustling.


    Of course, not everyone is sane.


    I''ve added four fellow users to my block list:


    A doomsday cultist raving about the Rapture.A narcissist who posts their personal diary updates every minute.A schizophrenic who picks fights with everyone.A psychopath who gleefully shares their human hunting exploits.


    On the other hand, there are decent people too.


    One such person is Anonymous337, the creator of the video I''m currently watching, "Making Wool Felt Dolls for My Daughter (Part 3).¡±


    Anonymous337 is a kind, warmhearted man, embodying a paternal affection I lack.


    Rather than drowning his boredom in booze or drugs, he crafts toys for his son and daughter, channeling his efforts into videos that he uploads to the forum. Each one is set to soothing music and peppered with witty editing.


    His craftsmanship is impressive. The wooden robot model he built for his son was of such high quality that it could easily sell in stores.


    I wanted to see his son''s delighted reaction to receiving the gift, but Anonymous337 only ever uploaded footage of his quiet, methodical work. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable exposing his family due to security concerns.


    Indeed, no voices other than his are ever heard in the videos, which only underscores how meticulous and cautious he is.


    Inspired by Anonymous337''s tutorials, I once tried crafting a robot myself. Unfortunately, with my clumsy, cat-like hands, I ended up creating something more akin to a grotesque idol you''d find in a phallic-worshipping cult than a robot.


    Recently, he''s been documenting the creation of a lamb doll from wool felt for his seven-year-old daughter.


    The quality rivals the wooden robot he made for his son, and I can''t help but eagerly anticipate the finished product.


    "This is how you make the ears. It looks tricky, but once you get the hang of it, it¡¯s simple."


    Though the doll isn''t complete yet, it''s so cute and charming that I''m already considering picking up wool felt and tools the next time I visit Seoul.


    *


    One Year After the War


    A year has passed since the war began.


    Life has only grown harsher than when the war first started.


    While nuclear missiles and air raids are no longer a threat, monsters now extend their reach not only near the DMZ but also into the southern regions, and trade has ground to a halt. The government has lost control, and recovery seems like a distant dream.


    The winds of chaos blew fiercely across the community as well.


    KaosGate: "Recently, I''ve noticed a sharp increase in refugees. They keep glancing at my bunker."


    Anonymous121: "I¡¯m down south, and refugees have been wandering around here for a while now. Be careful. If you help them out of pity, they¡¯ll just come back as robbers."


    Lately, the forum has been flooded with posts about refugees.


    The surge in refugee sightings is real, but more concerning is the recent disappearance of several forum users.


    Among the missing was one of the people I¡¯d blocked¡ªthe narcissist who used to post a diary update every single minute.


    The community was quick to pin these disappearances on refugees.


    Qwer1234: "It¡¯s the refugees. They killed those people and took over their bunkers. Probably slaughtered their families, too."


    RealKorean: "If I see a refugee anywhere near me, I¡¯ll blow their heads off with a shotgun."


    Some users had already declared refugees as enemies.


    I wasn¡¯t so sure.


    Refugees were just refugees.


    Sure, there might be a few trained scavengers among them, but how many people in South Korea could truly claim such expertise?


    Wasn¡¯t it more likely just a case of spectacularly bad luck?


    Interestingly, there was someone in the community who shared my perspective.


    Ironically, it was someone I had blocked.


    It was during a heated keyboard battle that I realized this person shared my doubts.


    Their username was Defender.


    Defender was infamous in the community as a human hunter¡ªa vile individual who regularly posted proof of his kills.


    His reports came in the form of two photos: one showed the victim¡¯s corpse from a distance, and the other displayed the victim¡¯s face covered in a black plastic bag, with their ink-stamped fingerprints placed prominently next to the bag.


    Each time, it was a different victim.


    His methods varied¡ªsometimes he used a gun, other times a blunt weapon.


    When it came to women and children, he only used the black plastic bag.


    But he didn¡¯t kill for fun.


    His reasoning was always the same: the victims had trespassed on his territory.


    To me, whether it was a psychopath killing for pleasure or this guy, it made no difference. Both were monsters, just different shades of the same dark.


    Out of curiosity, I unblocked him and searched his posts.


    Defender: "It¡¯s not the refugees."


    Defender: "You all called contractors when you built your bunkers, didn¡¯t you?"


    Defender: "Watch out for those bunker construction companies. They know exactly where your bunkers are."


    At the end of his post, he attached his usual kill proof.


    But this time, something was different.


    The victim¡¯s face wasn¡¯t covered with a black plastic bag.


    The corpse, pale and frozen in a terrified grimace, was displayed alongside not only the ink-stamped fingerprints but also a construction contract and an ID card.


    It was clear.


    The dead were employees from the construction company he had hired.


    The community ignored his warning.


    Was it because they didn¡¯t want to hear it from a human hunter?


    Or was it because his post forced them to confront an uncomfortable truth they couldn¡¯t accept?


    That¡¯s up for interpretation.


    But there was something far more pressing.


    My favorite community user, Anonymous337, had disappeared.


    The man who was the most caring, devoted father, and an unparalleled craftsman, was gone.


    His absence hit me like a punch to the gut.


    *


    From Autumn to Winter


    The scream came from the man with the shield.


    Seeing his companion die before his eyes, he struggled to stand, but I stomped on him, pinning him down with the shield.


    In one swift motion, I yanked the axe from the rifleman¡¯s skull and swung both axes at the shield bearer¡¯s head.


    Crack!


    The voices of the remaining raiders echoed in the bunker.


    ¡°Cheol-ho! Hyeong-sik!¡±


    I melted back into the shadows, waiting for the next victim.


    Hong Bu-jang proved his cunning.


    ¡°Yeong-sik, calm down! Don¡¯t go in¡ªyou¡¯ll die.¡±


    ¡°But Cheol-ho is dead!¡±


    ¡°Do we have tear gas? Toss it in. Don¡¯t crawl into a raccoon¡¯s den¡ªflush it out.¡±


    I smirked.


    Hong Bu-jang wasn¡¯t an ordinary raider.


    In response, I simply shut the heavy bunker door.


    ¡°The door¡¯s closed!¡±


    ¡°Forget it. There¡¯s gotta be a vent.¡±


    Hong Bu-jang responded immediately.


    ¡°The entrance is here¡ªI built it, remember? I¡¯ve seen the plans. Everything else is sealed with concrete. Find the ventilation shaft and gas them out. We¡¯ll see how they like it.¡±


    It was a chess game.


    I never thought I¡¯d be locked in a tactical fight with a mere raider.


    But Hong Bu-jang didn¡¯t know one thing.


    After the construction company finished building the bunker, I had expanded it myself.


    One of the modifications was an emergency escape route that only I knew about.


    Hong Bu-jang could never have imagined I¡¯d become a better craftsman than him.


    With a single gun, I slipped out through the secondary bunker and looked back at the main bunker.


    I saw the raiders wandering near the vents.


    Bang!


    A gunshot rang out, and one of them fell.


    Bang!


    Another dropped before they could react.


    That left only Hong Bu-jang.


    Unarmed, he raised his hands in surrender.


    As I approached him with my gun trained on him, I asked, ¡°How many have you looted?¡±


    Hong Bu-jang offered a bitter smile and shrugged lightly.


    ¡°This is the first time.¡±


    I pressed the barrel to his forehead.


    His expression twisted as he confessed.


    ¡°...Four. Four bunkers.¡±


    ¡°Quite a haul.¡±


    I ordered him to load the bodies into the truck they came in.


    As the corpses were stacked in the cargo bed, I noticed something familiar.


    A wool felt lamb doll.


    The sight of it made something snap inside me.


    ¡°Where did this come from?¡±


    ¡°A bunker we looted before.¡±


    Hong Bu-jang, panting heavily, answered.


    ¡°What about the people inside?¡±


    ¡°A man. Just one man.¡±


    ¡°What about his family?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Did you kill them all?¡±


    Whack!


    The rifle stock slammed into Hong Bu-jang¡¯s temple.


    He cried out in pain, but I silenced him with more pain, kicking him in the gut until he collapsed to his knees.


    ¡°It¡¯s true! He was alone! Alone, damn it! He was already dead when we got there!¡±


    ¡°Where was it?¡±


    The distance wasn¡¯t far.


    A 30-minute drive by truck.


    I forced Hong Bu-jang to lead me to the looted bunker.


    It was unmistakable.


    This was the place from the videos.


    The bunker had been thoroughly ransacked, and at the center was a workbench.


    Slumped over it, partially decomposed, was the man himself.


    The blood spatter across the workspace suggested he had taken his own life.


    The bunker was painfully small¡ªbarely enough for one person to live alone.


    ¡°You¡¯ll let me go now, right? I kept my promise!¡±


    After adding one more body to the truck, I returned home to review the videos.


    Looking back, I realized something.


    Not once had the voices of his children been heard in those videos.


    It had always been that way.


    I noticed a comment I¡¯d overlooked before.


    Defender: "This guy¡¯s videos are great, but have you noticed? Not once have we heard his kids¡¯ voices. He keeps mentioning them, but maybe they¡¯ve been dead this whole time?"


    Why hadn¡¯t I noticed this sooner?


    Ah, that¡¯s right.


    I had blocked him.

 Chapter 6

    My bunker is secluded and quiet, but it¡¯s not an uninhabited island. Occasionally, things wander into the vicinity.


    The first type is scavengers.


    Unlike raiders, scavengers target abandoned belongings, combing through ruins and collecting anything they can carry.


    A group of about twenty scavengers once arrived in my area on a green bus.


    They focused their search on the air force base but strayed near my hideout.


    After briefly inspecting the industrial waste piled around my territory, they argued among themselves and returned to the air force base.


    The second type is nomads.


    These are people who¡¯ve left Seoul in search of a new home. Unlike scavengers, they¡¯re more interested in real estate than material goods.


    It¡¯s rare for nomads to wander near my bunker.


    Who would want to live in a desolate wasteland littered with burial mounds?


    Sometimes, it¡¯s not humans that pay a visit.


    Mutations.


    Animals infected with the mutation factor retain their pre-infection habits and behaviors. A pack of mutated dogs once came to my area.


    True to their canine roots, they traveled as a pack.


    Each mutated dog was the size of a lion.


    They weren¡¯t easy opponents.


    With jaws strong enough to crush concrete, the speed to chase down a moving car, and resilience that made them immune to several rifle rounds, they were formidable.


    As with all packs, there was an alpha.


    The one that visited my territory was known as Gold, a mutation with golden, gleaming fur.


    Cunning and ruthless, Gold was such a menace that even the city of Seoul had put a bounty on it, but no one had managed to hunt it down.


    I had no intention of trying, either.


    Though dangerous, the pack was practically an honorary guard for my home. Why bother?


    While the mutated dogs prowled around my bunker, I stayed hidden inside, waiting for them to pass.


    Mutations, after all, don¡¯t come without drawbacks.


    Mutated dogs have a significantly weaker sense of smell compared to before their transformation.


    They followed the faint traces of human and household scents but couldn¡¯t pinpoint my location.


    The immediate crisis passed, but they left a disgusting amount of waste around my bunker.


    For three days, while they lingered above, I survived on nothing but purified water and biscuits¡ªa miserable experience.


    Occasionally, zombies would show up too.


    Zombies are human corpses turned mutants, behaving just as you¡¯d imagine: mindless, traveling in hordes, and turning anything they encounter into one of their own.


    Unlike mutated dogs, which lose some of their sense of smell, zombies gain an enhanced olfactory ability.


    They were undoubtedly drawn by the delicious aromas of my cooking.


    But what could they do?


    My bunker¡¯s entrance was hidden and protected by reinforced alloys.


    Unable to reach me, they lingered near the ventilation shaft before moving on to a nearby town in search of easier prey.


    That night, gunfire echoed continuously, indicating that they had stumbled upon the town ruled by the crazy sniper who lived down the hill.


    The above scenarios were rare occurrences. Most of my days were peaceful and leisurely.


    I would sunbathe with the radio and walkie-talkie on, grill barbecue, or sometimes, daringly, roll up my pants to catch bullfrogs and minnows in a nearby stream.


    News from the north described constant battles against monsters and mutations pouring in from the ruined North Korea. From the south, stories of municipalities struggling to survive with dwindling resources and no government support trickled in.


    To me, it all felt like a distant world.


    Everything here was peaceful and beautiful.


    Under the scorching sun, I hung out my laundry and let it dry in the sunlight. Then I lay on the ground, staring at the sky.


    Resting my head on my arms, watching the clouds drift by, I felt like a sage.


    For roughly a year and a half after the war began, I enjoyed this tranquility.


    But nothing lasts forever.


    In the hazy days of late spring, drones began appearing in the sky.


    Quadcopters, named for their four rotors, these drones answered the question of why I didn¡¯t use convenient solar power.


    Government agencies searching for mutations, monsters, or criminals.Raiders hunting for prey.


    And I had more than enough reasons to kill them.


    But I held back.


    This is my territory.


    To truly claim an area as your own, you must know everything about it.


    And I knew.


    The road they were traveling was in the hunting ground of the mutated dog pack led by Gold.


    The injured humans, hobbling along at a snail¡¯s pace, were the perfect prey for Gold and his pack.


    Soon enough, the golden-furred mutated dogs began to emerge one by one from the southern expanse, drawn by the scent of blood.


    With their gleaming gold coats and fearsome stature, Gold and his pack announced their presence with a terrifying roar¡ªa sound somewhere between a wolf¡¯s howl and a bear¡¯s growl.


    ¡°Aaaahhhh!¡±


    ¡°A monster! It¡¯s a monster!¡±


    The raiders couldn¡¯t even distinguish between a mutation and a monster. Their fate was sealed.


    Tat-tat-tat-tat!


    The raiders fired their guns, but the mutated dogs, each the size of a bull, evaded the bullets or charged through with their muscular bodies.


    Humans were reduced to nothing more than prey for these monstrous dogs.


    The air filled with the sound of agonized screams and the crunching of bones, but even those sounds soon faded into silence.


    An entire group of raiders wiped out in an instant.


    I wondered if Dongtanmom¡¯s spirit was watching this unfold.


    If they were, what expression would they wear?


    Would it be a bright, victorious smile?


    But then again, the human world...


    It¡¯s never that simple.


    *


    Dongtanmom: Cuckoo!


    Dongtanmom was alive!


    The same person who, not long ago, had written a desperate farewell post was now cheerfully chirping ¡°Cuckoo!¡± as if nothing had happened.


    Users who had been worried about him flooded the comments section, seething with anger.


    Anonymous848: "Wait, what? Was this just a prank?"


    Kyle_Dos: "Wow, pulling stunts like this here? Are you even human?"


    Anonymous458: "Hey, this isn¡¯t some marketplace. Pulling this kind of crap is unacceptable. Apologize to everyone before I block you."


    SKELTON: "I¡¯m really mad right now!"


    Under mounting pressure, Dongtanmom posted an apology.


    Dongtanmom: "I¡¯m sorry. I had a depressive episode and accidentally wrote a post that wasn¡¯t entirely true~"


    Even after this, Dongtanmom continued his habitual pranks. A textbook ¡°boy who cried wolf,¡± the only reason he hadn¡¯t pulled stunts like this before was that he didn¡¯t know how to configure his satellite antenna.


    But all things must come to an end.


    Dongtanmom: "This time, I¡¯m serious! No jokes! I¡¯m in danger! Actually, I¡¯m not in Dongtan¡ªI¡¯m in Gwanggyo. There are five people outside! Please, anyone nearby, help me! Just make some noise¡ªfireworks, anything. I¡¯m begging you!"


    This time, he even uploaded photos.


    The first picture showed the blurry silhouettes of five people captured by a grainy CCTV camera.


    The second depicted the interior of a trashed bunker, with thick black smoke billowing from duct pipes leading to the ventilation shaft.


    The third was a mountain of boxes labeled ¡°TNT.¡±


    That was Dongtanmom¡¯s last post.


    But was it another lie?


    Most users, myself included, assumed it was just another one of his chronic outbursts of falsehoods.


    The ¡°TNT¡± written on instant noodle boxes with a marker was simply too obvious a tell.


    The truth remained uncertain.


    Because our wise human hunter had chimed in.


    Defender: "There was a massive explosion near Gwanggyo. Must¡¯ve been 10 tons of TNT-level power. Did Dongtanmom, that lying bastard, finally kick the bucket?"


    One thing became clear¡ªour friendly human hunter lived near Gwanggyo.


    Note to self: Stay far, far away from there.

 Chapter 7

    Most accidents are preventable.


    The story I¡¯m about to share, involving three cats¡ªGucci, Hermes, and Jackfield¡ªwas, in a way, a preventable disaster.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, you really shouldn¡¯t feed those cats.¡±


    The woman in question was a middle-aged lady living alone in the vast wilderness between Seoul and my territory.


    Her face was always covered with a mask, scarf, and sunglasses, likely due to burns she suffered during the nuclear attacks. I first encountered her when I started making regular trips to Seoul to scavenge supplies.


    When she saw me¡ªa large man¡ªshe¡¯d hurriedly grab her cart and flee. Her back radiated not just fear but also a profound loneliness.


    Every time I passed by, I noticed her in the same spot, feeding stray cats. After some observation, I confirmed that she seemed to have neither a husband nor children.


    Given the current state of the world, this wasn¡¯t unusual, so I ignored her. Over time, however, she seemed to grow accustomed to me. She no longer ran away when she saw me.


    From fleeing each other¡¯s presence, we evolved into a dynamic where we simply ignored each other.


    Our parallel paths eventually collided because of one incident: her cats.


    They had grown to an undeniably abnormal size.


    ¡°Excuse me. Don¡¯t you think those cats are a bit too large?¡±


    It was unmistakable¡ªa precursor to mutation.


    Back when the Chinese government was still intact, South Korea sent hunters to assist them in combating monster invasions.


    After witnessing how the collapses of India and Africa impacted neighboring countries, it was obvious that South Korea would be next if nothing was done.


    In one of China¡¯s newly built but sparsely populated ghost cities, I saw similar phenomena.


    At the time, humanity was less knowledgeable and couldn¡¯t distinguish between mutations and monsters. I defied my colleagues¡¯ objections and captured an oversized sewer rat, claiming it was a new species of hamster. That sample helped define the concept of ¡°mutation.¡±


    I¡¯m not bragging, but I did play a significant role in uncovering the existence of mutations.


    Exceeding the genetic growth limits set by nature is one of the most prominent early signs of mutation.


    The three cats this woman fed were already the size of golden retrievers.


    ¡°Those cats¡ªdon¡¯t you think they¡¯re a bit too big, ma¡¯am?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re Ragdolls,¡± she replied defensively.


    Ragdolls are a breed of cats known for their large size, but to my eyes, those three¡ªespecially the calico¡ªlooked distinctly Korean.


    ¡°Ragdolls? They look more like Lyta, the man-eating monster from the desert.¡±


    ¡°Mind your own business. Who are you to boss me around?¡±


    Her voice trembled with frustration, though she didn¡¯t even look me in the eye.


    ¡°I¡¯m saying this because it could hurt you. Do you want to be eaten by those cats?¡±


    ¡°They would never! They¡¯re angels. Do you know how much they adore me?¡±


    She extended her hand, and the three cats scrambled to rub their heads against it, as if competing to kiss a king¡¯s seal.


    ¡°...¡±


    I said no more.


    She wasn¡¯t a child¡ªshe was an adult, an elder. She could handle herself.


    Besides, my own selfish calculations played a role in why I decided to leave her alone.


    At the time, I was considering severing my ties with Seoul.


    Now that I had my personal identification code, there was little reason to visit the city directly. And more importantly, they were running out of manpower for the battlefield.


    As a highly skilled individual, they could draft me with any excuse.


    Welcoming three mutated cats as new neighbors, alongside the crazy sniper to the southeast and Gold¡¯s pack to the southwest, didn¡¯t seem like a bad idea for bolstering the defenses around my bunker.


    Not that this woman would¡¯ve listened to me anyway.


    ¡°What are their names?¡± I called out to her as she walked away.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°They seem cute.¡±


    ¡°Gucci, Hermes, and Jackfield.¡±


    Strangely, she didn¡¯t specify which name belonged to which cat.


    Yet somehow, I felt like I already knew.


    *


    "By crossing the fibers like this with the scoop, you can create a fuller texture."


    It was a quiet afternoon.


    I was working on a wool felt doll while watching a video by the now-deceased Anonymous337.


    My creation was closer to a Lovecraftian goat than an actual sheep, but I kept modifying it, referring to the master¡¯s video to at least make it resemble a sheep.


    Like the beautifully crafted pieces by Anonymous337 sitting on my shelf.


    As I focused, my K-walkie-talkie let out a sharp buzzing noise.


    Beep! Beep! Beep!


    The pattern signaled a direct contact via my personal identification number¡ªan important call.


    Sure enough, the sender¡¯s name appeared: Kim Daram.


    ¡°Ah, shit.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t ignore it. When I pressed the receive button, a cold, sharp voice immediately flowed through as if it had been waiting.


    ¡°Sunbae, I need a favor.¡±


    ¡°Another favor? Didn¡¯t you swear I wouldn¡¯t have to deal with this again?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to ask either, but we need to help each other in these dark times. Besides, this isn¡¯t just anyone¡¯s problem. You heard about all the deaths near the golf course where you live, right?¡±


    ¡°...Rupert Shitty Palace or whatever it was.¡±


    ¡°See? You already know.¡±


    The incident where the three stray angels raised by that nameless woman mutated into monsters and turned the apartment residents into real angels might have been advantageous for me, but to the Central Administration, it was a serious matter.


    The government had issued a kill order for Hermes, Gucci, and Jackfield.


    ¡°Sorry, but I can¡¯t hunt mutations anymore. I don¡¯t have the skills, the desire, or the equipment for it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the one who¡¯ll do it. I¡¯m sending someone.¡±


    ¡°Someone?¡±


    ¡°A freelance hunter.¡±


    The freelance hunter appeared in front of me on a vintage motorcycle, a rarity even before the war.


    No matter the era, gifts seem to be the key to unlocking a woman¡¯s heart.


    Still sobbing, she clasped the coffee with both hands and began to speak.


    ¡°That day, everyone in the apartment went into the old bunker. The one they built during the Saemaeul Movement. Everyone except me.¡±


    She pointed toward the bunker.


    ¡°When I got there, the door was already shut. I banged on it and screamed, but they wouldn¡¯t let me in. It was their way of telling me to die outside. They hated me for feeding the cats.¡±


    She paused to wipe her tears, removing her sunglasses for the first time.


    The burns around her eyes were so severe I couldn¡¯t look at her directly, but her gaze held a warmth that seemed to draw animals to her.


    ¡°Then Jackfield appeared, meowing. It was like he was guiding me to the basement.¡±


    She smiled faintly through her tears.


    ¡°Thanks to those little ones, I survived. And they survived because of me.¡±


    ¡°What happened to the people in the bunker?¡±


    I didn¡¯t need her answer.


    The black soot staining the ventilation shaft told me everything.


    ¡°There was a fire inside,¡± she said. ¡°I heard the smoke and the screams¡ªall day long.¡±


    Her secret to survival became clear.


    The residents of the small apartment complex¡ªall sixty households¡ªhad perished.


    The supplies meant for sixty households had all fallen into her lap.


    As Baek had pointed out, this decrepit, remote apartment building was so isolated that even raiders had ignored it.


    ¡°You¡¯re not feeding them anymore, right?¡±


    ¡°No. They¡¯ve... grown too big.¡±


    ¡°Do you know where they are? Someone worse than him might come next time.¡±


    Under my urging, she seemed to steel herself. She tried to open the coffee can, but her trembling hands, likely weakened by alcoholism, couldn¡¯t manage it.


    I opened it for her, and she bowed her head as she took it.


    She sipped the warm coffee, her gaze fixed on the distance as if making a solemn resolution.


    ¡°I think I know where they might be.¡±


    She led us to a ditch near an abandoned rice field.


    ¡°This is where I found them,¡± she explained. ¡°They¡¯d been abandoned by their mother, so I took care of them.¡±


    Her intuition was spot on.


    There were bloodstains.


    ¡°Hermes! Gucci! Jackfield!¡±


    She called out desperately to her beasts.


    Baek and I stood back, watching from a distance.


    Not wanting to see Baek¡¯s face, I fixed my eyes on the woman and asked coldly, ¡°Is this really necessary?¡±


    Baek didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he handed the woman a vest.


    A bomb vest.


    He believed this would be less painful than being torn apart alive by mutations.


    While I agreed with his reasoning, I couldn¡¯t ignore how morally bankrupt the act was.


    ¡°That¡¯s probably what the dead would want to ask her too,¡± Baek replied flatly.


    From the ditch, massive, blood-soaked beasts emerged.


    Mutations.


    Baek¡¯s finger hovered over the detonator.


    I said nothing.


    His judgment was sound, even if it strayed beyond emotional considerations.


    Scientists say mutations are too intelligent to be tamed.


    They understand how humans perceive and treat them, which is why they choose to attack humans.


    Much like humanity, once the gentlest lambs of God, had become His fiercest critics, mutations develop a deliberate hatred for humans.


    That is the prevailing theory about their aggression.


    But then...


    ¡°Meow.¡±


    The sight before me was unbelievable.


    The mutations were following her.


    Just as they had before they changed, they nuzzled against her, their lion-sized heads vying for her touch. They rubbed against her body, even with the bomb vest strapped to her chest.


    ¡°See? My babies are so sweet, even now...¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    The nameless woman and her cats directly challenged the accepted truths about mutations.


    But the brief miracle was snuffed out by a man bound to reality.


    Click.


    The simple sound of the switch preceded an explosion that consumed everything in light and deafening noise.


    ¡°Real classy work,¡± I muttered.


    For the first time, I looked at Baek seriously.


    He, who had spent the entire time observing me, avoided my gaze for once.


    ¡°...It¡¯s a shitty world,¡± he murmured before fleeing the scene.


    The woman¡¯s body was completely obliterated.


    Only one mutation remained, its lower body blown away, wheezing its final breaths.


    I looked down at the cat.


    It met my gaze weakly, its eyes dull and lifeless.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re Jackfield.¡±


    The ugliest of the three nodded faintly, like a human, before drawing its last breath.

 Chapter 8

    Most of us doomsday preppers are men¡ªsingle men, at that.


    At John Nae-non¡¯s offline gatherings, I never once saw a female participant. Even in the online community, I can¡¯t recall ever reading a post that hinted at someone being a woman.


    It doesn¡¯t take much thought to figure out why.


    We preppers are, in simpler terms, people who perform rituals praying for the world to end.


    Anyone who finds joy in the current world and lives with gratitude would pray for its continuation rather than prepare for its downfall.


    What would have happened to us if monsters hadn¡¯t appeared and the war never started?


    For me, Park Gyu?


    I would¡¯ve been royally screwed.


    Not just screwed¡ªcompletely destroyed.


    The evidence of my hypothetical doom is still preserved in the now-disconnected messages on my old phone.


    *[Web Notification] (Shinheon Bank) Mr. Park Gyu, your secured loan is scheduled for auction execution.


    [Web Notification] (Sanwang Money) Mr. Park Gyu, notification of debt transfer for overdue Lady¡¯s Loan.


    [Web Notification] From Silla Credit Information: http://sinramoneytaker.co.kr/...


    Not only did I pour money into turning a piece of worthless land into a concrete fortress, but I also maxed out loans I had no intention of repaying when funds ran dry.


    It¡¯s hard to imagine a bright, cheerful woman willingly stepping into a community full of gloomy guys like us.


    But recently, without any warning, a female user appeared.


    It was one year and seven months into the war.


    *


    After living in a bunker for over a year, everyone faces the same inevitable problem: a lack of entertainment.


    I don¡¯t drink or smoke.


    Sure, I¡¯ll have a light drink in a safe place, but drinking alone leads to addiction, and addiction leads to death.


    Smoking, while a reasonable pastime, is too valuable as a bartering resource and has a way of attracting people.


    From experience, I know that the sense of smell in humans forcibly made to quit smoking becomes as sharp as a dog¡¯s.


    Seeking amusement elsewhere isn¡¯t easy either.


    There are no TV dramas airing weekly, no bars where you can meet friends over a drink, and no team sports like soccer without teammates.


    If you¡¯re part of a collective survivalist group, maybe you can play a round of table tennis. But for someone like me, who prioritizes solitary survival, even ping-pong is out of the question.


    I considered taking up fishing, but the radiation levels in the nearby reservoirs haven¡¯t dropped enough for that to be feasible.


    As time went on and visitors became more frequent, I spent increasingly more time inside my bunker. Naturally, my hobbies shifted to things I could do indoors.


    Honestly, at this point, the most entertaining pastime I have is our doomsday prepper community, Viva! Apocalypse!


    It¡¯s a place where people like me gather to share stories of our similar predicaments.


    Sure, there are strange users like IamJesus, Dongtanmom, and The Human Hunter, but there are also plenty of exemplary users like myself.


    More than a year and a half into the war, even a perennial lurker like me had started actively contributing to the community.


    The reasons were mixed.


    I was bored, of course. There was the faint satisfaction of connecting with others. But more than that, seeing my fellow members disappear one by one made me want to preserve the precious community we had left.


    Here¡¯s a sample of my posts:


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s Daily Life) Tonight¡¯s dinner, haha.


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s Tales) Hot news I picked up on a military frequency yesterday.


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s Creations) Tried making a wool felt doll!


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s Videos) Skelton¡¯s Beatboxing (Part 3).


    In a way, my presence in the community had started to resemble my mentor, John Nae-non.


    But I didn¡¯t completely mimic him.


    While John Nae-non would simply prepend ¡°(John Nae-non)¡± to his posts, I added specific headers like ¡°(Skelton¡¯s Videos)¡± to better organize my posts for readers.


    Still, unlike him, I had zero popularity. My posts consistently racked up single-digit views, with no likes or comments to speak of.


    It was the limit of an ordinary person who lacked both skill with his hands and talent with words.


    Watching popular users like DragonC¡ªa former webtoon artist who uploaded beautifully illustrated comics about his daily life¡ªor Anonymous118, who shared crude but creative homemade games, I began to understand why John Nae-non had been so harshly criticized.


    Operating in the lowest caste of the popularity hierarchy, I naturally began to notice others like me.


    There was the tenacious writer who kept posting original stories despite their abysmal view counts, the eccentric who uploaded grotesque photos of his own body with baseless confidence, and SeaMonkey Papa, who chronicled a bizarre diary about raising sea monkeys.


    I often wondered if SeaMonkey Papa would¡¯ve been more popular if he¡¯d raised something else.


    Among this lower-tier group was a user named Demian04.


    He regularly uploaded ballpoint pen drawings of original characters, though to call them "art" would be generous.


    His subjects were always long-haired women (or so it seemed), and while the poor quality could be excused, what couldn¡¯t be overlooked was his insistence on drawing their chests absurdly large.


    To put it mildly, it wasn¡¯t just "exaggerated"¡ªDemian04 had drawn breasts the size of two sacks of rice.


    Had he been malnourished as a child?


    Demian04 primarily posted these bizarre, monstrous sketches but rarely wrote anything revealing his thoughts or opinions.


    It might¡¯ve been his relentless dedication to uploading these grotesque chest monsters that etched him into my memory.


    But then, out of nowhere, the man started talking.


    His silence broke like a dam, and his posts suddenly flooded the community.


    They were verbose and filled with opinions, a stark contrast to his earlier, almost mute behavior.


    Some users speculated he might have found a spark of confidence. Others suggested that he had always been opinionated but was only now choosing to express it.


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder what had caused this change.


    Was it desperation? Isolation?@@@@


    Or was it just another quirk of someone surviving in a world that had long since gone mad?


    Whatever the reason, Demian04 was no longer just another faceless figure in the community.


    He had become someone to watch.


    *


    Defender: No one¡¯s dumb enough to fall for this, right?


    Someone was.


    Demian04: (Demian04) Yuri, you¡¯re so beautiful today~ ????


    It was Demian04.


    He followed every post Yuri made, liking them all and showering her with praise.


    Concerned users tried to stop him.


    The most vocal was someone with the nickname SUNBI.


    SUNBI: Young man, you need to control yourself. I¡¯ll DM you some adult videos. Use them to clear your head and achieve clarity.


    That much was fine. Obsessing over a pretty woman is at least a healthy sign of masculinity.


    Honestly, even I saved a few of Yuri¡¯s real-time leggings photos¡ªthey were that devastating.


    But all things must end.


    The raiders finally revealed their claws.


    Yuri_need_man: I¡¯m lonely and in need of protection. Is there any gentleman who can shelter me for just one night?


    The predator cast its deathly bait, accompanied by a seductive photo in lingerie.


    I could already see the inevitable outcome, like a prophecy unfolding.


    Demian04: Here!!


    The prophecy came true.


    Demian took the bait in less than a second.


    ¡°Wow... fucking unbelievable.¡±


    A year and a half into the apocalypse, our community wasn¡¯t as tightly knit as the Rupert Reich Palace group, but we still had a sense of solidarity.


    Everyone banded together to try and stop him.


    Defender: Don¡¯t do it. This is your only warning.


    Even the psychopathic Human Hunter.


    Of course, I chimed in as well.


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s Advice) Demian, you¡¯re welcome to imitate me, but for God¡¯s sake, open your eyes to reality.


    The most passionate opposition came from SUNBI.


    SUNBI: Yuri, consider this a warning. If you mess with anyone in our community, we won¡¯t stand by and watch!


    Faced with the backlash, the raiders adjusted their strategy.


    Yuri_need_man: Too many jealous people here. Let¡¯s talk via DM~


    Private messages, invisible to everyone else.


    Naturally, no one ever saw Demian04 again.


    Even SUNBI, disheartened by the incident, vanished from the community.


    The most mysterious outcome of all was Yuri¡¯s disappearance.


    Perhaps the raiders intended it as a one-time con. After luring their prey, they never returned to the forums.


    Their wolf disguised as a beautiful woman was gone for good.


    *


    A week had passed.


    For some reason, I suddenly became curious about Demian04¡¯s past.


    What kind of person had he been before the war, and immediately after it began?


    His first appearance in the community was just after the war broke out.


    Even then, he didn¡¯t say much and only posted drawings.


    But back then, his favorite subjects weren¡¯t women with absurdly large breasts¡ªit was landscapes.


    Unlike his crude portraits, his landscapes were exceptionally good.


    One piece in particular, titled Untitled 04, depicted a sunset over the ocean with a lone lighthouse on an isolated island. It was stunning.


    So much so that I printed it out and hung it in my bunker.


    I thought that would be the end of the Demian saga.


    But there was an epilogue.


    Defender: This might be a little late, but here¡¯s the Yuri incident proof.


    Demian04 hadn¡¯t been the only one to show up at Yuri¡¯s murder meetup.


    Our very own Human Hunter had attended too.


    He had killed both the raiders and their decoy face, Yuri, without mercy¡ªand now he was uploading the proof photos to the forum.


    But the raiders weren¡¯t the only ones he had killed.


    Our former comrades had also been there.


    Unlike the raiders, their bodies were treated with some semblance of respect: their faces were covered in the photos.


    Yet even with the slight reverence shown, the sight of their naked, beaten corpses told a story of brutality that set them apart from the raiders¡¯ fates.


    And there weren¡¯t just one.


    There were two.


    Why two?


    It hadn¡¯t been only Demian04 who went to his death.


    Defender: You¡¯re wondering who the other one was?


    Who could it have been?


    Defender: 10.


    10?


    Defender: SUNBI.


    ¡°Ah.¡±

 Chapter 9

    Bang!


    In the late afternoon, as I sit idly on a folding chair, staring at the sky, the sound of gunfire occasionally echoes from the south.


    The pattern of the gunfire is dull yet expansive.


    It belongs to the sniper living southeast of here.


    There used to be a small town there.


    The distance is about 5.5 kilometers in a straight line.


    It had a church, a supermarket, a local bank, a community center, and an elementary school¡ªa bustling area in its own way.


    When the war started, the area was reduced to ruins, leaving only a few skeletal steel-concrete structures standing like eerie, lifeless remains.


    That¡¯s where one of my few neighbors, the Mad Sniper, resides.


    The "mad" moniker comes from their tendency to shoot at anything that moves without hesitation.


    Their behavior, killing anyone who enters their territory, might remind you of the Human Hunter from our community. But while the intent to kill is the same, the two are worlds apart in execution.


    The Human Hunter kills to keep their domain hidden, to remain unseen.


    The Mad Sniper, on the other hand, simply shoots. There are no other options.


    Perched in a high-rise building that provides a commanding view of the surroundings, they observe the world through their scope, taking aim at anything that comes within their effective range.


    Of course, this sniper is human too.


    She has a warm-blooded heart and is capable of loving others.


    Just as I know of the sniper, the sniper knows of me.


    This story goes back to three months after the war began.


    *


    It was the end of the year.


    The kind of season once filled with bustling crowds, glittering trees, children throwing tantrums in department stores, snow blanketing the streets, and even the unnerving figure of Santa Claus, if you think about it. But in the aftermath of war, such scenes were nothing more than faded memories, irretrievable relics of the past.


    At the time, I was preoccupied with inspecting the weapons I had salvaged from a U.S. military base.


    The firearms and ammunition had been stored securely in my bunker, avoiding direct exposure to radiation or fallout. However, since they came from an area hit directly by a nuclear blast, I was concerned about contamination.


    Fortunately, after thorough testing, I concluded that both the weapons and ammunition were usable. I added them to my arsenal.


    Unfortunately, there were no weapons beyond standard rifles¡ªno hunter gear or grenades, as I had hoped.


    I¡¯m no military expert, but it seemed the base had been abandoned before the nuclear strike.


    Scattered and shredded documents, hastily discarded supplies, and even coffee mugs left half-full on desks painted a clear picture of a hurried departure.


    Things hadn¡¯t been great on the American side either.


    The nuclear strike on South Korea was just the tip of the iceberg.


    Hundreds of warheads had been launched in their territory.


    Despite their reputation as a formidable "Space Force," capable of intercepting the majority of threats, even the mighty U.S. military wasn¡¯t without its bad luck.


    Monsters.


    These creatures, entirely alien in origin and principles, are a terrifying combination of biological and non-biological traits. They wield miraculous powers and abilities incomprehensible to humanity, making them the apex predators of mankind.


    They emerge from rifts¡ªdimensional tears known as gyeonryeol. These rifts have two defining traits.


    The first is even distribution.


    Each rift opens at regular intervals.


    In Korea, there are four rifts, but the one in Paju stands out as the most dangerous.


    Why?


    The second trait of rifts is strength, which correlates with the population density of the surrounding area.


    The Paju rift, covering the densely populated metropolitan region, is the highest-grade rift, whereas the one in Jeju has the lowest grade.


    Historically, large populations and expansive territories were markers of strong nations, but now they¡¯re the recipe for rapid collapse.


    India and China fell quickly, not by chance but inevitability.


    The U.S., with its smaller population compared to these two, fared slightly better but was far from a safe zone.


    Its vast territory and relatively high population ensured that no corner remained untouched.


    Even before the war, the U.S. had begun recalling troops stationed in allied countries.


    It was rumored that not a single American soldier remained in South Korea by the time the war broke out.


    And yet, one of those supposedly extinct soldiers intruded into my territory.


    Driving a hulking Humvee with a .50 caliber machine gun mounted on its roof, no less.


    As the Humvee bulldozed its way across the golf course and into my domain, I couldn¡¯t help but recall the old saying that luck governs everything in this world and nothing else truly matters.


    No, seriously, why me?


    What did I do to deserve this?


    Just because I scavenged some abandoned weapons, does that make me a criminal?


    A whirlwind of thoughts clouded my mind as the Humvee came to a halt in front of Bunker No. 11.


    A young blonde woman stepped out of the vehicle.


    Though she was a woman, she was as tall as I was. Wearing a helmet, a bulletproof vest, and carrying a heavily accessorized rifle, she was far better equipped than I was.


    At the time, my CCTV and surveillance systems were still non-functional.


    The old equipment had been incinerated during the nuclear strike along with Kim Elder¡¯s house.


    To make matters worse, the periscope I had installed for situations like this wasn¡¯t operational either. Debris from the shockwave had jammed it, and forcing it open would only reveal my location.


    I was left relying on scant information from a tiny observation slit.


    The woman soon moved out of sight.@@@@


    I stayed put, unsure of how many soldiers had accompanied her.


    There could be just one, or as many as three¡ªor even more¡ªhidden inside that armored beast.


    Fighting well-trained and heavily armed U.S. soldiers wasn¡¯t something I wanted, but if they intended to take my territory, I had no choice.


    I¡¯d have to kill them all.


    After some time, there was no movement from the Humvee.


    Then, a rustling sound came from the side of the main bunker.


    It was the same woman.


    What should I do?


    Taking her down quickly would be the easiest option.


    Still wary, she spoke in clumsy Korean.


    ¡°Medicine.¡±


    ¡°Medicine?¡±


    ¡°Medicine. Have?¡±


    ¡°What kind?¡±


    She pointed at the child.


    ¡°Wait here.¡±


    I returned with fever reducers, antibiotics, cold medicine, and a can of powdered formula.


    She seemed surprised, especially by the formula.


    ¡°Don¡¯t come back.¡±


    Without a word of thanks, the mother and child left, taking treasures that could have easily turned me into a raider.


    Not long after, the neighbor to the southeast moved in.


    Even now, she lives in the jungle, battling prejudice to protect her child.


    There was one more encounter later.


    One dark night, the girl appeared alone at my bunker.


    She had grown taller, likely nourished by the formula I¡¯d given her.


    Tearful, she wandered around the bunker, calling for me.


    When I revealed myself, she said, ¡°Mom¡¯s sick.¡±


    She seemed more adapted to the jungle of Korea than her mother¡ªlike Mowgli from The Jungle Book or a commercialized Tarzan.


    I drove through the ruins to their hideout.


    The woman was exhausted and ill, looking more like a wounded beast than a survivor of civilization.


    I gave her the appropriate treatment and left medicine behind.


    There was no need for words, and I didn¡¯t say any.


    As I turned to leave, the girl suddenly grabbed my wrist.


    ¡°Name.¡±


    She wanted to know my name.


    ¡°Park Gyu.¡±


    ¡°Buh-kyoo?¡±


    She raised her middle finger in confusion, making me chuckle bitterly.


    ¡°...SKELTON.¡±


    The girl repeated the name, smiling widely.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    Time passed, and now it¡¯s Christmas Eve.


    In the community, a game called Virtual Christmas Tree Decoration was trending. Anonymous118, a game developer, had created it by repurposing pre-war designs.


    The game was simple: a digital Christmas tree with ten empty slots, where users could place ornaments and messages of support for each other.


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s request) Please decorate my tree~


    Being an unpopular user with no friends, my tree remained empty. Sometimes, emptiness is better than fullness.


    IamJesus: Who the hell is this?!


    IamJesus, the self-proclaimed messiah I had blocked, had his tree filled with anonymous "blessings":


    <Leukemia, liver cancer, rheumatoid arthritis, ALS, heart attack, stroke, pulmonary embolism, asthma, tuberculosis, paralysis, neuralgia.>


    The Human Hunter received just as many messages.


    As I laughed at the absurdity, a notification popped up.


    [An anonymous user has sent SKELTON a message!]


    One slot on my tree was filled.


    <John Nae-non.>


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    John Nae-non?


    What does that mean?


    Before I could ponder it further, the crackle of my K-walkie-talkie interrupted my thoughts.


    -Static... Static!-


    11 PM.


    No one had ever used the public frequency in this remote area at this hour.


    I quickly discovered the culprit.


    ¡°Merry Christmas~.¡±


    A young girl¡¯s voice echoed from the speaker.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    It was unmistakable. My neighbor.


    I hesitated briefly but smiled as I replied.


    ¡°Merry Christmas.¡±


    I should¡¯ve asked her name.


    Though our interaction was brief, it left a deeper impression on me than any Christmas tree message.


    For the first time in ages, I opened a bottle of whiskey, sinking into quiet reflection.


    ¡°Phew.¡±


    As I opened the door, the cold air swept away the warmth of the heated room, but my heart felt lighter.


    I looked up at the sky.


    A pitch-black winter night sprinkled with countless stars.


    Since realizing I wasn¡¯t chosen by God, I hadn¡¯t prayed.


    But that night, I clasped my hands together and made a wish to the heavens.


    May the gunshots of this mother and daughter echo for a long, long time.

 Chapter 10.1

    What happens to conglomerates when the world collapses?


    It¡¯s a question that any Korean would find intriguing.


    Recently, a prominent community user, "Gijayangban" ("Reporter Guy"), shared an update about one such conglomerate family.


    gijayangban: "Discovered Chairman Park Cheol-joo¡¯s hideout from the Seokju Group! It''s Cheol-joo ham~ ham~!"


    The update on the conglomerate, posted by Reporter Guy, was enough to send us doomsday enthusiasts spiraling into despair.


    On a gentle hill, they had constructed a concrete fortress large enough to accommodate dozens of people. Within it, they had established a self-sufficient ecosystem capable of handling agriculture, manufacturing, and even entertainment.


    When I saw the drone footage of their fortress''s miniature golf course, I couldn¡¯t help but let out an involuntary gasp.


    ¡°...Wow.¡±


    It¡¯s exactly what you¡¯d expect from a conglomerate family.


    When you have wealth measured in trillions of won, you can afford to build something like that.


    Not that I¡¯m jealous.@@@@


    There¡¯s no point in aspiring to it when you know you can¡¯t replicate it, no matter how hard you try.


    Besides Park Cheol-joo¡¯s fortress, other leading conglomerate families in Korea had built similar or slightly less impressive strongholds to prepare for the apocalypse.


    Few of them had chosen to leave Korea. The rest of the world wasn¡¯t any safer, and the influence they wielded in Korea didn¡¯t translate abroad. That was likely the main reason for staying put.


    Most of them had abandoned their corporations.


    From modern-day monarchs commanding thousands or tens of thousands of employees, they had reduced themselves to the heads of single families, focusing solely on survival.


    It might be a rational choice in this doomed world, but not everyone followed that path.


    *


    After my first trip to Seoul, I tried to visit the city at least once every two months.


    With each visit, the surrounding scenery grew bleaker, more miserable, and, above all, more dangerous.


    I always passed through Gangnam on my way in. Once one of the wealthiest districts in Korea, it had since decayed into a sprawling refugee camp filled with makeshift tents and crude shelters.


    Among the dwindling tents, one structure always caught my eye.


    A dilapidated shack with a surprisingly intact sign still hanging above it:


    [Pafung Group].


    The name belonged to one of Korea¡¯s most influential conglomerates, a titan that once dictated the flow of the nation¡¯s economy.


    This shack had been constructed approximately one year and four months ago, around three months after the war began.


    Back then, as I was passing through the bustling refugee camp, I noticed a massive crowd gathered, lured by an irresistible aroma.


    Upon inquiry, I learned that the Pafung Group had set up a free soup kitchen using their own resources.


    Running a soup kitchen when the economy is stable is one thing; running one when global trade has collapsed is a monumental feat.


    Pafung had established multiple soup kitchens at key locations throughout Seoul, providing free meals.


    Even for a conglomerate as powerful as Pafung, this seemed like a stretch.


    With nothing better to do, I queued up for nearly two hours. When my turn came, I was surprised to find the menu consisted of steamed pork slices and beef soup¡ªdishes usually reserved for funeral banquets. The food was genuinely tasty, and to my astonishment, they even offered half a paper cup of soju to adults.


    While I abstain from drinking or smoking in my bunker, here, I gladly accepted the drink.


    ¡°Cheers!¡±


    This was me, Park Gyu¡ªso easily swayed by a bowl of soup and a half-cup of soju, I was ready to pledge my loyalty to Pafung!


    As I ate, however, I overheard some unsettling conversations that contrasted sharply with my newfound admiration.


    ¡°That chairman bastard must be planning to go into politics.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no way he¡¯s spending this kind of money out of goodwill. Screw his so-called compassion for the people.¡±


    Honestly, the remarks were grating.


    In times as dire as these, shouldn¡¯t they at least be grateful for a decent meal? Why constantly question someone else¡¯s motives?


    It¡¯s not like they were paragons of virtue themselves.


    I wanted to say something in defense of Pafung, but after some reflection, I realized I wasn¡¯t loyal enough to warrant the effort.


    Suppressing my irritation, I left the dining area, only to have my attention drawn to an unusual sight.


    ¡°Introducing Je Pung-ho!¡±


    A middle-aged man in an active jacket paired with neatly pressed suit trousers was making rounds, accompanied by people forcing smiles. He shook hands with everyone eating and introduced himself repeatedly.


    ¡°Did you enjoy your meal? I¡¯m Je Pung-ho!¡±


    Je Pung-ho.


    The owner of the Pafung Group.


    Behind him stood a lineup of similarly distinguished-looking men and women, most likely family members. A smartly dressed young man and a beautiful woman, presumably his children, stood awkwardly at the end of the group in descending order of hierarchy.


    As if bewitched, I found myself approaching them.


    My initial intent? To shake hands with one of the daughters from the conglomerate family.


    But when I got there, the daughters had been shuffled to the back, and the hand I ended up shaking was none other than Je Pung-ho¡¯s.


    ¡°I¡¯m Je Pung-ho,¡± he said.


    It was my first time seeing a real conglomerate chairman up close, let alone shaking hands with one.


    Looking at him, I realized for the first time that even a non-hunter¡¯s eyes could shine so brightly.


    His hand was rough, firm, and exuded an unexplainable strength beyond mere grip.


    Later, I heard rumors that a parliamentary election was approaching.


    Not because all the National Assembly members had died¡ªonly about 1% of them had, despite 18% of the South Korean population disappearing in the war.


    It was because their terms had expired.


    This startlingly low mortality rate among the nation¡¯s lawmakers hinted at something deeply significant, though I wasn¡¯t sure what it was.


    *


    After finishing my soup, I arrived at the base of a building.


    This building belonged to the National Crisis Management Committee, or simply "Gukwiwon."


    Known as the modern-day ¡°Board of Military Affairs,¡± this extrajudicial organization held the greatest power and influence in post-war South Korea.


    The primary reason for my visits to Seoul was the number of acquaintances I had embedded within the Gukwiwon.


    These connections had proven invaluable, providing me with crucial information, military-grade walkie-talkies, encrypted radio frequencies, spam, and even holiday gift sets of cooking oil.


    That day, the place was unusually quiet.


    The receptionist I usually badgered for favors was nowhere to be found.


    As I exchanged nods with a security guard I recognized and loitered in the lobby, a man I had never seen before approached me.


    ¡°Do you have a moment?¡±


    His face was expressionless, his eyes dead, and his tone and posture exuded nothing but cold professionalism.


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder.


    Are they still getting paid? What about the performance bonuses they used to brag about?


    Je Pung-ho, who had smiled warmly and shaken hands with everyone at the soup kitchen, now sat at the far end of the conference table, his back turned toward the room.


    He didn¡¯t react when I entered.


    Instead, a man who appeared to be his secretary¡ªa sharp-looking gentleman in his mid-50s¡ªaddressed me.


    ¡°Mr. Park Gyu, correct? I understand you¡¯re a former hunter.¡±


    He conducted a brief interview, asking about my career, combat experience, and rank.


    Most of my records had been erased anyway, so I gave straightforward answers.


    ¡°I¡¯m D-rank. I¡¯ve been to the gates and have some combat experience, but I was never a main player.¡±


    At that, Je Pung-ho let out an audible, uncomfortable cough.


    I ignored it.


    What piqued my curiosity was the reason behind this.


    Why would the head of a conglomerate suddenly decide to hunt monsters?


    Even if trade had collapsed and business was impossible, wasn¡¯t this too drastic of a career shift?


    Unfortunately, none of the suit-clad individuals in the room provided answers to my unspoken questions.


    From the moment I revealed my unimpressive credentials, I was no longer seen as a person but as an expendable office tool.


    After a short while, someone said, ¡°You may leave now.¡±


    Without ever being given the chance to speak, I was politely dismissed from the conference room.


    Not that I had much to say.


    But I did have one question.


    In the hallway, separate from the somber atmosphere of the conference room, another group of people was gathered in clusters. Spotting someone who seemed approachable, I tried to ask a question, but they merely smiled awkwardly, nodding like a foreigner who didn¡¯t understand a word I said.


    I kept my mouth shut, starting to get the picture of how I was being perceived.


    Unexpectedly, someone approached me.


    ¡°Can I help you with something?¡±


    It was a young woman.


    Her face was familiar¡ªshe had been part of the entourage standing behind Je Pung-ho at the soup kitchen.


    She was strikingly beautiful, which made her memorable.


    ¡°I have a question. If you don¡¯t mind?¡±


    At first, her cold demeanor made her seem unapproachable, but as we spoke, she quickly adopted a polite, trained smile and responded kindly.


    ¡°You want to know why the chairman is doing something like monster hunting?¡±


    Unfortunately, she wasn¡¯t wearing an ID badge, so I couldn¡¯t catch her name. Judging by her demeanor, though, she seemed like she could be the chairman¡¯s granddaughter or niece.


    She glanced around to ensure no one was listening, then let out a sigh and explained in a hushed tone.


    ¡°Do you know about the chairman¡¯s plans to run for parliament?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°They fell through.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°The current lawmakers essentially extended their terms indefinitely.¡±


    ¡°Figures.¡±


    Later, I learned that this had passed almost unanimously. There had been two abstentions, but I found those individuals to be even more contemptible scumbags.


    ¡°The chairman¡¯s plans were completely derailed. He had been providing substantial support to both ruling and opposition parties¡ªoffering convenience to individual lawmakers, repairing the damaged National Assembly building, and so on. When the group protested, the parliament responded by saying they would provide him with a seat if he could secure an open constituency. That¡¯s how this mess started.¡±


    ¡°The ¡®constituency¡¯ in question¡ªwhere we¡¯re headed, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going. The chairman and his loyalists will, though.¡±


    Contrary to my first impression, the woman didn¡¯t seem to be fully aligned with Pafung.


    So, I pressed her further.


    ¡°Me? I¡¯m not part of the Pafung family. To be precise, I¡¯m just an underling. My father runs a first-tier subcontractor under Pafung.¡±


    She sighed, her eyes filled with resentment as she glanced toward the conference room door.


    ¡°...I don¡¯t understand why anyone clings to a corporation that¡¯s already collapsed.¡±


    I finally understood.


    This woman held no affection for Pafung.


    In fact, she seemed to harbor a clear animosity toward it.


    With the floodgates open, she poured out her thoughts, as if she¡¯d been waiting for someone to listen.


    ¡°They¡¯re all insane. We¡¯re not bound by blood; it¡¯s just a transactional relationship. Why do they still act like it¡¯s the same as before the war?¡±


    ¡°No idea...¡±


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    Suddenly, her eyes sparkled.


    ¡°You¡¯re a hunter, right?¡±


    ¡°Not anymore.¡±


    ¡°I have a favor to ask.¡±


    She stepped closer, and her subtle perfume, which had only been faint before, filled the air around me.


    ¡°Could you talk my father out of this?¡±


    She handed me her father¡¯s business card.


    ¡°Please. Tell him to stop this madness.¡±


    At that moment, the conference room door opened.


    Leading the group was Je Pung-ho himself.


    With a serious, imposing face, his piercing eyes lit with determination, he strode down the hallway with confident steps.


    Behind him trailed a dozen suited individuals, each wearing their own expression of resolve, silently following his lead.


    The executive who had spoken to me earlier noticed me and curtly said, ¡°Hunter Park, let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Do I have to go too?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    I turned back to look at the woman.


    As the throng of people moved between us, her gaze remained locked on me alone.


    I hesitated for a moment, but not for long.


    ¡°It might not work out,¡± I said quietly.

 Chapter 10.2

    The greatest damage caused by the war wasn¡¯t from nuclear strikes but the insidious, silent attacks lurking beneath the surface.


    South Korea, a country heavily reliant on overseas imports, was structured to perish if its maritime trade routes were severed.


    When Chinese submarines began attacking trade routes, South Korea¡¯s shipping lanes were paralyzed, effectively signing the death warrant for its economy.


    Even Pafung Group wasn¡¯t immune to this fate.


    However, it had slightly better odds of lasting longer compared to other conglomerates.


    Its subsidiaries spanned industries from construction and distribution to heavy industry and defense contracting.


    Perhaps because of this, the equipment deployed in the operation zone was beyond extravagant.


    Five state-of-the-art armored vehicles I couldn¡¯t identify, equipped with flamethrowers and 20mm autocannons. Three 40kg-class quadcopters capable of providing aerial support when needed. A platoon of foreign mercenaries, likely ex-U.S. military. And an additional 200 auxiliary personnel armed with personal firearms.


    There weren¡¯t many young people among them.


    The youngest were in their mid-to-late thirties, while the majority were in their forties or fifties.


    The person in charge of the operation was someone called Director Choi, a former Army colonel. However, he had no prior experience dealing with large-scale monster operations.


    There was one Hunter serving as an advisor, but I didn¡¯t recognize them, and they weren¡¯t a proper Hunter, either.


    When I say "proper Hunter," I¡¯m referring to someone who meets international standards: someone who has received systematic education and training at a certified ¡°school,¡± accumulated over a year of field experience under a verified shooter, and spent another year battling in gate zones established near rifts, ultimately earning a grade of C or higher.


    Take my mentor, John Nae-non, for example. While he attended a school, he dropped out partway through and was only classified as D-rank. In large-scale monster operations, D-ranks are considered negligible.


    And yet, this negligible D-rank individual now held the lifeline of a once-dominant South Korean conglomerate.


    ¡°I¡¯m Park Sang-min, a current Member of Parliament and a Hunter. Nice to meet you.¡±


    This man with movie-star looks introduced himself as a lawmaker.


    Apparently, he had leveraged his background as a Hunter to secure a proportional representative seat in parliament¡ªa so-called ¡°specialized proportional representative.¡±


    I had no idea what qualified someone who wasn¡¯t even a proper Hunter to represent the entire Hunter community, but the glittering rose insignia on the pseudo-military uniform he wore was certainly striking.


    On paper, Director Choi was the commander of the operation. In reality, it was Park Sang-min who was leading it.


    ¡°This industrial zone is infested with zombies. However, research shows that zombie lifespans are only about one month. After a month, they starve to death. The operation was delayed specifically to avoid unnecessary combat with zombies.¡±


    With his good looks and calm, persuasive voice, even the most nonsensical statements could sound credible to the uninformed.


    ¡°What do you think, Hunter from Gukwiwon?¡±


    For some reason, he insisted on asking my opinion about every little thing. His intention was clear.


    He wanted to undermine me.


    I was, after all, a Hunter dispatched by Gukwiwon.


    Currently, parliament had no real power¡ªit was merely a ceremonial assembly. In contrast, Gukwiwon held the reins of actual authority.


    This resentment had morphed into ridicule aimed at me.


    That much, I could let slide.


    Three years, tops. That¡¯s the extent of his political lifespan.


    The real issue was the possibility that Park Sang-min might blame me for the inevitable failure of this operation.


    That, I couldn¡¯t allow.


    I was someone who needed to live quietly, in solitude, cutting off all contact when the time came.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the case.¡±


    ¡°No, Congressman, you¡¯re mistaken.¡±


    ¡°I completely disagree.¡±


    I made it a point to challenge him on every little thing.@@@@


    Honestly, it was hard not to. The man only ever spouted nonsense.


    ¡°Look at it differently,¡± he retorted.


    Even a worm will wriggle when stepped on, and after being countered several times, Park Sang-min fought back.


    ¡°Do you see everything in 3D?¡±


    This was his counter.


    Lacking substance, he resorted to sarcasm and gibberish to deflect my points.


    I ignored him and continued speaking.


    ¡°If zombies are about to starve, they go into shutdown mode. They enter a state of suspended animation, drastically lowering their metabolism. While it¡¯s true that zombies die after a month without sustenance, zombies that establish bases in urban areas, away from sunlight, behave differently.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on. Turn off your WikiBrain,¡± Park Sang-min interrupted rudely.


    His blatant rudeness didn¡¯t go unnoticed by the executives observing our exchange.


    The chairman¡¯s expression, in particular, stood out.


    Even a layman could tell who was making more sense based on the context of our arguments.


    The debate reached its climax when we discussed how to enter the industrial zone.


    Park Sang-min insisted on leading with the armored vehicles. I argued against it.


    ¡°Congressman, have you ever seen zombies shoot guns? Have you heard of such a thing? Zombies are sensitive to sound and smell. Taking armored vehicles with roaring engines and reeking of fuel will only announce our presence.¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Park Sang-min waved his arm dismissively.


    A burly aide stepped in front of me, trying to shut me up.


    Shrugging him off, I continued.


    ¡°Send in an experienced reconnaissance team first to survey the area and determine the best approach. There¡¯s still time to decide on the entry strategy. Battles are 90% planning and 10% individual skill. If the plan is a mess, how can you expect to win?¡±


    ¡°You little bastard. Do you think you can keep running your mouth at a Member of Parliament?¡±


    The main course was steak garnished with truffle, accompanied by an expensive Cha?teau-something wine.


    The truffles and wine were excellent, but the steak was inferior to the cuts stored in my bunker.


    ¡°Hunter Park.¡±


    He greeted me with a bright smile.


    His face wasn¡¯t much different from the one I had seen at the soup kitchen.


    ¡°I looked into your background. Did a bit of digging. You¡¯re quite a big shot.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m washed-up now.¡±


    ¡°Same here.¡±


    Je Pung-ho¡¯s eyes gleamed.


    ¡°They said you completely outclassed that clown Lee Sang-hoon. And that you were on the same team as the now half-mythical saviors Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    The wine instantly tasted bitter.


    He mentioned names I didn¡¯t want to hear. Names I had almost succeeded in erasing from my memory.


    ¡°Why did you call me here?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It seems like you¡¯re planning to refuse no matter what I say.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re perceptive.¡±


    ¡°To get straight to the point, I intend to attempt the industrial zone again.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t work. You saw it yourself.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes, you have to do what must be done, even if it seems impossible.¡±


    Je Pung-ho, his eyes unusually bright, stared intently at his glass of blood-red wine, half-closed in a contemplative gaze.


    ¡°I was born a concubine¡¯s child.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°The woman listed as my mother, Jang Mi-sook, wasn¡¯t my real mother. My mother didn¡¯t even leave behind her name. From the moment I was born, my chances of inheriting the group were zero. But I made it.¡±


    His eyes narrowed, catching the dim light from the ceiling and making them appear sharper.


    ¡°I crushed and trampled over anyone who got in my way, forcing my father to choose me.¡±


    There was a certain intensity about him that made it believable.


    ¡°I¡¯m 69 years old. It¡¯s time for me to take on another challenge.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t be part of it.¡±


    ¡°Just tell me how to defeat that monster!¡±


    I couldn¡¯t refuse that request.


    After all, I owed him¡ªif only for that warm bowl of soup and a glass of soju.


    ¡°...It¡¯s a type called a necromancer. As you saw, it revives the dead as mutated zombies. When attacked, it deploys a reflective barrier, but it doesn¡¯t reflect organic matter like living tissue. Approaching it is extremely difficult, but if you can get close enough, you might manage something. There¡¯s only one spot without a barrier¡ªa spot about the size of a coin...¡±


    Je Pung-ho nodded earnestly, jotting down notes like a schoolboy hanging on my every word.


    When we finished, I asked him a question.


    ¡°Why are you so obsessed with this? You have enough wealth and connections to secure yourself. If you settle down somewhere suitable, you could protect your family and close associates.¡±


    ¡°How could I do that?¡±


    His voice cracked, and he looked at me, his eyes moist.


    ¡°How could I abandon the thousands, tens of thousands of Pafung employees who trust and follow me?¡±


    Now I understood why his eyes shone the way they did.


    He was a leader to his core.


    Someone who lived to command and inspire loyalty in others.


    Or perhaps, to him, there was no distinction between himself and Pafung Group.


    *


    Je Pung-ho''s last challenge ended in failure.


    The small solace was that the name of the father of the woman who had spoken to me wasn''t on the list of casualties.


    The ambitious soup kitchen Je Pung-ho had set up eventually became a haven for drug addicts before being abandoned altogether, turning into a grotesque eyesore no one visited anymore.


    This was the end of the conglomerate I once knew.


    Thanks to this, I went from being a perpetual underdog in the online community to a somewhat respected user, posting a popular thread for the first time.


    But it seems Je Pung-ho''s story isn¡¯t quite over yet.


    One year and ten months after the outbreak of the war, a photo was uploaded to the community.


    gijayangban: ¡°Found this on Failnet. Doesn¡¯t this look familiar to anyone?¡±


    The photo showed a massive horde of zombies.


    Judging by the rural setting, they appeared to be an enormous group, numbering in the thousands.


    But the zombie standing at the front of the horde caught my eye¡ªa face I recognized.


    It was unmistakable.


    The zombie wearing a slick suit was Je Pung-ho, the chairman of Pafung Group.


    While most tycoons had abandoned their conglomerates to retreat into fortresses with just a handful of family members, this once-prestigious industrialist now roamed the ruins, leading thousands of followers¡ªeven in undeath.

 Chapter 11

    One year and eight months after the war began.


    The air was beginning to warm¡ªone of those lazy spring days.


    In the distance, I could hear gunfire.


    Here we go again.


    How many bullets do that mother and daughter even have?


    They¡¯ve probably fired off thousands by now, but judging by how they keep shooting day after day, you¡¯d think they were running a bullet factory.


    Lately, it seems the daughter has also started learning how to shoot. Occasionally, I hear two shots fired in quick succession.


    Call it post-apocalyptic early education.


    The sniper, crazy as she may be, is undeniably an excellent shooter.


    When facing ordinary people, she delivers near misses¡ªclipping their heels or a car¡¯s side mirror¡ªto drive them off. But when it comes to direct threats like zombies or raiders, her bullets land squarely in the center of their foreheads.


    And it¡¯s not just bullets; she¡¯s armed to the teeth with heavy weaponry.


    From what I¡¯ve seen in that Humvee of hers, she¡¯s got everything from Claymore mines to guided missiles like the Javelin.


    Lately, though, it isn¡¯t their gunfire that¡¯s been bothering me.


    That¡¯s a sound I¡¯ve grown to appreciate.


    What¡¯s been irritating me is the deafening roar of a transport plane cutting across the sky.


    There¡¯s been a sharp increase in transport planes recently.


    To the point where it feels like pre-war levels.


    I thought all resistance from the Chinese side had been eliminated. What¡¯s the issue now?


    Meanwhile, word on the streets¡ªor what¡¯s left of them¡ªis that lotteries are suddenly trending in Seoul.


    And not just trending¡ªthey¡¯re the hot topic.


    Anonymous848: ¡°I heard the rumors too. Supposedly, they¡¯re amazing.¡±


    Kyle_Dos: ¡°I had to stop by Seoul recently, and everyone was talking about the lottery.¡±


    Anonymous458: ¡°I heard the first prize is a total life-changer.¡±


    The fact that members of our community¡ªpeople who¡¯ve resolved to sever ties with society¡ªare showing interest says a lot.


    I used to think I was the kind of guy who wasn¡¯t easily swayed.


    Maybe ¡°steady¡± is the right word. Someone not easily influenced by the whims of the world.


    SKELTON: (Question) ¡°Where can you buy lottery tickets?¡±


    But curiosity is a funny thing.


    If you don¡¯t know, you ask.


    Unfortunately, as a less popular user, my posts rarely get replies.


    What¡¯s the problem, I wonder? Could it be the way I title my posts?


    I don¡¯t know why, but I feel like I used to get more replies when I posted casually.


    Luckily, before my impatience reached its limit, someone responded.


    Defender: ¡°You don¡¯t buy them. You have to participate in state labor programs to get one.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    The responder was Defender, the infamous Human Hunter.


    I appreciated the answer, but I still found him unsettling.


    I wish he wouldn¡¯t comment on my posts.


    This time, though, his response had merit.


    Defender: ¡°Here¡¯s proof of my ticket.¡±


    The guy actually had a lottery ticket.


    <Hope Lottery>


    His proof marked the beginning of what would become his ¡°Lottery Series.¡±


    Defender: ¡°I¡¯m starting a lottery series now. Read it if you want; ignore it if you don¡¯t.¡±


    It was astonishing.


    The same psychopath who used to only post ¡°kill confirmations¡± was now writing about the hottest social trend.


    Defender¡¯s proactive nature was well-documented during the Demian04 incident, but this sudden pivot to something so... wholesome was probably related to the Christmas Tree incident.


    While not quite on the level of ¡°IamJesus,¡± seeing the venom-filled decorations must have struck a nerve. He¡¯d even posted a complaint about it.


    Defender: ¡°Did I really deserve that?¡±


    He seemed genuinely shocked, and for the first time, I was convinced he was a true psychopath.


    Regardless of the cause, Defender¡¯s Lottery Series satisfied the information cravings of those of us living far from Seoul.


    The Hope Lottery bore a striking resemblance to the pre-apocalypse lottery.


    The key difference was the total numbers to choose from. While the old lottery had 46 numbers, the Hope Lottery had only 44, making the odds of winning slightly better.


    Hope Lottery tickets couldn¡¯t be purchased with money. Instead, participants had to join government labor projects. Upon completing the required workload, tickets were distributed alongside wages. Drawings were held every three days at designated locations in local district offices.


    Defender: ¡°The fifth-place prize was toilet paper.¡±


    Defender, lucky as always, even uploaded proof of his winning¡ªa roll of toilet paper.


    Unlike the plush, embossed rolls I had stored in my bunker, this one was made of coarse, low-grade paper that looked like it would wreak havoc on sensitive skin.


    They were absolutely over the moon.


    The very image of someone who had stumbled into fortune after a lifetime of having nothing.


    But this person began to change¡ªdrastically and strangely¡ªafter winning the lottery.


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°The move-in date is next year. Do I really have to endure another year in this dump? I swear I¡¯m going to lose my mind.¡±


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Looking back, I didn¡¯t even need to dig a bunker or any of that crap. I could¡¯ve just hidden supplies in my old house. It seems like you still get rations if you¡¯re in Seoul.¡±


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Humans are meant to live together. Living alone just makes you easy prey for raiders.¡±


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Sure, I won the lottery, but the thought of staying in this hellhole for another year is making my head spin.¡±


    Now that they were heading for better prospects, they started openly criticizing our community and way of life.


    I¡¯d known this person for a while, but they weren¡¯t the type to post often, let alone write such abrasive comments.


    I understood their joy, but their posts were becoming unpleasant to read.


    So I decided to say something.


    SKELTON: (Advice) ¡°M9, does winning the lottery make you royalty? Let¡¯s keep it reasonable.¡±


    Apparently, I wasn¡¯t alone in my thoughts, as my comment sparked a wave of similar responses.


    Several users chimed in to call them out.


    Anonymous848: ¡°Blocked.¡±


    Kyle_Dos: ¡°Same, I¡¯m blocking this guy too.¡±


    Anonymous458: ¡°Where¡¯s the Human Hunter when you need him? Why hasn¡¯t he dealt with this idiot?¡±


    Blocking and ignoring were the community¡¯s ways of maintaining order against troublemakers.


    Even Defender, who had once been on everyone¡¯s blocklist but later became a notable figure, had a curt response for M9.


    Defender: ¡°Do you really trust this country?¡±


    M9 didn¡¯t reply.


    Of course, they wouldn¡¯t. They weren¡¯t stupid enough to provoke someone like Defender¡ªa man who didn¡¯t limit himself to killing home intruders but also ventured out for premeditated murders, all while masquerading as a functioning member of society.


    Still, I had a fond memory of M9.


    I knew them.


    They had been an early member of John Nae-non¡¯s fan club. One of the few in their twenties.


    They probably didn¡¯t remember me, but I remembered them.


    Thinking back to how they¡¯d enthusiastically grilled meat at a shady Korean barbecue joint, I picked up my K-walkie-talkie.


    Private ID: DARAM. Would you like to initiate contact?


    Private ID-based one-on-one communication¡ªa privilege reserved for those with a personal identification number in this post-apocalyptic world.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t expect you to contact me first, senior. What¡¯s up? Not much work here, but there¡¯s plenty of openings at the frontlines.¡±


    From the other end of the radio came the faint sound of jazz music.


    Their environment must be vastly different from mine, I thought.


    ¡°I wanted to ask you about something.¡±


    I inquired about the apartment.


    The reason I reached out to this bothersome junior was my suspicion that the apartment complex wouldn¡¯t be completed.


    The conglomerates had been reduced to noble clans, and there were no companies left capable of undertaking such a project. Even if they found workers, where would they get the materials or the resources for a self-sustaining system?


    And not for a mansion meant for a dozen people, but for a massive complex housing thousands.


    Most of all, the fact that the government was offering this lottery felt fundamentally twisted.


    ¡°Hope...¡±


    I could almost picture Kim Daram exhaling cigarette smoke as she said it.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing but a mirage.¡±


    I imagined her staring out at the ruins, a city doomed to lose both its present and future.


    After a brief silence, she sighed and added one more piece of information.


    ¡°We¡¯re relocating to Jeju Island. By next spring, everyone will be gone.¡±


    The moment she said that, a transport plane roared overhead, its sound resonating louder than ever inside my bunker.


    ¡°....¡±


    One lingering question I¡¯d had was finally answered.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone about this. It¡¯s classified.¡±


    Of course, I agreed.


    I kept it to myself and told no one.


    I did what I could.


    SKELTON: ¡°That apartment complex probably won¡¯t be built. Keep your bunker and supplies in order¡ªanything could happen.¡±


    I sent the message directly to M9.


    It was my way of repaying the memory of their earnest effort grilling meat at that barbecue joint.


    The response came quickly.


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Blocked.¡±


    Goodwill is rarely received as intended.

 Chapter 12

    The collapse of a major city is often compared to a plane running out of fuel and plummeting to the ground.


    Even without power, it continues to glide for a while due to inertia, but eventually, the moment comes when its speed can no longer sustain lift, and it crashes to the earth with a deafening roar, ending in a dramatic explosion.


    Seoul is following in the footsteps of Beijing, Mumbai, Jakarta, and Hong Kong.


    The disappearance of a major metropolis like Seoul is a painful blow to my plans, but it¡¯s not an unforeseen variable.


    It only happened much sooner than I anticipated.


    The South Korean government¡¯s resolve to protect the "Seoul Republic" at all costs was steadfast.


    But now that all hope has disappeared, my job is not to save Seoul.


    That¡¯s neither my task nor something I¡¯m capable of.


    Right now, I¡¯m focused on quickly using cigarettes¡ªthe currency of the apocalypse.


    Even if Seoul collapses, cigarettes will retain their value, but as the market shrinks, the quality and variety of goods available in exchange will inevitably decline.


    What I need now is a new laptop.


    The screen of my current one has developed a dark spot in an inconvenient area.


    It¡¯s not an issue when playing games or watching videos, but it¡¯s incredibly annoying when browsing the community.


    I do have a spare¡ªa gaming laptop¡ªbut...


    Regardless, I decided to sell some cigarettes and gauge the current atmosphere by making a trip to Seoul.


    ¡°This is SKELTON. What¡¯s the status of Road 13?¡±


    ¡°Personal ID confirmed. Hello, SKELTON. The road is currently calm. The entire route is secure. However, if you plan to pass through, please do so within the next six hours, just in case.¡±


    I pedaled slowly toward Seoul on my bicycle.


    On the road, a few electric vehicles were moving, while people along the roadside were scavenging parts from abandoned cars and piling them up.


    When I entered Seoul, the atmosphere was surprisingly lively.


    Reconstruction projects under the banner of ¡°national labor¡± were underway everywhere. Crowds of people were clearing rubble, swinging pickaxes, and cleaning the streets.


    Posters promoting performances by formerly idle singers and idols were plastered along the streets. Electric buses and other public transportation roamed the near-empty roads.


    While I hadn¡¯t paid attention to it on the community, elementary and middle schools had reopened after a long hiatus. High schools and universities were expected to resume classes next year.


    Perhaps that¡¯s why.


    Even though food rations had been reduced, power outages were becoming more frequent, and the blackouts were lasting longer, citizens interpreted these inconveniences as signs that Seoul was on the path to recovery.


    However, up close, the reality of Seoul was starkly different from what it appeared on the surface.


    Everyone was singing songs of hope, but lurking beneath was something chilling and grotesque¡ªa shadow cast over the city.


    This shadow isn¡¯t an issue because people are deliberately choosing not to look too closely.@@@@


    The ¡°International Residence,¡± where I always spent a night whenever I came to Seoul, was a microcosm of this paradoxical atmosphere¡ªteetering ambiguously on the border between hope and despair.


    *


    The International Residence is a converted guesthouse that used to be a study dormitory.


    It¡¯s old and shabby, but since it suffered almost no damage during the war, it¡¯s a decent place for a one-night stay.


    The owners of the residence are a middle-aged couple who live with both their respective parents¡ªhis mother and her father¡ªand two children, who appear to be in middle school.


    It was clear from my first visit that the couple didn¡¯t get along.


    ¡°Oppa! For the love of god, make your mother stay inside! What is she doing out there? We¡¯re losing customers because of her!¡±


    Their ongoing conflict seemed to stem from their parents.


    The wife had brought her father, and the husband had brought his mother, both of whom came with their own set of issues.


    The wife¡¯s father exhibited symptoms of dementia brought on by trauma, while the husband¡¯s mother had a habit of sitting outside the dormitory entrance, staring uncomfortably at every passerby.


    The wife was the one who usually complained.


    But recently, things had started to change.


    The husband, who had always silently endured his wife¡¯s nagging, finally lost his patience and began fighting back.


    ¡°So, what? You want to send my mother to a nursing home in the provinces?¡±


    ¡°Why not? The government¡¯s program will cover it.¡±


    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you send your father first?¡±


    ¡°You know Dad has dementia!¡±


    ¡°Which is even more reason to send him!¡±


    However, the argument ended with the wife¡¯s victory.


    ¡°Whose house is this, huh? It¡¯s not your house, is it? This house was bought with my dad¡¯s money, right? You didn¡¯t bring a single penny into this marriage, so how can you be so shameless?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Hard to argue with that.


    Even to an outsider, the husband seemed like a pitiful man with nothing going for him except his looks.


    He spent most of his time slumped at the counter, listlessly chewing on a cigarette butt, or lying on the floor doing nothing.


    I¡¯d never seen him work since the war started, and from their arguments, it sounded like he hadn¡¯t worked much before the war either.


    Still, there was one thing he had given to his children: a good-looking face.


    If the couple¡¯s parents were the cracks that fractured their relationship, their children were the glue tenuously holding it together.


    The eldest son, in particular, was a remarkable child.


    It was as if he had inherited only the best traits of his parents¡ªhis father¡¯s looks and his mother¡¯s diligence.


    No, perhaps he was a genetic anomaly, considering he also displayed a depth of character neither of his parents possessed.


    ¡°Mister, you¡¯ve been coming here often lately.¡±


    ¡°How many times do I have to tell you I¡¯m not a ¡®mister¡¯?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re over ten years older than me, you¡¯re a mister.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m only eighteen.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m one year old. Goo-goo, ga-ga~.¡±


    Though playful, the boy was far more tolerable than his sister, who, whether due to middle school angst or high school rebellion, treated everyone with a cold indifference.


    Recruitment for the 27th class of the National Hunter Training Institution ¡°Guard.¡±


    The boy gazed at a lone star with a faint smile.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got me.¡±


    ¡°I always wanted to be a doomsday prepper.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Why not? It looks fun. Building your own hideout, gathering stuff you like. Didn¡¯t you have fun?¡±


    ¡°It was tough, but yeah, I enjoyed it. Until I ran out of money, anyway.¡±


    The boy handed me his laptop.


    ¡°Trade it for cigarettes. You¡¯ve got a lot, right?¡±


    ¡°Selling cigarettes to kids can get me locked up, you know.¡±


    ¡°These are different times. I¡¯ll give a few to my pitiful dad who¡¯s always chewing on cigarette butts, sell the rest, and buy a gift for my mom. Before I leave for school!¡±


    I sold him the cigarettes.


    He paid an exorbitant price, but it was a satisfying transaction for both of us.


    While we finalized the deal, the dementia-stricken elderly man who had been standing like a statue turned his head toward us and muttered something unintelligible. I couldn¡¯t make out the words.


    ¡°If I go to that school, I won¡¯t have to hear Mom and Dad fighting anymore, right? And I can send Grandma and Grandpa to better places.¡±


    Even if I had understood the old man¡¯s words, I would¡¯ve forgotten them quickly.


    The boy¡¯s hopeful words as we descended together left a far stronger impression.


    He was a deep-thinking kid.


    It was hard to believe someone like him came from such a family.


    The following day, as I prepared to leave the International Residence, the dining hall was alive with a celebratory atmosphere.


    The guests and residents had been replaced by the landlady¡¯s friends, who filled the space with chatter.


    The landlady sat proudly at the center of the table, basking in their admiration.


    ¡°I¡¯m so jealous. My kids hang out with gangsters.¡±


    ¡°I heard the exam isn¡¯t easy to pass. How did he manage it?¡±


    ¡°They say families of Hunter School students get The Hope apartments. Is that true?¡±


    Surrounded by praise, envy, and admiration, the landlady beamed.


    ¡°Oh, my Young-min¡¯s dad. He¡¯s a pain in the neck, but I have to thank him for giving me such a great kid. I mean, sure, he¡¯s lazy, but he¡¯s got a good heart, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    I left the residence, watching as a family on the brink of collapse became tighter than ever thanks to the boy¡¯s decision.


    The boy¡¯s laptop was excellent.


    SKELTON: (New Laptop) ¡°Got a new laptop, haha.¡±


    There were no comments on my post, but it received an unusually high number of views.


    Perhaps it was the envy and curiosity of my community peers.


    The landlady¡¯s triumphant smile seemed to copy itself onto my face.


    Two months passed before I revisited the Hunter School flyer saved on the laptop.


    By chance, I stumbled upon a hidden personal folder the boy had left behind.


    Inside were the recruitment flyer, photos of daily schedules, snapshots with childhood friends, family vacation pictures, and countless images of a girl his age whose name I didn¡¯t recognize.


    With a growing sense of unease, I finally read the part of the flyer I¡¯d missed earlier¡ªthe dense warning buried in the fine print.


    ¡°Final admissions candidates will undergo three rounds of high-intensity psychic resonance tests, during which exposure to certain accidents may occur.¡±


    ¡°...Certain accidents?¡±


    Bullshit.


    I knew what that test was.


    As someone who¡¯d been through it, I understood better than anyone.


    It was a trial by death¡ªa way to cull those unworthy of being chosen by the gods.


    When I returned to Seoul, I headed straight for the International Residence.


    From the start, something felt off.


    The old woman who usually guarded the entrance was nowhere to be seen.


    With a growing sense of dread, I entered the building.


    As I feared, the ownership had changed.


    ¡°Can I help you? Are you looking for something?¡±


    ¡°The previous owners... what happened to them?¡±


    At that moment, I caught sight of an old man shuffling past the shop outside.


    Dressed in tattered clothes and unwashed, he looked like a dying dog. Despite the darkness, he resembled the elderly man who had lived there.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go... Don¡¯t go... Don¡¯t go...¡±


    The old man mumbled as he staggered along the unfamiliar street.


    In the distance, a slender girl smoked a cigarette while hanging out with a delinquent crowd.


    She, too, bore a striking resemblance to the boy¡¯s sister.


    Our eyes met briefly, and she looked away with an expression of irritation and contempt.


    Seeing that, I stopped myself from asking any more questions.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing.¡±


    On the brighter side of the street, lottery hawkers were enticing passersby, exchanging tickets for goods.


    I joined the crowd and asked about the price of a lottery ticket, trading two cigarettes for one.


    I never returned to the International Residence after that.


    Nor did I hear any news about that family.


    As far as I¡¯m concerned, their fate remains hopeful.


    Much like my own lottery ticket, still unscanned for the results of its draw.

 Chapter 13

    Before the war began, doomsday preppers were not a welcomed group in society.


    Looking at their traits alone, it was hard to find any qualities the world would consider virtues.


    Those who fancied themselves psychoanalysts often said that preppers¡¯ thinking was rooted in delusions of grandeur, selfishness, and resignation.


    Well, except for the delusions of grandeur, they weren¡¯t entirely wrong.


    I won¡¯t deny it.


    With such thoughts, I took on debt, dug my bunker, and pandered to Kim Elder¡¯s whims.


    But not just anyone can become a prepper.


    You have to be tough.


    You need the kind of insensitivity that allows you to remain unshaken by the deaths of people unrelated to you.


    Not to the extent of someone like the Human Hunter, who indiscriminately kills without a shred of humanity, but you must lack the ability¡ªor the willingness¡ªto empathize with others¡¯ suffering.


    When the world collapses, millions of pitiful, desperate people will emerge. If you try to help them all, you¡¯ll inevitably share their fate.


    In my mind, the ideal doomsday prepper is a cold, detached observer.@@@@


    No matter what happens around them¡ªwhether hundreds of people die or heart-wrenching tragedies unfold¡ªthey ignore it all and live solely for themselves.


    Such a person deserves to become a legend.


    After all, aren¡¯t the last humans often spoken of as legendary?


    Unfortunately, I¡¯ve always been a bit lacking to truly become a legend.


    *


    I learned it was coming the day after I checked the International Residence.


    After finding another place to stay for the night, I visited Gukwiwon, almost out of habit, and unexpectedly came across invaluable information.


    This kind of intel is the main reason I maintain my connection to the city.


    [Breaking through the kill zone, a massive monster is advancing south.]


    [Estimated to be of the Kraken type.]


    [Speed: approximately 22 km/h. Heading: south-southwest.]


    [Entry into Seoul has been prevented, but it is expected to circle around the outskirts.]


    [Estimated time to dissolution: approximately 56 hours.]


    In the Gukwiwon lobby, a computer provided real-time updates on classified information uploaded to the internal network.


    ¡°A Kraken type...¡±


    I¡¯d encountered one in China before.


    It¡¯s like a living skyscraper.


    A monster capable of withstanding all known weaponry with its sheer size and armor-like skin, breaking through kill zones and shattering defensive lines as it advances.


    That said, it¡¯s not invincible, and from my perspective, it wasn¡¯t particularly dangerous.


    It¡¯s unintelligent, with simple patterns of behavior, so as long as you prepare adequately, the chance of dying to it is low. Even if left alone, it eventually self-destructs.


    People like to say hunters¡ªespecially saviors¡ªare the natural enemies of monsters. But in reality, a monster¡¯s greatest enemy is Earth itself.


    The moment monsters cross through a rift, they begin to lose vitality and disintegrate for unknown reasons.


    Once their vitality is depleted, they break down into particles and vanish. The larger and stronger the monster, the faster this collapse occurs.


    There are exceptions, of course, but this particular monster was the kind that dissolves.


    If I had to compare it to something, I¡¯d say it¡¯s like a typhoon.


    It wreaks havoc on human territory, destroying everything in its path while it¡¯s alive. But as time passes, it loses its strength and dissipates. Just like with typhoons, intelligence agencies monitor the monster¡¯s movements and predict its path so people can prepare for its impact.


    And this ¡°typhoon¡± was going to pass through my territory.


    That sent chills down my spine.


    If I hadn¡¯t received this information and had stayed in my bunker, I¡¯d have been like an extra in a disaster movie, obliviously partying away until¡ªhuh?¡ªI¡¯m wiped out without even realizing what hit me.


    How would I have died, I wonder?


    Most likely while writing a post on the community site.


    SKELTON: (Skelton Shock) "?!"


    Something like that, I imagine.


    Recently, I¡¯ve been getting the feeling that I¡¯ve become not just unpopular but actively avoided in the community...


    I feel like I¡¯m in a worse position than the Human Hunter.


    But surely, I haven¡¯t been blocked by too many people, right?


    Unfortunately, there was no word from Kim Daram.


    I understood. She didn¡¯t know my exact location, and she was undoubtedly swamped with work.


    While lingering in the Gukwiwon lobby, I caught a glimpse of her stepping briskly into an elevator alongside stern-faced soldiers, hunter-turned-bureaucrats, and politicians.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t help but wish she had at least sent me a warning. That would¡¯ve been nice.


    *


    Bang!


    A gunshot echoed in the distance.


    For the first time in my life, I was caught in an attack¡ªnot directly, but it was close enough.


    The attack had happened far up ahead, completely out of sight.


    Still, it was enough to bring the entire convoy to a halt, creating the rare sight of a traffic jam in the middle of this apocalyptic wasteland.


    Police and soldiers blocked off the road, offering only one piece of advice: wait until the situation was resolved.


    After a three-hour delay, the incident finally came to an end, but by then, precious time had been wasted.


    As we passed through the area, I saw bodies scattered across the road.


    They lay sprawled out with lifeless eyes staring into the void, uncovered even by simple tarps, denied even the barest respect.


    I couldn¡¯t tell if they were looters or victims.


    *


    I returned to my bunker immediately to prepare.


    I moved some of Kim Elder¡¯s plants indoors, gathered camping gear, food, water, and other necessities. For observation, I took binoculars with night vision and a cheap drone.


    The most important piece of equipment was the four-wheel-drive buggy sleeping in the underground garage. Against a monster like this, mobility was key. Keeping distance was the best strategy, and in the worst case, I needed to escape before its twin death beams created a zone of obliteration.


    I poured an entire tank of long-stored, sealed gasoline into the buggy without hesitation and sent the drone up to survey the area.


    There were no immediate threats nearby. While the Gold Pack to the south was concerning, I had no plans to head in that direction.


    I parked the buggy on a low hill above my bunker and waited.


    There was still some time before the monster arrived.


    At first, my mind was blank.


    After a brief moment of emptiness, I began thinking about the monster¡¯s expected entry point and possible escape routes. It didn¡¯t take long. I had already simulated every potential scenario involving this area while constructing the bunker¡ªeven the appearance of a colossal monster.


    I sipped on coffee absentmindedly as I waited.


    Two hours left.


    It would show itself soon enough.


    Attached map of its path heading south -


    When no one answered, I drove straight into the sniper¡¯s territory.


    Time was tight, so I had to cut through the Gold Pack¡¯s area.


    Of course, the mutated dogs came chasing after me, drooling.


    ¡°You mutts are like gaming laptops, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    I evaded them with gunfire and speed, finally reaching the sniper¡¯s territory, only to be greeted by a sharp gunshot.


    Bang!


    The bullet struck the ground at my feet, kicking up dust.


    I grabbed the radio and spoke.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear me? You¡¯re all going to die!¡±


    No response.


    I tried again.


    ¡°Are you going to let your daughter die too?¡±


    That worked.


    The sniper and her daughter emerged from the darkness.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    The girl smiled brightly and waved at me.


    ¡°The car?¡±


    The sniper shook her head.


    ¡°Gasoline. Spoiled.¡±


    ¡°Get in.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t expected them to get in right away. I thought I¡¯d have to convince them.


    But the sniper surprised me by climbing into the car with ease.


    ¡°Seen it.¡±


    She fumbled through the words in her broken Korean as she fastened her seatbelt.


    ¡°Seen what?¡±


    ¡°Monster.¡±


    Ah, so that¡¯s why she was so cooperative.


    ¡°Hold on tight.¡±


    We drove away, putting as much distance as possible between us and her territory.


    From a small hill overlooking the area, we watched as the colossal monster appeared.


    A massive figure, like a building with legs, trampled the ground with contempt and fired net-like beams of malevolent light, erasing everything living in its path.


    The death beams, which destroyed only living things, narrowly missed my bunker.


    If I¡¯d been there, I wouldn¡¯t have died cleanly.


    I probably would¡¯ve been sliced in half.


    Even the battle-hardened sniper was reduced to a trembling lamb in the face of this otherworldly horror.


    As I watched them, I spoke.


    ¡°Hold still for a moment.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Photo. Smile.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I have a printer at home. I¡¯ll make you a copy.¡±


    Even in a world like this, you need memories.


    By coincidence, just as I snapped the photo, the typhoon vanished from our territory.


    The monster that had trampled the earth and scorched all living things was consumed by radiant light, disintegrating into particles and fading away.


    Against the dark, barren landscape, the shimmering gold fragments drifting in the wind were hauntingly beautiful.


    ¡°...It¡¯s beautiful.¡±


    The girl murmured in awe, her mother holding her hand as they both watched the mingling of what belonged to this world and what didn¡¯t.


    Click.


    A single photo was saved to my folder.


    *


    SKELTON: (Skelton Photo) Untitled03


    My photo sparked a modest reaction within the community.


    I collected a rare number of comments and even received a few likes.


    Many commented on how cute the girl in the photo was.


    Some asked what kind of photo it was, but I chose not to answer out of respect for the sniper family¡¯s privacy.


    Unfortunately, my warning and the information I shared didn¡¯t end up being very helpful to my community members.


    None of them were located in the monster¡¯s path.


    Even Keystone, whom I thought might have died, turned out to be alive.


    Keystone: "I thought I was going to die from food poisoning."


    Did that bastard block me or something?!


    Whatever.


    The person I wished would block me didn¡¯t, though.


    Defender: "Skelton, this is seriously impressive. You¡¯ve got a sense of aesthetics. Your handling of light is a bit rough, but your composition is solid."


    If it ended there, I could let it slide.


    But Defender, of all people, decided to take an even greater interest in me.


    It could¡¯ve been worse.


    Soon after, I received a message from him, complete with an attached photo.


    In the photo, my back was clearly visible, sitting in the four-wheel buggy alongside the sniper and her daughter.


    Message from Defender:


    "Skelton. This is you, right?"


    SKELTON: "Nope."


    Message from Defender:


    "Thanks for saving my life. I owe you one. I¡¯ll repay this debt someday."


    ¡°...Ha.¡±

 Chapter 14

    The location where Defender took the photo was easy to deduce.


    It was a vast stretch of farmland, once golden with ripened crops before the war began.


    Though officially registered as agricultural land (???), not a mountain or forest, turning it into a construction site isn¡¯t a simple feat.


    From my frequent trips through the area, I¡¯d never seen any sign of construction.


    Defender must have passed through by chance.


    He often mentioned being near Gwanggyo, and the landscapes in his endless murder-proof photos hinted at a heavily forested, mountainous region.


    Maybe this guy just roams around a lot?


    But it¡¯s unlikely he uses vehicles or other transportation.


    The only thing I found near the tracks left by my buggy were footprints ¡ª male-sized sneakers heading eastward.


    The trail vanished amidst the overgrown reeds.


    Why head east, though?


    I don¡¯t care, and I have no way to find out.


    The real issue is Defender¡¯s recent behavior.


    [ Defender has sent you a friend request. ]


    I didn¡¯t even know Viva! Apocalypse! had a friend feature until now.


    Why?


    Because no one¡¯s ever sent me a request before.


    Why this guy of all people?@@@@


    To be honest, I dislike him.


    I can understand the necessity of killing in this post-apocalyptic world, but his behavior ¡ª launching into murder sprees and proudly posting about them as soon as the war broke out ¡ª feels fundamentally twisted.


    Even now, after unblocking him, those feelings haven¡¯t changed much.


    [ Accept ] [ Decline ]


    Two clear options.


    Yet, for some reason, I haven¡¯t pressed the decline button.


    *


    The War, One Year and Ten Months Later


    The war had been raging for one year and ten months.


    Today¡¯s outside temperature: 32¡ãC. A midsummer day.


    At this time of year, the community forum habitually fills with posts cursing the harshness of Korea¡¯s four seasons and the mythical foresight of Dangun, Korea¡¯s legendary founder.


    I, however, am not afraid of summer.


    Indoor temperature: 24¡ãC.


    That¡¯s the current temperature inside my bunker.


    Yes, my bunker has air conditioning.


    On the dining table are the Assassin¡¯s Pasta I prepared earlier and a bowl of shaved ice topped with condensed milk and canned red beans, freshly made with finely crushed ice.


    When I take a big spoonful of the shaved ice after the warm pasta lingers in my mouth...


    ¡°Ahhh~.¡±


    The brain-freezing pain, sharp and reverberating, comes paired with pure happiness.


    A summer delight, you might call it.


    I¡¯m not oblivious.


    I didn¡¯t post pictures of my shaved ice on the community forum.


    As it is, I¡¯m already hated without reason. If I went around flaunting these small luxuries, the only person who¡¯d still read my posts would be some weirdo like Human Hunter!


    Although I¡¯m an unpopular user on the forums, I can confidently say that my quality of life ranks among the top tier.


    Frankly, to find someone who eats and lives as well as I do, you¡¯d probably have to look at the billionaire types who built their fortresses.


    The cornerstone of my luxurious life is, above all else, abundant electricity.


    My power setup is on another level.


    While most community users rely on small generators running on gasoline or gas, I operate an industrial-grade diesel generator, the kind you¡¯d find powering a factory.


    I call it the Skeleton Heart, and it¡¯s massive¡ªlarger than many standard bunkers. As its name suggests, it¡¯s the beating heart of my sanctuary.


    Its performance is exceptional.


    As long as there¡¯s fuel, it generates massive amounts of electricity, enough to fully charge dozens of batteries in a flash and still have power to spare.


    Of course, it has its downsides: high installation costs, noise, and a ridiculous amount of gas emissions.


    I covered the installation costs by buying cheap land, and the noise isn¡¯t an issue since I¡¯m in an uninhabited area. But the gas emissions were a real headache during the bunker construction phase, almost as troublesome as managing the groundwater.


    I drilled no fewer than seven ventilation shafts and finally managed to build a duct system after countless trials and errors.


    Even so, when the generator runs, black smoke billows from the vents in thick plumes.


    I tried installing filtration systems to reduce the visible smoke, but they didn¡¯t make much difference. From a distance, you might miss it, but if anyone has a direct line of sight to my bunker, they can easily spot the seven columns of smoke.


    For this reason, I usually run the generator only at night. Especially on stormy or windy nights, I sometimes run it intentionally, even if I don¡¯t need electricity, to charge the batteries.


    But this abundance comes with a condition: there must be no people nearby.


    ¡°You¡¯re quite cautious for someone so young. Did you get bullied in school or something? Anyway, have you been living here alone?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t intend to talk much. Keep it short.¡±


    ¡°Ha, sure, I¡¯ll keep it brief.¡±


    Smiling amiably, Choi¡¯s demeanor suddenly shifted as he raised his voice.


    ¡°You said this was your land, right? That¡¯s ancient history.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Ownership has been reset. All property deeds are void. Outside major cities, it¡¯s a free-for-all. Whoever claims it, owns it.¡±


    He waved his papers in front of me.


    ¡°This is our permit.¡±


    At that moment, I understood why refugees had reappeared after being gone for so long.


    The situation in Seoul might be worse than I¡¯d imagined.


    ¡°Judging by your condition, you must be one of those doomsday preppers. Don¡¯t worry, we won¡¯t touch your land. Our goal is over there,¡± Choi said, gesturing toward the U.S. base.


    ¡°We¡¯ll just borrow this area until we finish clearing that place out. Isn¡¯t that reasonable, former landowner?¡±


    Choi smirked, his hand brushing against the pistol at his belt.


    I deliberated briefly. Should I kill them all or endure this?


    ¡°Two days. You can stay for two days,¡± I said.


    It was a conditional allowance, driven by the desire to avoid unnecessary conflict. These weren¡¯t raiders, after all.


    ¡°Two days? That¡¯s too short, but fine,¡± Choi replied.


    And so began an uneasy cohabitation.


    The greatest discomfort wasn¡¯t their presence but the inability to use my generator.


    The battery reserves were draining quickly.


    Inside my bunker, the temperature rose uncomfortably, and candles replaced the lighting.


    Worst of all, the temperature in the underground freezer was rising faster than expected.


    Hours at most.


    If the freezer, which had maintained sub-zero temperatures, absorbed the summer heat, my precious food supply would be ruined.


    Despite the agreement, Choi and his men overstayed their welcome.


    On the third day, the emergency door to my main bunker rattled.


    ¡°Hey, there¡¯s a door here!¡±


    They had found it.


    ¡°Push it! Push harder!¡±


    Their voices were a nightmare come to life.


    A moment of silence followed, then Choi¡¯s voice boomed from just outside the steel door.


    ¡°You¡¯re in there, aren¡¯t you? Hey, come out and let¡¯s talk!¡±


    I stepped out unarmed, carrying only cigarettes.


    ¡°It¡¯s hot under the sun. Why don¡¯t you wait inside the bunker? I¡¯ll bring out food and drinks. For now, have some cigarettes.¡±


    Choi smirked, taking a cigarette and lighting it.


    ¡°Now, that¡¯s more like it. I knew there was a proper bunker behind that door.¡±


    His smugness was palpable as he placed a hand on my shoulder and took a deep drag of his cigarette.


    ¡°You worked hard on this place. Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯re not raiders. Once we settle the U.S. base, we¡¯ll be neighbors. I¡¯ll even introduce you to some nice girls. My friends¡¯ daughters are idol-level beauties!¡±


    His "friend request" ended in an explosion.


    I hunted down the survivors, Choi included.


    ¡°How... how could you...?¡±


    His death left me unmoved.


    More pressing matters awaited.


    I restarted the generator, restoring power.


    Cool air returned to my bunker, and the freezer¡¯s temperature dropped back to safe levels.


    Standing in front of the air conditioner, basking in the refreshing breeze, I allowed myself a rare, satisfied smile.


    [You have accepted Defender¡¯s friend request.]


    Defender seemed overjoyed.


    Defender: (Touched) ¡°Skeleton finally accepted my friend request! Thanks, buddy!¡±


    I briefly reflected.


    Defender and I are just ordinary people surviving the apocalypse.


    We¡¯re not so different.


    Both of us have reverse scales¡ªlines no one can cross without provoking us.


    The only difference is that Defender¡¯s line is just a bit bigger than mine.


    That¡¯s all.

 Chapter 15

    The reason I avoid combat isn¡¯t just because it¡¯s dangerous.


    The aftermath is a colossal pain.


    One of my decoy bunkers was wrecked, and dealing with the bodies is an ordeal.


    Burying them one by one isn¡¯t an option¡ªthe number is too high, and there¡¯s no suitable place to dig graves.


    In the end, I dragged the corpses into the partially collapsed bunker and set it on fire.


    One of the invaders had made it all the way to my main bunker and was half-burned to death. I had to sling the body over my shoulder to drag it out.


    As I moved it, pus-filled bodily fluids dripped onto the floor, leaving a disgusting mess.


    But clearing the bodies is only part of the job.


    I also had to dismantle their tents and erase all traces of their presence.


    All of this is work¡ªtedious, backbreaking labor.


    I didn¡¯t sweat a drop during the battle, but the cleanup left me drenched and exhausted.


    There were no spoils to speak of.


    The invaders¡¯ belongings were pitifully meager.


    Their food, in particular, was almost unbelievable.


    What they called food was dog kibble.


    To be precise, it was ground-up dog food mixed with unidentifiable meat and compressed into something resembling an energy bar. It was so repulsive that I couldn¡¯t imagine putting it in my mouth.


    The sight of it gave me a sense of unease.


    A solution is needed.


    These intruders were likely just the tip of the iceberg.


    *


    Beneath the U.S. military base lies a bunker facility that survived the nuclear strike with minimal damage.


    Though the underground facility had already been raided¡ªfirst by me, and later by scavengers who left nothing behind¡ªit might still surpass my current bunker if converted into a residential space.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t imagine living in a spot directly hit by a nuclear bomb.


    But then came people like Lieutenant Colonel Choi.


    If one appears, more will inevitably follow.


    The military base must be dealt with.


    I need to make sure no one even considers setting up there to prevent a second Lieutenant Colonel Choi incident.


    But how?


    Should I set it on fire?


    Or should I use the heavy equipment buried in my bunker to seal off the entrance?


    Nothing feels quite right.


    Something stronger, more impactful, and more intuitive is needed.


    For example, rumors of monsters living there.


    Something like the Gold Pack mutation would work.


    But how could I even get them there? They can¡¯t be reasoned with, and they attack anyone on sight.


    I even considered moving the sniper mother and daughter there, but dismissed the idea¡ªit¡¯s not like they¡¯d agree to go.


    Frustrated, I dumped an excessive amount of sugar into my coffee and connected to my oasis of peace: the forum.


    I clicked on the trending posts tab.


    Let¡¯s see.


    Earlier, during my break, I had posted a picture of the dog food bar.


    I thought it might become a trending post since it had received a few comments in a short time.


    But it wasn¡¯t on the list.


    Maybe it only got a single ¡°like.¡±


    Then...


    ¡°What the hell is this...?¡±


    I almost cursed aloud.


    Keystone: ¡°This is what kids in Seoul are eating these days, lol.¡±


    The photo Keystone had posted was none other than the picture of the dog food bar I had uploaded.


    They had stolen my photo and claimed the glory of a trending post!


    SKELTON: (Skeleton confused) ¡°That¡¯s my picture!¡±


    I protested, but there was no response.


    What a shameless thief.


    I tried complaining on the board, but no one cared.


    Even my sole internet friend, Human Hunter, was absent that day.


    Seething with anger, I scrolled through the rest of the trending posts.


    Then, one particular title caught my eye.


    Kyle_Dos: ¡°What is this?¡±


    Feeling melancholic, I clicked on it.


    The post showed a single photo.


    It seemed to depict the wooded hillside behind a bunker.


    At first glance, it was just a picture of overgrown grass and trees, nothing out of the ordinary. But amidst the foliage was something unmistakably odd, exuding an eerie presence.


    A pale, cylindrical object with a dull, grayish-white surface.


    Kyle_Dos: ¡°I woke up, and this was just there. Does anyone know what it is?¡±


    The replies varied, but none were conclusive.


    No one could know.


    That¡¯s because it¡¯s something that can only be observed in a country on the brink of collapse.


    That pale cylinder has a name.


    It¡¯s a capsule.


    A monster egg.


    *


    From the moment monsters arrive on Earth, they begin to deteriorate¡ªbut there are exceptions.


    The first exception includes those classified as Infiltrators.


    Infiltrators are usually smaller species that can survive independently in Earth¡¯s environment without disintegration.


    The necromancer type that turned Chairman Je Pung-ho into a zombie is one such example.


    However, while they are immune to disintegration, their combat power is relatively weak. Weak, of course, only in comparison to other monsters.


    The second exception isn¡¯t an individual species but an environmental transformation.


    When energy from a rift spills out and surpasses a critical threshold, the surrounding area begins to warp, resembling the world beyond the rift.


    This phenomenon is called Erosion.


    In these eroded lands, monsters can persist regardless of their size or strength.


    I¡¯ve seen eroded lands in China.


    The sight of our world maliciously twisted into something unrecognizable can only be described as apocalyptic.


    Attack the capsule from a distance using specialized ammunition designed to bypass its reflection field. Kill the monster after it emerges, following the type-specific guidelines in the manual.


    ¡°Step back for a moment.¡±


    I approached the capsule, holding two axes.


    ¡°If I die, take the truck and run. The keys are in it.¡±


    ¡°What?! Die?!¡±


    I wasn¡¯t planning to die, but in this world, there¡¯s no such thing as 100%.


    When it¡¯s time to act, hesitating to take risks guarantees a 100% chance of death later.


    I knew this all too well¡ªafter witnessing how my indecisive comrades in China had died, been maimed, or gone mad.


    ¡°It begins.¡±


    I swung the axes toward the pale gray surface of the capsule.


    Just before the blades struck¡ª


    ¡°Hup!¡±


    ¡ªI halted them with all my strength.


    It was a feint.


    In human society, this might be considered a prank.


    But monsters aren¡¯t human.


    They respond.


    Shhhk-


    Before my eyes, a black blade materialized in the space just above my neck, as if it had sliced through the air itself.


    It was the Reflection Field.


    The reflection field is a monster¡¯s power, bending and twisting dimensions to return an attacker¡¯s force right back at them.


    While the amount of force it can deflect has limits, humans lack the defense to withstand the counterattack from such distortions.


    This is one of the countless reasons why humans can¡¯t defeat monsters.


    Fortunately, since I held back, my own axe didn¡¯t decapitate me.


    Sighing in relief, I retrieved the axe.


    The black, liquid-like distortion rippled where the axe had nearly struck, then faded into the air as if it had never existed.


    ¡°It¡¯s safe.¡±


    When a monster doesn¡¯t want to emerge, it activates the reflection field.


    At that point, only an attack strong enough to overwhelm the field can force the capsule open.


    I don¡¯t know why.


    Maybe it wasn¡¯t ready yet. Maybe it wanted to sleep more. Maybe it was busy browsing the monster equivalent of a forum.


    Whatever the reason, it¡¯s their business.


    For me, exploiting this trait to confirm safety is my method.


    Call it the Skeleton Capsule Test.


    With Kyle¡¯s help, we loaded the capsule into the truck.


    Thunk!


    Mission accomplished.


    ¡°You¡¯re insane. What if the monster had popped out?¡± Kyle asked, shaking his head as he stared at the capsule in the truck bed.


    ¡°Then I¡¯d die.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    ¡°I need to move quickly, so I¡¯ll head out.¡±


    ¡°Got it. Take care.¡±


    There was no need for more words.


    Both of us got what we wanted.


    Besides, this wasn¡¯t the end.


    Why? We¡¯d see each other on the forum in a few hours.


    Kyle waved.


    ¡°This is between us, right?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget to like my next post!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll decide after reading it.¡±


    Kyle grinned and gave a thumbs-up.


    Instead of taking the capsule to the U.S. military base, I dropped it on the road connecting the base to my territory.


    The distance: about five kilometers.


    The same as the distance to the sniper mother and daughter.


    I don¡¯t know what will emerge from it.


    It could be a necromancer type that raises zombies or a spider type that¡¯s a predator of architecture.


    At least it won¡¯t head toward me.


    Monsters tend to gravitate toward areas with more people.


    It¡¯s not a guarantee, of course...


    But one thing¡¯s for sure: this baby¡¯s performance is impressive.


    ¡°Crackle! This is Pioneer Unit 23! There¡¯s something strange up ahead!¡±


    ¡°Crackle! This is Road Control Command. Drone observation confirms it¡¯s a monster spore. Turn back immediately and move away as quickly as possible. This is not a suggestion; it¡¯s an order. Repeat...¡±


    One batch of refugees dealt with, right after adoption.


    ¡°Like!¡±


    *


    A month has passed.


    Which means it¡¯s now 1 year and 11 months since the war began.


    On the community forum, anxiety and complaints about the surge of refugees dominate the trending posts.


    Among them is a post by Keystone.


    Keystone: We¡¯re screwed, goddammit!


    Apparently, a group of refugees has set up camp in the neighborhood right in front of Keystone¡¯s bunker.


    Is this poetic justice at work?


    While the world is in chaos, I¡¯m enjoying a leisurely late summer.


    Refugees?


    Not even a shadow of them in sight.


    Even now, my adorable baby monster is still sound asleep in its round capsule, keeping the pests from approaching my territory.


    But good fortune never lasts forever.


    An uninvited guest is about to shatter my peace.


    Personal ID: Sergent


    A message from Lee Sang-hoon.


    This man, who now practically controls the crumbling remnants of South Korea, is my Salieri.

 Chapter 16.1

    That school was a brutal place.


    Every student¡¯s rank, from first to last, was posted prominently for everyone to see.


    The weak were weeded out and driven to leave of their own accord.


    The system didn¡¯t encourage cooperation but competition, demanding mechanical coldness rather than humanity.


    Creativity wasn¡¯t tolerated; only obedience and discipline were enforced.


    It had to be that way.


    Our enemies were merciless, and no mistakes were allowed.


    Boys and girls fresh out of middle school were turned into machines within those walls¡ªmachines designed to fight against humanity¡¯s enemy: the monsters.


    Everyone had their own reasons for being there. Mine was hatred.


    Having lost my parents and sister to monsters, I became an orphan. My hatred was razor-sharp, so intense that it¡¯s hard for me now to even imagine.


    Lee Sang-hoon, on the other hand, was my complete opposite.


    He grew up in a wealthy family, with his parents alive and well. He entered that school because of the promise of honor and prospects.


    For someone raised in a sheltered environment, defeating someone like me, who had nothing left but venom, might have been an impossible task from the start.


    From the time we enrolled until we graduated, he was always second¡ªblocked by the wall that was me.


    When he first entered, he could never have imagined that the number ¡°2¡± would become his lifelong trauma.


    But our competition ended in a completely unexpected way.


    The playing field changed.


    To use a musical metaphor, imagine musicians competing in a classical music competition, only for the genre to suddenly switch to rock and heavy metal.


    I don¡¯t think one genre is superior to another¡ªit¡¯s a matter of taste.


    But on the battlefield, rock and heavy metal were the music of choice.


    Mozart and Salieri became outdated and irrelevant in that context.


    A nobody who had been lurking in the shadows suddenly rose as a hero, taking center stage in the spotlight.


    We were pushed to the periphery of the stage, left to endure the malicious ridicule and contempt that always finds its way to those cast aside.


    One of us left, and the other stayed.


    The one who left became a wanderer, while the one who stayed became a bureaucrat.


    Our rivalry ended.


    The one thread connecting us had been severed.


    I never thought I¡¯d see him again.


    But now, he¡¯d reached out to me.


    What could he possibly want?


    As Kim Elder once said, ¡°When someone you haven¡¯t heard from in a long time contacts you, it¡¯s rarely for a good reason.¡±


    ¡°Did you put that capsule on Route 13?¡±


    ¡°How did you know?¡±


    I admitted it right away.


    I know his personality too well.


    Lee Sang-hoon is a perfectionist.


    He tries to execute even the smallest tasks flawlessly, which is precisely why he was always a step behind me.


    ¡°Why would you do something like that? What if the capsule cracks and a monster gets summoned?¡±


    ¡°Summoned? What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You still think those are eggs?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been confirmed that capsules are actually makeshift portals. They¡¯re temporary rifts used by infiltrator types.¡±


    ¡°...Is that so.¡±


    It had been quite a while since I retired from active duty.


    I knew from experience that capsules weren¡¯t exactly eggs, but realizing that my knowledge had become outdated stung.


    ¡°I think I know why you placed it there.¡±


    ¡°Take a guess.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t want refugees coming near your bunker, did you?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re as sharp as ever. So, what do you want? You must be busy.¡±


    ¡°Are you interested in going to Jeju Island?¡±


    Was this a recruitment attempt?


    Not the direction I wanted this conversation to go.


    ¡°What would I do there?¡±


    I¡¯d turned down similar offers before, but it seemed Lee Sang-hoon, now a high-ranking official, wasn¡¯t aware of that.


    ¡°There¡¯s an instructor position open. The last candidate died in action three days ago. I¡¯ve received other recommendations, but none of them feel right. Then I saw you moving that capsule.¡±


    ¡°Instructor, huh.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a better life than rotting underground.¡±


    ¡°Probably comes with a lot of stress.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t your current life even more stressful? You¡¯ve been living alone for nearly two years, with no one to talk to and no friends. Isn¡¯t that punishment in itself?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡±


    For the first time, I seriously disagreed with him.


    And I meant it.


    These past two years, while they¡¯ve had their rough moments, have mostly been peaceful and enjoyable.


    I¡¯ve got plenty of internet friends. If I need to vent, I can write in a journal.


    Who cares if I¡¯m unpopular on the forums?


    I even have neighbors to exchange Christmas greetings with.


    ¡°Are you serious?¡±


    His voice wavered, as if he couldn¡¯t believe it.


    I answered firmly once more.


    ¡°I like it here.¡±


    Sure, Jeju Island might be warmer than here.


    But that¡¯s about it.


    There, I¡¯d have to face people and realities I¡¯d rather avoid.


    That¡¯s why I left in the first place, giving birth to the unpopular Skeleton of today.


    I¡¯d seen his shoe prints. They were men¡¯s sizes.


    And there¡¯s another reason.


    Sure, with a gun, a woman could kill a man easily.


    But dragging and disposing of dead bodies? That¡¯s no small feat.


    Even for me, dealing with a few corpses leaves me utterly exhausted.


    And Human Hunter? He kills and disposes of intruders daily.


    Even a strong man would find it tough.


    For a woman? Near impossible.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton¡¯s Take) ¡°Defender seems like a man to me.¡±


    I chimed in with my opinion, but it didn¡¯t even get a single like.


    Why did he even send me a friend request if this was how it¡¯d be?


    Meanwhile, the refugee issue that was lighting up the forum remained far removed from my life.


    Thanks to the capsule.


    A small number of military personnel and rookie hunters were stationed around the capsule, blocking the road and standing guard.


    They were likely fresh graduates from their hunter training schools.


    Thanks to them, I hadn¡¯t heard gunfire in a while.


    ¡°Hey, are you still alive?¡±


    It had gotten so quiet that I reached out to the sniper mother and daughter.


    ¡°Medicine.¡±


    The sniper¡¯s usual response was to ask for medicine.


    ¡°Morphine. Do you have any?¡±


    She especially wanted painkillers¡ªprobably drugs.


    How exhausting must her life be, living atop a high building, unwashed and underfed, fending off anyone who dared approach?


    I occasionally considered offering them one of my decoy bunkers.


    But it wouldn¡¯t be easy.


    Even if I invited them, they probably wouldn¡¯t come.


    And honestly, I didn¡¯t trust her either.


    A sudden gunshot could bring our nearly two-year acquaintance to an abrupt end.


    It had been 1 year and 11 months since the war began.


    The worst of the heat had subsided, and the self-sown rice in the fields had begun to turn golden, bending low under its weight.


    While Seoul grew increasingly chaotic, I enjoyed the peace of harvesting the small amount of rice I¡¯d cultivated, packing it into sacks, and preparing to mill it.


    I¡¯d never milled rice before, but I figured I could manage with some tutorial videos.


    As a city boy, I had learned a few things from Kim Elder, and I figured I¡¯d at least get a bowl of rice out of it.


    After all, even trial and error can be enjoyable for someone like me.


    For people like us, whose lives are already set, time isn¡¯t an asset but an obligation to spend.


    I was heading back to my territory, slinging the sack of rice and my gun over my shoulder, when my K-Walkie emitted a distinctive signal.


    A personal ID transmission.


    Was it Lee Sang-hoon again?


    I could choose to answer or not¡ªit was entirely up to me.


    Seoul was turning into less of a meaningful hinterland and more of a disaster zone.


    I checked the transmission.


    Personal ID: DARAM


    It wasn¡¯t Lee Sang-hoon. It was Kim Daram.


    This guy was just as annoying as Lee Sang-hoon, but at least he¡¯d suffered under my command before. Out of old camaraderie, I answered.


    ¡°Long time no see, Commissioner Kim.¡±


    I was prepared to reject whatever favor or request he was about to make.


    After all, the capsule was proving to be quite the multi-talented friend.


    The first sound that came from the walkie-talkie was a sigh.


    Wiping the sweat from my brow, I waited to hear what he had to say.


    ¡°Lee Sang-hoon is dead.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    For a moment, I doubted my ears.


    ¡°Lee Sang-hoon? My classmate Lee Sang-hoon is dead?¡±


    ¡°Yes, your fellow classmate, Lee Sang-hoon.¡±


    I¡¯d never liked him.


    I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d feel anything if he died.


    But fate has a way of clinging to you in unexpected ways.


    Lee Sang-hoon¡¯s death hit me harder than I¡¯d anticipated.


    After all, we¡¯d spent ten years in the same space, fighting and even saving each other¡¯s lives.


    The clearest memories, ironically, were from when our relationship was at its worst¡ªback in school.


    Now, those gray, dust-covered memories resurfaced vividly, overtaking my mind.


    I saw him sitting in the front row of the classroom, his shaved head bobbing as he eagerly raised his hand to ask questions.


    He always knew the answers but shamelessly asked questions anyway to curry favor with the instructors.


    For some reason, that irritating sight filled my mind.


    Slightly disoriented, I pressed the walkie-talkie closer and demanded, ¡°How did he die? Was it in battle? Or was he caught up in the protests?¡±


    ¡°Suicide.¡±


    The moment I heard that, the image of school-age Lee Sang-hoon flashed before me again¡ªthis time, turning around to look at me.


    His face was so blurry I couldn¡¯t make out his features.


    What did he even look like?


    Lee Sang-hoon...


    Lost in thought, I forced out the words.


    ¡°...Why?¡±


    My voice was rough and shaky, even to my own ears.


    Kim Daram sighed deeply before responding in a resigned tone.


    ¡°Someone always has to take responsibility, right?¡±

 Chapter 16.2

    I once visited a funeral hall when Lee Sang-hoon¡¯s father passed away.


    It was a peaceful death.


    He had lived a long life, having had Lee Sang-hoon at an older age. After being diagnosed with cancer, he endured three years of grueling treatment, confined to a hospital bed.


    The funeral hall was packed with mourners.


    Adjacent to the VIP suite that housed Lee Sang-hoon¡¯s father¡¯s memorial was a small, ordinary room.


    Unlike the VIP room, which was bright and bustling, the regular room was dim and sparsely populated.


    The sounds of revelry from the neighboring room seeped through the thin walls, amplifying the stark contrast.


    At the center of this ordinary room stood a portrait of a young man who still looked vibrant. Below the portrait sat his grieving wife and children, heads bowed, listening to the noise from next door.


    The disparity left a strong impression on me.


    This memory resurfaced after something Kim Daram said.


    ¡°They¡¯re holding the memorial until dawn tomorrow. As cold-hearted as it may sound, hosting a memorial in a university hospital during times like these could be considered a privilege.¡±


    ¡°Are you going?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Kim Daram replied with a sigh.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to, but I have to. He was my senior, my team leader, and a department head. And hey, he even gave me 30,000 won as a wedding gift. How could I not go?¡±


    ¡°Was 30,000 won the minimum back then?¡±


    ¡°No, even then, it was 50,000.¡±


    ¡°Classic Lee Sang-hoon.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. That¡¯s so him.¡±


    For a moment, we indulged in reminiscing about the past, each wearing a faint, bitter smile.


    The silence that followed was broken by Kim Daram.


    ¡°Are you going to go?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    Refusing would¡¯ve been the logical answer.


    It would¡¯ve been reasonable, and I had my reasons.


    Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I couldn¡¯t give an immediate reply.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s just that...¡±


    ¡°I get it. There¡¯s a capsule on the way, right? It¡¯s night, too. No need to risk creating a double funeral. Just send your regards from afar.¡±


    Though I wanted to say more, the conversation naturally ended there.


    After ending the call, I sat in the stillness of my bunker, lost in thought.


    Many thoughts came and went, but it was like trying to grasp a rope made of sand¡ªnothing clear or tangible emerged.


    I focused on the most recent past.


    Lee Sang-hoon had invited me for a drink.


    Perhaps that was his way of extending an olive branch.


    Or maybe it was a plea for help.


    And what about the last thing he said¡ª¡°The back of your head¡±? What did he mean by that?


    The dead don¡¯t speak.


    Lee Sang-hoon wouldn¡¯t answer my questions now.


    Despite that, I decided I would go to him.


    It felt like going to his memorial was the only way to untangle these unanswered questions¡ªno matter how futile it might seem.


    *


    In the pitch-black darkness, I relied on nothing but a bicycle to move forward.


    I could have used a vehicle, but the roads were blocked by barriers I had built myself.


    To move silently and avoid detection, a bicycle was my only option.


    But my intent was thwarted by the roaring engine and bright lights of an approaching motorcycle.


    ¡°What are you doing out here?¡±


    The man called out sharply, his tone cautious. As he removed his night vision goggles, his face became visible.


    We recognized each other almost simultaneously.


    ¡°What the... Park Gyu? Is that you?¡±


    It was Baek Seung-hyun, a freelancer hunter who often handled the dirtiest and most dangerous tasks for the National Crisis Management Committee.


    Although a year my senior, he worked as a glorified errand boy, always sent to the rear lines.


    ¡°Where are you headed?¡±


    ¡°Seoul.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s somewhere I¡¯d like you to come with me first.¡±


    He glanced toward some distant lights.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you just let me pass?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯d like to, but...¡±


    Baek Seung-hyun gave a bitter smile and lit a cigarette.


    ¡°...I¡¯m not the one in charge.¡±


    His radio crackled with noise before a voice, sharp and youthful yet full of latent aggression, came through.


    ¡°Who¡¯s that guy? What¡¯s going on?¡±


    I stared silently at Baek Seung-hyun.


    ¡°A hunter?¡±


    He nodded toward the distant lights while readjusting his triple-lens night vision goggles.


    ¡°One of the rookies caught wind of you.¡±


    ¡°Caught wind, huh...¡±


    Baek Seung-hyun snorted.


    ¡°They¡¯re the real hunters. Not relics like us.¡±


    In the end, I had no choice but to approach the barricade I had been so intent on avoiding.


    I wasn¡¯t here to pile up more bodies today. I was here to pay my respects.


    Under the distant glow of floodlights stood a group of people.


    At the forefront were soldiers and police officers, but they were just set pieces in this encounter.


    The real issue lay behind them: three figures, standing arrogantly, each wearing jackets adorned with a patch of a roaring tiger¡ªa symbol of the Roaring Tiger Corps, the new generation of hunters trained under the latest doctrine introduced six years ago.


    To these new hunters, relics like me were labeled simply as:


    ¡°Old men.¡±


    A young man, barely in his early twenties with bleached blond hair, addressed Baek Seung-hyun.


    ¡°So, who¡¯s this guy?¡±


    Behind him stood a man with a large shield slung over his back, yawning lazily, and a woman engrossed in her phone.


    ¡°A former hunter,¡± Baek Seung-hyun replied.


    Although he didn¡¯t bow his head, his demeanor betrayed the deference of someone who¡¯d been humbled countless times.


    ¡°A former hunter, huh? Like you?¡±


    ¡°Haha, something like that.¡±


    The man and woman in the back cast cold glances my way.


    I recognized the emotions in their eyes: contempt and disdain.


    A long, humanoid head like an ancient sculpture emerged.


    A Necromancer Type.


    Not the worst, but certainly not an easy opponent.


    If this were a mid-range encounter, I¡¯d need trained allies just to approach.


    But I was already at zero distance, prepared for close combat.


    And that meant the outcome was already decided.


    The monster lunged.


    Its grayish-white arm swung toward me, but my twin axes struck it first.


    Rip!


    It¡¯s been so long since I felt this.


    The sensation of breaking these creatures¡ªit stirred old memories.


    The dance began.


    The deadly waltz I¡¯d once mastered, now nearly forgotten.


    At zero distance, the monster was powerless.


    Slow and clumsy, it was nothing more than an ancient tree awaiting the axe.


    Its final act of desperation came as spikes erupted from its body, aimed at me.


    But my axes had already traced their path, targeting the monster¡¯s head.


    Thunk!


    Both axes sank deep into its skull.


    The creature convulsed, its body trembling through the axe handles before collapsing.


    As white light engulfed its form, the monster disintegrated into fine particles, disappearing into nothingness.


    Breathing heavily, I retrieved my axes and turned around.


    The younger hunters stared at me, their faces frozen in disbelief.


    They couldn¡¯t comprehend what they¡¯d just witnessed.


    How could they?


    They belonged to a different era, raised under different doctrines.


    But now, perhaps, they understood a little.


    That once, there were warriors who defended an age.


    ¡°You¡¯re giving me a ride, right?¡±


    In the cold darkness, someone who once shared that era awaited me.


    *


    "Ah, goodbye!"


    The woman who had given me a ride hurriedly bid farewell without even glancing back at me and quickly left the area.


    The hallway leading to the mortuary was identical to the one where Lee Sang-hoon¡¯s father¡¯s wake had been held.


    Father and son were laid to rest in the same place.


    But the atmosphere was markedly different.


    There were no wreaths lining the corridor, nor were there mourners filling the space.


    In the dimly lit, half-abandoned room, a young, strikingly dressed woman sat with her head bowed, silently keeping vigil.


    I felt a strong sense of de?ja? vu as I looked at Sang-hoon¡¯s memorial portrait.


    "Sang-hoon-ah."


    At last, the memories became clear.


    So this is what he looked like.


    *


    ¡°It was Lee Sang-hoon¡¯s plan to relocate to Jeju Island.¡±


    Kim Daram  found me in the funeral hall and called me outside.


    ¡°As his senior, you must have some idea what he was thinking when he set that plan in motion, right?¡±


    I nodded and recited the theory we¡¯d been taught back in school.


    ¡°The intensity of a rift is proportional to the population density surrounding it.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. His plan was to deploy the best forces to Jeju, where the rift¡¯s intensity is comparatively weaker, and prepare for the future. After all, monsters are a phenomenon, not an army with intent.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s not something he could¡¯ve pushed through alone.¡±


    ¡°The president and the top brass approved it. The problem was...¡±


    She turned her sorrowful gaze toward the echoing streets beyond.


    ¡°Those who weren¡¯t chosen were all abandoned. And when that leaked out, this chaos followed.¡±


    ¡°Why did he take the blame alone?¡±


    ¡°When ten million lives are being abandoned, who¡¯s going to step up and take responsibility? In cases like this, it always falls to the lowest-ranking person involved in the decision-making process.¡±


    ¡°What about Sang-hoon¡¯s wife and son? I didn¡¯t see them at the wake.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re already in Jeju.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    Kim Daram  lit a cigarette.


    ¡°And, for some reason, Sang-hoon gave the plan his name.¡±


    ¡°Lee Sang-hoon¡¯s Plan?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. The ¡®Sang-hoon Plan.¡¯ Why would he do that? He must have known it wouldn¡¯t end well for him if he put his name on it.¡±


    I felt like I vaguely understood, but I couldn¡¯t fully grasp it.


    ¡°Oh, and one more thing. It¡¯s probably nothing, but before Sang-hoon died, he talked about you.¡±


    ¡°What did he say?¡±


    ¡°He said your nape kept coming to mind.¡±


    ¡°My nape?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. He said he used to always see it blocking his way back in school, and how he¡¯d always wanted to smack it.¡±


    So that¡¯s what it was.


    I guess he found me annoying back then.


    I had, after all, constantly been in his way.


    ¡°But then, before he died, he smiled and said, ¡®Now I finally feel like I can properly whack it.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Did he discover something new?¡±


    Kim Daram  sighed and glanced around.


    ¡°Who knows? But after he met Kang Han-min, he wouldn¡¯t stop grinning and suddenly started talking about you.¡±


    ¡°Kang Han-min?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know you don¡¯t like hearing that name.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s fine. I¡¯ve trained my mental fortitude with the Skeleton Method of Unpopularity Discipline.¡±


    ¡°Unpopularity?¡±


    I looked around.


    Beyond us, a crowd moved aimlessly in the darkness, without even the light of a candle to guide them. They roamed, desperately shouting the word ¡°survival.¡±


    A world was coming to an end.


    And I was standing in its midst.

 Chapter 17

    For the first time in a while, I picked up a TV signal.


    The President was making a formal statement.


    I didn¡¯t bother listening carefully. The sewage pipe was clogged, and I had to keep going back and forth between the inside and outside of the bunker to clear it.


    There wasn¡¯t much point in paying attention anyway.


    ¡°The rumors about the government relocating to Jeju Island are completely untrue.¡±


    It was nonsense right from the start.


    Leaving the TV on, I went back to working on the pipe.


    The blockage turned out to be caused by leaves and debris piled up around the sewage outlet. Trash I could understand, but where the hell did all those leaves come from?


    ¡°The reason military aircraft have been taking off so frequently recently isn¡¯t to transfer government assets to Jeju but in response to threats from Japan. Three days ago, the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force sank a humanitarian vessel carrying over 150 South Korean refugees from Busan without issuing any warning shots...¡±


    I kept catching snippets of the broadcast as I moved back and forth between the bunker and the outside.


    There¡¯s a bit of distance between the sewage pipe and the main bunker.


    The main bunker is nestled into a low hill, with a small stream flowing nearby. Although the stream¡¯s flow is light, there are too many prying eyes around, so I installed the sewage outlet a good distance away.


    It was a smart choice overall, but at times like this, it¡¯s a hassle.


    ¡°Some government assets were indeed transferred to Jeju, but this was a unilateral decision made by Director Lee Sang-hoon of the National Crisis Management Committee¡¯s Intelligence Strategy Department...¡±


    I thought about turning the TV off at that point, but given how rare broadcasts like this are, I decided to leave it on while I resumed my work.


    I reinforced the outlet with a mesh cover and ran some water through it to check.


    Clean as a whistle.


    While I was at it, I decided to clean the septic tank as well.


    This involved using a pump and a hose to suck out the sludge that had settled at the bottom and transfer it to another location.


    Even as the pump was dutifully sucking away at my waste, I kept catching snippets of the broadcast.


    ¡°The government will release its reserves within three days to start unrestricted rations. Additionally, emergency free medical checkups for children and adolescents will be implemented. Contrary to rumors spread by some media outlets, our government possesses reserves of food, medical supplies, and other essential goods sufficient to last three years...¡±


    At one point, I¡¯d considered forgoing a septic tank entirely and just letting the waste flow directly into the stream. But the stench of human feces can be overwhelming, and if sediment accumulates around the outlet, it would only advertise that someone lives nearby.


    That¡¯s why I took advice from my mentor, John Nae-non, and set up a proper system.


    Of course, I curse myself for it every time I have to clean the damn thing, but it¡¯s worth the effort.


    This bunker isn¡¯t just a temporary refuge¡ªit''s where I¡¯ll live until the day I die.


    ¡°Ah, shit!¡±


    Some foul water splashed onto my mouth.


    Spewing profanity, I headed back into the bunker, only to be greeted by the warm voice of the President.


    ¡°Our government will stand by its people forever.¡±


    That¡¯s when I turned the broadcast off.


    Not only was it a waste of electricity, but there was no point in listening any further.


    Still, I did manage to glean one useful bit of information:


    Three days.


    At least for the next three days, things should stay quiet.


    Though, I can¡¯t shake the bad feeling I have about this.


    *


    Day One.


    I made rounds around the bunker to inspect its condition. My main focus was the detonation lines linking the decoy bunkers to the main one, ensuring they were in working order.


    While there were no malfunctions, I found two exposed areas where the camouflage had worn off. It might seem like a minor issue, but in a crisis, such a small oversight could mean the difference between life and death.


    After carefully re-camouflaging the lines, I installed new explosives at the secret entrance leading from the decoy bunker to the main one.


    These weren¡¯t powerful enough to blow the door off its hinges but were sufficient to eliminate any intruders snooping around the main bunker¡¯s interior with the push of a button.


    Behind the secret door, I also set up deadly traps and cover positions accessible only to me, preparing for the worst-case scenario.@@@@


    In the afternoon, I worked on turning the meat I¡¯d pre-dried into long-lasting rations.


    I was making pemmican¡ªa mixture of finely ground dried meat combined with dried cranberries, then bound together with fat. It has a decent shelf life and is nutritionally rich.


    I didn¡¯t plan to rely on it immediately. While it¡¯s a practical survival food, it can¡¯t compete with canned goods in efficiency, and my palate is a bit picky.


    The pemmican was more like an insurance policy, in case the freezer or generator failed.


    The incident with Colonel Choi had shown me that things rarely go as planned. Who knows when a second or third Colonel Choi might invade my territory?


    Winter was approaching, and while the colder season might provide some relief, it¡¯s always better to be prepared.


    Since I had three days of relative peace ahead, I hastily watched some tutorials and gave it a shot. Surprisingly, thanks to my skillful hands, the result was edible¡ªquite good, actually.


    That said, unless you specifically need survival food, it¡¯s not something I¡¯d recommend. It¡¯s incredibly labor-intensive.


    SKELTON: (Skelton Cooking) Tried making pemmican!


    I posted my efforts to the community, carving out time from my busy schedule.


    While it didn¡¯t get any likes, the unique topic sparked quite a few comments.


    Even Defender chimed in, apparently finding time to relax.


    Defender: I like men who can cook.


    The moment I read that, I frowned.


    ¡°...?¡±


    What¡¯s up with this guy?


    Could it be... that?


    You know... men who like other men?


    Should I unfriend him? But then again, if I do, I might be fast-tracking a future encounter with him. Better hold off for now.


    Feeling slightly unsettled, I stored 36 portions of pemmican in a cool spot, thoroughly coated with preservatives.


    Day Two.


    Defender wasn¡¯t really a threat to me.


    Sure, his combat skills were impressive, but that was all.


    In an unpredictable outdoor environment, it would come down to preparation and luck. Still, in a controlled setting, my chances of losing to him were close to zero.


    It wasn¡¯t about fear or danger. It was simply that he felt incompatible¡ªlike a genre of film you can¡¯t stand.


    For me, it¡¯s horror movies.


    When life itself is a horror story, why would I go out of my way to watch one?


    Defender was like a walking horror movie.


    And this horror movie wanted to hang out.


    Message from Defender: Okay, joking aside, I¡¯m serious this time. Things are bad. I messed with some guys connected to the military, and they¡¯ve been searching the area for the past two weeks. I think there¡¯s going to be a big fight soon. You¡¯re the only one I can trust, Skelton. Help me out.


    I could tell from his tone and past behavior that he wasn¡¯t lying.


    What should I do?


    Maybe I already knew the answer.


    SKELTON: (Man of Loyalty Skelton) Where are you?


    In the end, Defender and I weren¡¯t so different.


    Message from Defender: (Moved to tears) Skelton, you¡¯re awesome!


    Defender¡¯s chosen rendezvous point was... unexpected.


    An abandoned amusement park near Yongin.


    It was a desolate area, hit directly by chemical weapons during the war and long since abandoned.


    I didn¡¯t particularly like the idea of meeting there.


    The surrounding region was a gray zone, outside government control.


    Nearby was an area dominated by infiltration-type monsters. While they weren¡¯t roaming predators, they had settled there, creating a no-man¡¯s-land that attracted all sorts of criminals.


    No mutations had been reported, but the most dangerous thing while traveling wasn¡¯t monsters¡ªit was a sudden bullet.


    Meeting Defender there meant significantly raising that risk.


    I hesitated.


    After a while, another message came through.


    Message from Defender: If it¡¯s too much trouble, I can come to you. I¡¯m the one asking for help, after all. But I¡¯ll have to walk since I don¡¯t have a car.


    SKELTON: No, I¡¯ll come. Just send me the safest route.


    It was risky, but it was better this way.


    I wasn¡¯t about to reveal the location of my bunker to him.


    Though Defender was confident in his abilities, my bunker wasn¡¯t so easily found.


    We spent some time discussing the route in detail, planning in 100-meter increments using a map.


    This was the last task of my third day before the storm hit.


    *


    The Next Day.


    Everyone was waiting for the next update from Gijayangban, the forum¡¯s de facto journalist.


    Like them, I found myself repeatedly refreshing the page, feeling a mix of tension and curiosity I couldn¡¯t quite define.


    The usual posts filled the feed:


    Keystone: (Breaking news) The jerks camping next door still haven¡¯t left.


    Anonymous118: Does the server feel slower to anyone else?


    Iamjesus: He has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.


    Unicorn18: My little guy¡¯s stiff again...


    Anonymous552: Current situation in Seoul.jpg


    Kyle_Dos: That last post is bait.


    SKELTON: What should I have for lunch?


    .


    .


    Finally, in the afternoon, Gijayangban posted.


    Gijayangban: Current situation in Seoul.jpg


    The result exceeded everyone¡¯s expectations.


    The government had actually kept its promise.


    Food distribution and medical aid were underway as promised.


    With a mix of relief and disillusionment, I stretched my arms.


    Somehow, they had managed to weather the storm.


    As a transport plane roared overhead, passing directly above my bunker, I thought about sun-drying my bedding.


    While I was arranging the linens, my K-walkie-talkie emitted a sharp tone, signaling a private message.


    Private ID: DARAM.


    It was Kim Daram.


    ¡°...¡±


    They say bad premonitions always come true because people rarely count their good ones.


    But how many good premonitions do people even have?


    If you live a life where you can count good premonitions...


    Kim Daram: ¡°Hey, senior. How¡¯s your bunker? Got room for three, including me?¡±


    ...maybe that¡¯s a happy life.

 Chapter 18

    My bunker isn¡¯t just a shelter.


    It¡¯s a fortress, meticulously designed and built with enormous resources to preserve a semblance of my past life even if the world collapses.


    While it might not match the lavish citadels of certain billionaires, I¡¯ve prepared everything I could possibly need¡ªand then some.


    Food, fuel, daily necessities, medical supplies, all kinds of equipment, and even random items whose purposes I can¡¯t fathom¡ªI¡¯ve stocked enough to last indefinitely.


    Now that I¡¯ve even acquired firearms and ammunition, my fortress is complete.


    And this fortress is for me alone.


    From its inception, it was never designed to accommodate anyone else. Not even the slightest consideration was given to including others.


    Even the toilet, for instance, is an open design, situated at the very center of the bunker¡¯s residential area.


    This placement was chosen for optimal plumbing and spatial efficiency, but it also means that if I were to share the bunker, every bathroom visit would turn into an unwelcome public performance.


    The same goes for my provisions.@@@@


    There¡¯s more than enough for me to live comfortably, but if I were to share it with others, that balance would crumble.


    That¡¯s right.


    This bunker is my paradise.


    ¡°...I might have to come there.¡±


    But now, someone is trying to invade that paradise.


    Someone I know well.


    Someone I might even consider taking in, under exceptional circumstances.


    But they¡¯re not alone.


    ¡°...Three people?¡±


    It¡¯s too many.


    Even one is a stretch, and now I¡¯m supposed to take in two more people¡ªcomplete strangers to me?


    I can already guess who they are: Kim Daram¡¯s husband and her son.


    People who have no connection to me.


    Her husband is someone I¡¯ve only ever shaken hands with at their wedding. And as for her son, all I know is that his name is Dongtak. I¡¯ve never met him.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, senior. It¡¯s sudden, I know.¡±


    Kim Daram was one of the few genuinely decent people I¡¯ve met.


    I¡¯ve always admired her positivity.


    No matter how dire or desperate the situation, she never lost her smile or her hope.


    While time has softened her a little¡ªshe¡¯s now a wife, a mother, and a high-ranking official in the National Committee¡ªshe wasn¡¯t like that when we first met.


    The awkward silence brought me back to the past.


    It was during my time as a team leader, leading a hunting squad.


    Back then, I wasn¡¯t exactly well-liked.


    Far from it¡ªI was avoided.


    And for good reason.


    The old me was sharp, uncompromising, and ruthlessly harsh on myself and others.


    My difficult personality drove my peers away, alienated my seniors, and made my juniors afraid to approach me.


    ¡°You, get out of my team. I don¡¯t need dead weight.¡±


    I was a terror to my teammates.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a playground for talentless clowns to prance around. If you can¡¯t keep up, quit. I won¡¯t die because of you.¡±


    I was always harsh, driving anyone who didn¡¯t meet my standards to their limits.


    As a result, I led my team to the top of the kill scores in my first year as a leader.


    But no one wanted anything to do with us.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to curse you out on my way out, but I¡¯m sick of you, senior.¡±


    ¡°Why do you act like everyone should meet your standards? People are different.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s never meet again.¡±


    With team members leaving left and right, who would willingly join my team?


    No one¡ªexcept for one persistent person.


    ¡°Haha! Second place again! You¡¯re always second, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    That was the resigned laughter of Lee Sang-hoon, who came over to me, grinning.


    ¡°Next year will be different, Professor.¡±


    Even back then, Sang-hoon was a womanizer. He brought some unfamiliar girl to the year-end party that night.


    ¡°And how are you going to improve, with that arm in a cast?¡±


    I stared pointedly at the cast on his left arm.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not, but... can you even recruit anyone for your team?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Word¡¯s out. Working under Professor Park is worse than dying to a monster¡ªyou¡¯ll die of stress first.¡±


    ¡°If they haven¡¯t faced a monster, they wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s say you¡¯re starving. There are two restaurants: one serves great food but has terrible service, and the other has decent food but excellent service. Which one would you choose?¡±


    ¡°The latter.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. You already know.¡±


    ¡°And yet you¡¯re comparing restaurants to a battlefield?¡±


    At the time, I didn¡¯t take him seriously.


    I thought everyone else shared my hatred for monsters.


    I figured anyone would tolerate a harsh leader like me if it meant killing the monsters that had taken everything from them.


    But reality is impartial.


    Sang-hoon¡¯s seemingly empty words turned out to be prophetic.


    Even though our results were the best, and even though I shouldered the most dangerous tasks, no one wanted to join my team.


    True to form, Kim Daram moved quickly.


    "Can I come check the place out first?"


    She wanted to visit before committing.


    Ignoring her wasn¡¯t an option. Meeting her seemed inevitable from the moment she contacted me.


    After all, if it weren¡¯t for her, I wouldn¡¯t be here today.


    Kim Daram, with her boundless positivity, had been the glue that connected me with new team members, enabling me to continue my career as a hunter.


    Sure, she had occasionally paired me with psychos like Woo Min-hee or Gong Kyung-min, but without her, my team wouldn¡¯t have survived.


    Had the world not changed so drastically, we¡¯d probably still be fighting monsters side by side.


    That¡¯s just the kind of person she was¡ªsomeone who carried as much hatred for monsters as I did.


    My former junior showed up in a military jeep, trudging into my paradise with her muddy boots.


    I studied her face with mixed emotions, but her expression was nothing like what I had expected.


    "Wow..."


    She seemed visibly shocked.


    "So bleak."


    Sure, I could admit the place wasn¡¯t exactly inviting.


    "But seriously, what is this? Trash everywhere? Are you sure this is a place where someone lives?"


    Was it really warranted for her to express such disgust?


    I hadn¡¯t expected her to be impressed, but the outright dismissal of my paradise felt excessive.


    Fine. If she thought the surface was bad, let¡¯s see what she thought of the real deal.


    Feeling a bit defiant, I decided to show her my sanctuary in its full glory.


    I swung open the heavy bunker doors, revealing the secretive main bunker to an outsider for the first time.


    "Welcome to the SKELTON Proud Palace...!!"


    Her eyes widened, clearly stunned.


    Now that was more like it.


    Who else could have built something so grand, so robust, and so refined on an individual scale?


    "Did you really make all this yourself?"


    "With pride."


    It could only have been me.


    But her astonishment quickly turned into disappointment¡ªno, outright contempt.


    "What¡¯s with the toilet?"


    And her earlier expression of "amazement"? Apparently, it had been sheer horror.


    Kim Daram turned away, muttering to herself.


    "No way I¡¯m raising a kid in a place like this."


    For the first time, I noticed the subtle designer branding on her clothes, barely hidden under her more practical outerwear.


    Of course, she¡¯d always dressed well. She¡¯d worked in those plush, fragrant offices with beautiful views, where people respectfully called her Commissioner.


    While I¡¯d been busy building this bunker, she¡¯d climbed far too high.


    Somewhere I couldn¡¯t reach, a place beyond the bounds of my limited imagination.


    "I really appreciate the effort, but I can¡¯t live here. And now that I think about it, Dongtak seems to have a touch of claustrophobia, too."


    She showed me a photo of her son.


    "Wow, you really nailed it with his name," I said sarcastically.


    "What does it mean?"


    Caught somewhere between frustration and relief, I asked her, "So what¡¯s your plan now?"


    "What else? I¡¯ll figure something out, of course."


    Kim Daram flashed me a big, confident smile.


    "I¡¯m Kim Daram, after all."


    "Daram..."


    "I¡¯m the same person who survived under Professor."


    Her radiant grin overlapped with the image of the Kim Daram I remembered from the past.


    Yeah, she¡¯d always been relentlessly optimistic.


    Almost stupidly so.


    "I¡¯m not giving up on getting to Jeju, but I¡¯ll start reaching out to the military. Even the warlords are an option at this point."


    She handed me a luxuriously branded paper bag.


    "Here, a gift."


    Inside was a box of high-end, fancy confections.


    As she climbed back into her car, she turned around to look at me again.


    "You know, you don¡¯t look like you¡¯ve aged much. But standing under the sun, I can see you¡¯ve gotten a bit older."


    "R-really?"


    "Maybe it¡¯s because your expression looks brighter now."


    She studied me for a moment.


    "Got yourself a girlfriend these days?"


    "No."


    "Well, anyway, I¡¯ll let you know once I figure out where I¡¯m going."


    And just like that, she disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived, leaving me to watch her drive off with a bittersweet smile.


    Everything is relative.


    What one person sees as a proud paradise can look like a pit of despair to someone else.


    The fancy pastries she left behind summed up that reality perfectly.


    "Wow. Holy shit."


    These cookies really were top-tier.

 Chapter 19.1

    Among the recurring nightmares plaguing South Korean men before the war, I once read that reenlisting in the military was considered the most tormenting.


    For me, it¡¯s always been nightmares about loans.


    As a chronic debtor, I¡¯ve been haunted by relentless debt collection demands, with an endless flood of documents that left a lasting impression:


    Demand letters, payment orders, lawsuits, notices of hearings, judgments, asset disclosure orders, foreclosure notifications, and so on¡ªa colorful array of fan letters tailored just for me.@@@@


    The thought of my future before the war broke out wasn¡¯t something I liked to imagine.


    With no job, personal rehabilitation would have been out of the question, and bankruptcy would likely have been my only ending.


    To be honest, when I first heard the news of the war breaking out, I was... a little happy.


    Not everyone¡¯s life got worse when the world ended.


    Some even found new vigor and meaning in life amidst the chaos of destruction.


    My one and only internet friend, Defender, was like a fish that could only swim freely in the turbulent waters of disaster.


    The day Kim Daram mocked my hideout, Defender sent me yet another message.


    Message from Defender:


    When are you coming, SKELTON? I¡¯m waiting so long my neck¡¯s going stiff.


    Though I might slack off on paying debts, I am someone who mostly keeps promises.


    SKELTON:


    Wait. I¡¯ll bring you a gift.


    For the sake of my social reputation within the community, promises had to be kept.


    I mulled over the mode of transportation for a bit and eventually settled on my trusty cargo bike.


    It was quiet, easy to ditch if needed, and let¡¯s be honest¡ªif I got ambushed, I¡¯d be screwed either way.


    Since there were no reports of Mutations, I figured slower but quieter was the safer choice.


    I originally bought the bike second-hand on CarrotNet with the intent of using it just briefly, but it ended up being my most reliable workhorse. Funny how life works.


    Before heading out, I checked the chain, pumped up the tires, and loaded the ammunition crate.


    For weapons, my usual modest travel kit: a rifle, a pistol, and two axes. This time, though, I wore a bulletproof vest underneath my clothes.


    While it wouldn¡¯t stop rifle rounds, it was still better than nothing.


    According to Defender, there were three major danger zones near the rendezvous point.


    The Three Danger Zones


    Monster Territory


    From Defender¡¯s explanation, these were not roaming types but stationary, sedentary creatures rooted in one area. As long as I didn¡¯t enter their domain, they were mostly harmless.


    Zombie Zone


    A cluster of zombies had taken over an abandoned apartment complex, going dormant there. However, some still roamed as scouting parties, hunting for unlucky prey.


    Luckily, the zombie zone was southwest of the rendezvous point, far from my intended route, so it wasn¡¯t a direct threat.


    The Rest of the Region¡ªHuman Territory


    The final and most unpredictable danger was humans.


    Unlike monsters or zombies, humans constantly change their positions, devise new strategies, and set up unexpected traps.


    Defender provided a detailed rundown of areas and groups to avoid, as well as their ambush hotspots.


    He particularly emphasized clothing:


    Message from Defender:


    Avoid the ones wearing red pants, if possible.


    The journey was uneventful to the point of boredom, which I didn¡¯t mind considering the risks involved.


    By the time I reached the midway point, the night¡¯s veil had fallen, covering the ruined land. From a riverside hill, I saw ghostly white lights flickering over the abandoned streets.


    Monster territory.


    The invasive species capable of surviving Earth¡¯s conditions weren¡¯t designed to exterminate humanity outright. Instead, their mission seemed to be converting the environment into something resembling their homeworld.


    Humans were merely obstacles to be removed in that process.


    The darkness concealed me, just as it did the monsters, so I couldn¡¯t discern their exact type. But at least I could confirm they were stationary, as reported.


    Surprisingly, I didn¡¯t encounter any human raiders along the route. Passing three ambush hotspots, all I found were abandoned vehicles, debris, and charred corpses.


    The unexpected threat came from zombies.


    Those that were supposed to be far off the route were instead swarming close by.


    Though I didn¡¯t see them, the eerie, discordant chorus of the undead under the pale moonlight hinted at their numbers¡ªeasily over a hundred.


    Had they awakened from dormancy?


    I proceeded cautiously, minimizing any noise as I moved through the remaining path.


    Defender and I had agreed not to use radios, as this area was full of people and factions, and any transmission would reveal my presence.


    While Defender didn¡¯t have a private identification number for safer communication frequencies, I did. But since he didn¡¯t, we stuck to detailed pre-arranged times and locations.


    Defender even sent me a photo of the meeting spot¡ªa massive fir tree that looked as though a tilted Ferris wheel was leaning against it.


    As I neared the theme park, I searched for a similar tree.


    There it was.


    From this angle, the Ferris wheel didn¡¯t look like it was leaning but rather sticking out awkwardly. Nonetheless, it was the same tree bathed in moonlight, standing tall and straight.


    I saw no one around.


    I approached slowly, weapon ready, senses on high alert for any possibilities.


    First Contact


    Soon, I felt it¡ªa presence.


    It was a person.


    My pulse quickened. Was this finally it? Would I meet the infamous prankster of the forums, Defender?


    What would he look like? Perhaps he had a surprisingly kind face. After all, appearances don¡¯t always reveal a person¡¯s nature.


    But then, this breathing... It was too delicate to belong to a man.


    A shadow emerged from behind the tree, and I was briefly stunned.


    It was a woman.


    Her pale skin shimmered under the moonlight, her long hair cascading down her back. She was strikingly beautiful, her eyes a mixture of curiosity and fear as she cautiously studied me.


    She awkwardly waved and greeted me.


    Instead of responding, I raised my pistol and aimed behind her.


    ¡°Come out.¡±


    There was another.


    Click.


    ¡°I said, come out.¡±


    For the first time, the man¡¯s face showed clear murderous intent.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I needed the bullets.¡±


    *


    Defender¡¯s base wasn¡¯t a bunker but an old house perched on a mountainside overlooking the theme park.


    Well, calling it a "house" doesn¡¯t quite do it justice¡ªit was more of a mansion.


    Though worn and dilapidated overall, it boasted luxurious features, including a detached main house, a storage shed, and even a garage.


    No wonder they chose to kill anyone who stumbled upon it instead of hiding.


    Under the moonlight, I noticed a small greenhouse made of plastic. It housed an assortment of plants, but the foggy condensation on the plastic made it impossible to see what exactly was growing inside.


    The woman Defender eyed the elegant box in my hands with timid curiosity.


    She still seemed wary of me, but her persistent gaze betrayed a certain interest.


    ¡°...SKELTON, what¡¯s that?¡±


    Her voice was hesitant as she finally worked up the courage to ask.


    ¡°This?¡±


    It was Kim Daram¡¯s fancy snack box.


    I¡¯d brought it along, half-eaten, intending to give it to Defender as a gift. I thought it might help boost their goodwill toward me and improve my reputation in the community.


    But after meeting Defender, who turned out to be far worse than I¡¯d imagined¡ªboth in personality and, unexpectedly, in numbers¡ªI¡¯d planned to just take it back and finish it myself.


    Unfortunately, their invitation dragged me into their base, snack box and all.


    ¡°It¡¯s... a gift,¡± I said reluctantly, handing the snack box to the woman Defender.


    She opened it, her face lighting up with a bright smile as she looked at me.


    ¡°SKELTON!¡±


    She seemed genuinely delighted.


    ¡°...¡±


    I avoided her gaze and instead surveyed the house.


    Unlike my bunker, this place had an expansive open hall that made a striking visual impression.


    It was definitely a rich person¡¯s home, with clear traces of money spent on every corner.


    Still, the house hadn¡¯t entirely escaped the magical decay and wear typical of the apocalypse. I spotted cracks and collapsed sections here and there.


    The man Defender soon returned, carrying steaming cups of tea.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    He grinned widely when he saw the snacks.


    ¡°SKELTON! You¡¯re a real man, the kind I respect!¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    I stayed silent as the woman Defender leaned toward him, whispering something in his ear.


    ¡°My sister says, ¡®Why¡¯s a guy like you so scared all the time? That¡¯s not very manly.¡¯¡±


    ¡°?¡±


    Who was she to talk about anyone else?


    I glanced at the woman, but she quickly averted her gaze, feigning indifference.


    I sighed and asked, ¡°What¡¯s with the crying children?¡±


    This was the main reason I was here¡ªthe sound of those children¡¯s cries had drawn me in.


    ¡°Let¡¯s drink some tea first.¡±


    The siblings both lifted their cups.


    I sniffed the tea. It had a pleasant aroma, far more refined than the cheap iced tea packets I had back in my bunker.


    Still, I didn¡¯t drink it.


    Accepting food or drink without caution was a violation of survival etiquette in the apocalypse.


    The Defenders, however, had no such reservations. They devoured the snacks greedily, and not wanting to lose out, I hesitantly took one piece and popped it into my mouth. Inevitably, I had to follow it with a sip of the tea.


    It was delicious. The flavors complemented each other perfectly.


    Maybe I should have trusted my online friends a little more.


    As I stared wistfully at the now-empty snack box, the man Defender finally spoke.


    ¡°They¡¯re Pioneers.¡±


    ¡°Pioneers?¡±


    ¡°You know those bastards camping out in front of Keystone¡¯s place? Same type as them.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°But these guys are way worse.¡±


    The man Defender snapped his fingers at his sister, who opened a laptop and showed me the screen.


    On it was a photo taken with a phone. It showed an armored vehicle and several middle-aged men armed with guns, standing awkwardly.


    At first glance, nothing seemed particularly remarkable about them¡ªuntil I noticed that they were all wearing red pants. Beneath the vehicle, two children huddled, crouched down.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    The man Defender snorted coldly.


    ¡°Beggars.¡±


    ¡°Beggars?¡±


    ¡°They use kids. Get them to cry their hearts out, luring out the moles hiding in their bunkers.¡±


    He made a slicing motion across his neck.


    ¡°Then they steal everything and kill everyone. They murder the men, rape the women, and turn the kids into their next batch of bait.¡±


    ¡°Scum.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. That¡¯s why we¡¯re going to kill them.¡±


    The man Defender¡¯s grin widened, baring his teeth in a way that made it clear how much he enjoyed talking about murder.


    For some reason, the joy on his face as he spoke of killing was disturbingly genuine.

 Chapter 19.2

    Since I hadn¡¯t shared my name and neither had the siblings, I decided to classify them simply as Defender and Defender¡¯s Sister for convenience.


    ¡°SKELTON.¡±


    Defender¡¯s sister called my name in a soft voice, gesturing toward something.


    I looked over and saw it was none other than the community.


    She was in the middle of drafting a new post.


    Defender:


    (Breaking News) SKELTON came to our house!


    SKELTON is so sweet. I thought a movie star had walked in. He¡¯s like a walking sculpture¡ªover two meters tall, dressed in a perfectly pressed tuxedo, and driving a Bentley! Even as a guy, I couldn¡¯t help but be smitten.


    Her mouse cursor hovered over the Post button.


    ¡°No, no, no! Don¡¯t. Don¡¯t post that.¡±


    ¡°...Why?¡±


    ¡°Why write this kind of nonsense? What¡¯s the point?¡±


    She pouted, then suddenly opened a notepad and began typing furiously.


    You¡¯re not popular, you know.


    ¡°What does that have to do with anything?¡±


    So I¡¯m helping.


    ¡°Helping with what?¡±


    Giving you some buzz.


    ¡°Your reputation isn¡¯t exactly great, either.¡±


    But I¡¯m still a name. SKELTON, you¡¯re a nobody.


    ¡°...¡±


    Everyone else in the community builds friendships. Why can¡¯t we do the same?


    ¡°Can¡¯t we just talk instead of writing posts?¡±


    Some things can¡¯t be expressed with words.


    ¡°And typing them out works better?¡±


    Who would¡¯ve thought I¡¯d meet someone who communicates with others via notepad while sitting right in front of them?


    ¡°That¡¯s just how my sister is,¡± Defender chimed in as he stuffed fully loaded magazines into his pockets.


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if there was some dark story behind this habit, but Defender noticed my gaze and chuckled.


    ¡°Nah, there¡¯s no deep reason. She¡¯s just always liked typing more than talking, even as a kid.¡±


    Click.


    With skilled hands, he locked the bolt of his rifle and checked the chamber.


    ¡°You¡¯re really planning to kill them all?¡± I asked, recalling the group of men in red pants.


    There were about twenty of them, all armed with automatic rifles, and they even had an armored vehicle.


    Their equipment was far superior to the group led by Lieutenant Colonel Choi, who had previously ventured into my territory.


    While their individual skill levels were unknown, their numbers and firepower made them a significant threat.


    ¡°First, we kill the kids,¡± Defender said without so much as a flicker of hesitation.


    ¡°Killing the kids will force at least a few of them to come check what¡¯s going on.¡±


    He was dead serious.


    ¡°Then we pick them off one by one, thinning their numbers. If it looks like they¡¯re grouping up, we hit their camp and wipe them out.¡±


    ¡°What about the armored vehicle?¡±


    ¡°My sister¡¯s a drone expert. She¡¯s especially good at dropping things from the air. She once killed someone by dropping a brick instead of a bomb.¡±


    Defender¡¯s sister proudly pointed at herself with both thumbs.


    ¡°That¡¯s the plan so far. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°Impressive plan, but it lacks an exit strategy.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just how fights are, right? Especially against grunts like these. Planning doesn¡¯t mean much when they¡¯re so unpredictable. As long as you set things up well in the beginning, they¡¯ll fall apart on their own.¡±


    ¡°Do we really need to kill the kids?¡±


    ¡°And what? Let them live?¡± Defender smirked.


    His sister turned her chair around and stared at me, her gaze heavy with silent pressure.


    I opened my mouth under the weight of that stare.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s better to spare them.¡±


    ¡°Why? They¡¯re not my kids.¡±


    Defender looked at his sister, who nodded with a faint smile, and then turned back to me.


    ¡°Unless, SKELTON, you want to take them in and raise them?¡±


    ¡°...That¡¯s...¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re willing to take them in, I¡¯ll reconsider.¡± Defender grinned, and his sister calmly kept her gaze fixed on me.


    Together, they were silently asking me: What¡¯s your move?


    I caught myself wondering how much a child weighs.


    I had no childhood memories to draw from, nor had I ever raised a child, so I had no idea what a young child¡¯s weight might be.


    But their weight, figuratively speaking, wasn¡¯t light.


    The heaviness of that question left me unable to answer right away.


    ¡°See? Even you can¡¯t answer,¡± Defender said, arranging his weapons on the table before turning to his sister.


    ¡°What do you think?¡±


    As if she¡¯d been waiting for this moment, she replied in her soft, almost whispery voice:


    ¡°The moment those kids lost their parents, they were already dead. Just unlucky. The times aren¡¯t on their side.¡±


    In that moment, I fully understood: Defender wasn¡¯t one person.


    It was the two of them together¡ªsiblings¡ªwho combined to create the horror that was the Human Hunter.


    After a brief silence, Defender offered an alternative.


    ¡°We could just ignore them. This place is steep, and there¡¯s no proper path. The kids can¡¯t climb up here. They¡¯ll stick to the road.¡±


    ¡°Then isn¡¯t fighting unnecessary?¡±


    Avoiding unnecessary fights was my usual policy.


    ¡°Maybe, but eventually, we¡¯ll have to fight. You can¡¯t hide forever. And before that happens...¡±


    Defender¡¯s gaze shifted to the monitor.


    ¡°Our friends would die first.¡±


    His sister pointed at the screen, adding, ¡°Our community friends.¡±


    ¡°The community, huh...¡±


    It made sense. Even if they posted warnings about the danger, how many people in the community would have the hearts of snakes like Defender?


    I didn¡¯t even have that much confidence myself.


    ¡°What about combat experience?¡± I asked.


    Defender¡¯s eyes lit up as he caught my drift.


    ¡°You planning to join the fight?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°We have to protect the community.¡±


    That was the main reason, though not the only one.


    The methods of the red pants group were despicable, and seeing Defender¡¯s setup and gear made me realize this could be an easier battle than expected.


    If I had to fight anyway, better to do it with allies than alone.


    I wouldn¡¯t deny that some part of this decision also came from a shallow desire to feel morally superior.


    Boom!


    Inside the building, a few men in red pants tried to take cover behind tables and return fire, but the growing flames and smoke quickly overwhelmed them.


    With every variable eliminated, all that remained was a monotonous slaughter.


    ¡°Hey, SKELTON!¡±


    Defender laughed loudly as a man engulfed in flames stumbled out of the building.


    ¡°Not bad, huh?¡±


    He calmly aimed and shot the burning man, who collapsed and didn¡¯t move again.


    ¡°SKELTON, you thought I was a joke earlier, didn¡¯t you? Don¡¯t lie¡ªI can tell. This noona sees everything!¡± Defender¡¯s sister¡¯s voice crackled through the earpiece, just as excited as before.


    She piloted the Chinese drone like a gamer, gleefully picking off fleeing red pants one by one.


    ¡°Surrender! We surrender!¡±


    A few of the red pants stumbled out of the smoke, hands raised.


    Defender laughed as he fired at them, his sister¡¯s laughter echoing in the background.


    In the distance, an explosion echoed.


    The armored vehicle had crashed into some theme park structure.


    At first, I dismissed it as a trivial coincidence.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Then, fireworks shot into the sky, bursting into vibrant patterns that lit up the night.


    ¡°Whoa! Look at that! Hey!¡±


    ¡°Kyahhhh!!!¡±


    The siblings cheered like children, watching the fireworks with unrestrained joy.


    I found myself wondering.


    Perhaps the atrocities committed by the red pants didn¡¯t really matter to these two.


    Maybe they just wanted to kill them for the thrill of it¡ªand now, with their objective achieved, they were thoroughly enjoying themselves.


    In that sense, the theme park had served its purpose.


    After all, the visitors came for entertainment, and they¡¯d gotten plenty of it.


    As I watched the fireworks, I silently acknowledged the small miracle of chance that had kept me from becoming their next target.


    *


    The fun had ended, and it was time to face the aftermath.


    ¡°What are you going to do with them?¡± Defender asked.


    The women and children left behind¡ªcollateral damage of shallow self-righteousness.


    ¡°Like I said earlier, I¡¯m not taking them in. Can¡¯t, actually.¡±


    Defender stared at me intently, waiting for my response.


    ¡°...I...¡±


    A myriad of thoughts stirred in my mind, but deep down, I already knew the answer.


    From beginning to end, my gaze had always been fixed on one inevitable conclusion.


    I watched silently as the women and children, clutching awkwardly held firearms, wandered off into the darkness.


    One of the children glanced back at me, their eyes briefly meeting mine.


    I chose not to dwell on their fate.


    Click, click.


    Behind me, Defender was busy snapping "proof photos."


    ¡°SKELTON,¡± he called, walking up and handing me something.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    I took it and saw that it was a drawing.


    It depicted an overly idealized version of me, like a handsome protagonist from a shoujo manga.


    ¡°My sister drew it.¡±


    Indeed, at the bottom of the picture, in neat, cutesy handwriting, were the words: ¡®To SKELTON.¡¯


    Now that I looked at it... there was some resemblance, maybe?


    ¡°She figured you wouldn¡¯t visit our place again, so she wanted me to give it to you.¡±


    Defender had an uncanny knack for reading people, and it seemed his sister shared that trait.


    ¡°Ever wonder why I do all this?¡± Defender asked suddenly.


    ¡°What¡¯s with the self-reflection out of nowhere?¡±


    ¡°I know you think I¡¯m a psychopath.¡±


    He smirked, placing a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.


    The faint glow of the ember reflected in his eyes as he exhaled a plume of smoke into the night sky.


    ¡°This park... I came here with my sister as a kid. Holding hands with our parents.¡±


    He blew another puff of smoke.


    ¡°Our father... he was a pathetic man.¡±


    ¡°...Yeah.¡±


    Through the earpiece, I heard his sister¡¯s voice.


    ¡°That story¡¯s for when we¡¯re closer.¡±


    Defender handed me another piece of paper.


    Unlike his sister¡¯s carefully drawn illustration, what he gave me was a crude, hastily made voucher.


    <Defender Summon Ticket>


    ¡°What the hell is this?¡±


    ¡°If you ever need help, DM me.¡±


    Defender waved casually as he trudged into the darkness.


    ¡°No matter where, I¡¯ll come.¡±


    Not long after, his sister¡¯s voice followed.


    ¡°SKELTON, let¡¯s be friends from now on, okay?¡±


    Standing there with the drawing and the voucher in hand, I stared silently at the mountain, the park, and the star-filled sky.


    A lot had happened, but all I felt in the end was exhaustion.


    The kind of tiredness you get after a day of running around an amusement park and heading home.


    That night, Defender spammed the community board.


    Defender: (Confession) I love SKELTON so much!


    Defender: (Confession) I love SKELTON so much!


    Defender: (Confession) I love SKELTON so much!


    Defender: (Confession) I love SKELTON so much!


    Defender: (Confession) I love SKELTON so much!


    Defender: (Confession) I love SKELTON so much!


    Defender: (Confession) I love SKELTON so much!


    ...and on it went.


    Fortunately¡ªor unfortunately¡ªI wasn¡¯t able to witness his absurd spree live.


    ¡°Dammit...!¡±


    I was too busy being chased by those damn zombies!

 Chapter 20

    Who in this world would like zombies?


    Well, scientists do.


    While monsters cannot be captured alive or leave behind corpses, making analysis and research impossible, zombies leave bodies.


    In the current state of the world, with half of civilization already collapsed, no one cares if you hack or shoot at zombies. Yet, during the early days of the apocalypse, there were surprisingly people who worried about the ¡°rights¡± of zombies.


    In hindsight, they weren¡¯t so much concerned about zombies themselves but about their own futures¡ªwhat might happen if they became zombies.


    One of the most cited papers on the effects of mutation factors on the brains of dead humans, by Professor J. Caterer, used test subjects who had been former zombie rights activists.


    As for me, zombies are nothing but¡ª


    Splurch!


    ¡ªsomething I utterly detest.


    Especially when I run into them during moments of exhaustion like this. In those times, I almost want to just close my eyes and join my fallen comrades.


    ¡°Rrrrrr!!¡±


    Splurch!


    But the reason I swing my axe so fiercely to fend them off isn¡¯t because I¡¯m afraid of dying. It¡¯s because I have too much to lose.


    My bunker, my sanctuary, built with my blood and sweat¡ªI¡¯d rather witness the end of the world than see it occupied by someone else.


    Fueled by that determination, I pushed through the horde of zombies and finally reached a safe zone.


    ¡°...Hah.¡±


    Catching my breath, I checked for injuries.


    There¡¯s a myth that getting bitten by a zombie turns you into one, but it¡¯s nonsense.


    The mutation factor that creates zombies only affects the brains of the dead.


    According to prevailing scientific consensus, the factor dies when it tries to invade the highly active, living human brain, much like how monsters perish in Earth¡¯s atmosphere.


    A minority opinion argues that zombies sometimes appear in areas without Necromancer-type monsters, but that¡¯s not because of some zombie disease. It¡¯s simply due to mutation factors sticking to a person¡¯s body and, upon their death, mutating their brain to turn them into a zombie.


    Still, better safe than sorry.


    I meticulously checked myself from head to toe and tested my movements. No scratches or injuries¡ªclean.


    My trusty cargo bike was intact.


    Defender siblings¡¯ ¡°gift¡± was also safe.


    I popped a piece of chocolate into my mouth to replenish my energy and calories.


    ¡°...Hah.¡±


    They say going outside your home is nothing but trouble.


    Looking back, I used to think that venturing out might actually be better for my mental health than staying cooped up.


    That was before I checked the community.


    Before I learned of the atrocity the Defender siblings had committed on the board.


    Unaware of the miserable future awaiting me, I let the sugar from the chocolate soothe my weary body and glanced at the mountainous terrain rising in the hazy distance.


    I roughly gauged my location.


    It was a place I¡¯d memorized after several visual confirmations.


    But then something unexpected happened.


    Lights flickered on in an abandoned apartment complex.


    It was the place where a woman who used to feed stray cats had lived alone.


    After her death in an explosion, the building had been uninhabited.


    Could it be that new residents had moved in?


    The apartment complex was about six kilometers away in a straight line¡ªnot far from my territory.


    However, the distance was deceptive. A low mountain range, a stream, and winding backroads separated us, making the actual journey much longer without specialized terrain vehicles.


    While it held no real strategic value, the fact that someone had entered my area piqued my curiosity.


    *


    When asked what motivates people, most would probably say food.


    For me, it¡¯s curiosity.


    I¡¯m not a lazy person, but my actions when curiosity is piqued are vastly different from when it¡¯s not.


    The most noticeable difference is in my initiative.


    Instead of heading back home, I went straight to the abandoned apartment complex¡ªa decision driven entirely by my incurable personality.


    <Unit 218, Under Pioneer Corps 22>


    A flag bearing the unit¡¯s name fluttered at the apartment entrance.


    As expected, they were Pioneers.


    I checked my remaining ammunition.


    I had plenty of pistol rounds, but my rifle ammunition was running low.


    I wasn¡¯t in peak condition, either.


    The fatigue from extended travel and combat had taken its toll, and there was a real chance that my body wouldn¡¯t respond as I wanted during a critical moment.


    Normally, I avoided fights. But I found myself entertaining the thought of combat this time, largely because of my disdain for the Pioneers.


    The red-pants crew was vile enough, but my past encounter with Lieutenant Colonel Choi¡¯s group revealed the essence of what these Pioneers were:


    Government-sanctioned looters.


    Perhaps the legitimacy granted to them by the state emboldened their cruelty and excess.


    Though the apartment complex wasn¡¯t directly tied to my territory, the presence of Pioneers nearby was concerning enough to warrant reconnaissance.


    As I approached the apartment, something stirred in the darkness.


    Had my senses dulled due to exhaustion?


    I hadn¡¯t even heard a breath.


    I silently cursed myself and focused my gaze on the darkness.


    A figure resembling a person sat motionless.


    Upon closer inspection, it was an elderly woman.


    She sat on a cold stone, her weathered frame resembling an old, rusted machine. She stared at me with a vacant expression.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡±


    She didn¡¯t respond.


    In fact, she seemed to lack the will to do so.


    Even as I called out to her, all she did was smack her toothless gums, casting a hollow gaze in my direction.


    Suddenly, a loud shout erupted from above.@@@@


    Meanwhile, an elderly woman appeared beside me, staring intently.


    I preemptively excused myself.


    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m busy¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, take this,¡± she interrupted, thrusting something into my hands.


    It was a bizarre mix of dog food and unidentifiable meat pressed together¡ªsomething I couldn¡¯t possibly eat.


    ¡°Thanks, but no thanks.¡±


    ¡°Take it!¡±


    Her tone turned aggressive.


    ¡°Take it, I said!¡±


    Reluctantly, I accepted it and, sure enough, found a note attached to the back, scribbled with a phone number and a plea to make a call on her behalf.


    Feeling more drained than when I¡¯d been fighting zombies, I left the apartment.


    I spotted the old woman from earlier, sitting alone.


    For a moment, she reminded me of the elderly lady who had always guarded the front of the International Residence¡ªsomeone I¡¯d never see again.


    Realizing I had no need for the ¡°gift,¡± I approached her and offered an energy bar.


    ¡°Here, take this.¡±


    For the first time, the old woman moved like a living being.


    Her hand emerged from her pocket, clutching a string of prayer beads.


    ¡°Thank you. Thank you. Namu Amitabha... Namu Amitabha...¡±


    ¡°Why are you here alone?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t get the injection.¡±


    ¡°Injection?¡±


    ¡°The zombie shot.¡±


    ¡°Zombie shot?¡±


    ¡°They say it stops you from turning into one. But I didn¡¯t take it, so they wouldn¡¯t let me in.¡±


    That doesn¡¯t exist.


    If you want to avoid becoming a zombie, you need to wash yourself and clean your clothes to remove any mutation factors.


    ¡°How¡¯d you get here? Did you walk?¡±


    ¡°Took a bus. The driver and some commander saw this place and said it looked good, so they dropped me off here.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    It all fit the pattern I¡¯d come to expect.


    ¡°...That injection kills you.¡±


    The old woman muttered from behind me.


    ¡°It¡¯s poison. Your hair falls out, and every hole in your body starts leaking fluid until you die. Back at my last place, everyone but me died after getting it...¡±


    Perhaps it was the nutrition, or maybe she¡¯d been stirred emotionally.


    Either way, the old woman began rocking back and forth, murmuring her prayers.


    ¡°Namu Amitabha... Namu Amitabha...¡±


    *


    It was a week later when I returned to that apartment complex.


    The previously loud and vulgar shouts had given way to an eerie silence.


    On the dirt-covered road, I noticed fresh tire tracks.


    The fluttering flag was gone, and unsurprisingly, so was the old woman who had been guarding the entrance.


    Behind the building, I caught the acrid stench of smoke emanating from a large pit.


    It seemed this pit was the source of the black smoke that had drawn me back here.


    As I approached, I saw a chaotic mix of charred wood and white ash scattered around, with fragments of partially burnt bones protruding from the pile.


    Human skulls.


    Behind me, I sensed movement.


    A zombie was staggering toward me.


    In its hand, it clutched a string of prayer beads¡ªthe same beads the old woman had been holding when she sat in front of the apartment, chanting her prayers.


    The zombie¡¯s forehead bore a dried streak of blood, and a bullet hole was visible.


    The sight was so pitiful, and the thought of having to deal with this corpse yet again so exhausting, that I let slip a thoughtless comment.


    ¡°...You should¡¯ve just taken the injection.¡±


    The wandering old woman had now joined the others in her fate.


    I lit the note another elderly resident had given me¡ªbearing a phone number¡ªand tossed it onto her corpse.


    The flames caught the prayer beads she had clung to so tightly, consuming them as well.


    ¡°Namu Amitabha.¡±


    With a chant for the dead, I climbed the apartment stairs.


    I hoped to find survivors or at least some clue as to what had happened, but my search yielded nothing.


    Finally, I ascended to the rooftop. The fresh autumn sunlight bathed the world below in a golden glow.


    In the distance, I saw movement.


    People.


    The empty plains that no one had dared traverse were now teeming with groups of people. Each group carried its own flag, moving east and south.


    Even at a glance, their numbers were staggering.


    Defender¡¯s words came to mind: ¡°You can¡¯t hide forever.¡±


    I had been confident in my ability to stay hidden, but seeing that massive influx of people made me realize just how flimsy that confidence was.


    Still, they say nothing in this world is meaningless.


    While I don¡¯t fully agree with that sentiment, the old woman and her prayers had sparked an idea in me.


    Thud!


    I dragged aside a piece of debris from a collapsed section of my bunker.


    Beyond the rubble, the hidden entrance to my main shelter revealed itself, shrouded in shadow.


    If I couldn¡¯t hide forever, I could at least hide better.


    The people who had dropped off the elderly residents had chosen that decrepit apartment as their dumping ground because its exterior was just as miserable as its occupants¡¯ prospects.


    I decided to build a decoy house over the ruins of my old bunker¡ªa place so squalid and uninviting that even zombies would avoid it.

 Chapter 21

    Faith isn¡¯t solely reserved for belief in a higher power.


    There are many kinds of faith: the faith between lovers, the confidence a successful entrepreneur has in their own luck, or the trust a coach places in an underperforming athlete.


    I remember witnessing a similar form of faith in a real estate forum I joined briefly back when I was scouting for land.


    The post, written by someone who seemingly had their entire fortune tied up in a single property, went something like this, though my memory is a bit fuzzy:


    ¡°Real estate will always go up¡ªalways. Even if there¡¯s a war, missiles, or the fall of the nation, real estate will keep rising.¡±


    It was something along those lines.


    While I generally agreed with the sentiment, I couldn¡¯t help but think that even real estate wouldn¡¯t hold up in the face of extreme situations like war.


    Interestingly, our community also has someone with a similar kind of unshakable belief.


    mmmmmmmmm: (Breaking News) The U.S. Declares National Stabilization!


    mmmmmmmmm: (Rumor) The Icheon-Yeoju Food Belt Optimized!


    mmmmmmmmm: Cargo Ships Dock in Busan!


    Every day, this individual, known as "m9," fills the forum with increasingly outrageous posts.


    But m9 wasn¡¯t always this way.


    When he first joined our Viva! Apocalypse! Korean forum, he was an ordinary user with a standard way of thinking.


    Things changed for him after he won the lottery for an apartment in the ultra-modern residential complex, The Hope.


    After that victory, m9¡¯s demeanor shifted. He began disparaging the life choices of others, claiming his path was the only right one.


    But our Viva! Apocalypse! forum members aren¡¯t easily rattled.


    Many of us, having nothing better to do, spend hours each day engaged in the forum. Over time, we¡¯ve developed an uncanny knack for dealing with troublesome individuals.


    The method we chose was collective silence.


    Instead of arguing or debating with him, we imposed a social penalty by ignoring him entirely.


    Given that communication is the forum¡¯s main purpose, this level of collective ostracization is akin to a death sentence.


    Unfortunately, this wasn¡¯t just m9¡¯s problem.


    I was in danger too...


    SKELTON: What¡¯s a good choice for breakfast?


    Even after crafting the perfect post without my usual brash ¡°John Nae-non¡± opening, my thread was met with deafening silence.


    The culprit? The Defender siblings.


    Their obnoxious ¡°We love SKELTON!¡± spam had completely tanked my reputation.


    One sympathetic user messaged me to break the news:


    Kyle_Dos: Are you seriously friends with Defender? You know how people here view them, right?


    Of course I knew.


    Everyone detested Defender, but his posts were too unique and entertaining to completely exile him. He was tolerated as a necessary evil.


    The problem was that this necessary evil had taken a liking to me. As a result, I had become tainted by association, viewed as part of the ¡°Defender clique.¡±


    Thankfully, redemption wasn¡¯t impossible.


    I had a role model in m9, who managed to rise from the ashes of collective disregard and become a hot topic once more.


    The catalyst for his resurgence came from a post titled:


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Inspection of The Hope.¡±


    Attached were three low-resolution videos without any explanatory text.


    In the first video, m9, wielding a selfie stick, documented his journey from his bunker to Seoul. The footage was heavily edited but provided glimpses of his face, which looked older than mine. Oddly, his bunker housed two dogs¡ªprobably Welsh Corgis or French Bulldogs.


    ¡°Here¡¯s the road connecting my bunker to Seoul,¡± m9 explained as the camera panned to show a convoy of soldiers and armored vehicles moving in an orderly fashion.@@@@


    ¡°See? Super safe. Soldiers always guard it. Looters? Haven¡¯t seen any! But what¡¯s the point of safety if you¡¯re rotting in a bunker?¡±


    Unlike my area, which had just begun attracting settlers, m9¡¯s surroundings were bustling with military activity. The soldiers seemed to be heading toward Seoul instead of the frontlines, but m9 appeared indifferent.


    ¡°Now, let me introduce you to my new apartment! To all my haters¡ªwatch closely! This is a home you¡¯ll never have, no matter how hard you try!¡±


    His long-winded rant against his critics culminated in him addressing me directly:


    ¡°Especially you, SKELTON! What was it you said? That this place would never get built? That your ¡®connections¡¯ confirmed it? Ha! If you¡¯re going to insult me, at least do it openly instead of trying to crush my hope behind my back!¡±


    Why was I getting dragged into this nonsense?


    Regardless, the video revealed the current state of The Hope.


    Given the times, the government had hastily constructed a single model building to test the living conditions before completing the rest of the complex. m9 was one of the lucky few selected to live in this pilot building.


    But something felt off.


    Even with a single apartment block, construction shouldn¡¯t have been this fast. Leveling the ground alone should¡¯ve taken over a year.


    The answer to my doubts became apparent as I watched the video.


    However, as with all viral topics, m9¡¯s saga was quickly consumed and forgotten.


    A much larger problem loomed on the horizon, casting m9¡¯s tale into irrelevance.


    The first clue had already appeared in m9¡¯s videos:


    The military marching toward Seoul.


    These weren¡¯t reinforcements.


    This was a mutiny.


    The Eastern Front forces had abandoned their posts and ¡°advanced¡± on Seoul in protest.


    Their justification?


    ¡°Citizens of Korea, your government is lying to you. The president, ministers, and high-ranking officials have fled to Jeju Island with all essential equipment, personnel, and most notably, hunters. They¡¯ve abandoned us.¡±


    They weren¡¯t the only ones.


    Another army arrived in Seoul from the west, claiming their own righteous cause:


    ¡°The role of Korea¡¯s military is to defend its land and people, not to meddle in politics. History shows the military must never overreach into governance. I, Commander Lim Myung-su, vow to protect Seoul against all threats to our constitution, parliament, and citizens.¡±


    Two armies now faced off in the heart of Seoul.


    The capital, already fractured between North and South, was now split East and West.


    Soldiers in matching uniforms manned barricades, fortified intersections, and stockpiled weapons as they prepared for confrontation.


    While negotiations were underway, the chance of a peaceful resolution seemed slim.


    For the first time, even gijayangban, our stoic reporter, expressed despair:


    gijayangban: Maybe choosing Seoul was a mistake after all.


    I tried contacting Kim Daram to get her take.


    No response.


    Was she aboard one of those transport planes I¡¯d seen crossing my territory? Or was there another reason for her silence?


    As I waited for her reply, I turned back to the forum and noticed a familiar username:


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°The military''s arrival is great news.¡±


    Out of curiosity, I checked m9¡¯s recent posts:


    mmmmmmmmm: (Seoul Desk) Why Civil War Won¡¯t Happen.txt


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°The Hope¡± Untouched¡ªWhy? Because it¡¯s for the Generals!


    mmmmmmmmm: (Peace Talks Imminent) Generals¡¯ Apartments! The Hope!


    mmmmmmmmm: Once the negotiations are done, our property values will skyrocket!


    While everyone else braced for chaos, m9 sang hymns of optimism, blind to the writing on the wall.


    I knew he had likely blocked me, but I sent him a message anyway:


    SKELTON: Do you realize how dangerous this is?


    To my surprise, he replied immediately:


    mmmmmmmmm: I know. But what am I supposed to do about it?


    For once, m9 had dropped his facade.


    He hadn¡¯t blocked me, and he was fully aware that his choices might lead to disaster.


    What¡¯s more, he responded as if he had been waiting for me all along:


    mmmmmmmmm: So, SKELTON, Defender¡¯s buddy. You don¡¯t kill people, do you?


    SKELTON: Don¡¯t lump me in with those psychopaths.


    mmmmmmmmm: You keep checking on me. Hey, can I come to your bunker? I¡¯ve got two dogs. We could eat them if things get bad.


    SKELTON: Blocked.


    *


    Two years and one month since the war began.


    There is still no word from Kim Daram.


    In Seoul, a civil war has broken out.


    Two armies, wearing the same uniforms and speaking the same language, have turned their guns on each other, unleashing the flames of fury.


    The week-long civil war has engulfed most of Seoul in flames, creating millions of refugees.


    Amid this hellscape, a single photo was posted on the forum.


    The photo captured a lone apartment building standing against the backdrop of a fiery sunset that made the sky seem ablaze, with actual burning ruins surrounding it.


    It¡¯s a building I recognize.


    The Hope.


    A symbol of hope.


    And one man¡¯s belief.


    The ultramodern apartment complex, with only a single household ever having moved in, still stands tilted in a corner of Seoul, serving as a landmark of hope even at this moment.

 Chapter 22.1

    According to the Foreign Language Orthography Rules issued by the Ministry of Education in 1986, foreign names should be transcribed based on local pronunciation.


    When I was in China, I did not abide by this directive, for a complex set of reasons.


    At the time, I had no intention of learning or understanding their language.


    We were unwelcome guests, and our purpose was equally unwelcome.


    Our mission wasn¡¯t to save China.@@@@


    The orders I received from the government were to gather data on the types and behavior of monsters appearing in high-intensity rifts, the changes occurring in rift zones, and, particularly, how these changes affected humans.


    As a result, we avoided the battles they desperately needed us to fight, making excuses and instead choosing only the regions and engagements that benefited us.


    The vast experience and data we collected later became invaluable for Korea¡¯s defense efforts. It also played a significant role in shaping my current nihilistic outlook.


    In that China, there was a man named Ma Won-gap.


    He was an ordinary resident of a rift zone until he observed monsters walking past him without any hostility. Inspired by this revelation, he had what he described as a great epiphany. And, as those who claim to have great epiphanies often do, he founded a new religion.


    This new religion¡¯s name was met with ridicule by the Chinese colleague I worked alongside. He dismissed it as the kind of name someone who wasted their days indulging in wuxia or fantasy novels might come up with.


    However, contrary to his derision, the Religion of All Streams Returning to the Source (Manryu Gwijeonggyo) spread rapidly within the rift zones, following a trajectory not unlike the cult that had once brought down the Qing Dynasty.


    Among the Korean hunters deployed there, some reportedly killed more cultists than monsters.


    I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if Defender belonged to such a cohort.


    Now, Ma Won-gap, his religion, and its followers have all been consumed by the flames of destruction. But things that burn often share similar traits.


    Like the trees in a forest, they don¡¯t flee. Instead, they stand firm, waiting for the flames to consume them.


    Someone I knew also had that kind of flammability.


    *


    It has been two years and two months since the war began.


    And still, no word from Kim Daram.


    From afar, I can hear the distant thuds of gunfire.


    Here we go again.


    The radio speaks of ongoing negotiations, but clearly, reality has other plans.


    Checking the weather outside, it¡¯s -5¡ãC. Likely colder than usual, perhaps a lingering effect of the global nuclear war last year.


    Inside my heated tent, I rose, washed my face, and prepared breakfast: half a head of cabbage.


    Two years ago, I never would¡¯ve imagined living off cabbage alone. But now, after growing tired of canned and preserved foods, this freshly harvested seasonal vegetable feels like a delicacy.


    As I casually tore the cabbage into pieces and ate with my hands, I scanned the surroundings with my binoculars.


    A group of refugees trudged south, cutting across the golf course. Their direction made me wonder¡ªare they heading toward where the sniper mother and daughter live?


    Soon, I might hear gunfire.


    After breakfast, I took a stroll around my domain to aid digestion and conduct a light patrol.


    No unusual activity¡ªat least for now.


    Perhaps it¡¯s premature to conclude, but it feels like today might be another peaceful day.


    While my neighborhood remained tranquil, Seoul was ablaze with civil war.


    A conflict that would decide the fate of South Korea now raged in its capital, with millions of citizens caught in the crossfire. Both sides rained fire and blood upon each other in a relentless killing spree.


    Yet, the civil war wasn¡¯t entirely without benefit¡ªat least for me.


    Since it began, the annoying pioneers have disappeared entirely.


    Perhaps they were conscripted into battle, as the pioneer corps operated under military oversight.


    Interestingly, discussions of the civil war have largely vanished from the forum. Aside from the occasional post showing photos of shell impacts near someone¡¯s home, the topic seemed to have been collectively abandoned.


    This silence contrasts starkly with the pre-war period, when talks of impending civil unrest dominated the board.


    The primary reason was likely the sudden silence of the journalist, a forum member who had been reporting updates from Seoul. But it¡¯s also true that the war had become an unavoidable reality¡ªsomething everyone had decided there was no need to dwell on.


    The outcome of the war, regardless of who seized power or controlled Seoul, would inevitably send shockwaves rippling through our lives.


    And most likely, in ways that would not be good.


    Perhaps that¡¯s why the forum had retreated into a collective escapism, flourishing with lighthearted, trivial discussions.


    I joined this silent pact of denial, posting meaningless threads of my own.


    SKELTON: (Skelton Sound) Skelton¡¯s Beatbox Vol. 23


    Then, in the midst of these monotonous days, something happened that shook the entire board.


    As always, it was a big event brought about by a big name.


    One of the forum¡¯s ¡°Four Kings,¡± the former webtoon artist DragonC, announced a new project.


    DragonC: Preparing to launch my latest work, ¡°The Remnant.¡±


    The title, The Remnant, which referred to ¡°leftovers¡± or ¡°residue,¡± was, in essence, a story about us¡ªthe survivors, the doomsayers.


    Must possess distinctive personality traits or an interesting backstory.Bonus points if you have family or neighbors with compelling anecdotes.Women preferred.Looks don¡¯t matter¡ªI¡¯ll tweak your appearance as needed.Graduate of ¡°Guard¡± Hunter Training Program, 13th class (valedictorian).Former S-class Hunter (highest rank before level-based adjustments).Five years of fieldwork in Beijing, call sign: Professor.Significant contributions to discovering mutation mechanisms.Badass.Friendly neighborhood interactions (including an adorable little girl).


    ¡°Skelton? What¡¯s up?¡± the mother¡¯s voice crackled over the radio.


    ¡°Can we meet briefly?¡±


    ¡°Got any meds?¡±


    ¡°What kind of meds?¡±


    ¡°Morphine. Fentanyl. You know.¡±


    Turns out, even their Korean had improved. I guess spending all day perched on rooftops listening to radio chatter paid off.


    ¡°Skelton!¡± the daughter chimed in, excited as ever.


    ¡°Hey there. Long time no see.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯d you eat today?¡±


    ¡°Cabbage.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Primitive kimchi, I guess?¡±


    With a warm smile, I continued the conversation until¡ª


    ¡°Meds.¡±


    The mother cut in firmly, blocking further pleasantries.


    ¡°No meds, no meeting.¡±


    ¡°Just one second! Quick photo, click! Okay? Chocolate!¡±


    The connection abruptly ended.


    Mission failed.


    There¡¯s nothing I can do about it.


    After all, narcotics are a last resort, used only for surgeries or to endure extreme pain.


    Even I managed to acquire only a small amount with great difficulty¡ªgiving it away for something so trivial just isn¡¯t an option.


    Still, I can¡¯t help but wonder: can that mother and daughter survive through this winter?


    Food might not be the issue, but enduring two Korean winters in a row is no small feat.


    In any case, my ambitious attempt to land a role in the webtoon came to an unceremonious end.


    *


    Three days later.


    The day a fighter jet flying overhead was struck by a missile, shattered in midair, and crashed westward.


    DragonC announced the protagonist of The Remnant.


    And to my surprise, it was someone I knew well¡ªone of the few people I¡¯d actually met from the community.


    DragonC: "The lead for The Remnant is Kyle_Dos!"


    Kyle_Dos.


    He was an active member on the forum, maintaining a decent reputation and belonging to the "friendship clique" that included users like Anonymous848 and Anonymous458.


    But that was it.


    He wasn¡¯t someone you¡¯d dislike, but he wasn¡¯t exactly remarkable either.


    When I met him in person to exchange capsules, he struck me as an ordinary man in his early thirties.


    Not a Hunter, not a trained soldier.


    So, what made him special enough to catch DragonC¡¯s eye?


    The answer lay in a post Kyle_Dos had written himself.


    Kyle_Dos: "So, I recently... found myself a wife."


    The story began shortly after I¡¯d helped Kyle_Dos retrieve some capsules near his bunker.


    Relieved of immediate concerns, he took on the role of a seasoned doomsday survivor, rigorously patrolling his bunker¡¯s surroundings every day, ensuring no change, no matter how small, went unnoticed.


    Then one day, as Kyle_Dos recalls, it happened.


    It must have been late spring.


    He came face-to-face with something he had long forgotten but always yearned for.


    A woman.


    Young, attractive, and most importantly, in need of protection.


    The way Kyle_Dos described their meeting, it read like a dream.


    Their dynamic¡ªa mild-mannered, steadfast man and a captivating woman with a vulnerable side¡ªwove a tale of cautious friendship blossoming into something deeper, eventually uniting the two as one.


    It wasn¡¯t just a story of survival; it was a quintessential fantasy, tugging at the heartstrings of lonely men and appealing to the universal hunger for connection.

 Chapter 22.2

    Kyle_Dos: As usual, I was patrolling the area.


    It was a stiflingly humid day.


    The bunker was filled with unbearable heat and moisture.


    Though a generator was available, it was small and had limited capacity, making luxuries like air conditioning out of the question.


    From the north, the sound of artillery fire echoed in the distance.


    It seemed another monster had emerged from a rift.


    Kyle Dos considered himself lucky during the last incident with a massive creature.


    It had approached as close as 4 kilometers but suddenly veered off its path.


    However, even Kyle Dos, who wasn¡¯t particularly knowledgeable about the rifts, found it chilling when nearby plants began to grow into strange shapes and the sunlight at dawn and dusk appeared not red, but an eerie grayish-white hue.


    At the time, Kyle Dos had taken up foraging as a hobby.


    There was no shortage of preserved foods, such as brick-like ration packs and canned goods, but eating such food for extended periods wasn¡¯t good for mental health.


    He had stocked up on sweet treats like jam and sugar to combat depression, but if sweet foods alone could cure depression, hospitals wouldn¡¯t be filled with patients, nor would anyone end their life over despair.


    To shake things up, Kyle Dos went to a nearby stream.


    By the stream, neglected wooden platforms, once used by valley merchants, lay abandoned, weathered by time.


    Sitting on a suitable platform, Kyle Dos caught large crayfish wriggling in the water with his military-grade dagger.


    Though called crayfish, they were the size of lobsters. Aside from their unsettling grayish-white coloration, they were full of meat and surprisingly tasty.


    After catching enough crayfish to fill a large pot, he began his walk home.


    That¡¯s when he saw flowers he¡¯d never seen before.


    Not just one or two¡ªbut an entire field, made up of hundreds, maybe thousands, of grayish-white blooms, spread out before him like fate.


    Amid the eerily orderly blossoms, Kyle Dos noticed something that wasn¡¯t grayish-white but pure white, faintly glowing, and writhing slightly.


    It was a woman.


    Her clothes were completely torn away, leaving her naked, and she appeared to have been brutally assaulted before losing consciousness. Despite the dire state of her body, the unmistakable shape and curves revealed her gender.


    Kyle Dos carried her to his bunker and cared for her meticulously.


    Not even the bunker¡¯s oppressive heat and humidity could deter him.


    Wiping the sweat beading on his forehead with his sleeve, he splinted her broken arm, disinfected her scraped wounds, and gently applied ointment to the bruises on her face, which, despite the swelling, still retained traces of beauty.


    It took quite some time for the woman to regain consciousness.


    When she finally came to, she startled, pulling a thin blanket over herself and trembling as she asked in a shaky voice:


    "I don¡¯t know what happened, but... you¡¯re safe here. I¡¯m not your enemy. This place is secure. If you need anything, just let me know."


    That was how Kyle Dos met the woman who would later become known as his "rescued wife."


    DragonC¡¯s prologue featuring this story was met with enthusiastic acclaim.


    Anonymous458: Wow~ Why don¡¯t women like that ever show up around me?


    roka3218: Such a beautiful story.


    Anonymous848: So jealous! All I see around me are corpses.


    kimcic: I don¡¯t usually read comics, but since it¡¯s about our lives, I couldn¡¯t help but shed a tear.


    unicorn18: Is she a virgin?


    .


    .


    But not everyone had the same reaction.


    Some negative opinions surfaced, and I don¡¯t deny being among them.


    Defender: Fantasy. Just pure fantasy. Might as well pop up a status window.


    SKELTON: Hmm... is it really that bad?


    Unfortunately, my post and Defender¡¯s were published just one second apart, leading to accusations that I was part of Defender¡¯s "clique." I even earned the infamous title of "flame troll."


    Still, a few people recognized my worth.


    Kyle Dos was one of the few who saw my true value.


    He sent me a message.


    Message from Kyle_Dos: SKELTON, I¡¯m really sorry, but I need a favor.


    It was a continuation of his previous request.


    He mentioned that capsules had appeared again¡ªthis time, not just one but two.


    This wasn¡¯t good.


    The erosion was advancing faster than anticipated.


    The details in DragonC¡¯s prologue and the changes in local plant life confirmed that the area had entered the early stages of erosion.


    According to academia, erosion zones posed no direct harm to humans. As proof, they cited the two hundred million followers of the Manryu Gwijeonggyo cult who had settled in erosion zones.


    I thought differently.


    Humans couldn¡¯t live in erosion zones.


    Just as monsters dissolved into nothing on Earth, humans in those areas lost something critical.


    It was as if everything lost meaning¡ªlike the futility of existence itself became palpable.


    Where had those so-called two hundred million cult followers gone?


    Erosion zones were truly dangerous.


    I replied to Kyle Dos.


    SKELTON: The place you¡¯re living in is extremely dangerous. The capsules aren¡¯t the real issue. If you can leave, you should.


    Message from Kyle_Dos: And go where?


    I hesitated.


    I knew the right answer but couldn¡¯t bring myself to say it outright.


    I wasn¡¯t a purely altruistic person, after all.


    The bark of the trees had dried and shriveled, as if scorched, their branches curling endlessly inward. Around the roots, reddish, grotesque weeds resembling sea worms thrived in abundance.


    The erosion had progressed much faster than I had anticipated.


    I pulled out a mask and covered my nose and mouth.


    Scholars might claim the air in erosion zones is harmless, but my experience told me otherwise.


    The air here was undoubtedly toxic.


    Piercing through the faint grayish-white mist, I found Kyle Dos¡¯s bunker.


    It was a prefabricated, factory-made buried shelter, the kind with a ladder for entry¡ªa cheap model.


    The hatch was open.


    With my gun and axe ready, I cautiously assessed the situation.


    There were no signs of life inside the bunker.


    Instead, the stench of decay, so strong it penetrated my mask, hit me with overwhelming force.


    Switching on my lantern, I descended.


    I found what looked like the power switch for the lights and pressed it. To my surprise, the lights turned on.


    What filled my vision when the lights came on was dozens of women in swimsuits.


    The bunker¡¯s walls were plastered with photos of women¡ªsome of them provocative, exposing their chests.


    But even the abundance of these beautiful women couldn¡¯t disguise the claustrophobic nature of the bunker.


    On the bed was a single corpse, hanging from a noose, rotting away.


    The decay was so advanced that identification was nearly impossible, but the long hair, tangled with maggots and bodily fluids, and the skeletal structure indicated the corpse was the same gender as the women covering the walls.


    The time of death seemed recent, yet there were no signs of raiders.


    The supplies were intact: food, a laptop, and satellite equipment¡ªall untouched.


    There was probably enough food for a year.


    The medical supplies were particularly well-stocked.


    I opened the laptop.


    It was in sleep mode, but as soon as I touched it, the screen flickered on, as if by magic, revealing the work its previous owner had left unfinished.


    It was a forum post.


    Kyle Dos had been writing a message.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to the flower field with my wife. Back to the place where we met. I¡¯ll gather my thoughts there and tell you the next part of the story. Please wait a little longer. Don¡¯t rush me.¡±


    The recipient was DragonC.


    Perhaps he was discussing the next plot for his webtoon.


    As I dragged the corpse out and searched the surroundings, I discovered two more bodies.


    They were in worse condition than the woman, making it hard to determine the cause of death. Both were men, shot from behind.


    ¡°...¡±


    I continued searching.


    Where the capsules had previously been, new capsules had appeared. Behind them, like tumors, even more had begun to grow, calmly occupying the space.


    Transporting them was impossible.


    They were too large and heavy to fit on my bicycle.


    I gathered anything of value from the bunker, prioritizing painkillers, then sealed the hatch and covered it with dirt and fallen leaves. I carved a marker into a nearby tree.


    I was ready to leave but couldn¡¯t shake Kyle Dos¡¯s final message to DragonC: ¡°I¡¯m going to the flower field.¡±


    So, I searched for it.


    But the flower field he spoke of was nowhere to be found.


    I followed the valley from the webtoon, but it was futile.


    Given the season, any flowers would have withered by now, and the forest was too sparse to host a field like that.


    Just as I was about to give up, a thought crossed my mind like a flash of insight from a dream.


    Kyle Dos had said he found his wife, rescued her, and slowly grew close to her until they became husband and wife.


    But what if it was a lie?


    What if parts of his story were distorted or false?


    This raised several possibilities.


    The first: the woman was dead from the start.


    The supposedly unconscious, assaulted woman was already dead when Kyle Dos found her.


    He brought the corpse to his bunker, stitched her wounds, talked to her, confessed his love, and shared a bed with her.


    When the body began to decay, he dressed it, propped it up with ropes, and eventually left the bunker, unable to cope.


    The second possibility was even more horrifying.


    During his patrol, Kyle Dos came across a group of survivors, one of whom was a young, beautiful woman.


    He might have planned to let them go but was overcome by instincts he could no longer suppress.


    When he came to, everyone but the woman was dead. He claimed her as his own.


    Their twisted relationship, marked by violence and coercion, ended with the woman¡¯s suicide. Only then did Kyle Dos realize his mistake, leaving the bunker behind.


    The final possibility¡ªand the one I hoped for¡ªwas that everything, including the woman, was a fabrication of Kyle Dos¡¯s mind.


    From the beginning, the woman never existed. He never brought anyone to the bunker.


    Driven mad by loneliness in that confined space infused with otherworldly insanity, he created an idealized vision of a woman in his imagination.


    In a haze where dreams and reality blurred, he believed he left the bunker with his ¡°wife,¡± going on dates and living his ideal romance.


    Later, an unrelated woman wandered into the bunker and hanged herself there.


    This, I believed, was the truth.


    Now, I stand here, looking at the flower field Kyle Dos spoke of.


    It is made of thousands of capsules.

 Chapter 23

    The sun had set, so I stayed the night at the refugee camp in Incheon.


    Sleeping among the displaced and starving was akin to gambling with one¡¯s life, so I had to settle for the warmth of a fire burning inside a steel drum.


    As I sat there, my eyes briefly closed, a young man wandered over, glancing at me cautiously.


    He looked to be in his early twenties, though his face was youthful enough to pass for a teenager.


    Boldly, he reached out to touch my bicycle.


    I opened my eyes and warned him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch it.¡±


    The man flinched in surprise but, perhaps driven by stubbornness, still tried to grab it.


    I quietly drew my pistol, and only then did he raise his hands in surrender and back away.


    Behind him, a group of people warming themselves at another fire cast me cold, hostile glares.


    By dawn, another gang joined their group.


    They whispered among themselves while glancing my way, eventually drawing their weapons and slowly approaching me.


    Their crude arsenal¡ªa collection of clubs, steel pipes, bent rebar fashioned into crowbars, bicycle chains, and more¡ªblurred before my tired, bloodshot eyes.


    The older men sitting nearby, who had been warming themselves by the fire, quietly lowered their heads and slipped away.


    They neither tried to warn me nor intervene. Not that it mattered.


    As the gang advanced, I casually revealed the assault rifle I had wrapped in cloth.


    A universal language in times like these.


    The young thugs exchanged intense glances before deciding to turn around and leave.


    Once they were gone, the older men crept back.


    I showed them the assault rifle, too.


    ¡°...¡±


    They said nothing, and I spent the rest of the night alone, warming myself by the fire, waiting for the sun to rise.


    As soon as the sun rose and soldiers appeared at their posts, I headed for the military command center.


    I had only one purpose: to report the numerous capsules that had appeared around Kyle Dos¡¯s bunker.


    Capsules technically fell under the jurisdiction of the National Crisis Management Committee, but all of their members had fled to Jeju Island, leaving the military as the only entity capable of addressing the issue.


    Of course, I had taken plenty of photos and marked the coordinates.


    I wasn¡¯t enthusiastic about this.


    Even as I made my way to the command center, doubt gnawed at me, tempting me to turn back multiple times.


    I could picture how this would play out.


    Reporting this might bring nothing but trouble for me.


    Still, I had no choice.


    This was something that had to be reported.


    The military might already know about the capsules, but if they didn¡¯t, the destruction of Seoul was inevitable¡ªand that destruction would ripple out to affect me, too.


    Even with the likelihood of a bad outcome, I couldn¡¯t ignore it.


    I am a hunter of the old era.


    A primal predator who must face monstrous threats armed with nothing but courage, guts, skill, and a meager weapon.


    But even for such a hunter, thousands of capsules are far too many.


    *


    It had been two years and two months since the war began, and South Korea¡¯s military had fractured into two factions: the Corps Faction and the Parliamentary Faction.


    The Corps Faction was the more aggressive of the two.


    Comprising frontline units dissatisfied with the government¡¯s inequitable treatment and policies, they revolted.


    Being made up of front-line forces, they had overwhelming superiority in soldier count, equipment quality, and overall firepower. Confident in their strength, they initiated the civil war.


    The faction I was heading to, however, was their opposition¡ªthe Parliamentary Faction.


    The Parliamentary Faction, as its name suggests, was supported by the National Assembly and was technically the only legitimate military force in South Korea. They were inferior to the Corps Faction in both equipment and manpower but held the moral high ground of legitimacy.


    No matter how much the Corps Faction tried to polish its image, at its core, it was a coup bound together by mutual interests.


    During the early stages of the war, their internal loyalty held firm, but as the war devolved into urban combat and grueling attrition, frontline commanders began to question their allegiance.


    Eventually, a disgruntled commander, frustrated with the relentless attrition, defected with their entire unit to the Parliamentary Faction, forcing the Corps Faction to reevaluate its strategies from the ground up.


    Call it premature optimism, but I felt the Parliamentary Faction might win this war.


    Not that it would be a victory without scars.


    I arrived at the heart of the Parliamentary Faction.


    ¡°What brings you here?¡±


    Unlike lower-level units, this was not a place where bribes would work.


    Security was tighter than anywhere else due to the times.


    The ground was lined with tanks and other armored vehicles, while more than a dozen drones patrolled the skies at varying altitudes, keeping watch over the area.


    Ominous signs were posted everywhere:


    [No Photography, Trespassing, or Unauthorized Drone Flights ¨C Violators Will Be Summarily Executed]


    There was no choice but to queue up and wait my turn.


    ¡°State your business.¡±


    After waiting two hours, I was finally able to speak with the person in charge of civilian complaints.


    ¡°May I speak with the officer in charge of monsters? This is an extremely urgent matter.¡±


    The moment those words left my mouth, I noticed the official¡¯s expression sour slightly.


    ¡°What¡¯s the issue?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve discovered capsules. A massive cluster¡ªthousands of them. I have photos and coordinates as evidence.¡±


    ¡°Capsules?¡±


    ¡°Monster eggs,¡± I clarified.


    I showed him the photos¡ªKyle Dos¡¯s eerie, grayish-white field of flowers.


    Unlike me, the official didn¡¯t seem moved by the sight.


    He glanced at the photos briefly before parroting the same dismissive response he had given the previous civilian.


    ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll take a look. Thanks for letting us know.¡±


    He gestured for me to leave.


    ¡°You can go now. Next!¡±


    It was clear this man wasn¡¯t going to take any action. He wouldn¡¯t check the site, nor would he report it.


    The reason was obvious: I looked disheveled. He didn¡¯t know my past and dismissed me as insignificant.


    For a moment, I considered leaving.


    But this wasn¡¯t a decision to be swayed by emotion.


    There was a pile of tinder ahead that could burn everything to the ground. Just because the fire hadn¡¯t reached my front door didn¡¯t mean it was safe to walk away.


    I intended to live at least five more years.


    She knew exactly what she was doing.


    She¡¯d always been like this, even back in school¡ªa self-destructive tendency to hurt others and herself in equal measure.


    If her "health bar" had been any smaller, she would¡¯ve ended it long ago. But Min-hee was nothing if not resilient.


    ¡°Sorry, didn¡¯t mean to upset you. It wasn¡¯t intentional,¡± she added, her tone almost convincing.


    Apparently, I¡¯d grown.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    When Daram first mentioned those names, I¡¯d braced myself, but now it didn¡¯t cut as deep.


    It stung a little, but only just.


    Hearing those names from Je Pung-ho¡¯s mouth in the past had been an entirely different experience.


    I gave Min-hee a genuine smile.


    ¡°I¡¯ve moved on.¡±


    Whether I¡¯d truly moved on or simply grown numb, I wasn¡¯t sure. What I did know was that the Viva! Apocalypse! community had helped me develop a thick skin.


    After all, I¡¯d gone from an unpopular user to "Defender¡¯s buddy," and now I was part of the infamous "flame troll gang." There wasn¡¯t much further to fall.


    ¡°So, how are Han-min and Hye-in doing? I wouldn¡¯t know, being just a regular guy,¡± I asked casually.


    Min-hee¡¯s face lit up with genuine surprise.


    ¡°Wow. Are you really Senior Park?¡±


    ¡°Is there a problem?¡±


    ¡°No, not really,¡± she said, studying me with an amused look.


    It was an awkward few moments.


    After a while, she sighed and spoke.


    ¡°They¡¯re in Jeju, as expected.¡±


    ¡°Figured as much. They doing well?¡±


    ¡°As well as saviors can, I guess. Living it up, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°Saviors...¡± I repeated.


    ¡°You¡¯ve heard from Daram?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°Well, you look good, Senior. Healthy.¡±


    Min-hee glanced at her prosthetic hand, the two steel fingers curved like hooks.


    ¡°Unlike me...¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Why didn¡¯t you just die there?


    Still, reconnecting with Min-hee might turn out to be useful.


    ¡°Capsules, huh? And a cluster at that.¡±


    At least she was taking me seriously.


    ¡°This is the first cluster I¡¯ve seen since China. With the ceasefire in effect, we¡¯d probably need to coordinate with the Corps Faction for field artillery support. By the way, what was the max range of the capsules¡¯ magnetic field back when you were active?¡±


    ¡°3,250 meters. 3,500 to be safe.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s 5,500 now.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s grown again?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re adapting. Learning from us, probably.¡±


    Min-hee adjusted her prosthetic hand, its claw-like fingers glinting. She¡¯d likely commissioned the design herself.


    ¡°So long. So far. But we¡¯ll have to take care of it, won¡¯t we?¡±


    She stood up.


    With Min-hee on the case, I could relax a bit.


    For all her flaws, she always got the job done.


    ¡°Since we¡¯re reconnecting and all, why don¡¯t we exchange contact info? I¡¯ll be around here for a while,¡± she said, giving me her ID number: REDMASK.


    I didn¡¯t particularly want to exchange info, but I had no reason to refuse. I gave her mine.


    ¡°SKELTON?¡±


    She chuckled, staring at me with amusement.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±


    ¡°Oh, nothing. Just reminded me of a certain idiot.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Surely not...


    But then again, what would someone like her¡ªa renowned hunter feared even by fanatics¡ªwant with a fugitive community?


    After lingering with a mischievous smile, she handed me a small piece of gum-sized paper, split into two colors like litmus strips.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have kids, right?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Figured as much, but thought I¡¯d ask. Just being polite.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a quick mental resonance test sheet.¡±


    ¡°They make these now?¡±


    ¡°Humans are desperate. If there are kids around, have them bite down on it. If the colors change, let me know.¡±


    ¡°Kids?¡±


    ¡°Scientists say Awakening phenomena like mine occur most frequently in adolescents around puberty.¡±


    ¡°And if I contact you?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll probably send them and their families to Jeju.¡±


    Min-hee turned away, her prosthetic leg scraping against the floor with a sound that grated on my ears.


    ¡°See you around,¡± she said.


    She paused mid-step, her back still to me, and spoke in a low voice.


    ¡°I still think highly of you, Senior.¡±


    With the screeching sound of her prosthetic fading into the distance, she disappeared.


    Kyle Dos¡¯s flower field would be burned to the ground.


    Another field would bloom elsewhere, but at least my own ruin had been postponed.


    With mixed feelings¡ªhalf relief, half bitterness¡ªI left the command center.


    White specks fell from the sky over the desolate ruins.


    The first snow.


    Christmas must be near.

 Chapter 24.1

    I had a dream, something I hadn¡¯t experienced in a long time.


    As someone who strives for short, perfect sleep without interruptions, dreaming felt like a humiliating anomaly. Still, the dream itself was intriguing.


    In the dream, Park Gyu wasn¡¯t preparing for the future in Korea but in the United States.


    He had easy access to firearms and built a colossal fortress deep in the vast wilderness¡ªone that could rival the estates of billionaire conglomerates.


    From the tallest tower of this fortress, he shot down invading Yankees, cowboys, superheroes, and even a deranged mouse. With an eighteen-wheeled trailer, he crushed monsters under its weight, and somehow, he ended up dining with the President of the United States.


    At the climax of the dream, I was about to say something to the President.


    But no words came out.


    I knew what I wanted to say, but I wasn¡¯t familiar with his language, and doubts about whether my phrasing was correct stopped me from speaking.


    In that moment, I realized I was a stranger in that land. That realization deflated me, and I woke up.


    There¡¯s nothing more to add or subtract.


    It was a pointless dream¡ªa strange yet entertaining one.


    Still, the dream¡¯s setting and events felt like a hazy glimpse into my future.


    Thinking about the people I would soon meet gave me that impression.


    Lately, gunfire has become more frequent.


    The pattern suggests it¡¯s not a battle, as the shots are one-sided, but the frequency is unnervingly high.


    Could something have gone wrong?


    It doesn¡¯t feel like the right time to make contact, so I¡¯ve just been observing, though a sense of worry looms over me.


    Perhaps these repeated gunshots aren¡¯t just about intruders¡ªthey could be signs of growing madness.


    It¡¯s already been two years since the war began.


    That¡¯s more than enough time for someone to lose their sanity.


    The sniper had always asked me for drugs.


    But what drug could possibly fill the void in her empty heart?


    Maybe if there were some kind of magical cure-all...


    But where would I even begin to find such a "magic drug"?


    *


    Reputation is everything.


    Even now, people on the forum were searching for Kyle Dos.


    Anonymous848: Kyle Dos! Are you alive? Where are you?


    Anonymous458: Kyle Dos! I¡¯m sorry, man. I made fun of you when they said you¡¯d be a webtoon protagonist. Please forgive me and come back!


    Today, DragonC uploaded the latest chapter of Remnant.


    It depicted the final story of Kyle Dos, fighting desperately to protect his wife from invading deserters.


    In the climactic moment, realizing he couldn¡¯t win, he held his wife¡¯s hand and shared one last kiss before pulling the pin on a grenade as the enemies stormed into the bunker.


    BOOM!


    An explosive ending.


    The response was overwhelming.


    Anonymous458: ??


    roka3218: ??


    keystone: ??


    THE_LAST_MAN: ??


    Anonymous848: ??


    kimcic: ??


    gijayangban: ??


    Defender: ??


    James_Catterer: TT


    James_Catterer: Can somebody translate this to English? :)


    Everyone cried over their keyboards.


    Even Defender.


    But not me. Not me and one other person.


    SKELTON: Hmm...


    unicorn18: Was she a virgin?


    Objectively speaking, we were the perfect pair to hate on.


    One was a humorless buzzkill, Defender¡¯s so-called "friend." The other¡ªa lunatic who had lost it a year into the apocalypse, turning into the literal unicorn his nickname implied.


    Anonymous848: Skelton, don¡¯t you think that¡¯s a bit much?


    Anonymous458: Bad choice of persona this time, buddy.


    DragonC: Skelton?


    roka3218: ...


    kimcic: Here he goes again with his ¡°Hmm.¡± That¡¯s all he ever says.


    As expected, the backlash came in full force.


    Oddly enough, though, it felt like I was the only one being targeted.


    Even Defender, who usually had no shame, messaged me privately.


    Message from Defender: (Gasp) Skelton... are you a psychopath?


    Though I was unjustly labeled, I stood by my convictions.


    Even if Seoul falls, there will always be people who choose to live there.


    Seoul¡¯s value will only rise¡ªit¡¯ll never diminish.


    Even as ruins, everything needed for survival lies beneath its foundations.


    If erosion ever reaches my region, abandoning my bunker might be an option.


    By then, there wouldn¡¯t be many people left wandering around South Korea.


    The most dangerous enemy would have disappeared.


    Bang!


    Why are humans the most terrifying enemy?


    The answer lay with the raiders who had encroached on the sniper¡¯s territory.


    Bang!


    About 1.2 kilometers away from her building, a group of raiders had camped on a ridge.


    Two naked men dashed across the ridge like moles popping in and out of a whack-a-mole game.


    Running naked in the middle of winter seemed insane, but they had a reason.


    They were mocking the sniper.


    Bang!


    No matter how skilled a sniper she was, hitting fast-moving targets at 1.2 kilometers wasn¡¯t easy.


    Each time a shot rang out in vain, the naked men raised their fists or flipped her the bird, taunting her.


    From below the ridge came peals of laughter from their group.


    Bang!


    Another irritated shot cut through the air, but the bullet vanished into the void.


    ¡°...¡±


    From a distance, this might seem like dark comedy.


    But to the person involved, it was extreme psychological warfare.


    Imagine predators circling a hedgehog, observing it, scheming about how best to kill and eat it.


    They weren¡¯t attacking outright. Instead, they were wearing down their prey¡¯s nerves, tormenting her until she broke.


    ¡°Yah-ha!¡±


    One of the men leaped onto the ridge, spreading his arms wide and screaming like a lunatic.


    Bang!


    The sniper fired again, but before the bullet even reached him, the naked raider darted behind cover.


    Bang!


    This time, the shot found its mark.


    ¡°Yeehaw!¡±


    Even as blood sprayed from his wound, the man howled gleefully and dove behind cover. The laughter from the group grew even louder.


    Only humans could do this.


    Only humans could deliberately kill their own kind with such clear intent.


    Monsters lack that purpose.


    That¡¯s why, despite their overwhelming strength, I rank them below humans in danger.


    Circling around, I approached the sniper¡¯s building.


    Three corpses lay frozen at my feet, their armbands marking them as pioneers.


    Judging by their state of decay, they¡¯d likely been dead since autumn, when the pioneers had been most active.


    ¡°...¡±


    She didn¡¯t even have time to clean up the bodies.


    I remembered her constant pleas for drugs.


    Perhaps she was at her breaking point.


    With this in mind, I waved toward her building.


    A mirror flashed from above, signaling in Morse code.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    I stood still, waiting grimly for whoever would meet me.


    It wasn¡¯t the sniper.


    Instead, her daughter appeared.


    Children grow so fast¡ªit was striking how much taller she was since the last time I saw her.


    Yet, the military helmet on her head still seemed oversized, and the rifle slung over her shoulder looked even more out of place.


    ¡°Skelton.¡±


    She gazed at me with a troubled expression.


    Her face alone was enough to show the toll of stress.


    While she wasn¡¯t malnourished, she wasn¡¯t thriving either.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    I didn¡¯t offer words of comfort.


    What they needed wasn¡¯t solace¡ªit was a solution.


    That¡¯s why I was here.


    But no matter what, I wouldn¡¯t hand over drugs.


    After all, drugs aren¡¯t short for "magic medicine."

 Chapter 24.2

    "Skelton, over here."


    Following the sniper''s daughter into a low-rise building, I found myself staring at an unexpected scene.


    The interior was a chaotic shrine to Americana.


    There were signs from U.S. franchises, statues of a fried chicken-loving colonel, posters of comic-book heroes, American road signs, neon lights with English lettering long extinguished, stacks of old English newspapers, and even a certain superhero¡¯s shield.


    The wide, cluttered space was filled with objects that screamed ¡°America.¡±


    On the upper floor, where cold wind swept through makeshift barricades, the sniper was prone, aiming her rifle downward.


    Without looking away from her scope, she spoke in her halting Korean.


    ¡°Enemy. RPG. Have.¡±


    Her daughter knelt beside her, scanning the area below with binoculars.


    ¡°Don¡¯t see.¡±


    ¡°They hide.¡±


    The sniper added grimly.


    ¡°RPG dangerous. They aim at us.¡±


    I quickly understood the situation.


    The men creating a ruckus below were bait. Somewhere out of sight, a man with a rocket launcher waited, ready to obliterate the sniper and her daughter in one strike.


    That was likely why the sniper had called me.


    But I couldn¡¯t just rely on her assessment.


    From experience, people in desperate situations often exaggerated the danger.


    ¡°Let me take over for a moment. Draw me a map of their positions.¡±


    Taking the sniper¡¯s rifle, I felt the sweat-slick grip in my hands.


    Peering through the high-magnification scope, I confirmed it¡ªthese weren¡¯t ordinary raiders.


    They were survivors of countless battles, the kind who had clawed their way to the top by killing others of their kind.


    The men causing the commotion were intoxicated, laughing and shouting like madmen, but behind them, hidden beyond the range of gunfire, were heavily armed, cold-eyed raiders watching every angle with predatory focus.


    The rowdy ones were just cannon fodder.


    There were women in the group, too, though they didn¡¯t seem to be fighters.


    ¡°Skelton.¡±


    The sniper handed me a hastily drawn map.


    Glancing at her left foot, I noticed it was awkwardly elevated, wrapped in nothing but a bandage despite the freezing wind.


    The way she had struggled to stand earlier made sense now.


    Her injuries weren¡¯t just slowing her down¡ªthey were disabling her.


    Her blue eyes met mine, clouded with a mix of sadness and fatigue.


    ¡°Your leg¡ªwhat happened?¡±


    ¡°Need medicine.¡±


    Her face darkened as she glared at her injured foot.


    ¡°...my leg. Rotting.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll look at it later,¡± I said, trying to focus on the map she¡¯d given me.


    It was drawn with the precision of someone with military training, highlighting the critical points.


    After a moment of analysis, I reached my conclusion: this was a losing battle.


    The enemy wasn¡¯t just numerous¡ªthey were patient hunters.


    They knew they had the upper hand and were using their numbers to choke the life out of their prey, bit by bit.


    The RPG wasn¡¯t a direct threat yet¡ªit was just there to unsettle them, to make them imagine every worst-case scenario and break down faster.


    ¡°This is a hard fight,¡± I said to the sniper.


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s space in my bunker,¡± I offered.


    Her eyes flickered, betraying a moment of turmoil. She knew the reality of her situation.


    She glanced at her injured leg, her expression one of resignation.


    ¡°Sue.¡±


    The sniper called for her daughter.


    So that was her name¡ªSue.


    The girl seemed to understand her mother¡¯s unspoken words immediately. She shook her head and threw her arms around her mother.


    The sniper whispered something in English, likely trying to reassure her.


    As she held her daughter, she looked at me with tear-filled eyes.


    ¡°Sorry, Skelton. I knew it was dangerous. But I called you anyway.¡±


    Her sudden confession caught me off guard.


    I responded plainly. ¡°Do you have any other weapons?¡±


    ¡°Other weapons?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I remember you had plenty of heavy arms in that Humvee. Where are they?¡±


    The sniper gently pushed Sue away and gave her a nod. The girl adjusted her oversized helmet and sprinted ahead.


    ¡°Skelton. Follow me.¡±


    The sniper gestured for me to come along, her expression forlorn.


    She wanted me to take Sue and leave, but I shook my head.


    Her eyes widened briefly in surprise before I followed Sue upstairs.


    The weapons were stored in a second-floor room.


    It was a treasure trove of firepower: recoilless rifles, 7.62mm machine guns, Claymore mines, grenades, and even two Javelin launchers.


    A veritable weapon emporium.


    But there was a reason she hadn¡¯t used them.


    Both Javelins had dead batteries, and the other weapons¡ªwhile powerful¡ªhad limitations in range and accuracy.


    More importantly, her injured leg meant she couldn¡¯t wield any of them effectively anymore.


    But that didn¡¯t apply to me.


    I found what I was looking for: an American-made recoilless rifle.


    I¡¯d used one back in Paju. Light, reliable, and with excellent firepower. Its effective range was just under 200 meters¡ªperfect for what I had in mind.


    ¡°Let me borrow two of these.¡±


    ¡°Two?¡±


    The sniper seemed surprised by my request.


    Nodding, I asked her, ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    She hesitated, then met my gaze with steady eyes.


    ¡°Rebecca.¡±


    *


    Now, with heavy firepower in my hands, the plan was straightforward: make it count.


    Though I carried two launchers, there would only be one truly effective chance to strike.


    The goal was simple: kill as many as possible in one shot, especially the heavily armed veterans hidden deep within their ranks.


    The drugged-up cannon fodder could wait¡ªthough their sheer numbers might still be a problem.


    My strategy wasn¡¯t original. In fact, it was strikingly similar to the sniper¡¯s: stay hidden, bide my time, and seize the perfect moment.


    I could only imagine what it felt like¡ªto live every moment surrounded by people who spoke a language that wasn¡¯t yours, to feel isolated in a world where every word was foreign.


    For Rebecca, that alienation was her everyday reality.


    ¡°Our language...¡±


    Maybe that constant alienation was what had truly sickened her soul more than her body ever could.


    But what could I do?


    How could I send her back to America in this world, where the concept of ¡°home¡± barely existed anymore?


    I was about to offer her hollow platitudes when something struck me.


    Wait.


    There was a way.


    ¡°Hey, Rebecca.¡±


    I called her name.


    ¡°Come here.¡±


    Opening my laptop, I navigated to the one place that could grant her wish.


    <Viva! Apocalypse!>


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    Sue, curious as ever, peered over my shoulder.


    It was time for magic.


    Not the kind of magic that required incantations or elaborate rituals¡ªjust a few clicks of a mouse.


    The spell began, the scroll bar sluggishly dragging down the screen.


    anonymous45: Is it actually hard to find protein-rich plants in the wild to eat if one is starving?


    In_domini_LK: It depends on the season and place.


    PennKIX1978: Wild amaranth is pretty high in protein.


    anonymous71: Meet my WAIFUs.


    Awkwardly worded English posts filled the screen.


    This was the Viva! Apocalypse! English forum.


    In truth, it was the main hub of the community, with several times more users than the Korean boards.


    There was a built-in translation function, but I rarely used it.


    The Korean forum was my home, after all.


    But for someone like Rebecca¡ªsomeone from another world¡ªthe voices of people like her would be far more comforting.


    ¡°Is this... real? Are these... living people?¡±


    Of course.


    It was the sound of her homeland.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Seeing her face light up like a little girl¡¯s, I stepped aside.


    Her trembling hands hovered over the keyboard.


    For the first time in years, she could send her own words, in her own language, to people who would understand her without effort.


    SKELTON: Hi guys :)


    *


    "Get out."


    I admit it.


    I, Park Gyu, am not a gentleman.


    "I said, get out."


    "Just a little longer."


    "No, you''ve been on it all night. How much longer are you planning to do this?"


    "Just a bit more."


    The sniper is one thing, but her daughter is just as relentless.


    "Skelton, what''s this?"


    "Hey, hey! Put that away. Kids shouldn¡¯t be looking at that!"


    She has an uncanny knack for finding the most embarrassing items.


    It''s like dealing with my sister''s pet ferret.


    By the time I finally managed to usher the disastrous duo out, it was almost noon.


    "...Thank you, Skelton."


    "Thank you! Skelton!"


    Rebecca whispered something to Sue.


    Sue nodded and, in surprisingly fluent Korean, asked me:


    "Mom wants to know why you helped us back then."


    "Back then?"


    "When you changed your mind and told us to run away."


    I smiled faintly.


    There was no need to explain.


    There was no need for them to know that Rebecca, holding her daughter with tear-filled eyes, had looked so much like my mother in her final moments¡ªholding my sister just before her death.


    "Because we''re neighbors."


    It was half true.


    Though I had kicked them out of my main bunker, I had offered them one of my decoy shelters.


    One way or another, it seemed these two were nearing their limits.


    Rebecca still appeared reluctant to leave her territory.


    I didn¡¯t press her.


    After all, sharing my living space with someone¡ªeven for just half a day¡ªhad been far from easy.


    I¡¯d learned that the hard way.


    We both needed more preparation.


    Both the mother-daughter pair and myself.


    "Just one more hour on the computer?"


    "Out."


    From beside the truck, I watched them climb the stairs of the abandoned building.


    Rebecca moved with a noticeable limp, but as she passed, she turned to give me a polite nod.


    I called out to her suddenly.


    "Do you still need the drugs?"


    Rebecca responded with a bitter smile and shook her head.


    Sue clung to her mother¡¯s arm and waved at me energetically.


    I stayed there for a while, watching them leave.


    The magic potion did exist after all.


    I left, hoping to find a magic potion that would work for me too.


    "...."


    This Christmas, I should just stick to exchanging radio transmissions.

 Chapter 25

    I¡¯ve never raised animals.


    I spent too much time in places where keeping pets was impossible, and dealing with mutations regularly made it hard to view animals in a positive light.


    Among hunters with war experience, none have pets.


    Meanwhile, a small number of users in our community do raise animals.


    Those who actively raise and care for animals are typically part of group survivalist efforts.


    Anonymous424: "Our dogs."


    Dies_irae69: "Check out my pups."


    These friends, who form groups with like-minded people or family members, tend to control large territories, often centered around exposed houses rather than bunkers.


    The more mouths to feed, the faster food reserves are depleted, forcing them to farm¡ªand farming inevitably requires large stretches of land.


    Well-trained dogs help secure that territory.


    They serve as sentries, threatening and driving off wandering outsiders, and, in some cases, can even be used in combat.


    But their love never lasts long.


    Dies_irae69: "My dogs... I killed them all... with my own hands...."


    There¡¯s no other choice.


    Allowing an animal to start mutating is nothing short of suicide.


    In this way, keeping animals in the age of ruin requires resolve.


    You either need the resolve to kill an animal when it begins to change,


    Or the resolve to accept the mutated animal as it is, no matter how monstrous it becomes.


    There¡¯s someone in our community who made the latter choice.


    He raised sea monkeys.


    *


    I learned about Sea Monkey Papa around the time I started growing accustomed to life in the apocalypse and began accepting ruin as part of daily existence.


    In the early days of the war, I was rigid.


    Even a suspicious shadow on the horizon would have me holding my weapon, ready for hours. I obsessively checked and rechecked my equipment, teetering on paranoia.


    It was the first apocalypse I faced as an individual, not as a hunter, so I was constantly on edge.


    As time passed, I adapted to the changing circumstances and gained experience, eventually loosening up.


    That was also around when I transitioned from being a lurker in the community to posting my own threads.


    At the time, Sea Monkey Papa was an unpopular user with a style similar to mine.


    He worked hard on creative projects, hoping to draw attention, but never received the recognition he sought.


    In my case, I chalked it up to bad luck, but Sea Monkey Papa¡¯s issues stemmed from the very concept he chose to pursue.


    After all, who feels moved or charmed by something as obscure as sea monkeys?


    Most people who clicked on his posts were likely just curious about what sea monkeys were. And when they discovered that sea monkeys were essentially invisible flea-like creatures floating in a tank, they immediately clicked away without a second thought.


    Sea monkeys, officially known as brine shrimp, are primitive crustaceans.


    They¡¯re hardy, easy to care for, and very active, which made them popular as ornamental pets in the late 20th century. But their popularity faded quickly. Now, they¡¯re typically short-lived science projects for kids, doomed to die in a plastic tank¡ªor worse, flushed down the toilet.


    <"The sea monkeys are swimming so energetically! These creatures are so hardy they¡¯ve even been found in the Dead Sea, also known as the Sea of Death! But! If you try to raise them in fresh water!! They¡¯ll die!!! Even if they seem okay at first, they¡¯ll eventually die!">


    Sea Monkey Papa was skilled at video editing. Every video he uploaded featured detailed explanations and care tips, aimed at educating viewers about the mysterious creatures known as sea monkeys.


    He used exclamation marks excessively.


    Naturally, his content had no traction.


    Perhaps aware of his poor reception, Sea Monkey Papa set out to create his magnum opus.


    It was a labor-intensive and technically challenging project.


    He fed his sea monkeys glow-in-the-dark food to make them shine in the dark, adjusted the lighting meticulously so his camera could capture them clearly, and paired the footage with beautiful New Age classical music.


    The video showcased glowing sea monkeys swimming in coordinated formations, filmed from multiple angles, in slow motion, and accompanied by painstakingly detailed subtitles¡ªplus a generous dose of exclamation marks.


    The result was an intricate video he uploaded to the forum.


    SeamonkeyPAPA: ¡°Behold the luminous, magnificent nocturnal group dance of the sea monkeys¡ª¡®danse en groupe.¡¯¡±


    At the time, I was about to post my own content and clicked on his thread out of curiosity.


    In his post, Sea Monkey Papa wrote that it had taken him 18 hours of work to create the video and added a sheepish reflection about his effort.


    Eighteen hours.


    My own video had taken me barely a minute to make.


    His dedication was remarkable.


    But as usual, reality was cruel.


    Reenacting the scene back then might look something like this:


    Unicorn18: "Red Archive Hotaru-chan.jpg"


    SUNBI: "A tantalizing Western girl¡¯s barely covered hips."


    SeamonkeyPAPA: "Behold the luminous, magnificent nocturnal group dance of the sea monkeys¡ª¡®danse en groupe.¡¯¡±


    Defender: "Proof."


    Anonymous118: "Super Mario No-Install Edition."


    SKELTON: (Skelton video) ¡°Skelton¡¯s Beatbox (3)¡±


    At first glance, the thread titles look no different from what you¡¯d find on the forum today.


    But checking the view counts reveals a stark reality:


    Unicorn18: "Red Archive Hotaru-chan.jpg" (22 views)


    SUNBI: "A tantalizing Western girl¡¯s barely covered hips" (93 views)


    SeamonkeyPAPA: "Behold the luminous, magnificent nocturnal group dance of the sea monkeys¡ª¡®danse en groupe.¡¯¡± (8 views)


    Defender: "Proof" (232 views)


    Anonymous118: "Super Mario No-Install Edition" (1,023 views)


    SKELTON: (Skelton video) ¡°Skelton¡¯s Beatbox (3)¡± (5 views)


    That¡¯s right.


    Sea Monkey Papa¡¯s magnum opus garnered a mere eight views.


    Eight.


    He poured 18 hours of work into a video that only eight people clicked on.


    Surely, it must¡¯ve been a coincidence.


    It had to be.


    But still, I couldn¡¯t afford to let my guard down.


    After all, Woo Min-hee had always been someone who enjoyed lurking in obscure online communities.


    I, on the other hand, barely participated in group chats.


    While I was busy reflecting on my exchange with her, chaos was unfolding on the forum.


    Defender: "I¡¯m telling you, just kill them all. Can¡¯t you tell they¡¯re dangerous? They¡¯re obviously mutated."


    SeamonkeyPAPA: "Shut up, you parentless, ill-mannered murderer! What right do you have to tell me what to do with MY babies? They¡¯re MY kids! I raised them! They¡¯re MY babies!"


    Defender and Sea Monkey Papa¡ªtwo users who rarely intersected¡ªhad erupted into an all-out flame war.


    Watching their heated exchange, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a twinge of disappointment.


    It was disillusioning, to say the least.


    Until now, I¡¯d always imagined Sea Monkey Papa as a quiet, composed middle-aged man¡ªa reserved yet dignified gentleman.


    His voice had an air of sophistication, his tone calm and measured.


    Even the glimpses he shared of his shelter suggested a certain affluence and space.


    In my mind, he was a man in his early fifties, perhaps a retired professional, living comfortably despite the apocalypse.


    But the person revealed through his keyboard was someone entirely different.


    The "real" Sea Monkey Papa wasn¡¯t dignified at all.


    He was petulant, immature, and downright vulgar.


    His barrage of insults, filled with crude and obscene language, was almost embarrassing to read.


    Thirty percent of his tirade consisted of expletives referencing genitalia.


    Another thirty percent was devoted to profane insults about Defender¡¯s parents.


    The remaining forty percent? Profanities embellished with his trademark exclamation marks.


    When I applied the forum¡¯s profanity filter, this was all that remained of his posts:


    SeamonkeyPAPA: *"You ****!! You ********!!! ****!!!! ********!! **************!!"


    Meanwhile, Defender¡¯s responses remained calm¡ªat first.


    But everyone knew Defender¡¯s patience had its limits.


    Defender: "Look, I¡¯m saying this for your own good. If you want to die, go ahead, but don¡¯t drag the rest of us down with you. Oh, and by the way, those photos of the reservoir? I know where that is. I can find you."


    Suddenly, I could vividly picture Defender¡¯s cold, calculating glare.


    This wasn¡¯t just idle banter anymore.


    Everyone on the forum could sense it¡ªDefender was serious.


    If I were Sea Monkey Papa, I would¡¯ve apologized or at least stepped away from the keyboard.


    But Sea Monkey Papa did neither.


    SeamonkeyPAPA: "********!!!!"


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    Defender: "You¡¯re dead."


    SeamonkeyPAPA: *"You ***********!!!!"


    ¡°This is going too far,¡± I muttered.


    Sea Monkey Papa had crossed the line¡ªfar beyond it.


    Even though Defender had a reputation for never harming fellow forum users, this was an exception.


    I immediately sent Sea Monkey Papa a private message.


    SKELTON: "Come on, man. Defender¡¯s actually right this time. Those things are dangerous. Just apologize and end this. What¡¯s the point of fighting like kids?"


    It was my attempt at mediation.


    If necessary, I was even willing to help smooth things over with Defender.


    After all, no matter how annoying Sea Monkey Papa might¡¯ve been, he was still part of our community.


    The thought of losing another member didn¡¯t sit well with me.


    But the reply I received from him was anything but conciliatory.


    SeamonkeyPAPA: "********!!!!"


    With the profanity filter still applied, his words barely registered as human language.


    In that moment, I no longer saw him as a person.


    He was just another sea monkey¡ªnothing more, nothing less.


    SeamonkeyPAPA''s Message: *"No fun **** born **** *****."


    SKELTON: "********"


    *


    Defender: ?????? (Verification)


    Two days later, Defender''s post felt like something straight out of a horror movie¡ªchilling, mysterious, and unsettling all at once.


    Defender had used the coordinates from the reservoir as a guide to track down SeamonkeyPAPA''s shelter.


    Whether he meant it genuinely or was just trying to save face, Defender claimed that his original intent was to shake hands and accept an apology. Perhaps even post a picture as proof of their reconciliation.


    It wasn¡¯t hard to locate the shelter.


    The entrance to the bunker was wide open, and inside, Defender found SeamonkeyPAPA¡¯s beloved seamonkey setup, an old, battered laptop, and various bits of equipment.


    But SeamonkeyPAPA himself was nowhere to be found.


    And it wasn¡¯t just him who was missing.


    The inside of the bunker exuded a palpable sense of deprivation¡ªof poverty and despair. The kind of hopelessness that clung to every surface like a damp, suffocating shadow.


    Defender: "That guy... he barely had any food or supplies left. Judging by the state of the boiler, he hadn¡¯t had heating for who knows how long. The fact that he was even posting on the forum... man, that¡¯s impressive in and of itself."


    Defender¡¯s search revealed SeamonkeyPAPA¡¯s ¡°supplies¡±: a week¡¯s worth of moldy hardtack, two crates of soju, and half a bottle of seventeen-year-old whiskey spilled across the floor, its cap nowhere in sight.


    Remembering the infamous photo of the reservoir that SeamonkeyPAPA had posted, Defender decided to drain it¡ªto kill every last one of those grotesque mutations.


    When the water was fully drained, there wasn¡¯t a single seamonkey left to be found.


    Instead, in the mud, amid the thick, foul-smelling sludge, lay a single skeletal corpse.


    Its bony remains were rigid, standing almost at attention, like an exclamation mark punctuating the grotesque scene.


    The thought hit like a cruel punchline: "Seamonkeys die in freshwater," the carefully crafted subtitle from one of SeamonkeyPAPA¡¯s old videos replayed in Defender¡¯s mind.


    He hadn¡¯t lied. The seamonkeys were truly gone. Only a tragic, twisted echo of their presence¡ªand their keeper¡ªremained.

 Chapter 26.1

    As expected, the Christmas season had arrived once again.


    A former game developer, who recently changed his username from Anonymous118 to Foxgames, had launched a tree-decorating site for the second year in a row.


    With nothing but time on their hands, users from the forum swarmed in like bees, eagerly decorating each other''s Christmas trees.


    Unlike last year, this time even my Christmas tree had its fair share of ornaments.


    < Hmm, hmm... this should do? Meh, boring, hmm..., try to be more mindful next year, hmm-hmm-hmm, Defender1, Defender2 >


    Haha, our forum friends sure have a mischievous streak.


    I added an ornament to Defender¡¯s tree.


    As a well-known user, Defender had already filled up three trees and was working on his fourth. By sheer luck, I managed to snag the final spot and hang an ornament with my username¡ªa candy cane¡ªon his tree.


    < KILL, SQUAWK!, SeamonkeyPapa: why?, SeamonkeyPapa, Memento Mori, Skeleton¡¯s friend, DragonC, Born to Kill, It¡¯s SeamonkeyPapa, SKELTON >@@@@


    Outside, heavy snow had been falling for the past three days.


    My territory and the surrounding areas had turned into a pristine white snowfield.


    With the snow piling up, even the golf course in the neighboring district seemed to have regained its former charm.


    Thanks to the weather, not a single human shadow dared to come near. The wilderness, once abandoned by people, was now occasionally roamed by deer and wild boars scavenging for food¡ªcreatures that had become far more common after the war.


    It was shaping up to be a rare, peaceful, and serene day.


    That is, until I heard the fierce howling of the wild from the southwest.


    *


    Monsters are often compared to mold in how they invade.


    A Rift acts as the source of contamination, sprouting mold around it. This mold breeds all kinds of sinister pathogens, which, in turn, spread further mold.


    Mutations are one of the pathogens spawned by this mold, and they rank among the worst enemies civilians could ever encounter.


    Their variety is staggering.


    In Africa, lion mutations wreak havoc. In India, it''s elephants. In China, panda mutations dominate. However, the most problematic mutations are those stemming from domesticated animals humans commonly raise: chickens, cows, horses, pigs, sheep, goats¡ªyou name it. Though, oddly enough, I¡¯ve never heard of a hamster mutation.


    Among these, the most dangerous are mutated dogs, descendants of wolves that once hunted humans.


    Their base combat power is formidable, thanks to their lupine heritage. They form packs and possess exceptional intelligence.


    In the southwest part of my territory, a pack of mutated dogs resides.


    The leader of this pack is a dog with golden fur, aptly named Gold. He''s a vicious and cunning creature.


    Back when the South Korean government still held some semblance of power, they issued an extermination order for Gold¡¯s pack. But no matter how many units were sent, they always returned empty-handed.


    At one point, Gold wandered into my territory, but lately, he¡¯s been content to stay in the southwest, where prey is plentiful, living the high life and proving that even dogs can have it good.


    Now, from within Gold¡¯s domain, fierce wild howls resonated, competing for dominance.


    Could the mutated dogs be fighting among themselves?


    The primal growls and roars, filled with raw violence, continued late into the afternoon.


    "SKELTON, do you hear that? Those strange noises?"


    It seemed even the sniper and her daughter could hear them.


    This time, the contact came directly from Sue.


    "Sounds like mutants. Anyway, stay safe, and Merry Christmas."


    "Merry Christmas. Mom says Merry Christmas too. Oh, and she¡¯s wondering if you¡¯ll let her use the computer around New Year¡¯s?"


    "Why?"


    "She wants to do a countdown with the forum folks using Eastern Standard Time."


    "...The computer¡¯s acting up for now. Tell her to hang on a bit longer. I¡¯ll find some satellite equipment and a new laptop for her soon. How¡¯s her injury?"


    "It¡¯s fine."


    "Good."


    ¡°...¡±


    It was a shame.


    As much trouble as Gold caused me in the past, he kept nuisances like humans, zombies, and other threats from the southwest at bay.


    Click.


    But that was over now.


    The truth is, Gold had killed dozens of humans.


    He had toyed with extermination squads like a cat playing with its prey, slaughtering them for sport. And he had filled his belly by feasting on human flesh.


    The dying dog struggled to rise, turning away from me and heading toward the lower slopes of my territory, where a mound of graves and industrial waste were scattered.


    His movements piqued my curiosity.


    Still, this could easily be a mutant¡¯s trap. I followed cautiously, keeping my guard up.


    Gold left a trail of blood as he stumbled toward an abandoned village¡ªthe same small rural community where Kim Elder once lived.


    A handful of elderly people had tried to return here to make a new start but ultimately left when scavengers began raiding their empty homes. Now, the village was nothing but ruins.


    Gold walked straight into it.


    Following his trail of blood, I entered the village I¡¯d nearly forgotten about.


    The moment I stepped inside, shards of debris crunched underfoot.


    Disgusted, I pressed on after Gold.


    At first, everything felt unfamiliar. The darkness of night clouded my vision, and the presence of a creature capable of killing me in one leap kept me tense.


    But then Gold abruptly stopped, turning his head to look at something.


    In his melancholy gaze, the black-and-white landscape seemed to transform, as if by magic, into the bustling, vibrant village that existed before the war.


    Gold¡¯s journey through the village stirred memories of places and events I hadn¡¯t thought of in years.


    When he finally came to a halt in front of a collapsed stone wall, the faint traces of what might have been his former life became clear.


    There, on a broken doghouse, was a name scrawled in fading marker: Mix.


    ¡°Mix.¡±


    When I said the name aloud, Gold¡ªor rather, Mix¡ªlooked at me.


    ¡°...Gold suits you better.¡±


    Humans are often described as vessels of memory.


    And in that respect, this dog wasn¡¯t so different from us.


    As these thoughts passed through my mind, another, seemingly unrelated pair of ideas came to me¡ªa long-standing belief that mutants couldn¡¯t be tamed and the image of a lonely woman living with nothing but a stray cat to keep her company.


    Two ideas that seemed disconnected, yet they combined into one conclusion:


    Sometimes miracles shatter even the most unshakable truths.


    Perhaps, here too, another miracle was about to occur.


    Gold¡¯s breathing changed, adopting an odd rhythm.


    At first, I thought he was taking his final breaths, but that wasn¡¯t it.


    Without the refined vocal cords of humans or an understanding of pitch, the beast clumsily attempted to mimic a human song.


    "Happy Birthday to you..."


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    I called out to him.


    When he reached the ¡°dear¡ª¡± part, Gold turned to look at me.


    ¡°Do you want to live?¡±


    It was that old disease of mine¡ªan insatiable curiosity¡ªflaring up once again.

 Chapter 26.2

    First, my thanks to Kyle Dos.


    Without the vast supply of medical supplies I¡¯d scavenged from his bunker, I wouldn¡¯t have dared to attempt treating this creature.


    It wasn¡¯t anything elaborate.


    I applied powdered antiseptic to the exposed rib area, covered it with gauze, and called it done.


    Perhaps because it was no ordinary beast, Gold growled in pain only briefly during the treatment but didn¡¯t display any hostility toward me.


    After treating his wounds, I provided food.


    I made it myself: meat from my freezer that had partially thawed during the Yun Colonel Incident and started to stink. I boiled it, mixed in supplements and edible antibiotics, and set it before him.


    Gold sniffed the food and wrinkled his nose.


    ¡°Grrr!¡±


    ¡°Hey, cut it out.¡±


    Apparently, even dogs can be picky eaters.


    Considering Gold had likely grown used to feasting on deer and wild boar, a half-rotten, freezer-burned meal probably didn¡¯t suit his tastes.


    Still, as if understanding it was necessary for his recovery, he begrudgingly stuffed the food into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed it down.


    Watching him slowly eat the meal I¡¯d prepared, I began to understand why people keep animals as pets.


    It was... hard to explain.


    As the bowl emptied, I felt like something inside me was being filled.


    I couldn¡¯t help but empathize with the feelings of "cat moms" and kept a close eye on Gold¡¯s recovery.


    As expected of a wild animal, Gold healed remarkably fast.


    In less than three days, he was able to walk¡ªalbeit slowly¡ªon his own.


    I took him to a secluded area in the mountains above the main bunker.


    Clever as he was, Gold followed my directions while remaining constantly on alert, particularly wary of the presence of other people.


    ¡°There¡¯s no one here. It¡¯s just me.¡±


    ¡°Grrrrr.¡±


    ¡°What, you¡¯ve been betrayed a lot or something?¡±


    To my surprise, Gold nodded.


    ¡°...¡±


    Just how much of my words does this dog understand?


    Feeling a chill run down my spine, I set about building a shelter for him.


    Using slate roofing materials scavenged from the village below, I patched together a roof. Inside, I spread out blankets and mats I¡¯d taken from an abandoned house, along with industrial packing materials to insulate the space.


    ¡°There. It¡¯s your house.¡±


    As soon as the shelter was complete, Gold crawled right in, curled up, and looked at me with a purring sound that almost resembled contentment.


    From his gaze, I sensed a degree of trust.


    I felt a small sense of accomplishment¡ªand the thrill of achieving something no one else had done.


    The idea of taming a mutation, something unheard of, rekindled a faint fire in my otherwise cold and indifferent veins.


    But as Gold¡¯s wounds healed and his strength returned, my pride gradually turned into unease.


    I knew all too well how dangerous a mutated dog could be.


    In close combat, they were deadlier than most monsters.


    Sometimes, as Gold rested with his head lowered, looking up at me, I would feel the urge to aim my gun and pull the trigger.


    Visions of him suddenly lunging at me, ripping through my flesh and bones, flashed through my mind.


    Each time, I calmed myself by remembering how he followed me and mimicked human songs.


    Most of all, I thought about the woman Baek Seung-hyun had once destroyed.


    Her unwavering belief, even in the face of a cat several times her size, made me wonder if trust was the key to taming a mutation.


    Still, no matter how much I tried to suppress my instincts and give him faith, I remained a cautious man by nature.


    The thought that Gold might attack me one day grew stronger with each passing moment.


    Then one day, a new visitor entered my territory.


    It was a bus.


    The K-Walkie crackled as it picked up a public broadcast frequency.


    ¡°Is there a survivor in this area? We are not raiders or military. We¡¯re ordinary civilians with a specific purpose for being here.¡±


    That voice...


    It was familiar.


    ¡°If anyone¡¯s here, please respond. We¡¯re not enemies. We only need some information. You can reply via radio if you prefer. We¡¯ve also brought a small gift¡ªfuel. Yes, fuel.¡±


    Suddenly, it clicked.


    It was Ji Chang-soo.


    A little older, a little thinner, but undoubtedly the same loyal man who once followed Je Pung-ho to the brink of death.


    But Ji Chang-soo wasn¡¯t alone.


    Through my binoculars, I spotted a woman standing beside him¡ªcalm and poised, but with a look of discontent on her face.


    It was Ji Young-hee, the woman who once tried to dissuade her father from taking his own life.


    ¡°...¡±


    What should I do?


    Revealing myself for a mere barrel of fuel didn¡¯t seem appealing, but I did have a past connection with these people.


    They¡¯d brought five armed men with them, but it didn¡¯t appear they were here for me.@@@@


    After all, I wasn¡¯t exactly someone worth going out of their way for. Judging by their trajectory, they seemed to be heading southeast.


    ¡°Stay hidden.¡±


    I whispered to Gold.


    ¡°I¡¯m just going to handle something real quick.¡±


    Gold stared at me for a moment before retreating deep into the slate-roofed shelter.


    ¡°There is a survivor here.¡±


    I picked up the K-Walkie and responded.


    At first, they didn¡¯t recognize my voice.


    ¡°It¡¯s Park Gyu.¡±


    As expected, they weren¡¯t here for me specifically.


    After a brief exchange of greetings, I invited them over.


    While Gold growled in the background, I had an idea.


    It was time to put something to the test.


    *


    ¡°...You¡¯ve been living here?¡±


    Even before turning my head, I knew why.


    Heavy breathing filled the air, and a massive shadow loomed between us.


    Standing near the main bunker, a giant dog the size of a lion glared at us.


    It was Gold.


    ¡°Gold.¡±


    Click.


    I aimed my gun at him.


    ¡°Stand down.¡±


    Gold bared his teeth at Ji Young-hee, who froze in place, her face drained of color.


    ¡°Is he... yours?¡± she stammered.


    ¡°Not exactly.¡±


    ¡°Then?!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡±


    I turned to Gold again and warned him.


    ¡°She¡¯s not an enemy. She¡¯ll leave soon. She won¡¯t hurt you.¡±


    At least toward me, Gold showed no hostility.


    His aggression was directed solely at Ji Young-hee.


    ¡°Gold.¡±


    I spoke his name again, this time with more weight.


    Voices rose from the bus.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on? Young-hee!¡±


    Ji Chang-soo¡¯s voice reached us.


    Gold glared at Ji Young-hee for a moment longer before abruptly turning and sprinting out of my territory.


    ¡°Gold...¡±


    He was leaving.


    I watched as he crossed the hills where I¡¯d built him a home, leaping down steep slopes and disappearing into the fields beyond.


    He was heading southwest¡ªback to the plains he once ruled.


    ¡°Gold.¡±


    Ji Young-hee raised her gun, aiming at his retreating figure.


    I grabbed her weapon and forced it down.


    She shot me an indignant look.


    Shaking my head, I kept my gaze fixed on the distant figure of Gold.


    ¡°...Let him go. It¡¯d be a waste of bullets.¡±


    ¡°Did you seriously try to raise that thing? A hunter, of all people?¡±


    ¡°Not raise. Just... care for him. He was badly injured. And don¡¯t they say even beasts understand gratitude?¡±


    ¡°I doubt he¡¯s bringing you a thank-you gift anytime soon.¡±


    Ji Young-hee switched her weapon¡¯s safety on and slung it over her shoulder.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting anything in return.¡±


    Far off in the fields, black shapes began to appear one by one.


    I didn¡¯t need binoculars to recognize them.


    Mutated dogs.


    They were responding to Gold¡¯s howls.


    Among them was one I hadn¡¯t seen before.


    Through my binoculars, I confirmed it¡ªa massive dog with short black fur and a face twisted like a demon. Its size rivaled that of a bull.


    So that¡¯s the one.


    The beast that injured Gold, drove him from his pack, and claimed his throne.


    Its size and appearance set it apart from any other mutated dog I¡¯d seen before.


    Ji Young-hee muttered beside me, ¡°...I really don¡¯t want to go now.¡±


    Why had Gold returned to the black dog?


    Was he planning to challenge it again?


    To reclaim his pack and territory?


    It seemed impossible.


    While Gold had recovered enough to move, he wasn¡¯t in any condition to fight a beast of that size.


    Even at his peak, I doubted he could win against that monster.


    Gold stood before the black dog, surrounded by his former pack, now standing with the newcomers.


    They no longer considered him one of their own.


    The black dog bared its teeth at Gold.


    ¡°Grrrr!¡±


    Its growl was so powerful that it reverberated across the plains, almost like a shockwave.


    But even in the face of such raw force, Gold calmly stepped forward, toward the creature that had taken everything from him.


    ¡°...Gold.¡±


    I felt a pang of regret.


    If he came back to me, I¡¯d take care of him.


    I¡¯d even give him fresh meat.


    But instead of fighting, Gold did something unexpected.


    He lowered his tail, crouched slightly, and rolled onto his back, exposing his belly.


    Even I, with my limited knowledge of dogs, recognized the gesture¡ªit was a sign of submission.


    Once the leader of the pack, Gold was acknowledging the stronger dog¡¯s dominance, asking to be accepted back into the group.


    ¡°...Hah.¡±


    A deep sigh escaped me.


    Disappointment in Gold mingled with the realization that my feverish curiosity had been extinguished.


    Perhaps taming a mutation had always been a fool¡¯s errand.


    Some wolves became dogs. Others remained wolves until the end.


    Gold had chosen the path of the wolf.


    ¡°Even dogs know how to change their stance when the situation calls for it,¡± Ji Young-hee quipped bitterly.


    ¡°My father¡¯s worse than that dog.¡±

 Chapter 26.3

    Now that Gold had rejoined his pack, it was only logical for me to join Ji Chang-soo¡¯s group.


    If Gold knew my location and decided to lead his pack to kill me, I¡¯d be defenseless.


    ¡°With Hunter Park Gyu on our side, it¡¯s like we¡¯ve gained a thousand reinforcements!¡±


    Ji Chang-soo¡¯s subordinates, former employees of his company, didn¡¯t look particularly reliable. But their weapons were good, and their numbers offered strength.


    Mutations are honest enemies.


    Without sufficient firepower, they¡¯re a living nightmare. But with enough firepower, hunting them isn¡¯t much different from the safaris white men once conducted in Africa.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fire too early. Wait until you can see the whites of their eyes, then fire in volleys. Accuracy is more important than anything else.¡±


    Hiding our forces behind a gentle hill, I climbed the hill alone to scout.


    There they were.


    Five mutated dogs.


    That¡¯s a manageable number¡ªchallenging for rifles alone but no match for a heavy machine gun.


    But something seemed off.


    Where were the rest? The pack I saw earlier numbered at least ten.


    And more importantly, where was Gold?


    I didn¡¯t see him. He had clearly been accepted back into the pack.


    It wasn¡¯t a bad thing, though.


    If Gold wasn¡¯t here, he wouldn¡¯t get caught up in the impending slaughter.


    Half relieved, I fired a shot at one of the mutated dogs.


    Bang!


    Blood sprayed from its shoulder, but that was it.


    Mutated dogs don¡¯t die from a single bullet.


    To kill one in a single shot, you¡¯d need to target the soft cartilage under its jaw to destroy its brain or aim for the small gaps in its shoulder blade to pierce its heart. But attempting that in the heat of battle is near impossible.


    The mutated dogs locked onto me and began growling in unison. Moments later, they charged with terrifying speed.


    The battle had begun.


    I quickly retreated down the hill, shouting to Ji Chang-soo and his team as they fumbled with their weapons.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming. Get ready.¡±


    I didn¡¯t expect this fight to be particularly difficult.


    As long as we held our ground and shot each one as they appeared, we¡¯d win.


    We had seven people armed with 5.56mm automatic rifles, not mere popguns.


    Even if their aim was off, the heavy machine gun would clean up the rest while the dogs were distracted by us.


    No matter how strong their tendons and bones were, mutated dogs couldn¡¯t withstand the punch of a 12.7mm heavy machine gun.


    The gunner, Jung Joong-sa, was reliable¡ªa veteran soldier with experience on the front lines, recruited by Ji Chang-soo.


    As a contingency, Ji Young-hee was at the bus¡¯s wheel, engine running, ready to plow through the dogs and extract us if necessary.


    And most importantly, I, Park Gyu, was here.


    Even if Ji Chang-soo¡¯s group only performed half as well as expected, I could handle the rest.


    If only Kim Daram were still in contact, we could kill them all with ease.


    Click.


    I loaded an extra round into my magazine, unwilling to waste even a single bullet, and attached it to my rifle.


    ¡°Here they come.¡±


    I could hear the dogs¡¯ heavy breathing beyond the ridge.


    The first one appeared at the base of the hill.


    Tat-tat-tat!


    The heavy machine gun roared, and with just three rounds, one mutated dog exploded into a spray of blood.


    I gave a thumbs-up.


    ¡°Nice shot.¡±


    But then...


    ¡°Damn it.¡±


    I had underestimated them¡ªor rather, I had underestimated Gold.


    This was the same Gold who had survived countless hunts and extermination squads, who had ruled as the lord of the southwest since the early days of the war.


    If he were human, he would¡¯ve been considered a founding monarch.


    Facing him now, I could see why. He was no ordinary dog¡ªhe was a cunning, intelligent adversary, like a person on four legs.


    Gold was targeting the bus.


    ¡°Jung Joong-sa!¡±


    I shouted a warning to the gunner.


    True to his training, Jung Joong-sa quickly ducked back into the vent where he had been exposed. But Gold wasn¡¯t after him.


    Clang!


    Gold¡¯s jaws clamped down on the heavy machine gun¡¯s barrel, crushing it with incredible force.


    ¡°Grrrrr.¡±


    We lost our most powerful weapon at the very start of the fight.


    Ji Young-hee slammed the accelerator, shaking Gold off the bus. But the damage was done¡ªthe machine gun was useless.


    Meanwhile, more massive dogs began appearing over the ridge.


    Ji Chang-soo¡¯s subordinates paled and started retreating in panic.


    ¡°Stay calm. It¡¯s not over yet. Just follow my lead¡ª¡±


    This battle was...


    ¡°Young-hee! Young-hee! Get over here!¡±


    ¡°Aaaaah!¡±


    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t have come!¡±


    ¡°Run!¡±


    ¡°Where?!¡±


    Hopeless.


    Or perhaps my mistake was underestimating Gold in the first place.


    Who would¡¯ve thought a dog could behave like this?


    Gold wasn¡¯t just a dog.


    If he had been born human, he would¡¯ve been an exceptional warrior.


    Tat-tat-tat!


    I fired my rifle, killing a dog mid-leap with a shot that tore through its mouth and out the back of its skull.


    Tat-tat!


    I aimed suppressive fire at another dog circling to my side, while picking up a discarded rifle to fend off a third flanking from the opposite side.


    Bang!


    ¡°Yelp!¡±


    Blood sprayed from the dog¡¯s side, but it was likely just a minor wound.


    Two dogs lunged at me simultaneously, as if they had planned it.


    Perhaps it wasn¡¯t either.


    Maybe it was simply the deep-seated instinct of a dog¡ªan instinct so powerful that even the intelligence granted by mutation couldn¡¯t override it.


    After all, without humans, dogs are just another kind of wolf.


    *


    Ji Chang-soo¡¯s quest for his former master ended in vain.


    Though no lives were lost, the group had forfeited a critical weapon, and the spirit of its members had been broken.


    His subordinates, former employees of his company, whispered about me as though I were a monster.


    ¡°Is he even human? I¡¯ve seen Awakened before, but he¡¯s on a whole other level.¡±


    ¡°So the rumors about him being an S-Class Hunter were true. But what was with that dog?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Everything¡¯s just so confusing.¡±


    Amid their murmurs, Ji Young-hee walked straight toward me, her gaze unflinching.


    Her intense stare made me uncomfortable until she abruptly spoke.


    ¡°Would you like to come to Jeju Island with us?¡±


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°A ship to Jeju is departing soon. We have tickets. With them, we can secure a good place to stay there.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s... quite sudden.¡±


    ¡°You know how important Jeju Island is right now, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I understand that, but why should I go?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re single, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Ji Young-hee smiled warmly.


    Even with her disheveled hair and slight dirtiness, her natural beauty made her presence striking.


    Feeling overwhelmed by her forwardness, I averted my gaze.


    ¡°That¡¯s true, but...¡±


    She looked up at the sky as she continued.


    ¡°They say even a brief encounter is fate. This is our second meeting, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I feel like someone like you wouldn¡¯t leave me widowed a second time. I also think I¡¯d adapt more easily to a new life on Jeju with you.¡±


    She clasped her hands, fidgeting with her fingers.


    I noticed she was removing her ring.


    The sight of the shimmering band slipping off her elegant fingers momentarily caught my attention.


    I turned to her and asked, ¡°Is this... a proposal?¡±


    ¡°Yes. A serious proposal.¡±


    Holding up the ring, she gave a coy smile before glancing at the carcasses of the mutated dogs strewn around us.


    ¡°It¡¯s that kind of world now, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    I understood her reasoning, but a marriage proposal out of nowhere was still bewildering.


    Sure, she was beautiful, came from a good family, and had the means to survive in this hellish era¡ªevidenced by the bus, mercenaries, and a heavy machine gun her group had secured. But this was too sudden.


    ¡°...I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯m not thinking about marriage right now.¡±


    I took a step back.


    ¡°You¡¯re not exactly young. Aren¡¯t you already in your mid-thirties?¡±


    ¡°Still early thirties, thank you very much.¡±


    ¡°Am I the problem?¡±


    Ji Young-hee stepped closer.


    The faint scent of her presence reached my nose, a subtle but noticeable fragrance that teased my instincts.


    It was the calculated move of a woman who knew her allure and how to wield it.


    She was undeniably attractive.


    Letting her go would leave a tinge of regret.


    And as a man, it was impossible not to feel drawn to a young, beautiful woman.


    But this wasn¡¯t the way.


    I knew too little about her, and this wasn¡¯t a reasonable arrangement.


    Above all, I could see her intent.


    The kind of intent that only humans¡ªor rather, only the cunning¡ªcould possess.


    ¡°You¡¯re more than charming enough, Young-hee.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    She looked at me expectantly, but my answer had been decided from the start.


    ¡°I must decline your proposal.¡±


    Surprise flickered across her face, but only briefly.


    Her expression softened into a faint smile as she nodded and stepped away.


    ¡°I see. I¡¯m sorry for saying something so foolish.¡±


    This was the result I wanted.


    Yet, as I watched her walk away, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a pang of regret.


    ¡°...Hah.¡±


    In the distance, the howls of dogs echoed.


    Black dots dotted the abandoned field, gradually fading from sight.


    It was Gold and his new pack.


    After fighting alongside me in the brutal battle, the dogs had sensed defeat and begun to retreat.


    Gold swiftly left my side and reasserted himself as their leader.


    He had returned to where he belonged.


    In the end, the true victor of this battle might very well be that cunning dog.


    With a gesture of respect, I raised my thumb toward the retreating figure.


    In response, a bark echoed back¡ªa sound that felt oddly like a birthday song.


    *


    Since then, animal carcasses occasionally appeared at the edge of my territory.


    Deer, boars, and even the occasional wild cow¡ªonce, Gold even dragged in a feral yellow dog.


    I owned books on butchering and dismembering game, though I¡¯d never tried it before due to my meticulous nature.


    Now, I might have to.


    My meat supply was running low, after all.


    When patrolling my territory, I sometimes felt it.


    From the ridge beyond, Gold¡¯s golden fur would glint in the sunlight as he watched over me.


    I never posted this story on the forums.

 Chapter 27.1

    Snow piled softly on the ground.


    A brick hearth burned steadily.


    Branches crackled and popped in the modest fire, their embers glowing warmly.@@@@


    A kettle steamed as it boiled, and a packet of instant coffee sat nearby, ready to be opened.


    Pouring just the right amount of water into a stainless steel cup and mixing the instant coffee¡ªit was my breakfast for the day.


    Despite all that had happened, this winter was peaceful.


    Compared to the chaotic autumn or even last winter, this season had been unusually calm.


    Perhaps this was one positive effect of the civil war.


    In Seoul, thousands of people died daily, and millions fled as refugees, but for me, that was a distant world.


    Looking back now, it¡¯s embarrassing to admit, but there was a time during school when I thought I might save the world.


    Back then, ¡°The Last Explorer,¡± Jason Choi, seemed convincing enough to make me believe it was possible.


    As the first human in the world to supposedly step through a Rift and set foot on alien soil, he captivated global media with a shocking claim:


    ¡°Rifts can be closed.¡±


    Before I even graduated, Jason Choi became one of the key reasons Korean Americans suffered a tarnished reputation in American society.


    It was all a lie.


    He had never entered a Rift, let alone fought a monster.


    The landscapes he described beyond the Rifts were completely unlike anything we¡¯d come to know, and the so-called friendly small animals he claimed to have seen only existed in his imagination.


    When the creatures we now call ¡°Small Types¡± began emerging from the Rifts and slaughtering humans, the man who had supposedly ventured into the Rifts fled faster than anyone else.


    Jason Choi never went to prison, but he got caught up in an astronomical number of lawsuits and was ultimately swept away in the fallout of a nuclear explosion.


    Some users on American forums still claim he¡¯s alive, but it¡¯s more of a running meme than a serious belief.


    Whether Jason Choi is alive or not doesn¡¯t concern me.


    But on our forum, there¡¯s a man who¡¯s been resurrected, almost like Jesus.


    SUNBI: ??????? 1234


    Sunbi.


    A man as dedicated to his desires as he was to elegance and style. This charming rogue had once been at the heart of the infamous Yuri incident, where he was killed alongside Demian04.


    Defender, who cleaned up the scene back then, had confirmed their deaths.


    Yet, here was Sunbi, appearing on the forum again, seemingly risen from the dead.


    In a world where walking corpses are now commonplace, his sudden reappearance sent a chilling terror through the forum¡¯s users.


    Even I, Park Gyu, started sleeping with the lights on.


    It¡¯s only natural to feel afraid.


    Not only had a dead man reappeared, but the messages he sent were utterly incomprehensible¡ªfar removed from anything a sane human could write.


    Message from SUNBI: ????????? ??????????


    It didn¡¯t take long for word to spread that Sunbi was sending similarly bizarre messages to other users. A sharp observation from one user quickly defused the fear Sunbi¡¯s resurrection had caused.


    Anonymous848: Didn¡¯t Sunbi leave his bunker behind when he died? Could someone else have taken it and logged onto the forum?


    I agreed with this theory.


    Defender: I buried Sunbi myself. He¡¯s definitely dead.


    Defender once again confirmed Sunbi¡¯s death.


    However, one user continued to advocate a different perspective.


    berkut_break: What if it really is Sunbi himself?


    This user, Berkut Break, was someone I had no particular connection with.


    He hung around the fringes of the forum, discussing auteur cinema and postmodernism with others who shared his pretentious taste.


    Still, he seemed to enjoy DragonC¡¯s comics and Foxgames¡¯ games, so he wasn¡¯t entirely insufferable.


    I dug into his history.


    Sure enough, Dentist_Kim had been an active user since three years before the war, a forum veteran.


    Dentist_Kim: "Hello. Never thought I¡¯d join a site like this, but with how things are..."


    Dentist_Kim: "Thinking about how dentists can survive during wartime."


    Dentist_Kim: "(From English forum) How dentists can survive post-apocalypse."


    Dentist_Kim: "Hey, John Lennon (French user), you copied and pasted that post. I DMed you, but no reply. Let¡¯s discuss publicly."


    Dentist_Kim: "(Photo) Secondhand dental unit chair I bought."


    That was it. Five posts total.


    His activity stopped exactly one month before the war began.


    Though sparse, his posts showed he was serious about apocalypse survival.


    Oddly enough, he seemed to be the catalyst for John Lennon''s downfall on the forum.


    I clicked on one of his posts:


    Dentist_Kim: "(From English forum) How dentists can survive post-apocalypse."


    "No medical field has benefited from modern technology as dramatically as dentistry. Imagine a world without handpieces. You¡¯d need to lift weights to subdue patients and develop nerves of steel to handle their tantrums¡ªnot to mention the legal risks if they die under your care..."


    I read another post.


    Dentist_Kim: "Thinking about how dentists can survive during wartime."


    "In disaster movies, doctors are always seen as essential¡ªwhether with survivors or villains. But dentists? Not so much. Why? Equipment. Imagine a post-apocalyptic world with a sleek dental chair, handpieces, and suction devices running on self-generated power. That dentist would be indispensable."


    His posts were surprisingly engaging. A survivalist with a different background and mindset than mine, contemplating his path in a ruined world¡ªit was interesting.


    Before the war, the forum had plenty of useful posts like these. Even the craziest users were once considered normal.


    Back then, I, Park Gyu, probably had a better reputation too...


    In any case, it was clear that Dentist_Kim had dental knowledge and experience. Judging by the upscale house in Pangyo he mentioned, he was likely a top-tier, high-earning dentist before the collapse.


    I sent him a message.


    It took three days to get a reply.


    Dentist_Kim sent a photo.


    It was a basement filled with dental equipment¡ªchairs, drills, lights.


    This was it. The ultimate apocalyptic dental clinic.


    The facility matched the ambitions he outlined five years ago.


    Dentist_Kim: "Here¡¯s my setup. Since you¡¯re a fellow forum user, I¡¯ll give you a discount."


    Then came the conditions.


    Message from Dentist_Kim: "Unopened single malt whiskey or a carton of pre-war cigarettes (menthols count as half). Whiskey must¡¯ve been under ?100,000 before the war. Luxury goods are welcome too (watches, bags, clothes¡ªChanel or Gucci level, and in good condition)."


    His demands felt out of place in today¡¯s world. Nostalgic, even.


    But I didn¡¯t have what he wanted.


    I had a few cigarettes left, but not enough for a full carton.


    I tried to negotiate.


    Message from Dentist_Kim: "No bargaining~"


    No dice.


    I had no choice but to call my one and only friend.


    Defender: "Luxury goods? I¡¯ve got some. Maybe. What do you need? Hermes? Chanel?"


    What a useful friend.


    But then, he made an unexpected proposal.


    Defender: "In exchange, ask him to treat us too."


    SKELTON: (Skeleton shocked) "Us?"


    Defender: "My sister¡¯s tooth hurts too."


    SKELTON: "Isn¡¯t this too sudden?"


    Defender: (Serious) "If I show up, he won¡¯t treat me. You know that."


    ¡°...¡±


    He had a point.


    And so, the plan began.

 Chapter 27.2

    "Skeleton!"


    I met the Defender siblings on the way to Pangyo.


    They were riding an old scooter, with the younger sister steering for some reason.


    Noticing my puzzled look, the sister shrugged and glanced back at me.


    "I''m better at driving."


    Defender, awkwardly seated behind her, stared at my face.


    "You not eating well these days?"


    "Why?"


    "You look thinner than before."


    "I just don¡¯t have much of an appetite."


    The sister gave me a scrutinizing look and asked hesitantly, "Want us to share some food?"


    "I¡¯m fine. It¡¯s just the appetite, nothing else."


    Sure, "preserved food" might sound fancy, but after two years of eating it, just the smell is enough to make you gag.


    Then again, maybe I¡¯m speaking from a place of privilege.


    "How much do you have left? Seriously, if you¡¯re starving, we¡¯ll share."


    "I said I¡¯m fine. What about you two?"


    "Us? Maybe three months¡¯ worth left."


    Three months isn''t much time.


    But I wasn¡¯t too worried. These two wouldn¡¯t starve sitting still; they¡¯d kill someone and take their food if they had to.


    "Let¡¯s move. Before the sun sets."


    "Alright."


    Dentist_Kim¡¯s house-slash-clinic was in a luxury residential area in Pangyo.


    The neighboring Bundang New Town had been almost annihilated during the war, and Pangyo¡¯s downtown was so thoroughly bombed it was unrecognizable. But the suburban upscale housing district had somehow avoided the worst of the destruction.


    That untouched state had allowed it to retain its status as a luxury area even after the war.


    Before the National Committee left, a high-ranking official had commandeered one of the mansions. Later, the military took over and used it as official residences.


    Contrary to what m9 believed, the generals chose luxury homes over apartments.


    At the entrance to the neighborhood, soldiers stood guard.


    Dentist_Kim had apparently informed the military about us in advance, but approaching armed soldiers is never easy.


    Fortunately, it seemed the Corps faction still maintained discipline.


    "Ah, Dr. Kim mentioned you. His house is that way," a well-groomed officer said, pointing toward a house with solar panels.


    "Be careful. Oh, and one more thing," the officer added with a bright smile, fitting for his cool mask-like demeanor.


    "It might hurt a little."


    The neighborhood was tightly secured, as expected for the residence of Corps faction leaders.


    Armed soldiers were stationed everywhere, and anti-drone jamming equipment sat atop air defense trucks.


    We spotted a few civilians, but they appeared to be contractors or suppliers connected to the military rather than residents.


    "Is it this house? Or that one?"


    Coincidentally, the location the officer pointed to had two adjacent houses.


    Both had exposed concrete in an industrial style, making them look like a single unit from afar.


    "Aren¡¯t they the same house? Looks like the same architect designed them," Defender''s sister remarked while inspecting the houses.


    "Could be," Defender agreed. "When rich people team up, they¡¯re closer than brothers."


    I examined the two mansions.


    Their style was similar¡ªcourtyard-centered with tall walls surrounding the buildings.


    But the atmosphere of each was starkly different.


    The closer house had peeling paint, scars on the door from sharp and blunt impacts, and signs it had been forcibly closed off. Sandbags and barricades scattered around hinted at the storms it had weathered.


    The other house was pristine.


    Despite being of the same design, it showed no signs of damage. In fact, soldiers were stationed at its gate.


    We decided to approach the run-down house first.


    Defender pressed the doorbell.


    A shadow flitted across the second-floor window before the door cracked open, revealing a woman.


    Though she didn¡¯t appear very old, her face was marked with a deep, sorrowful gloom.


    "Who¡¯s there?"


    She spoke cautiously through the safety chain, her tone wary.


    "Is this Dr. Kim¡¯s house?" Defender asked cheerfully, flashing a salesman¡¯s grin.


    The woman muttered something under her breath before pointing to the other house.


    "If you¡¯re looking for someone called Dr. Kim, they¡¯re over there."


    "Thank you."


    As the woman began to close the door, a child¡¯s voice suddenly burst out from inside.


    "That¡¯s not Dr. Kim! They¡¯re not at Dr. Kim¡¯s house!"


    The shout, tinged with desperation, was muffled as the door shut. Shortly after, we heard the woman scolding the child harshly.


    As we walked toward the other mansion, we could still hear the faint sound of the child crying.


    Defender¡¯s sister glanced at me.


    "Something feels off," she muttered.


    Then, looking at me with a thoughtful expression, she asked in a small voice, "What do you think, Skeleton?"


    "...Not sure."


    Something was definitely wrong.


    You¡¯d have to be an idiot not to sense it.


    But I couldn¡¯t pinpoint exactly what.


    My tooth still ached, and I wanted it fixed.


    The sister slowed her pace to match mine, then suddenly shoved her phone screen in my face.


    [See? Good thing we came together, right?]


    Her notepad habit.


    Not only did he remove the cavity, but he also filled it with amalgam¡ªan unheard-of luxury in these times.


    I ran my tongue over the smooth, hardened filling, feeling an immense sense of satisfaction.


    Next up was Defender¡¯s sister.


    She had a large cavity in one of her molars.


    "Hmm, you¡¯ll need a root canal for this," Dentist_Kim said.


    At the mention of a root canal, the sister looked up at me with teary eyes and held up her phone.


    [Help me, Skeleton ??]


    "...¡±


    I had a feeling.


    Casually turning my head, I asked Dentist_Kim,


    ¡°...Can you do anesthesia?¡±


    ¡°Anesthesia requires some special meds. If you want it, there¡¯ll be an extra cost. We usually reserve it for VVIPs, like the generals.¡±


    ¡°Will this work?¡±


    I pulled out a vial of local anesthetic I had brought just in case.


    ¡°Oh. Do you have a syringe too?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Tears welled up in Defender¡¯s sister¡¯s eyes.


    She tapped furiously on her tablet and held it up for me to see.


    [ I LOVE YOU ]


    "...¡±


    As expected, her social skills were on par with a wild animal.


    It took a great deal of effort to get the anesthetic injection done¡ªshe screamed and struggled, forcing me to hold her in place and keep her still.


    Once the anesthesia took effect, though, she cooperated with the procedure, and calm returned to the clinic.


    ¡°I¡¯ll step out for a bit,¡± Defender said, leaving the room.


    I watched him as he walked out, and he shook his head at me.


    Probably didn¡¯t need any treatment himself.


    In the quiet clinic, the faint hum of the dental handpiece filled the air. I let my mind wander, reminiscing about scenes from the past, as I waited for time to pass.


    *


    ¡°Ah... m-my tooth... it¡¯s not opening...¡±


    We left the house with Defender¡¯s sister, her cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk.


    Dentist_Kim and his family escorted us to the front door with the utmost courtesy.


    ¡°Take care on your way home. If you ever need another treatment, feel free to visit! Viva! Apocalypse! members are always welcome!¡±


    He remained polite until the end.


    Though pragmatic and calculative, his treatment was competent, and seeing a family living with such composure during these chaotic times was strangely uplifting.


    But when Defender approached me with a sly grin, it felt like all the suspicions I had brushed aside were now spreading open like a fan, laying themselves bare before me.


    ¡°As expected... he¡¯s a fake.¡±


    Defender had slipped away earlier and visited the neighboring house.


    I wasn¡¯t sure how he managed it, but he coaxed the somber woman there into recounting the tragedy that had occurred in this place.


    The conclusion was exactly as I had faintly suspected.


    To put it bluntly, the Dentist_Kim who had once shared his grand aspirations on the community forum and the Dentist_Kim who treated us were two completely different people.


    ¡°...Apparently, he used to work under the real dentist. Right after the war broke out, when rioters stormed this area, he came here claiming he¡¯d help his former employer. But that was just the start of the tragedy for the real Dentist_Kim.¡±


    The pristine equipment in the basement and the awards and plaques decorating the reception room did not belong to him.


    The luxurious clothes and bags worn by his wife were not hers.


    Even the high-end children¡¯s clothes on their daughter were not theirs.


    Nothing in that house belonged to them.


    The murderer and his family hadn¡¯t just taken the lives of another family¡ªthey had stolen their entire existence.


    ¡°...¡±


    But the treatment I received was flawless.


    That family didn¡¯t pose any threat to me, nor did they treat me unfairly.


    They were nothing but courteous and respectful to us from start to finish.


    From a patient¡¯s perspective, could there be a more ideal doctor-patient relationship?


    ¡°What do we do?¡±


    Defender seemed ready to kill them. His sister, too.


    Lacking any grand sense of justice, they merely wanted an excuse, and they sought my agreement.


    ¡°...¡±


    I thought about it briefly, then sighed and looked at them.


    ¡°Let¡¯s leave them be.¡±


    ¡°...You sure?¡±


    That brief exchange carried an unexpected weight.


    When Defender clenched his left molar tightly, it was likely an unspoken sign of his reluctant agreement.


    There wasn¡¯t any real need to kill them.


    In some ways, the current Dentist_Kim and the dead Dentist_Kim were not entirely different.


    In fact, the new Dentist_Kim might even be an improvement over the old one.


    Perhaps Defender had thought the same in that brief moment of consideration.


    And yet¡ª


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    Something came loose in my mouth.


    When I spat it out, it was the freshly inserted amalgam filling.


    I stared blankly at the piece of amalgam in my palm, and Defender turned to me with a wry smile.


    ¡°So, what do we do now?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    The conclusion was the same, but for a moment, I hesitated again.

 Chapter 28.1

    They say humans are deceitful creatures.


    I¡¯m no exception.


    The moment my toothache was gone, I fell right back into the swamp of lethargy, endlessly refreshing the community board, scrolling through popular threads, and dwelling on questions like, Why can¡¯t I succeed too? It was as if time itself had turned into a homework assignment I couldn¡¯t escape.


    Recently, the hottest topic on the board has been none other than the resurrected Sunbi.


    The strange ramblings that once characterized Sunbi¡¯s posts had begun to morph into something more comprehensible.


    SUNBI: So, turns out the keyboard was set to some weird layout. What the hell is this ¡°three-set¡± nonsense? Old people use the weirdest stuff.


    Not all deaths are equal, but Sunbi¡¯s death had always carried an air of ambiguity, open to colorful interpretations.


    Yet no matter how it was spun, the fact remained: there had been a woman involved in Sunbi¡¯s demise.


    And perhaps because of that...


    SUNBI: Hi there, oppas and ajusshis!


    Sunbi had returned... as a girl.


    The blurry photo posted¡ªangled perfectly to accentuate her features in the dim, bunker-like lighting¡ªshowed the youthful face of a girl in her mid-to-late teens.


    SUNBI: You guys aren¡¯t A.I. or anything, right? You¡¯re real people, right?


    The community board exploded.


    It had been a quiet winter so far, with peace treaties and no new Pioneers causing a stir.


    But now, this new Sunbi, an obvious attention-grabber, had appeared.


    SUNBI: Sunbi doing her makeup~


    SUNBI: Sunbi is hungry.


    SUNBI: Where¡¯s Sunbi from? If you¡¯re curious, why don¡¯t you come find me?


    SUNBI: I live near Pyeongtaek. Any oppas or ajusshis nearby?


    Had it stopped there, things might not have escalated.


    After all, the board¡¯s reactions weren¡¯t entirely negative at first.


    unicorn18: Sunbi-chan~ Any more pics?


    Anonymous848: I¡¯m near Pyeongtaek too. (wink wink)


    DragonC: Hm.


    keystone: Here¡¯s my lunch pic. (feat. beef)


    Anonymous458: Sunbi¡¯s ugly.


    ...


    ...


    For some reason, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to care about this topic.


    Sipping my coffee, I thought about it, and the reason became clear.


    Resentment.


    Watching someone who hadn¡¯t endured the ridicule or societal judgment that we preppers had faced ride into our community like a freeloader¡ªthis grated on me.


    My recent encounter with Dentist_Kim had probably amplified those feelings.


    But I wasn¡¯t the only one with such resentment.


    In fact, the person harboring the most animosity wasn¡¯t even me.


    It was Sunbi themselves.


    And they soon revealed who they truly were.


    SUNBI: You¡¯re all a bunch of fucking rats.


    The next photo revealed a group of five young people¡ªthree boys and two girls¡ªeach in their mid-to-late teens, their faces still tinged with adolescent innocence.


    SUNBI: The country¡¯s falling apart, and you lot? Not fighting, not helping anyone¡ªjust burrowing into your rat holes, hoarding food, clothes, fuel, and lounging around on the internet? Really?


    They were outsiders.


    From the start, they had been different from us. Even after joining us, they mocked us, cursed us¡ªan oil-and-water relationship if there ever was one.


    Their youth, too, contributed to the collective sense of alienation.


    The board members responded with a collective tactic: ignoring them.


    But the silent treatment, a sophisticated form of retaliation for us, was an alien language to these outsiders.


    SUNBI: Here¡¯s a frozen corpse I found today (feat. a happy family).


    SUNBI: Hanging corpse.jpg (feat. the Army faction).


    SUNBI: Come look at this cute baby.


    SUNBI: A family with their dog.


    ...


    ...


    They flooded the board with their photographs, undeterred.


    Each post had a title, but the content was always the same.


    Death.


    The ¡°cute baby¡± was a frozen infant. The ¡°family with their dog¡± were corpses alongside their pet.


    Every image was soaked in misery and despair.


    SUNBI: Here¡¯s a woman who was gang-raped to death and her husband who hung himself.jpg.


    One of their posts caught my eye by chance.


    ¡°...¡±


    It wasn¡¯t just the grotesque corpses that Sunbi wanted to show us.


    What they truly intended to reveal lay beyond the images.


    The things we knew but didn¡¯t want to acknowledge. The things we avoided seeing.


    The raw, unfiltered reality of the apocalypse.


    SUNBI: You disgusting bastards. People are dying like this, and all you do is giggle and gossip here? Huh? Is this fun for you? Does watching the world burn amuse you?


    Their actions ignited a fire in the hearts of the community members.


    Perhaps this communal hunt for Sunbi was yet another sign of impending collapse.


    Before leaving my bunker, I checked the board one last time.


    SUNBI: When are you coming, you old farts?


    SUNBI: What¡¯s with you old geezers? You spent your school days getting beaten up, and now that you¡¯re older, you think you¡¯re tough shit?


    iamjesus: Turn the other cheek. (Matthew 5:39)


    SUNBI: Should I just come find you myself? Start hunting you all down, one by one?


    ...


    ...


    Still, Sunbi continued to taunt us.


    But the increased frequency and intensity of their insults hinted at something beyond mere mockery.


    Perhaps even they were beginning to sense it.


    That this community they had stumbled upon wasn¡¯t as trivial as they¡¯d assumed.


    That a group of adults was willing to risk their lives to punish a few reckless teenagers.


    I didn¡¯t deny that I was one of them.


    Even if I had no intention of killing, I had joined the hunt, a willing participant in the mob.


    If it turned out that these kids were actually cunning looters luring us into a death trap, I wouldn¡¯t hesitate to join in killing them.


    After all, that¡¯s exactly what Defender had asked of me.


    With my gear prepared, I headed to the meeting point.


    When I arrived, several users had already gathered, armed and equipped, clustered in groups of two or three.


    Though we were allies, their hands instinctively went to their weapons as soon as I approached.


    ¡°Nickname?¡±


    A burly man with a thick beard and a large scar across his cheek barked the question, his sharp eyes fixed on me.


    ¡°SKELTON.¡±


    ¡°Oh. So, you¡¯re Skelton?¡±


    ¡°And you are?¡±


    ¡°Dies_Irae69. Just call me Dies. Honestly, it¡¯s a stupid nickname I made up without thinking.¡±


    Dies_Irae.


    He was the one who had proposed the group hunt.


    He didn¡¯t seem particularly interested in me as a person.


    What caught his attention was my weapon.


    ¡°Oh, Chinese-made, huh? Where¡¯d you get it?¡±


    ¡°Here and there. Call it the black market route.¡±


    ¡°Got it. You have much combat experience?¡±


    ¡°Not much.¡±


    ¡°Then stay back and just watch. We¡¯ll handle everything.¡±


    As we waited, more users arrived one by one.


    Each time, Dies personally verified their identities.


    If a traitor had infiltrated, Dies would probably be the first to die. It took guts to shoulder that risk.


    All the users had come from the west¡ªspecifically the southwestern areas.


    No one had come from the east.


    When asked for their nicknames, they each provided one.


    ¡°Anonymous848.¡±


    ¡°ROKA_hun.¡±


    ¡°Chouchou.¡±


    ¡°Anonymous1001.¡±


    Some were familiar faces from the board, while others were complete strangers.


    The age range was broad, from early thirties to mid-sixties.


    There were almost no users in their twenties.


    Perhaps they had been in their twenties when the apocalypse began, but after two years of war, they¡¯d all aged into their thirties.


    Just like me.


    By the time everyone had arrived, we numbered ten in total.


    It wasn¡¯t a small number.


    I hadn¡¯t expected such a turnout.


    It showed just how deeply the new Sunbi had struck a nerve.


    But there was something else.


    Something you could only sense in person.


    Yes, this was a gathering to punish Sunbi.


    But it was also something more.


    The constant glances, the cautious questions about each other¡¯s well-being, the shared tales of hardship and isolation, the subtle hints of loneliness and mounting danger¡ªall of it pointed to one thing.


    Connection.


    Dies_Irae clarified the true nature of this meeting.


    ¡°Once this is over, let¡¯s exchange info. That¡¯s why we¡¯re all here anyway, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The organizer himself had revealed the meeting¡¯s hidden purpose.


    Bringing the board¡¯s connections into the real world.


    Perhaps that was the true reason for this strange gathering.


    ¡°Alright then. Let¡¯s go kill Sunbi.¡±

 Chapter 28.2

    Before the war, there was always a fiercely debated topic that divided opinions.


    Should people survive as a collective group in the coming apocalypse, or as individuals?


    The age-old debate was gradually tilting toward collectivism.


    The main argument for individualism, as supported by people like me, was visibility¡ªor rather, the inevitability of being noticed. Group systems, by their very nature, attract stronger challenges and ultimately crumble under pressure.


    And indeed, there were cases of collapse.


    For instance, the fortress of Chairman Park Cheol-joo, the ultimate symbol of collective survivalism, ended up in complete ruins.


    But individualism had its own set of significant issues, and they weren¡¯t about external threats so much as they were rooted in human nature.


    Not everyone is inherently suited to being a recluse.


    I thought I was, but the reality unfolding around me showed that I, too, was an ordinary person who needed others.


    Spending years alone in a dark, enclosed space, unsure when death might strike, is not an easy feat.


    Sure, there could be periods of tranquility.


    But even the smallest change in daily life can spiral into uncontrollable fear and worry.


    The idea that small, daily discomforts and pains lead to mental illness is a belief I hold firmly.


    In my case, I eliminate the source of danger altogether, but most people endure those little discomforts and live with them.


    You can¡¯t fix it.


    The majority of the suffering and inconvenience one experiences in a bunker lifestyle is determined at the planning and design stage of the bunker itself.


    As a result, many people gave up midway or ended up changing in strange ways.


    Even I, who hadn¡¯t participated in any online communities before the war, found myself depending on them to the point of suspecting community addiction.


    The way one dies is also different.


    Dying alongside someone who fights with you, buries you, and mourns for you is an entirely different kind of death compared to dying alone in cold isolation.


    There¡¯s another issue, though.


    It¡¯s the flow of the times.


    I thought Seoul would turn into something like Beijing.


    When a city collapses and its systems fail, I expected millions of refugees to scatter, triggering a chain reaction of destruction.


    But South Korea was different.


    Whether it was because the lies of our leaders were more effective, or because people had a stronger faith in them compared to the Chinese, Seoul¡¯s citizens chose to stay and die in place rather than attempt mass migration in the face of catastrophe.


    They were far too optimistic.


    Or perhaps their environment left them no other choice but to cling to hope, unable to imagine consuming anything else.


    Unlike China, with its vast land and resources, the Korean Peninsula was small, and disasters converged within that narrow space.


    If such trends continue, collectivism might indeed prevail.


    It¡¯s not my fault.


    No one can see the future.


    Just because what happened in China didn¡¯t happen in Korea doesn¡¯t mean the prediction was wrong. Interpreting it that way would be overly results-oriented.


    "Hello, this is SKELTON."


    I used every opportunity to engage in conversations with people whenever the chance arose.


    "SKELTON? Oh, you''re younger than I expected."


    "You¡¯re SKELTON? You¡¯re nothing like what I imagined."


    "Wait, why would someone normal-looking like you do the things you post on the boards?"


    The reactions were strange.


    I knew my popularity had tanked, especially after associating with someone like Unicorn18, but hearing the same comments over and over from everyone I met was unnerving.


    ¡°... Am I bad at using the internet?¡±


    ¡°Hm...¡±


    One particular user, Anonymous848, seemed unusually familiar with me.


    Even in the middle of the night, they wore sunglasses and a mask, making it hard to see their face. Judging by the parts not covered, they appeared to be in their mid-to-late forties.


    ¡°Do you know me?¡±


    I asked cautiously, wondering if they recognized me somehow.


    Probably not.


    Hunter information in South Korea, including mine, was classified as top secret.


    That decision was made by the higher-ups.


    During the period when China was at its peak strength, dealing with disasters spilling over from India as well as internal strife, they also began targeting South Korea¡ªnot the country, but its people.


    Hunters from the 8th, 9th, and 10th classes, elite soldiers trained with massive investments, defected to China in pursuit of money.


    The government had to endure public outcry and media attacks over the sudden loss of its elite troops. As a result, all personal information about hunters trained in state institutions became classified.


    Naturally, my face had never been revealed.


    However, hunters not affiliated with government training programs or deemed unsuitable by those programs were less strictly managed.


    That¡¯s how certain people made a living by boasting about their exploits and spilling stories.


    Like John Nae-non.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t know you personally. I was just curious. Kyle Dos occasionally talks about you.¡±


    ¡°What does he say?¡±


    ¡°That SKELTON might actually be a decent person, unlike his image on the boards.¡±


    ¡°Did he say he met me?¡±


    ¡°No, nothing like that. Have you met him?¡±


    ¡°A long time ago.¡±


    We chatted briefly. The conversation started with Kyle Dos but soon drifted elsewhere, following my lead.


    ¡°The military? I also came from the west, but that region wasn¡¯t dominated by the military faction. It was more neutral.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°Cough! Cough!¡±


    ¡°Shit! What¡¯s happening?!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re actually here?!¡±


    The bunker¡¯s heavy door creaked open amidst panicked cries.


    Dies Irae gestured.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Gunfire erupted. Precise, single shots.


    Amid the thick smoke, silhouettes crumpled one by one.


    ¡°Please, spare me!¡±


    A young girl crawled out, tears and mucus streaming down her face, clinging to Dies Irae¡¯s leg.


    Dies Irae glanced back, his gaze meeting Chochol¡¯s.


    Then, without hesitation, he aimed his gun at the back of the girl¡¯s head.


    ¡°No! Don¡¯t kill her!¡±


    Bang!


    The girl¡¯s head slumped, lifeless.


    ¡°Why?! Why did you kill her?!¡± Chochol screamed.


    It could be called murder.


    But to me, it seemed like mercy.


    The bunker was cleared.


    The air was heavy with smoke and the stench of blood.


    Among the remains, a laptop caught my attention.


    ¡°SKELTON, was it?¡±


    For the first time, Dies Irae showed interest in me.


    ¡°What about it?¡±


    As the others scavenged survival supplies, I retrieved the laptop and satellite equipment¡ªitems not immediately necessary.


    ¡°Do you plan to use it to give your posts a thumbs-up?¡± Dies Irae smirked faintly.


    ¡°I¡¯m not that kind of person,¡± I replied curtly.


    *


    It had been a week since the new Sunbi died.


    Still, there was no word from Defender.


    I sent a message, but there was no reply.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    The air inside the bunker felt especially cold that afternoon.


    Meanwhile, another "miracle" was unfolding on the forums.


    tntn_Orthopedics: Wasn¡¯t the fake Sunbi already dead?


    Guest3321: Dude, it seems like it¡¯s the same Sunbi.


    The twice-dead Sunbi had returned once again!


    However, this time, the resurrection happened in a different location.


    The third Sunbi didn¡¯t reappear on the Korean boards but instead emerged on the English boards, committing the ultimate sin: spamming.


    SUNBI: KOREAN SUCKS


    SUNBI: I HATE KOREANS


    SUNBI: KOREANS, PEOPLE OF THE ABYSS


    SUNBI: HELL ON EARTH: KOREA


    SUNBI: ?????? ????? (I hate Korea)


    SUNBI: today''s lunch ;)


    ...


    ...


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Without hesitation, I switched on the radio.


    ¡°Skelton? What¡¯s up?¡±


    Sue¡¯s innocent voice came through.


    ¡°Put your mom on.¡±


    ¡°Skelton? What¡¯s going on? I¡¯m busy.¡±


    I sighed deeply before replying.


    ¡°After everything I went through to get you that equipment, this is what you do on the forums?¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    A new post popped up on the English board.


    SUNBI: EXCEPT SKELTON :)


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Satisfied?¡±


    ¡°Delete that post and change your username immediately.¡±


    I ended the transmission and pulled out a piece of paper from my pocket.


    [Defender Summon Voucher]


    Looking at the drawing my sister had made of me, which hung on the wall beyond the room, I clasped my hands together in prayer for the first time in nearly a year.


    I prayed they were still alive, like the sniper and her daughter.


    That this dry, desolate apocalypse hadn¡¯t claimed them too.

 Chapter 29

    The collapse of the system means that the services we¡¯ve always taken for granted are no longer available.


    Weather forecasts are one such service.


    People used to complain that forecasts were always wrong, but really, who else could analyze and predict the weather if not them?


    The past three days had been warm.


    By both seasonal and calendar standards, it was perfect spring weather.


    But the world changed overnight.


    A sudden, unannounced northern wind swept through in the middle of the night, freezing everything in its path.


    The outdoor thermometer now read -32¡ãC.


    The bunker had become a giant refrigerator.


    The water in the toilet bowl, located in the very center of the first-floor bunker, was frozen solid.


    If Duchamp, the artist who made toilets famous, had seen this, he might have titled it The Frozen Fountain.


    I waited until daylight before stepping outside.


    Despite the extreme cold, not a single snowflake had fallen.


    The sky was absurdly clear, and the air was painfully crisp.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Hah.¡±


    What should I do?


    The battery reserves were almost depleted.


    It had already passed the season for ipchun (the beginning of spring), and the temperatures had been steadily rising, so I hadn¡¯t run the generator in a while.


    With the oil reserve below half, I had switched to conservation mode. Spring seemed to have arrived, so I hadn¡¯t thought to turn on the generator.


    And then this brutal cold arrived.


    Now, I needed to run the generator even in broad daylight.


    Running the generator had its advantages: it would prevent the pipes from freezing, reduce my risk of frostbite, and, most importantly, decrease the likelihood of freezing to death by 99%.


    But running the generator during the day would inevitably produce smoke.


    While the smoke reduction systems I had installed would minimize visibility, it wouldn¡¯t be completely invisible.


    At night, unless the moonlight was exceptionally bright, the smoke would be nearly undetectable.


    But this was daylight, with the air crystal clear.


    In this desolate, abandoned land, even a faint wisp of smoke rising into the sky would look far more prominent than I¡¯d like to imagine.


    The choice was simple:


    Do I stay hidden and endure the cold, or do I risk exposure to potential hostile entities by running the generator?


    Lighting a fire inside the bunker wasn¡¯t an option. That would just be another way of committing suicide.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Initially, I chose to endure the cold.


    Without electricity, I thought I could face the cold like a primitive human, relying only on insulating gear and my body heat.


    But even primitive humans didn¡¯t survive winter with their bare skin.


    They had fire.


    I, on the other hand, only had small chemical hand warmers. While a campfire could reach temperatures of 1,300¡ãC, a hand warmer barely hit 40¡ãC.


    Beep. Beep. Beep.


    The battery died.


    The heated mattress inside my thermal tent began to cool rapidly, and every passing moment felt like the cold was whipping at my very soul.


    I considered drinking alcohol to warm myself, but that wouldn¡¯t ignite some internal furnace to fight the cold. It would just make my blood circulate faster, which isn¡¯t exactly helpful.


    Plenty of people froze to death while drunk even before the war.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Shit.¡±


    I wiped my nose and cursed without realizing it.


    If I kept this up, I¡¯d freeze to death.


    Forget monsters or raiders; I¡¯d succumb to the cold long before they got to me.


    At around 11 a.m., I made my decision.


    I had to run the generator.


    It was the only conclusion that ensured survival.


    But I wouldn¡¯t do it in an obvious way.


    I opened the bunker door and braved the knife-like wind, heading toward the fallow field on the far edge of my territory.


    Last year¡¯s wild weeds had overgrown and now lay wilted like dried radish greens.


    I soaked a rag in synthetic oil from Ji Young-hee, threw it onto the field, and struck a match.


    The wind kept blowing out the flame.


    When do people curse?


    Everyone has their reasons, but for me, it¡¯s when my body is pushed to its limits.


    ¡°Shit! Fuck! Who even calls this garbage oil?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t stop the curses from spilling out as I repeated the same process over and over.


    By the time I could barely feel my hands and feet, the field finally caught fire.


    The flames roared, carried by the wind, and I stood there for a while, letting the fierce heat warm me even as the fire threatened to consume me.


    By the time I returned to the bunker, the flames had grown, spreading across the field.


    Black smoke billowed endlessly into the sky as I activated the generator.


    Vrrrooooom¡ª


    The hum of my most prized possession, beating like a heart, filled the bunker. I climbed the ladder to the first floor.


    The bunker was still a frozen hellhole, but I already felt warmer.


    My main heating setup consisted of a thermal tent and a heated mattress¡ªan efficient combination that provided maximum output with minimal cost.


    But I had something else up my sleeve.


    Hissssss¡ª


    Radiators installed throughout the bunker, powered by the generator, began circulating heated water. The subtle steam emitted warmth into every corner of the bunker.


    This was my secret weapon: a heating system that didn¡¯t just warm the floors but the entire air inside the bunker.


    It was a luxury I only indulged in on special occasions, like Christmas or Lunar New Year.


    The fact that the radiators were functioning meant that the plumbing had survived the brutal cold.


    I shed my thick parka and watched the thermometer rise.


    The temperature climbed.


    I began preparing a meal.@@@@


    For some reason, I was craving curry.


    My kitchen was next to the toilet.


    People always asked why I¡¯d placed the toilet in the center, but it was an unavoidable design choice.


    To optimize the water and sewage system, the toilet had to be in the middle.


    If I¡¯d felt like it, I could¡¯ve made the bunker resemble a fancy apartment with three rooms, two bathrooms, and a neatly divided layout.


    The frozen corpses formed a line, one by one, pointing ominously toward my bunker¡¯s territory.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    I stood there in silence, lost in thought.


    The man I had dragged had been facing my bunker as well.


    Could it be?


    Had they seen the smoke from my generator and come here?


    In temperatures dropping below -30¡ãC?


    There was the smoke from the field too, but why had they come this way?


    Was my smoke really visible from so far away?


    Had the smoke from my generator seemed more inviting than the harsh, black-and-red smoke from the field fire?


    Frustration bubbled up inside me as I surveyed the bodies.


    ¡°Why the hell did you come here¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤?¡±


    I wished I had the power to speak with the dead.


    I wanted to grab their spirits and ask why they had crawled their way toward me in this unbearable cold.


    Why they had ruined the good mood I¡¯d managed to salvage for myself.


    But my anger wasn¡¯t tied to fire or warmth.


    Leaving the unfinished intruders where they lay, I turned away from the golf course.


    When I returned to my territory, I spotted footprints I hadn¡¯t seen before.


    I remembered the armed corpses back at the golf course.


    Though they¡¯d all frozen to death, they¡¯d been well-equipped.


    Seven automatic rifles in total.


    I couldn¡¯t carry all the weapons, so I had only taken the ammo, removing the firing pins from the rest.


    But what if that wasn¡¯t all of them?


    What if another group had been out there, one that didn¡¯t freeze to death and managed to find my bunker instead?


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    My blood ran cold as I carefully set down the rifle I had retrieved and approached my bunker.


    The footprints disappeared halfway, replaced by drag marks.


    At the side of the fourth dummy bunker, I found a discarded rifle.


    The drag marks grew more chaotic, their width narrowing as they led toward my main bunker.


    When I reached the entrance to my well-camouflaged main bunker, I found a man collapsed on his knees, leaning against the door.


    There were no signs of life.


    The burrs stuck to his clothes like tumors suggested he¡¯d crossed through the mountains to get here.


    Perhaps that¡¯s why he ended up separated from the rest.


    The abandoned rifle, the aimless dragging¡ªhe seemed to have reached my bunker entrance driven purely by instinct and impulse, without any conscious awareness that it was here.


    Looking at his face, which seemed no older than his early twenties, I muttered a cold remark without thinking.


    ¡°Hole in one.¡±


    It seemed this cold wave had frozen more than just the heavens, the earth, and these nameless souls.


    *


    Defender: Why are you looking so downcast?


    Defender: The cold wave saved you, didn¡¯t it?


    SKELTON: (SKELTON suddenly beaming) Really?


    Defender: Should we team up?


    I was about to type "YES!" when¡ª


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    My excitement froze mid-thought.


    That¡¯s when I realized this was a dream.


    It had been ten days since I¡¯d last heard from Defender.


    People on the forums whispered that even the great Defender hadn¡¯t survived this apocalypse.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by familiar darkness.


    Pitch-black. Nothing but suffocating, absolute darkness.


    Without much thought, like a blind man navigating by memory, I groped around for my computer and turned it on.


    No particular reason.


    I just wanted to see people.


    I wanted to say something.


    Even if no one responded, I wanted to at least know that others were alive and moving.


    There was a message waiting for me.


    Message from Defender: Skelton, did you miss me? You didn¡¯t freeze to death, did you?


    Even a few simple words can stir emotions.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Shit.¡±


    I could feel something hot streaming down my cheeks.


    It was infuriating and heartwarming at the same time.


    That I, Park Gyu, would tear up over a message from someone like him.


    But the warmth running down my face wasn¡¯t a dream. It was real.


    Tap, tap, tap.


    With stiff, frozen fingers, I began to type.


    SKELTON: It¡¯s been a while.


    Message from Defender: That¡¯s it? That¡¯s all you have to say? I waited for you, you know?


    ¡°Hah.¡±


    Why is this guy so irritating?


    There had to be something¡ªsome clever way to express my joy at reconnecting without wounding my pride.


    A phrase I¡¯d seen somewhere flashed through my mind, like it had come to me in a dream.


    Tap tap, tap¡ª


    ¡°Whew.¡±


    I blew on my fingers to warm them as I sent my reply.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON denies) I-I wasn¡¯t that eager to see you or anything!


    Message from Defender: Wow¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.


    Message from Defender: Honestly, have you always been this bad at the internet?


    SKELTON: !

 Chapter 30.1

    Defender: Proof.


    Defender reappeared with his latest kill confirmation, and the victims this time were all soldiers.


    They looked like something out of World War II Nazi Germany, adorned with an absurd number of badges and medals.


    While people say these decorations represent the bittersweet reality of a nation that claims to have transitioned to a volunteer military but continues to rely heavily on conscription, they aren¡¯t exactly a pleasant sight to behold.


    The larger and more numerous the badges, the more seasoned the soldier¡ªsomething well-known to both military personnel and civilians alike.


    The soldiers Defender had killed were covered in badges, their shoulders weighed down by the sheer number.


    They were most likely career soldiers tasked with guarding the frontlines.


    Defender: The cold wave saved me.


    The soldiers in Defender¡¯s photos showed no visible injuries.


    They had all frozen to death.


    Caught off guard by the sudden cold wave, they likely fell asleep, unable to cope, and never woke up.


    The unrelenting cold claimed countless lives, arriving without warning.


    For those living in harsh conditions with no proper heating or insulation, it was a death sentence.


    Countless people died, and even more suffered from frostbite.


    The deceptively warm days leading up to the cold snap, which had felt almost like spring, only worsened the casualties.


    Take the people who froze to death near my territory, for example.


    In Seoul, they said there was at least one frostbite victim per household.


    Just three years ago, the city¡¯s chimneys would emit white clouds of steam in winter. Now, black smoke rose everywhere as people burned piles of corpses.


    At every corner and plaza, bodies were stacked and burned. The living warmed themselves by the flames, as if offering solace to the frozen dead.


    Seoul¡¯s decline had been ongoing for some time, but this cold wave was a devastating blow.


    Fortunately, us doomsday survivalists weathered the storm well.


    A few inactive users disappeared, but among those I knew, no one had died, and the population on the forum hadn¡¯t significantly decreased.


    Still, everyone knew things weren¡¯t going to improve.


    And they were right.


    Message from Defender: The deserters from the Legion are turning into small raider groups and pillaging everywhere.


    Message from Defender: I think I need to move soon.


    In the east, deserters from the Legion were wreaking havoc.@@@@


    These deserters posed a far greater threat than any enemy we had faced so far.


    To make matters worse, users living near the frontlines confessed that their territories had been overrun by monsters and mutations.


    lifeismagic: Since the soldiers stopped guarding the frontlines, monsters and mutations are crossing over freely from the North.


    Anonymous213: I live in Sokcho, and a monster just strolled into the outskirts. The area around it started turning weird¡ªkind of gray. Nobody could do anything about it.


    qwer740128: I¡¯m in Hanam, and I¡¯ve never seen a mutation before now. So this is what you¡¯ve been living with?


    The western region, where I lived, was relatively safe.


    Centered around Incheon and western Seoul, the government, along with the military and National Assembly, had managed to preserve some semblance of order.


    But the outlying areas were unraveling.


    Boss_domingo: The pioneers are acting up again.


    keystone: I thought we were safe after the last group froze to death, but now another batch has shown up.


    Anonymous848: It¡¯ll probably get worse when it warms up. They call them pioneers, but really, they¡¯re just people abandoned by the government.


    The weakening of the Legion likely meant the National Assembly faction was regaining its footing, possibly redirecting the pioneers back to the frontlines.


    Before winter¡¯s tranquility could truly end, the new year was already demanding payment in full.


    Crackle¡ª


    My K-walkie caught a garbled frequency.


    ¡°Park Gyu? Park Gyu?¡±


    An unfamiliar voice called my name.


    Whose voice was this?


    I recognized it, but I couldn¡¯t immediately place it.


    ¡°This is Baek... It¡¯s Baek Seung-hyun... I¡¯m here...¡±


    The heavy static could have been caused by nearby signal interference or increased sunspot activity, but the most likely reason was the distance.


    ¡°Search the nearby streams. If someone¡¯s hiding out, there¡¯ll be signs¡ªwaste, foul odors. I¡¯ve never met a single doomsday prepper who bothered with proper sewage systems. They¡¯re all selfish bastards who think only of themselves. Look for pipes covered in shit stains.¡±


    Cho¡¯s words might¡¯ve sent shivers down the spines of other survivalists listening in. But not me.


    Having operated in China and observed countless survivor behaviors, I¡¯d meticulously planned my bunker, studying international cases to prepare for the worst.


    Sewage systems were a key consideration.


    I¡¯d learned about a case in India where rioters found and killed wealthy survivors by tracing the stench of human waste. Installing a septic tank wasn¡¯t a simple decision¡ªit required expensive equipment, and as a solo survivalist, I had to handle the sludge myself. But the effort had paid off.


    ¡°Colonel, the streams are clean. We found some agricultural intake pipes, but no human waste.¡±


    The search team had ventured as close as the valley below my main bunker but found no trace of me.


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    Cho¡¯s sigh of frustration crackled through the radio.


    ¡°Were there any raiders in this area?¡±


    ¡°No, sir. Reports mention remnants of U.S. forces holding a town and a pack of mutated dogs nearby. There¡¯s also talk of a rogue group of wandering raiders in the southeast.¡±


    ¡°Recover the drones, recharge them, and search every accessible road. If anyone¡¯s traveling by vehicle, they¡¯ll leave tracks. Gather everyone.¡±


    The pioneers regrouped at the golf course.


    Even without listening to their radio chatter, it was obvious from the way they congregated¡ªthey hadn¡¯t found me. They were leaving empty-handed.


    Victory.


    No, this wasn¡¯t just my victory; it was a victory for individual survivalists everywhere.


    While group survivalists like DSIRAE were gaining influence on the forums, they likely hadn¡¯t faced an adversary this formidable. When deserters from the Legion start heading south, they might change their tune.


    As the tension eased, hunger crept in. I pulled out a brick-hard piece of hardtack, placed it in a bowl, and poured lukewarm water over it from the purifier.


    One of humanity¡¯s many sad survival rations.


    As I mashed the softened hardtack with my spoon, transforming it into a sticky porridge, the radio crackled to life again.


    ¡°Ko Min-soo, take your team and clean up the bodies.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir. On it.¡±


    ¡°Sergeant Kang, sort the remaining firearms and hand the worst ones to the new recruits.¡±


    ¡°Understood, sir.¡±


    ¡°Pil-jae, contact headquarters and request more dogs.¡±


    The stream of radio chatter ended with a chilling threat from Cho Sung-yong.


    ¡°Hey, thief. I know you¡¯re listening. I know everything. Just wait. I¡¯ll release the dogs in three days. Leave the stolen weapons and compensation at a spot visible from the golf course. This isn¡¯t a warning; it¡¯s a notice.¡±


    The truck honked its horn, and the fully armed pioneers climbed into the covered bed. Cho Sung-yong, presumably staying in his vehicle the entire time, never showed his face.


    Soon, the convoy disappeared over the ridge.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Phew.¡±


    I¡¯d survived this crisis somehow. But it was too soon to relax.


    Feigning retreat and leaving behind surveillance was a classic tactic.


    Sure enough, by evening, the hum of a drone buzzed overhead, heading northward. They¡¯d left a drone behind, likely stationed high above to monitor the entire area.


    And this wasn¡¯t the end.


    Cho had promised to release the "dogs" in three days.


    I prepared for the worst.


    I masked my scent, sprayed imported dog repellent across the area, and sealed all bunker entrances with dirt and rocks.


    I moved supplies from the first floor of my main bunker to the generator room and laid out the claymores Rebecca had gifted me at regular intervals.


    Knowing they favored tear gas, I ensured the ventilation system¡¯s controls were fully operational.


    Finally, I inspected my bullets and sharpened two axes to razor precision.


    Three days later, two buses arrived at the golf course.


    ¡°?¡±


    I assumed they¡¯d brought two busloads of search dogs.


    But the reality was stranger than fiction.


    Cho¡¯s "dogs" weren¡¯t canines¡ªthey were ordinary people.


    Locals, men and women, looking like bewildered neighbors plucked from their homes, now aimlessly wandering the barren, icy wilderness in -12¡ãC windchill.


    A loudspeaker blared from beyond the golf course.


    ¡°Dear citizens, there is a criminal here responsible for the deaths of dozens of people. Your task is to find that villain. Whoever finds them will be rewarded with first-class tickets to Jeju Island¡¯s evacuation ship¡ªfor you and your family!¡±


    To catch me, Park Gyu, over 100 people were mobilized.

 Chapter 30.2

    My bunker¡¯s location was carefully chosen after surveying countless sites across the country.


    The main bunker is situated on a hill that¡¯s more of a large knoll than a mountain. The rear of the hill forms a steep cliff-like slope that drops into a valley, while the opposite side features a seemingly gentle incline. In reality, the rolling terrain is littered with small mounds that disrupt visibility.


    It¡¯s not exactly ideal for defense, but it¡¯s perfect for evading detection.


    The hill provides excellent vantage points for observation, a handy bonus.


    In short, the terrain prioritizes stealth and reconnaissance over raw defensibility.


    That the people Cho Sung-yong brought didn¡¯t venture into my area was only natural.


    At a glance, the area appears barren and devoid of anything worth investigating. It¡¯s an unremarkable patch of land, with no apparent reason to dig deeper.


    They concentrated their search near the old U.S. military base with its abandoned airstrip and spread out westward and southward.


    Day One:


    They pitched tents and lit fires.


    While food was scarce, unlike Seoul, this area had plenty of material to burn. Judging by their behavior, they seemed pleased with that.


    However, as night fell, the temperature plunged to -18¡ãC.


    Day Two:


    The group began searching nearby villages.


    A small group of middle-aged women wandered close to my territory. They didn¡¯t find anything.


    They hovered near one of the dummy bunker entrances but didn¡¯t do more than that.


    The entrance was sealed with dirt and rocks. Finding it would¡¯ve required shovels and effort, but the cold, cutting winds unique to my area eventually drove them away.


    ¡°What is this place, a graveyard? Why does it feel so eerie? And what¡¯s with this damn wind?¡±


    This was one of their comments, picked up by my surveillance devices.@@@@


    Day Three:


    They completely lost track, wandering far off the mark.


    This time, they ventured into the expansive rice fields and wooded hills to the east, far from my bunker.


    Ironically, Cho Sung-yong¡¯s truck returned to the golf course that day.


    People started voicing complaints and frustrations.


    I couldn¡¯t hear their words directly, but it wasn¡¯t hard to guess what they were saying. They were likely pleading for an end to this pointless mission.


    The truck¡¯s attached loudspeakers boomed across the area:


    ¡°Please remain calm, dear citizens. A bus will be arriving shortly. Just hold on a little longer. Warm homes and meals await you!¡±


    Afterward, Cho¡¯s truck left the scene, followed by the lightweight armored vehicle that had been parked in the middle of the golf course.


    What remained were the 100 or so civilians he had brought along.


    At that point, I still couldn¡¯t understand Cho Sung-yong¡¯s intentions.


    Why had he released nearly 100 people into the wilderness?


    Why was he going to such lengths to capture just me?


    While paranoia might explain part of it, I suspected there was another reason.


    Day Four:


    The bus didn¡¯t come.


    Not a single radio transmission.


    Cho Sung-yong and his team had, quite literally, vanished.


    The people left behind waited in makeshift tents, huddling around weak fires, clinging to the hope of a promised bus.


    But slowly, and with growing certainty, they realized their fate.


    They had been abandoned.


    Cho Sung-yong had brought them here as a diversion, for his amusement, and then discarded them in the wilderness.


    As they stood on the frozen ground, faces hollow and gaunt, they began to realize the truth.


    They were expendable.


    Amid the biting cold, their faces turned to one another, blank with shock and confusion.


    Their voices rose in whispers and murmurs, seeking answers where none existed.


    One by one, they began to break.


    *


    The first reaction from the people left behind was anger.


    ¡°YAAAAAAH! CHO SUNG-YOOOONG!!!!¡±


    A furious shout echoed across the golf course.


    Some of the armed men gathered and stared northward, their frustration plain on their faces. I couldn¡¯t make out what they were saying, but it seemed a few were strongly advocating for heading north to confront Cho Sung-yong.


    While the men vented their rage, the women sat around dwindling fires, talking quietly or standing beside the men, arms linked, listening.


    By the afternoon, the group had split into two factions.


    Some wanted to stay and wait for Cho Sung-yong¡¯s return, while others seemed determined to leave.


    Voices rose in heated arguments on both sides.


    While they clashed, I logged into the community forum.


    I¡¯d always been curious about one thing:


    Who or what exactly are these "Pioneers," "Pioneer Corps," and "Pioneer Squads"?


    At first, they all seemed like part of the same organization, but over time, I¡¯d noticed nuances in their hierarchy and objectives.


    SKELTON: What exactly is the "Pioneer Corps"? Does anyone know?


    As a relatively unpopular user, I didn¡¯t expect many responses right away, so I occupied myself with other tasks while waiting.


    Beep.


    The battery tester indicated that the Javelin''s battery was fully charged at last.


    After considerable effort, I¡¯d succeeded in recharging it. Whether it would function properly still needed to be tested, likely at the Sniper¡¯s hideout.


    It wasn¡¯t enough for the battery to simply hold a charge¡ªI needed to see if the Javelin could maintain stable voltage over time.


    I packed the fully charged battery into my bag and returned to my laptop to find a few comments had been posted.


    Roka_hun: Isn¡¯t it the organization that manages the Pioneers?


    keystone: Those bastards? Yeah, they¡¯re the ones who manage the Pioneers. Total scumbags, every one of them.


    unicorn18: What about your SUNBI account, lol?


    ¡°...It¡¯s not me,¡± I muttered.


    The clearest explanation came from the user known as "Reporter Hyung."


    Whether he¡¯d seen my post or had been planning to write about the Pioneer Corps independently, shortly after my question, he uploaded a detailed post titled:


    Reporter Hyung: About the Pioneer Corps.txt


    I hate writing long posts, and I doubt anyone reads them, so here¡¯s the three-line summary:The government treats people as resources and packed them into major cities.Now, those people aren¡¯t needed anymore.The Pioneer Corps is the organization that disposes of the unwanted.


    His solo round of golf was over.


    ¡°Alright!¡±


    A triumphant cheer rang out, full of vigor.


    But as he looked around, his expression began to fade.


    No one was there.


    No caddy, no gallery, no fellow players.


    His smile wavered, then disappeared entirely.


    Then, before it could fully vanish, he pulled a pistol from his pocket.


    Still smiling faintly, he pulled the trigger.


    Bang!


    The last golfer collapsed.


    Silence returned to the golf course.


    A few sparrows gathered like spectators but quickly flew away.


    *


    Nothing in the world is truly useless.


    Even a piece of human garbage like Cho Sung-yong could sometimes serve a purpose.


    chouchou: Someone, please help. The Pioneer Corps is outside!


    It was Chouchou.


    I¡¯d heard unpleasant stories about him.


    After I left, he reportedly got into a fight with Dies Irae while trying to take the girl''s corpse.


    If other comrades hadn¡¯t intervened, he might have been tossed into the flames along with the other bodies.


    Though I wasn¡¯t a popular user in the community¡ªmore of a lower-tier member¡ªI was still part of it.


    But Chouchou? He was no longer even considered a comrade.


    Despite posting stories that would have easily gone viral in terms of views, no one was leaving comments on his posts anymore.


    ¡°...¡±


    They said I wasn¡¯t great at using the internet.


    Maybe they were right.


    But this time, I felt something¡ªa hunch.


    SKELTON: Who¡¯s attacking your bunker?


    For the first time, I commented on Chouchou¡¯s post, which had been silently ignored by the community under some unspoken agreement.


    chouchou: It¡¯s a guy named Cho Sung-yong!


    Chouchou responded immediately.


    SKELTON: The commander of the 22nd Pioneer Corps?


    chouchou: How do you know? Yeah, that¡¯s him! It¡¯s urgent, man. I¡¯m in the Gimpo area¡ªcan you make it here?


    SKELTON: That¡¯s close. How did he find you?


    chouchou: The sewer pipes! He kept talking about the smell of shit and then found me through that!


    SKELTON: Did you mess with any of the corpses nearby?


    chouchou: What the hell? This is urgent! No time for chit-chat! Where are you, Skelton? Are you nearby? Can you help?


    I intentionally delayed my reply.


    As expected, he messaged me directly.


    Message from chouchou: I, uh... touched a woman¡¯s body.


    SKELTON: No, not that. Did you mess with their belongings?


    While he tried to privately explain himself, I replied openly on the public board.


    chouchou: Guns! I took their guns! But what¡¯s this about a woman¡¯s body? I didn¡¯t touch anyone! Are you messing with me right now?


    SKELTON: Sure thing~


    I¡¯d said what I needed to say.


    Now the other users in the forum would know about Cho Sung-yong¡¯s name and methods¡ªincluding his bizarre obsession with tracking people through waste.


    Chouchou, of course, was livid.


    chouchou: Skelton, you son of a bitch! I¡¯m on the verge of dying, and you¡¯re messing with me? I know what you look like, man! If I survive this, I¡¯ll hunt you down first! You little worm-looking piece of shit!


    In the past, a comment like that would¡¯ve made my blood boil.


    But I¡¯d gotten used to this. Like a dog that learns the tricks of its master after three months, I found it more amusing than anything.


    Was that why I felt so calm?


    SKELTON: Sure, sure~


    Somehow, I¡¯d reached a level of Zen.


    And that Zen elicited a completely unexpected response.


    Message from Defender: Ohhh~


    ¡°...?¡±


    That was only the beginning.


    Anonymous848: Damn, Skelton can get it done when he wants to!


    Anonymous458: Why didn¡¯t you show us this side of you earlier?


    DragonC: Whoa, is this guy actually cool?


    Dies_Irae69: Told you, didn¡¯t I? Skelton¡¯s a decent guy IRL.


    keystone: Glad I unblocked him.


    Applause rolled in like thunder.


    It was the first time I¡¯d received such a warm reception.


    But amidst the praise, one message stood out¡ªa name I hadn¡¯t seen in a while.


    Message from 183cm88kg18cm: John Nae-non .


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    It was him. John Nae-non.


    The self-proclaimed hunter-turned-storyteller who had long since faded into obscurity.


    My heart sank.


    What did this mean? Why was he back?


    TL Note: Previously, I used "Chochol" in translations, but "Chouchou" feels more natural and aligns better with the stylistic tone of the name. Therefore, from now on, it will be "Chouchou."

 Chapter 31.1

    John Nae-non.@@@@


    Currently in his mid-30s, his real name is Goo Ssang-hyo, and by old-school standards, he is a D-Class Hunter.


    He didn¡¯t go to the same school as me.


    Instead, he was trained at a specialized institution and earned his Hunter qualification ¨C what people call a ¡°Training Institute Hunter.¡±


    Nowadays, whether someone is school-trained or institute-trained, if they¡¯re not Awakened, they¡¯re treated like old relics.


    So, what happened to John Nae-non?


    Some say he¡¯s dead, while others claim he¡¯s still alive.


    One thing is certain: John Nae-non used the fame he gained from the forum to sell lecture tickets. Like most people of his kind, he became famous simply for being famous and raked in money hand over fist.


    When he got scorned on the forum for stealing content without credit, he roared back with a ¡°Negeum-ma!¡±** ¨C a savage retort. While part of that reaction stemmed from his disappointment in the forum, the immense wealth he accumulated probably played a bigger role.


    By the time I returned to the forum, John Nae-non had stopped doing lectures entirely.


    According to rumors, our dear Mr. John Nae-non had started providing ¡°customized doom-prepper packages¡± for the rich and powerful.


    After the war broke out, the rich John Nae-non vanished completely.


    Some speculated that the attention-hungry man must have bought a new account and was secretly active under an alias. Yet no one ever figured out which account was his.


    Two years and five months into the war.


    After a long and dreadful winter, a spring colder than usual arrived.


    And like magic, my role model¡ªwhom I thought I¡¯d never see again¡ªsuddenly appeared out of nowhere.


    SKELTON: Who are you? I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen you here before. You haven¡¯t posted anything either.


    SKELTON: (Skeletton) Could it be... John Nae-non?


    Message from 183cm88kg18cm: This account is indeed John Nae-non¡¯s sub-account. But I¡¯m not John Nae-non. I¡¯m his subordinate.


    SKELTON: (Skeletton shocked) His subordinate?


    Message from 183cm88kg18cm: (John Nae-non¡¯s subordinate) John Nae-non wishes to see you.


    What the hell is with this guy¡¯s nickname?


    It¡¯s definitely John Nae-non¡¯s kind of sense of humor, but was he really that tall?


    And 88 kilograms? That¡¯s not exactly light for someone showing off their physique. Even if he bulked up, maintaining that kind of muscle mass in this era? Unlikely.


    But 18 centimeters? Seriously, what the hell does that even mean?


    Could people already lose their minds before the war?


    Anyway, this self-proclaimed subordinate using John Nae-non¡¯s sub-account left me with some thoughts.


    First of all, John Nae-non seemed to be in Seoul.


    They even offered to share his exact location if I wanted it.


    But why now? And why would a subordinate, not John Nae-non himself, send me this message?


    When I pressed this ¡°18cm¡± guy for answers, he dodged the question, insisting that he was just a messenger acting on behalf of John Nae-non.


    It seemed like what John Nae-non wanted was to meet me.


    But considering the current situation¡ªpioneers spreading out in every direction¡ªtraveling anywhere right now is no joke.


    It¡¯s not like the government is controlling the roads like in the past. Moving around in this chaos? It could mean death.


    SKELTON: I¡¯m very sorry, but I don¡¯t think I can make it. The situation is just too dangerous right now.


    I sent a polite rejection message.


    Then, I messaged another user.


    The recipient was Foxgames.


    He¡¯s the game developer who once made that ¡°Christmas Tree Decorating¡± feature.


    SKELTON: I need a favor.


    Back in the day, I wouldn¡¯t have even tried asking.


    He¡¯s a named user, while I¡¯m basically bottom-tier, grouped with Unicorn18.


    But after the Chouchou incident, my reputation had improved. I had earned some confidence.


    Message from Foxgames: You want to know who added a message to your tree two years ago?


    As expected, Foxgames agreed to help without hesitation.


    My request was simple.


    I wanted him to find out the identity of the user who had decorated my Christmas tree.


    Last year, no one added anything. But two years ago, someone placed a decoration on my tree labeled ¡°John Nae-non.¡±


    At the time, I was mildly curious but didn¡¯t care too much.


    It was anonymous, and considering my slight acquaintance with John Nae-non, I thought maybe I had subconsciously mimicked his style and added it myself.


    But with this self-proclaimed subordinate of John Nae-non popping up, I needed confirmation.


    A short while later, Foxgames sent me the user¡¯s identity.


    Message from Foxgames: It¡¯s that 183cm-something-something guy. You know him? 18cm? Who the hell is this guy?


    Exactly.


    It¡¯s the same 18cm guy I¡¯m messaging right now.


    Feeling a rare wave of affection for the forum, I thanked Foxgames.


    SKELTON: (Skeletton thankful) Thanks.


    Message from Foxgames: Hey, Skeletton. There¡¯s something I want to ask you, too.


    SKELTON: ?


    What does he want to ask?


    A mix of worry and curiosity filled me as Foxgames replied.


    Message from Foxgames: Don¡¯t you feel like the forum is slowing down? Compared to the early days, it feels like it¡¯s running at half speed.


    SKELTON: It definitely has slowed down. We can¡¯t even upload videos in high quality anymore. But isn¡¯t that inevitable?


    Message from Foxgames: Lately, the traffic has suddenly spiked. There¡¯s no reason for that on our end. Do you think someone¡¯s trying to break in? I mean, this place is satellite-based, but I¡¯ve heard it¡¯s still connected to external internet lines.


    The forum being slow?


    It¡¯s true, but honestly, as long as we can still upload posts and pictures, isn¡¯t that enough?


    Sure, not being able to upload my ¡°Skeletton¡¯s Beatbox Series¡± sucks.


    But expecting the forum to stay perfectly functional while everything else crumbles? That feels selfish.


    Then Foxgames revealed why he was so sensitive about the forum¡¯s speed.


    Message from Foxgames: I¡¯m working on a secret game. It¡¯s a low-level MMORPG, but I have no idea how Starlink servers work. That¡¯s why I brought it up.


    An MMORPG?


    Like one of those multiplayer online games?


    I¡¯m not much of a gamer, so I don¡¯t really get it.


    But considering Foxgames has brought us plenty of small, satisfying games in the past, if he¡¯s calling this one his ¡°secret weapon¡±, it must be something special.


    Most of them were shredded apart by overwhelming long-range artillery fire before they had a chance to do anything. But occasionally, a few would teleport or get lucky and breach our strongholds.


    Once they infiltrated our bases, there were very few options left.


    Their reflective barriers nullified our standard attacks.


    It was in those moments¡ªwhen the soldiers were utterly helpless¡ªthat we hunters made our move.


    Hunters aren¡¯t soldiers.


    For a skilled soldier, taking cover is the same as ensuring survival.


    But for us hunters, taking cover is no different than closing your eyes in the face of a flying blade.


    Hunting as a hunter requires incredibly coordinated teamwork, flawless precision, and above all, guts of steel.


    Like the hunters of Joseon who faced house-sized tigers with single-shot matchlock rifles, we face death without flinching and gamble our luck and lives every second to kill humanity¡¯s enemies.


    At one point, I was considered the best of the best in that field.


    There¡¯s almost no small monster I can¡¯t deal with.


    Most of them die once I manage to close the distance, which is the greatest challenge.


    Luckily, thanks to Viva! Apocalypse!, I detected the monster early.


    It usually takes about two weeks for monsters to fully establish their nests.


    Once the nest is complete, breaking through is near impossible, and even approaching it becomes a death wish.


    But two days? At most a week?


    That¡¯s doable.


    With Cho Sung-yong¡¯s drones still patrolling and pioneers scattered everywhere, I left my bunker.


    ¡°Over there!¡±


    Rebecca pointed to a mountain region about 4 kilometers from her territory, her eyes hollow and fatigued.


    At first glance, nothing seemed unusual.


    But it was clear.


    The monster had settled there recently.


    Rebecca was an exceptional sniper, but she had no experience fighting monsters.


    So she wouldn¡¯t be any help here.


    In fact, her sniping skills could end up getting her killed.


    This was my fight.


    The one thing I excel at¡ªthe thing I¡¯ve longed for.


    I grabbed my two finely-sharpened axes and slowly approached the area.


    Sure enough, as I moved deeper in, I saw tree branches twisted into unnatural shapes.


    That¡¯s the effect of erosion.


    There would be humanity¡¯s enemy.


    And unless there was one specific exception, I would kill it and return.


    ¡°...¡±


    I saw it.


    A statue, buried as if dead among the shriveled winter trees.


    It looked like someone had hammered a massive spike into the forearm of a praying mantis, its lower body an angular triangle half-buried in the earth, its head elongated in a disturbing gray-white mass devoid of eyes, nose, or mouth¡ªthe very features that give humans emotions.


    I had encountered the exception.


    A Dancer-type.


    The one monster I cannot kill in close combat.


    Or perhaps... I could.


    But I wasn¡¯t about to bet everything I had on a 5% chance.


    *


    ¡°... ... ...¡±


    Identification Code: REDMASK.


    I stared at the radio, unmoving, for fifteen minutes.


    The only person I could realistically reach out to right now was Woo Min-hee.


    She¡¯s the only one who could help me.


    What I needed was Hunter Equipment¡ªthe anti-monster weapons. But if she came here personally?


    She could tear that creature apart single-handedly.


    She¡¯s Awakened.


    A Level 12 psychic, to be exact.


    But I¡¯m not foolish enough to ignore what reaching out to her would mean.


    She¡¯s not Kim Daram.


    She¡¯s no longer the Kim Daram whose voice I can barely even remember anymore...


    ¡°...¡±


    I logged into the community to catch my breath.


    I needed to calm my thoughts and distract myself with something entertaining.


    There was a message waiting for me.


    Message from 183cm88kg18cm: Apologies, but John Nae-non desperately wishes to see you, Skeletton.


    ¡°Fuck.¡±


    That subordinate of John Nae-non again?


    If I had time to spare, I might have chatted back and forth for a bit.


    But not now.


    He¡¯s a man of the past.


    He can¡¯t help me with my current problem.


    I didn¡¯t want to continue this back-and-forth, so I made an unreasonable demand.


    SKELTON: If you give me Hunter Equipment, I¡¯ll think about it.


    Message from 183cm88kg18cm: Hunter Equipment?


    SKELTON: The Mk-7 Harpoonizer.


    To make myself perfectly clear, I specified the exact model I wanted.


    If he started saying nonsense, I planned to block him immediately.


    I was far too on edge right now.


    Message from 183cm88kg18cm: He says he has it.

 Chapter 31.2

    ¡°Do you remember...? Skeletton. It¡¯s me, John Nae-non.¡±


    I asked for proof.


    It was the natural thing to do, but as soon as I saw the verification video, I felt a strange sense of shock mixed with inexplicable guilt.


    ¡°This is the Mk-7 Harpoonizer you requested... It¡¯s brand new... still sealed....¡±


    I remembered the time I went to John Nae-non¡¯s fan meet-up before the war.


    He used to wear training clothes that were a size too small, emphasizing his muscular body¡ªa bizarre fashion choice that he stubbornly stuck to.


    Come to think of it, he really was around 183 cm tall.


    In restaurants where you had to take off your shoes, he lost about 10 cm, but the moment he put his shoes back on, he was right back to being 183 cm.


    With all that muscle, he must¡¯ve weighed around 88 kg.


    But the 18 cm part? Not quite.


    There was a time when we stood side by side at a pub¡¯s urinal, slightly drunk, and I sneaked a glance. From what I remember, it wasn¡¯t that impressive...


    But the lively man who laughed and chatted so boldly among his people? That man was gone forever.


    The arms in the video looked skeletal, as if the flesh had been stripped away, leaving only bones.


    That extreme thinness didn¡¯t seem to be caused by a lack of food. It looked like something else entirely.


    The booming voice that once yelled ¡°Another bottle of soju!¡± now trembled faintly, just barely loud enough to understand.


    What had happened to him?


    SKELTON: John Nae-non, are you... sick?


    They avoided answering.


    The only thing they insisted on was meeting me.


    I paused, lifting my fingers from the keyboard.


    Going outside right now would be extremely dangerous.


    Gunfire could still be heard intermittently from the north.


    It meant skirmishes and standoffs were ongoing.


    What lay beyond that? No one knew.


    Only a year ago, you could reach out to soldiers through personal identification codes, and they¡¯d provide helpful intel.


    But those kind and reliable soldiers were gone.


    I would now have to cross dangerous areas alone, areas I once knew well but had since become foreign and uncharted.


    But if I sat back and let erosion spread, not just I but everyone around me would either die or go insane.


    I could ask Woo Min-hee for help, and she would guarantee my immediate safety.


    But she wouldn¡¯t leave me alone after that.@@@@


    She¡¯d find a reason to drag me out of my bunker and toss me into a death trap.


    ¡°...¡±


    It was a tough choice.


    To avoid a guaranteed death a year from now, I¡¯d have to risk dying an hour from now.


    But I¡¯d rather struggle and fight than just sit there waiting to die.


    Besides, I trusted my ability to control the risks I might encounter outside.


    The decision was made.


    Click.


    It was time to go find my role model.


    But the sun hadn¡¯t set yet.


    With drones constantly patrolling, moving in broad daylight would be suicidal.


    I logged into the community to kill time until nightfall.


    SKELTON: Anyone remember John Nae-non?


    Suddenly, I was curious.


    What did the forum users think about John Nae-non, that relic of a user?


    After preparing my gear, I checked back to see a few comments had appeared.


    Doyourbest321: John Nae-non? That bastard? He¡¯s a fraud.


    RKKArA: Called himself a hunter, but weren¡¯t Awakened people already around back then? He knew he was second-rate trash and still pretended to be a hunter. Imagine if one of us had actually been Awakened. What then?


    Anonymous848: Hey~ John Nae-non. Haven¡¯t heard that name in ages. I bet he¡¯s alive. He made a lot of money, didn¡¯t he?


    Defender: I attended one of his lectures. It was full of nonsense. Personal nuclear power plants? Does that even make sense?


    Not a single positive comment.


    Every opinion either mocked or insulted him.


    No one brought up any of his strengths.


    That¡¯s the way the forum worked, but I couldn¡¯t help feeling a little disappointed.


    ¡°...John Nae-non. He wasn¡¯t a bad guy.¡±


    Sure, John Nae-non stole content without permission.


    And yes, he made a fortune by exploiting the forum.


    But didn¡¯t his information prove useful?


    I¡¯m sure everyone who read his translated posts picked up a tip or two.


    He even handled contractors for us.


    If we needed something done, he¡¯d call the specialists and sort it out.


    Who else offered that kind of service?


    No one. Only John Nae-non.


    No one else ever stepped up like he did.


    But reality was harsh.


    No one forgave him.


    No one remembered his merits, only his flaws.


    Maybe that¡¯s why...


    He chose to remain silent.


    What must he have been thinking all these years?


    Was he preparing for some grand comeback?


    Or perhaps planning a quiet revenge?


    Neither seemed likely.


    Maybe his ultimate conclusion was to remain an eternal bystander.


    *


    As dusk fell, I left the bunker.


    The current temperature was 1¡ãC.


    The sky was shrouded in dark clouds.


    It looked like rain or snow would pour down any moment.


    Feeling the warmth of the heat pack stuck to my chest, I quietly pushed my bicycle forward.


    It was pitch black outside, but I knew this road well.


    The faint outlines of the terrain, illuminated only by starlight, allowed me to navigate as I descended the steep slope with minimal braking.


    A stream appeared.


    It was a fairly deep body of water¡ªdeep enough that if I rode my bicycle through it, the water would soak up to my waist.


    Not far ahead, there was a narrow path built from stones that farmers had stacked over time.


    ¡°Park Gyu. How long are you gonna sulk? Those guys are just special, man. Chosen by God. Sure, before they Awakened, they were beneath our notice, but what can we do? Times have changed. Drink up! Will worrying change our shit luck?¡±


    Now, Gong Gyeong-min was gone, and my team had fallen apart.


    And that Chinese restaurant? I¡¯d never find it again.


    Bang!


    Gunfire erupted ahead, snapping me out of my memories.


    The eerie sound of death-laden wind brushed past my ears, followed by the crack of bullets hitting nearby.


    The man and I dropped to the ground, crawling towards the nearest cover.


    I spat out the muddy water that seeped into my mouth from the rain-soaked earth.


    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡±


    Even the man, who had seemed indifferent to gunfire earlier, looked shaken.


    Leaning against the wall, panting heavily, he tried to steady his breath.


    ¡°Fuck, I don¡¯t know. It was fine yesterday. Seriously... living here is just hell.¡±


    ¡°Is it the Legion?¡±


    ¡°Could be civilians.¡±


    ¡°Why would civilians¡ª¡±


    ¡°They just shoot at everything now. That¡¯s what this neighborhood is like.¡±


    Those with guns now regarded everything they saw as an enemy.


    I thought of Rebecca, the sniper, but pushed the thought away.


    Through the violence-stained streets, we finally arrived at our destination.


    ¡°This is it.¡±


    It was a crumbling three-story mansion.


    The peeling outer walls had remnants of a banner celebrating its reconstruction, now torn and fluttering sadly in the wind.


    John Nae-non was waiting in the basement.


    ¡°Come this way.¡±


    As I stepped into the basement, a few sewer rats scurried away.


    The basement of the apartment was deeper than I¡¯d imagined.


    The man switched on a lantern, illuminating an endless flight of stairs as he spoke.


    ¡°This apartment was built during the military regime¡ªa disguised command bunker prepared for war. The top is just a rotting old building, but the lower part is something special.¡±


    It was finally time to ask.


    ¡°You said you¡¯re John Nae-non¡¯s subordinate. What exactly is your relationship with him?¡±


    The man stopped.


    But he didn¡¯t stop to answer my question.


    In front of us sat a cheap locker, the kind you¡¯d see in a public bathhouse.


    He opened it, and to my surprise, an unexpected item was revealed.


    A radiation suit.


    It was from the same company as mine, but this model was higher-grade.


    He handed me one of the suits.


    ¡°I am his subordinate. Or, to put it another way¡ªa follower.¡±


    ¡°A follower?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m serious. John Nae-non is an extraordinary man.¡±


    The man¡¯s voice lacked energy, but it didn¡¯t sound like a lie.


    As he put on the radiation suit, he muttered while gazing into the distance.


    ¡°...If America has Melon Musk, Korea has John Nae-non.¡±


    ¡°...Is that so?¡±


    Did this guy just compare John Nae-non to Melon Musk, the founder of Viva! Apocalypse!?


    Wasn¡¯t that going a bit too far?


    Melon Musk was a legendary con artist and businessman, amassing hundreds of trillions in wealth and global influence before he was forty.


    John Nae-non, on the other hand, was just a man who got chased off the forum with a stream of curses.


    Even someone like me, who was sympathetic to John Nae-non, couldn¡¯t agree with such an absurd comparison.


    ¡°Put it on.¡±


    ¡°Why are you giving me this?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll understand when we go inside.¡±


    The man donned his radiation suit and shone the lantern across the way.


    There stood a recently reinforced concrete wall, its center occupied by a tightly sealed lead door.


    ¡°John Nae-non is inside.¡±


    I followed him past the door.


    The room beyond was pitch black.


    In the dimness, I could just make out a bed, where someone lay with their arm dangling lifelessly.


    Strangely, there was a faint light illuminating the arm¡ªnot coming from the arm itself but from a medical device blinking beneath the bed.


    The man in the radiation suit approached the bed and shook the person awake.


    ¡°Hyung-nim. Hyung-nim! Skeletton¡¯s here. You need to get up! Hyung-nim!¡±


    The man, teetering on the boundary between life and death, was helped to sit up.


    His body was skin and bones, his face covered in red blotches that spread like a plague. His sunken eyes turned toward me.


    As he tried to smile, I noticed it immediately¡ª


    There were almost no teeth left in his mouth.


    ¡°...Skeletton.¡±


    His voice was faint, his words slurred.


    I remembered him¡ªJohn Nae-non.


    The muscular man I¡¯d once seen at a cheap barbecue restaurant.


    That image, like so many other things, had now drifted forever into an unreachable past.


    Just like the Chinese restaurant I¡¯d never find again.


    Only one question remained.


    Why had this dying man sought me out?


    Why did he cling so desperately to me, a relic of an outdated era?


    ¡°No.¡±


    The answer came to me.


    John Nae-non knew me.


    ¡°Professor...!!¡±


    He had seen through the mask of Skeletton to the other me hiding behind it.


    One question led to another.


    When had it started?


    I remembered, as if in a dream, the last fan meet-up I¡¯d attended.


    John Nae-non had tried to say something to me back then.


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    Had it started then?

 Chapter 31.3

    Whether it was due to the emotional upheaval or his decaying body, John Nae-non needed to rest.


    The man in the radiation suit stood by his side, tending to him.


    The way John Nae-non tightly gripped the man¡¯s arm with his trembling, bony hands, while frequently coughing up blood, made it clear¡ªhe didn¡¯t have much time left.


    As he was administered a sedative and began to catch his breath, the man with glasses approached me.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. You¡¯ve come a long way, only to waste your precious time like this.¡±


    ¡°What happened to him?¡±


    The man hesitated, his words faltering.


    After a moment, he sighed, speaking in a resigned tone.


    ¡°...John Nae-non attempted to install a new nuclear battery.¡±


    ¡°A nuclear battery?¡±


    ¡°Yes. The latest model called Neo Alpha. Unlike older nuclear batteries, which prioritized stability and longevity, Neo Alpha produces enough power to rival a small power plant. However...¡±


    The man¡¯s expression twisted in disgust.


    ¡°It was incredibly unstable. During the power installation, something went horribly wrong. John Nae-non ended up taking a massive dose of radiation exposure.¡±


    As I listened, a question began to form in my mind.


    Sure, electricity was an essential resource for anything resembling a human life.


    But a power plant¡¯s worth of electricity?


    Did anyone in this apocalypse truly need that much power?


    ¡°Why would anyone need so much electricity?¡±


    I cut in as soon as the man stopped speaking.


    The man looked at me for a long moment before replying, his voice full of certainty.


    ¡°Yes. We need it.¡±


    John Nae-non had risen from his seat and was now looking directly at me.


    It seemed he was ready.


    I approached him.


    Perhaps it was because of the backlight from the medical equipment, but his grotesquely transformed face was shrouded in darkness, making it hard to see.


    Only his eyes¡ªsharp and glowing like those of a wild animal¡ªstood out in the gloom, fixing their gaze squarely on me.


    ¡°I know who you are.¡±


    John Nae-non spoke with difficulty.


    His speech had shifted from polite to informal, but I didn¡¯t care.


    At this moment, he wasn¡¯t John Nae-non the forum user. He was Goo Ssang-hyo, a fellow hunter who was older than me.


    ¡°I saw you in Cheorwon. Yeah, it must¡¯ve been when I¡¯d just finished training at the professional academy and was deployed to the frontlines for the first time.¡±


    Cheorwon.


    That would¡¯ve been the period when I¡¯d returned to Korea to make some quick cash.


    I had risked my life in a fight there¡ªonly once.


    ¡°I saw it from afar. The way you fought. There were two monsters that day. One was a Dancer, the other a Spider, right?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    So he¡¯d seen it.


    What an irony.


    ¡°It was the first time I¡¯d seen something like that. I¡¯d seen videos, and I¡¯d done simulator training, but the real thing¡ªyeah. Those things were something humans just couldn¡¯t handle. You know why? They don¡¯t look like they have souls, right? Even dogs and cats have souls. But those things? Do you think they have even as much soul as a worm on a fishing hook?¡±


    I do think they have souls.


    Faint ones, so frail they¡¯re barely distinguishable, but still there.


    ¡°There were a few Awakened rookies there, too¡ªbarely deployed. But they couldn¡¯t do anything. They were terrified. But then...¡±


    John Nae-non reached out with his trembling hand, as if trying to grasp something lost to the past.


    ¡°There was you. The strongest among the school graduates. You were the only one there. The rest? They were nothing.¡±


    His eyes, filled with memories, trembled violently.


    The shaking of his pupils and his hands revealed just how deeply his emotions were stirred.


    Staring into the distance, John Nae-non slightly turned his head.


    The faint red blotches covering his face caught the dim light, revealing his ghastly appearance.


    ¡°The Awakened...¡±


    John Nae-non bit at his lower lip with gums where his teeth had once been.


    ¡°I think they¡¯re monsters. The way they use their strength¡ªit¡¯s just like the monsters, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°They babble about upward waves and downward waves. They think they¡¯ve got it all figured out, trying to put it into theory. But to me, it¡¯s all bullshit. They¡¯re just monsters. Or maybe... human mutations.¡±


    He looked at me.


    The light from the back cast his face into shadow again.


    ¡°I wanted to know who you were. I begged those young Awakened brats to tell me your call sign.¡±


    ¡°...Is that so.¡±


    I replied just to get this conversation over with.


    I was getting exhausted.


    My body was tired, and I¡¯d been through too many situations like this.


    ¡°At that fan meeting, I ignored you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not some great person. I deserved to be ignored. Anyway, can I check the equipment...?¡±


    ¡°You were my idol.¡±


    John Nae-non cut me off, nodding.


    ¡°Yes, you were my idol.¡±


    In the darkness, his glowing eyes grew bloodshot.


    His faint voice grew weaker and raspier.


    ¡°...¡±


    In the silence that followed, I didn¡¯t know what to say.


    Finally, it was John Nae-non who broke the silence again.


    ¡°...They say they almost closed a rift in India.¡±


    His tone had changed.


    The hunter Goo Ssang-hyo had turned back into John Nae-non, the forum user.


    ¡°What? In India? Wasn¡¯t it completely destroyed?¡±


    ¡°They gathered the best elites on a small isolated island and attempted to counter a low-intensity rift. After many failures, they learned its true nature and figured out a way to close it.¡±


    It was hard to believe, but his story bore an eerie similarity to what was happening in Korea.


    The island of Jeju-do came to mind, and so did the face of Lee Sang-hoon.


    And what he¡¯d said to Kim Daram about stabbing me in the back.


    ¡°Where did you hear that?¡±


    It was perfect.


    Before I left, I looked back at him.


    John Nae-non stood there, arms outstretched, gazing at the world he¡¯d created with a strange sense of fulfillment.


    Whether it was because the darkness had grown too thick, or because my vision had blurred, I could no longer distinguish John Nae-non from the light surrounding him.


    Whenever I stand before a monster, I feel the deep-rooted hatred inside me blaze like dry coal catching fire.


    ¡°...¡±


    The small-type monster standing before me now¡ªa Dancer-type¡ªis specialized for close combat.


    You could call it a Hunter-killer monster.


    Despite its massive size, stretching 6 meters long, it moves with uncanny agility, as if it¡¯s dancing. Any Hunter who dares approach it is reduced to pulp by its two spike-like forearms.


    It¡¯s nearly impossible to defeat without equipment.


    But with the right tools and reflexes sharp enough to match its erratic movements, it¡¯s not invincible.


    Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!


    The earth shook as the grayish-white monster filled my field of vision.


    What I needed now was the resolve to die¡ªor more accurately, the will to drive one clean shot into the monster even if I died.


    Clack.


    The monster raised its spiked forearm high into the air.


    It was ready to skewer me, like the comrades whose bodies were cremated locally because there was no way to bring them back home.


    But I wouldn¡¯t let that happen to me.


    Feeling the eternal flames of hatred burning within me, I pulled the trigger.


    Boom!


    The instant I fired, the force sent me flying backward. A monstrous harpoon tore through the air and impaled the monster¡¯s body.


    Direct hit.


    Boom-boom-boom-boom!


    The charges inside the harpoon detonated in a chain reaction, tearing it apart from the inside.


    The monster split into two halves, its remains turning into colorful ash that began to dissipate.


    ¡°...Phew.¡±


    With that, my territory was secure.


    Outside the forest, the sniper and her daughter were waiting for me.


    ¡°Oh my God! Skeletton Hunter?! Are you a Hunter?!¡±


    ¡°Well... something like that.¡±


    ¡°Skeletton!¡±


    They seemed deeply impressed by what they had seen, especially Soo, who couldn¡¯t stop staring at me with wide eyes.


    I ruffled her hair lightly before leaving.


    ¡°...Let me know if this happens again.¡±


    ¡°Okay!¡±


    ¡°Oh, and Rebecca.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t post about today on the forums.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t. Before I shut your internet off.¡±


    ¡°...Fine.¡±


    With my exhausted body, I returned to the forum.


    There was much to talk about.


    The story of John Nae-non, and especially about his revenge.


    For now, I¡¯d tell Defender¡ªjust him.


    I wondered what kind of expression he¡¯d make upon hearing news of John Nae-non.


    Smiling to myself despite the weariness, I logged into the forum.


    ¡°...What?¡±


    The scene that greeted me looked like I¡¯d entered the wrong house.


    ??: Vikki-ya-hoo~! Vikki-ya-hoo~!


    ??: We came from Failnet. We came from Failnet. We came from Failnet.


    WhoAreYou: LMAO.


    Hydralisk123: Kaaak! (That means ¡°Hi, Viva bastards!¡±)


    WalnutMom: You all had this kind of fun and didn¡¯t tell us?!


    ??: We came from Failnet. We came from Failnet. We came from Failnet.


    ...


    What the hell was this?


    Why had the forum turned into this chaos?


    It didn¡¯t take long for me to find out why.


    Foxgames: I¡¯ve been saying the traffic¡¯s been weird for a while now. Turns out, it¡¯s because of an invasion. These guys are all from Failnet. But don¡¯t take it as a bad thing.


    Foxgames: If they can invade us, it means we can invade them too.


    Foxgames: The world just got bigger.


    The moment I read that, I slapped my forehead.


    Who could¡¯ve imagined such an incredible revenge?


    With deep respect, I muttered:


    ¡°John Nae-non.¡±


    He had been my role model.


    And apparently, he had thought of me as his idol.


    Now, I too would see him as my idol.


    A man who had created a world and connected it to another¡ªhe was more than deserving of that title.


    What kind of relationship is it when two people see each other as idols?


    An infinite chain of admiration.


    I thought of Ouroboros, the snake that devours its own tail¡ªa symbol of eternity.


    It represents unity, yet within that unity, there¡¯s always something bigger and smaller.


    The head is greater, and the tail is lesser.


    I wanted to give the honor of being the head to John Nae-non.


    To that man who had become one with the light in the faint darkness.


    John_nenon: (John Nae-non) Here¡¯s my lunch for today. Haha.


    I looked at his post.

 Chapter 32

    For three days, the invaders from Failnet wreaked havoc on the forum.


    Amid the flood of shitposts, our users held their breath, waiting for the storm that John Nae-non had stirred to subside.


    But those bastards showed no sign of leaving. On the contrary, their numbers continued to grow.


    Considering the nature of Failnet, it was unlikely the chaos would diminish. If anything, it would increase.


    With just a phone, anyone could access Failnet. As long as there was a signal and data, anyone could log in and start wreaking havoc.


    Amid this confusion, a single user stepped up.


    gijayangban: Failnet User Guide.txt


    Journalist Yangban, who had been using Failnet for some time, uploaded a detailed post.


    It was a shift in perspective¡ªif we couldn¡¯t use our forum, we might as well play over there.


    I¡¯d already been curious about Failnet, so I carefully read through the user guide.


    Failnet was fundamentally different from our forum.


    Unlike us, who had a single board community, Failnet was a layered structure made up of multiple boards divided by topic.


    If someone wanted, they could open a new board with an administrator''s approval on any topic they wished.


    Boards were ranked by user activity, and the most active board was the "Survival Information Board."


    Out of curiosity, I clicked on it.


    ??: Can you eat zombie meat?


    ʥѪ° : I tore my asshole while shitting...


    ??: The post below is clickbait, don¡¯t bother.


    ??: Tips for getting maximum government rations.


    ProBeggarMan: (Factos) Kim Ae-ba is just full of shit.


    KimAeBa: Get lost, losers lol. I¡¯m studying psychic resonance~


    ¡°...Huh.¡±


    The vibe was basically the same as ours.


    But there were far more users and far more posts.


    Out of curiosity, I clicked on ProBeggarMan¡¯s post.


    ProBeggarMan: (Factos) Kim Ae-ba is just full of shit.


    "I¡¯m talented, so if I study, I¡¯ll join Guard Branch" (He didn¡¯t even pass the written test, let alone a psychic exam).


    "I¡¯m just taking a gap year while begging; I¡¯m not like other failures" (He doesn¡¯t plan to study).


    "I have lots of friends, I¡¯m normal, and I just enjoy Failnet for fun" (He¡¯s online all day if the internet isn¡¯t down).


    The demographic was younger than ours, that was for sure.


    Immature? Well, pot calling the kettle black.


    Failnet also had popular posts, just like us.


    But because Failnet had so many boards, even popular posts often got buried.


    To solve this, John Nae-non created a board that collected all the popular posts from every board into one place.


    This was called the ¡°Hot Plate¡±.


    According to Journalist Yangban¡¯s guide, this Hot Plate was the alpha and omega of Failnet.


    Excited, I clicked on the Hot Plate.


    ??: Legion Faction is withdrawing from Yongsan District.jpg


    ??: Mutated tiger spotted on Daegu Palgong Mountain.jpg


    Fulcrum88: The True Hunter ¨C Chapter 22


    Anonymous: Collecting clean water with a mist trap (Part 2)


    ??: Nutria recipe for Nakdong River people: From slaughter to a full-course meal


    MeowMeowYowling: Former top idol Freeka spotted on a refugee ship to Jeju Island!


    ??: The Hope updates.jpg (Still broken)


    ¡°...Wow.¡±


    Unlike the survival board, this one felt amazing.


    The quality of posts and the level of information were on a different level compared to ours.


    Take Fulcrum88, for example¡ªhe¡¯s a top-tier webtoon artist.


    He probably earns more from streaming these days, but even someone like me, who doesn¡¯t read webtoons, knew his name.


    We have DragonC, a webtoon artist of our own, but honestly, he¡¯s not even close in comparison.


    This Hot Plate was incredible.


    It was full of fascinating posts.


    The saying that ¡°numbers are power¡± was proving true.


    Still, Failnet had its weaknesses.


    Because it was a public forum, there were no accounts, which meant no private messaging.


    Users weren¡¯t identified, so they could constantly change their nicknames and cause trouble¡ªso-called ¡°troll users¡±.


    Worse, the site itself was slow and unstable.


    Downloading even one of Fulcrum88¡¯s webtoons took forever. I had enough time to brew coffee and clean my house while waiting.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t deny that Failnet had far more to see.


    It was a good sign.


    Right now, Failnet users were causing havoc on our forum, but eventually, they¡¯d leave.


    Meanwhile, Failnet had boards for everything.


    Beauty, games, movies, literature, construction, firearms, sewing, flea markets¡ªyou name it.


    There were hundreds of boards.


    One board caught my eye:


    [Pioneer Board]


    Pioneers using a board?


    It was ranked around 700th, so it didn¡¯t have many users, but it was still active.


    However, this board was private.


    According to Yangban¡¯s guide, private boards needed an administrator''s approval and usually required a password.


    I clicked on it.


    [Please enter the password.]


    As expected, it was locked.


    But I wasn¡¯t just any user.


    I was Park Kyu¡ªa friend of John Nae-non, the creator of Failnet.


    SKELTON: You there? I need a favor.


    I sent a message to John Nae-non¡¯s sub-account.


    183cm88kg18cm: Oh, Skeletton! What¡¯s up?


    SKELTON: Is this John Nae-non?


    183cm88kg18cm: No, it¡¯s the same guy you met earlier.


    Probably his assistant.


    Close enough.


    I made my request: the password for the Pioneer Board.


    183cm88kg18cm: The Pioneer Board? One moment. The password is [email protected]#4$5%.


    "Some of you idiots have been complaining about our ¡®sinful work.¡¯ If you don¡¯t like it, quit.


    After finishing the mangoes, she stared at me.


    ¡°Something on your mind?¡±


    ¡°Skeletton, you¡¯re super strong, right?¡±


    Is this a continuation of the earlier conversation?


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    What should I say?


    That I was strong?


    No, compared to the average human, I was still strong.


    The real problem was that too many people had surpassed me.


    After pondering for longer than usual, I answered with a wry smile.


    ¡°More or less?¡±


    ¡°Liar. You¡¯re super strong. Aren¡¯t you a Hunter?¡±


    ¡°Hmm. I was a Hunter. Not anymore.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    Sue tilted her head sharply.


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t have the power anymore. Or the ability, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Ability? You mean psychic power?¡±


    ¡°You know about that, huh? Ah!¡±


    I remembered the litmus-paper-like psychic resonance test Min-hee had given me.


    Now that it came up, I might as well test it out.


    I had no intention of reporting good results to Min-hee, but you never know.


    What if an attack came that I couldn¡¯t handle, and Rebecca died, leaving me critically injured, and Sue alone?


    In such a situation, contacting Min-hee might be worth it.


    Of course, I wouldn¡¯t move her for free.


    Min-hee didn¡¯t give me that psychic test for nothing¡ªshe thought it necessary.


    If Sue showed potential, Min-hee would come to pick her up without hesitation.


    That was 100% certain.


    Min-hee, in some ways, was brutally honest.


    If she thought you weren¡¯t worth it, she wouldn¡¯t even give you a tissue.


    Hell, she didn¡¯t give a cent at Kim Daram¡¯s wedding...


    ¡°Sue. Wanna try putting this in your mouth?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a strip to test if you have Hunter potential.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It says the whiter it turns, the higher your potential. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°I wanna try!¡±


    Sue¡¯s eyes gleamed with determination.


    ¡°If I get strong like Skeletton, I can protect everyone.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a good attitude.¡±


    ¡°And kill Koreans I don¡¯t like.¡±


    ¡°...Don¡¯t let your mom influence you too much.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m joking.¡±


    Sue bit down on the test strip.


    What would the result be?


    Would it turn pure white, so much so that Min-hee would come running?


    Or at least a respectable gray, the color of compromise?


    In today¡¯s world, gray might be ominous, but for my purposes, it was a necessary safety net.


    ¡°Uh.¡±


    Sue tilted her head.


    Black.


    The strip remained completely unchanged¡ªpitch black.


    It was a disappointing result, but for some reason, I laughed.


    ¡°Why are you laughing, Skeletton?¡±


    ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to.¡±


    ¡°Your turn!¡±


    Sue handed me the strip she¡¯d used.


    I grabbed a fresh one instead and bit down.


    The moment the bitter strip touched my tongue, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a sliver of hope.


    Maybe this time¡ª


    Maybe I¡¯d receive that divine call.


    Maybe I¡¯d rise again as ¡°Professor,¡± the name that once felt so undeservedly grand.


    Maybe I¡¯d reunite with those who hurt me, and whom I hurt in turn¡ªKang Han-min, Na Hye-won.


    Maybe we¡¯d stride into the rifts together, forcing back the monsters I hated with every fiber of my being.


    My hatred hadn¡¯t cooled.


    But as always, reality was harsh.


    ¡°What the¡ª Skeletton, yours is black too!¡±


    Sue burst into laughter this time.


    Smiling bitterly, I stared at the unchanged, black strip.


    ¡°... ...¡±


    Two black test strips lay side by side.


    One belonged to Sue, the girl from a faraway land.


    The other belonged to me, Park Gyu.


    Sue taped the strips to the bunker wall for safekeeping.


    ¡°We¡¯re both Black.¡±


    Despite the result, Sue seemed genuinely happy.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go. I¡¯ll take you back to your mom.¡±


    ¡°Okay!¡±


    After Sue left, I stared at the two black test strips for a long time.


    I wondered:


    Is black really such a bad thing?


    ¡°Skeletton, what are you doing? Are you on that weird toilet?¡±


    ¡°... ...¡±


    Maybe it was time to seriously reconsider the toilet¡¯s placement.

 Chapter 33.1

    The unwanted guests from Failnet withdrew like the receding tide.


    ??: ¡°For real, this place is full of boring losers.¡±


    An anonymous user''s evaluation summed it up perfectly.


    ??: ¡°Especially that Skelton guy. What year was he born in, anyway? He still makes those Nanat jokes...¡±


    I don¡¯t know why I keep getting caught in the crossfire, but at this point, maybe Defender was right when he said I¡¯m terrible at the internet.


    It was about a week after the gunfire from the north had stopped that Defender suddenly proposed something unexpected.


    Defender: ¡°I can¡¯t stand it anymore. I need to move.¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°That place really isn¡¯t great for you.¡±


    Defender: ¡°I¡¯m planning to move somewhere near your area.¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°What?!¡±


    Defender: ¡°Is there a problem?¡±


    Of course there¡¯s a problem.


    Let¡¯s be honest¡ªneither the brother nor the sister are normal, right? And now they¡¯re saying they¡¯re coming near my bunker? Just the thought makes my skin crawl.


    Defender: ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯re not asking to stay in your bunker. Unlike some people, we have a sense of boundaries.¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Defender: ¡°Didn¡¯t your friends say you were bad at taking hints before the war?¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°?¡±


    Defender: ¡°Oh, wait. Did you not have many friends?¡±


    SKELTON: (Skelton denies this claim.)


    Defender: ¡°Anyway, we¡¯ve already scouted a spot. It¡¯s about 3 km away from your place.¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°3 km?!¡±


    Defender: ¡°We¡¯ll respect your privacy as much as possible, so help us out. We¡¯re friends, remember?¡±


    Defender: (Cry of a beautiful woman) ¡°If you don¡¯t help, we¡¯re dead!¡±


    It didn¡¯t seem like he was joking.


    Defender¡¯s area had always been dangerous, but now ex-military raiders were appearing nearby. Moving during the apocalypse is no small feat¡ªit was already a major ordeal before the war, but now it¡¯s a matter of life and death.


    Defender: ¡°I¡¯ve made a plan.¡±


    He sent me a map with his migration route marked out. His plan... how should I put this? It was very Defender-like. A mix of rationality and madness.


    With raiders from the Legion Faction around, he avoided their routes as much as possible. Instead, his route went through a zombie zone, a fanatic-controlled area, and a monster-infested zone.


    SKELTON: ¡°What¡¯s this fanatic-controlled area?¡±


    Defender: ¡°It¡¯s a thing. I can¡¯t remember the name exactly.¡±


    SKELTON: (Skelton thinks hard)


    Defender: (Puppy-eyed Defender) ¡°You¡¯re coming, right?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Of course, I had to go. What choice do I have?


    If, by some miracle, the Defender siblings managed to move without me, they might cut ties with me completely¡ªand worse, become my most vocal haters. That would hurt more than if they died.


    Besides, aren¡¯t we internet friends?


    SKELTON: (197cm, 100kg, 30cm Skelton)


    I replied confidently, inspired by my role model, Johnnenon.


    Defender: ¡°?¡±


    Defender: ¡°What the hell are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°....¡±


    Maybe that joke was too advanced for Defender.


    Defender is rough around the edges, sure, but he¡¯s sharp and sensible when it counts. We agreed to meet halfway.


    As always, I set out after dark. I traveled quietly under the cover of the shadows.


    Bang!


    Distant gunfire rang out¡ªit wasn¡¯t unusual anymore.


    Off to the northeast, I could see unfamiliar lights. Pioneers, probably.


    Bang! Bang!


    There¡¯s a reason pioneers venture into the dangerous wastelands: guns.


    For those starving in the cities, a gun offers a glimmer of hope. It means they can at least try to survive out here, even if the odds are slim.


    Bang! Rat-a-tat-tat!


    The gunfire became rapid and frantic. I turned on the radio.


    Radio: ¡°-zzzzt! This is the 423rd Pioneer Corps! A mutation! A mutation is circling our camp! We need support, immediate support!¡±


    A moment later, the radio crackled again.


    Radio: ¡°This is the 423rd Pioneer Corps. The ¡®mutation¡¯ turned out to be a deer. We apologize for the confusion.¡±


    It was a full moon tonight.


    Usually, things like this don¡¯t happen during a full moon, but the clouds were so thick it might as well have been a new moon. No wonder they were shooting at shadows.


    The moonlight peeked through the clouds briefly, casting faint illumination on the ground.


    Following the faint glow of lights and gunfire as my guide, I reached the meeting point.


    I checked my GPS and sent a signal through the K-Walkie.


    Beep¡ªBeep Beep Beep Beep¡ª


    I looked around.


    From the northeastern woods, a light blinked three times.


    That was our signal. We had agreed not to use direct replies¡ªcommunication through light and radio only. It was inefficient, but necessary. When people are your greatest threat, you take precautions.


    ¡°Skelton.¡±


    It had been a while since I last saw Defender. He looked a bit thinner, but still carried the same bold demeanor. His gaze was sharper now, as if he had leveled up from killing too many people.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°When it comes to those soulless bastards who believe in cults, you think borders or reasons matter?¡±


    Defender had a point.


    This world is full of people who¡¯ve chosen self-destruction, people like that.


    That¡¯s probably what I¡¯m seeing now¡ªhumans who would¡¯ve burned themselves out even if the apocalypse hadn¡¯t come.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me about this sooner?¡±


    ¡°Because I thought you wouldn¡¯t come if I did.¡±


    Defender admitted it honestly.


    Clearly, this guy had been in China. He knew firsthand how dangerous those fanatics were, almost as much as an organized army.


    Some people underestimate them. Compared to the military, their equipment is poor, and they lack proper training.


    But they¡¯re never easy opponents.


    It¡¯s not just about their numbers, their fervor, or their disregard for death.


    Among the fanatics, there are times when someone appears¡ªsomeone chosen by their so-called god.


    Quietly, I asked Defender, ¡°Are there Awakened among them?¡±


    Defender paused for a moment before nodding.


    ¡°...I don¡¯t know for sure. But I think I saw something like that.¡±


    People say the first Awakened emerged among hunters, but that¡¯s not true.


    The first Awakened appeared among the fanatics living in erosion zones.


    It was something I witnessed firsthand, alongside the Chinese military.


    I still vividly remember what Major Lee Ja-ho, who served as our bridge with the Chinese forces, said with wide, horrified eyes.


    ¡°Is that... a human mutation? No... has a human become a monster?¡±


    That information was deleted and concealed back when I had access to classified intel.


    Now, it¡¯s probably regarded as little more than a legend remembered by a handful of people.


    There was no helping it.


    Dark ages crave heroes, and heroes only emerge in dramatic circumstances.


    Defender spoke into his headset, contacting his sister.


    ¡°We¡¯ve reached the open field. Do a quick scout.¡±


    ¡°Aye, Captain!¡±


    We waited briefly.


    Soon, a dark speck rose against the night sky.


    It was a Chinese-made combat drone equipped with night vision.


    ¡°All clear. You can move.¡±


    Before his sister even finished speaking, Defender sprinted across the open field.


    The clouds were thinning, revealing the moonlight, which lit up the ground.


    Despite this, there wasn¡¯t a trace of hesitation in his movements.


    Reluctantly, I followed him at full speed.


    When my breathing started to feel pleasantly strained, we re-entered the dense forest.


    ¡°From here on, this is my territory.¡±


    By then, heavy clouds completely shrouded the sky and moon, plunging us into pitch-black darkness. We had to rely on instinct to navigate.


    After climbing a few hills and descending some slopes, Defender suddenly stopped.


    ¡°Turn back.¡±


    He pointed a laser pointer toward a corner of the darkness.


    It was a Claymore mine.


    Maliciously, someone had strung wires between rocks along the shortcut. If triggered, hundreds of steel pellets would shred the person and anyone following them into rags.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t here before. It must¡¯ve been set up recently.¡±


    ¡°By those guys earlier?¡±


    ¡°Who knows? What matters is that we can¡¯t live here anymore.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    The detour was more of a rock-climbing course than a path.


    Thanks to the darkness hiding us, it was possible to pull off such feats.


    Soon, faint outlines of a steep-pitched roof emerged in the hazy distance.


    It was Defender¡¯s house.


    It had taken a while, but we had arrived safely.


    Suddenly, Defender turned around.


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    He brushed past me.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take another way.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something I don¡¯t want to see. I¡¯m really sorry.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t an offhand apology¡ªthere was genuine regret in his voice.


    Why would he turn back when we were so close to his house?


    I was puzzled and about to ask when the world suddenly brightened.


    A small gap appeared in the thick clouds that had been covering the moon and stars.


    Through that narrow opening, the hidden moonlight poured down, blanketing the world in a brief, ethereal glow.


    In that moment of brilliance, a secret hidden in the darkness was revealed.


    A corpse hung from a tree.


    It was dried up, mummified.


    The body had hanged itself and now stared vacantly at the amusement park sprawled below, its hollow eyes gazing downward.


    The withered face of the corpse bore an uncanny resemblance to the features of Defender and his sister.

 Chapter 33.2

    The centerpiece of Defender''s relocation plan was a truck.


    Somehow, they¡¯d gotten their hands on a five-ton refrigerated cargo truck.


    Everything was packed into the truck, including his younger sister.


    [ Hello. ]


    Defender''s sister waved at me, showing a message on her tablet screen.


    "Hello," I replied.


    As soon as she saw me, her fingers danced across the tablet, and she showed me a new message.


    [ You¡¯ve lost a lot of weight. Something happened? ]


    "It¡¯s a joke. I was imitating John Nae-non."


    Hearing that, Defender''s sister gave me a serious look before her fingers moved lightning-fast once more.


    [ No wonder people keep swearing at you. I mean, wasn''t John Nae-non''s alternate account name something ridiculous like ¡®183cm83kg3cm¡¯? Honestly, it¡¯s so transparent. So predictable. Consistently absurd. ]


    As she enthusiastically criticized John Nae-non, Defender''s sister suddenly set the tablet down and stared at me.


    "Hey, Skelton," she said out loud.


    It was the first time, to my memory, that she¡¯d spoken to me directly. Her face looked tired, drained even. I silently watched her, waiting.


    She met my gaze briefly but quickly averted her eyes, hesitating.


    Does she have something to say?


    As I continued to wait, she picked up the tablet again.


    [ It¡¯s nothing, Mr. 197cm100kg30cm. ]


    "That¡¯s just another one of John Nae-non¡¯s ego-driven displays."


    [ Go check on my brother. ]


    "Hey."


    I could¡¯ve just walked away, but she was also a Defender.


    "Got something on your mind? Spill it."


    It was clear she had something troubling her, though she hesitated for reasons I couldn¡¯t discern. I couldn¡¯t promise to fix everything, but I could listen.


    "Got no worries?"


    In the past, I wouldn¡¯t have cared. Even when I knew someone was suffering, nearing despair, I¡¯d ignored them. Be they juniors, peers, or seniors, I had left them to their pain.


    I¡¯d dismissed their struggles as weakness, a lack of the resolve needed to face monsters.


    Because of that, I¡¯d lost countless comrades.


    People I could¡¯ve saved, people I¡¯d known, disappeared like smoke into the void.


    "Don¡¯t regret it later," I said.


    Maybe I was saying this as much for myself as for her.


    Defender was in the living room, checking a route on a map composed of four printer sheets taped together.


    "Oh, Skelton. Want something to drink?" he asked.


    "Water¡¯s fine. Let me take a look at that map."


    I folded my arms and stood beside him, observing the route.


    Defender¡¯s plan was straightforward: avoid soldiers, zombies, and cultists by passing through two relatively safer zones.


    Once through, they¡¯d reach a temporary safe area. While pioneers might occasionally appear, they were minor nuisances compared to soldiers, cultists, and monsters.


    The map marked their destination as an area about 4 kilometers west of my territory. Like most places, it was desolate, close to a U.S. military base obliterated by nuclear strikes. The site had been hit with countless cruise missiles in the aftermath, rendering it uninhabitable.


    "Where exactly do you plan to settle?" I asked.


    "Your bunker."


    "You know that¡¯s not happening, right?"


    "Of course, just joking."


    Defender''s sister appeared out of nowhere, holding up her tablet. She displayed an image of an abandoned rural house.


    It was a courtyard-style residence, its few windows shattered, part of its outer wall collapsed, exposing the interior like a cracked egg.


    "This house looks promising," Defender said.


    "Doesn¡¯t look great to me," I replied.


    "The inside¡¯s a mess, sure, but it has a solid underground setup. The previous owner must¡¯ve been eccentric, building unnecessary underground facilities."


    "A bunker?"


    "No, a gambling den."


    "When did you check this place out?"


    "A while back."


    "A while?"


    His sister chimed in unexpectedly, "My brother has a hobby of house-hunting."


    Defender shrugged. "I knew from the start that this place wasn¡¯t ideal. So, I scouted properties here and there."


    "Why not pick a good location from the start?" I asked.


    "I didn¡¯t have the means back then."


    "Really?"


    "This isn¡¯t our house."


    Defender smiled faintly at his sister, who remained silent with a peculiar expression.


    "Is that true?"


    Both siblings nodded in unison.


    This was surprising. Did they already move once before?


    How did they join Viva! Apocalypse!?


    Judging by their reactions, it wasn¡¯t a joke. Only one possibility came to mind.


    In Ominous Silence, the Truck Began to Move


    Defender took the wheel, and I sat in the passenger seat. Defender¡¯s sister crouched in the cramped space behind the seats, sitting on a flattened board.


    ¡°Smells like a rotting corpse,¡± I muttered.


    Bang!


    The truck lurched precariously as it descended a slope, rattling as though it had hit a sizable rock. Even in the pitch-black darkness, Defender navigated the steep incline deftly without turning on the headlights.


    ¡°Wow,¡± I blurted out, unable to suppress my admiration. Though it wasn¡¯t the time for compliments, his skill was impressive.


    ¡°What¡¯s that smell?¡± Defender asked sharply, reacting to the stench of decay.


    I glanced back at his sister. She looked at me, hesitated, then spoke in a small voice as she stared at her brother¡¯s resolute back.


    ¡°Skelton picked up Dad¡¯s will,¡± she said.


    ¡°Did he?¡± Defender responded, indifferent.


    ¡°So, what did it say? Don¡¯t tell me it was something cliche? like ¡®Sorry, I love you.¡¯¡±


    ¡°How did you know!?¡± I interrupted involuntarily.


    But my clumsy intrusion seemed to have no effect on their sibling dynamic. It was as if I were posting an obscure meme on Viva! Apocalypse!¡ªlike ¡®Skelton¡¯s Beatbox Vol. 3¡¯¡ªonly to be completely ignored.


    ¡°It''s not too late. Can¡¯t we just cremate him?¡± his sister asked seriously.


    ¡°We can¡¯t leave him there forever.¡±


    ¡°He liked the theme park. He said it reminded him of when we were kids. He¡¯s probably happy even in death,¡± Defender replied with a bitter smile.


    ¡°Brother.¡±


    The truck shook violently, jostling us all.


    Defender¡¯s lips curled into a sardonic smirk. ¡°Our dad... still the same.¡±


    He muttered in a tone laced with self-mockery. ¡°Even now, he finds a way to hold us back at the worst possible time.¡±


    The rough jolting subsided as the truck hit the road, leaving the soldiers¡¯ territory behind and entering the zombie zone.


    ¡°Keep an eye on the sides,¡± Defender instructed as he turned on the headlights.


    The beams illuminated the truck¡¯s fortified front, revealing smooth, rounded metal bars welded onto the front bumper. It was a deliberate anti-zombie measure. Sharp spikes had been popular once, but they came with downsides¡ªzombies stuck to them like glue. Since zombies don¡¯t feel pain, the spikes were more of a liability than an asset.


    In contrast, rounded barriers, reminiscent of playground obstacles, didn¡¯t hurt zombies but caused them to fall away when they got tangled, leaving the truck free to keep moving.


    In the distance, we heard the eerie groaning of zombies.


    I mentally reviewed the map. The zombie zone was a significant detour. On foot or by bike, it would be an unthinkable route. However, with a road available and the need to avoid soldiers, it was the only viable option.


    ¡°They¡¯re close,¡± Defender said as the groans grew louder. He brought the truck to a stop.


    Shapes began to appear beyond the lights¡ªhuman figures stumbling toward us.


    Zombies.


    The abandoned city¡¯s residents were rushing out as if to greet us.


    Click.


    Defender chambered a round.


    Click.


    Behind us, the sound repeated. His sister had armed herself, too. She looked at me with a mischievous smirk, sticking out her tongue slightly.


    ¡°Seduction doesn¡¯t work on zombies,¡± she quipped.


    Surely, she hadn¡¯t actually tried... had she? Then again, with these two, anything seemed possible.


    Inside and outside, the stench of death filled the air.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Defender said.


    The truck accelerated sharply, cutting through the pervasive smell of decay. Zombies appeared vividly in the headlights, their glowing red eyes reflecting hunger¡ªfor flesh and for their own kind.


    Bang!


    The reinforced bumper sent several zombies flying, while others were crushed beneath the tires.


    ¡°Hah!¡± his sister laughed, baring her teeth in exhilaration.


    Even Defender, moments ago stoic, wore a carefree grin.


    ¡°Skelton! Watch the sides!¡±


    This pair really did love killing, didn¡¯t they?


    Bang! Bang!


    Two shots rang out as I took aim at the zombies clinging to the sides of the truck. More effective, however, was the pump-action shotgun his sister wielded.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Each blast sent clusters of zombies tumbling to the ground.


    ¡°Haha!¡± Her laughter grew louder as Defender whistled, flooring the accelerator.


    The engine roared as the truck plowed through everything in its path. It was a satisfying, flawless breakthrough.


    The adrenaline-fueled chaos seemed to thaw the frost between the siblings, at least temporarily.


    In the grayish-white light of the cultist zone, Defender stopped the truck to inspect it. He carefully examined the armored panels on my side and his sister¡¯s.


    ¡°Brother,¡± she called softly, her tone different now.


    ¡°Tell him,¡± she added, glancing at me. ¡°Skelton¡¯s curious.¡±


    Defender sighed, his expression one of reluctant resignation. He hesitated, his furrowed brow betraying his inner turmoil.


    Finally, he pointed back toward where we¡¯d come from.


    ¡°The house we lived in,¡± he began.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± I replied.


    ¡°It belonged to the master.¡±


    ¡°The master?¡± I echoed, momentarily confused. I must have misheard. It was so far removed from what I¡¯d imagined.


    But the next words brought everything into sharp focus.


    ¡°Yeah. Our dad was their servant.¡±


    Defender¡¯s once-predatory gaze softened into something colder, more subdued. His eyes turned toward the hazy past he clearly didn¡¯t want to revisit.

 Chapter 33.3

    ¡°A foolish man,¡± Defender commented briefly on his father. ¡°He should have married someone stronger and more assertive than my mother. No offense to her.¡±


    ¡°He lived and died in a field of flowers,¡± his sister added, her tone far sharper.


    Defender sighed and continued, ¡°Father was what you¡¯d call a ¡®good person.¡¯ Couldn¡¯t say no to anyone. Loved lending money he¡¯d never get back. Whenever Mom scolded him, he¡¯d insist that people¡¯s feelings were more important than money.¡±


    His sister made a face of disgust and chimed in, ¡°I hated him. Toward the end, I couldn¡¯t even look him in the eye. How could someone be so much of a pushover?¡±


    I was beginning to understand his father¡¯s type¡ªsomeone who never caused trouble for others but made life miserable for his own family.


    Defender¡¯s father and Defender himself couldn¡¯t have been more different. While his father was endlessly kind and accommodating, Defender had no qualms about killing anyone who got in his way.


    Defender spoke slowly, his gaze fixed on the past. His story unfolded exactly as I had expected¡ªa man who was kind to a fault. Friendly, easygoing, and always looking out for others. But as time went on, he helped so many people while neglecting his own needs. And when he needed help, no one was there. He ignored the fingers pointed at him by the very people he had once supported.


    ¡°He never saved a single penny in his life. Everything he had came from the inheritance left by my grandfather. But what could he do with it? He had three brothers to share it with. Owning his own house was out of the question. He spent his life bouncing between rented apartments, moving further and further into cheaper neighborhoods as rents rose. Things got so tight that my sister even had to reconsider going to college.¡±


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t ready for the war, was he?¡± I asked.


    Defender turned to look at me. ¡°Do you know what he said about it?¡±


    ¡°No, what?¡±


    ¡®Wars don¡¯t start so easily. I know the Chinese well. They are a peaceful people,¡¯¡± Defender said, his voice laced with sarcasm. He snorted bitterly. ¡°Then, when the missiles started falling, he didn¡¯t know what to do. Water, power, everything was cut off. The government told us to go to shelters, but there was nothing there.¡±


    ¡°How was it, Sister?¡± he asked, glancing back at her.


    ¡°Oh, I almost got dragged into a bathroom and raped,¡± she replied bluntly.


    ¡°And that¡¯s the kind of place we lived in,¡± Defender concluded. ¡°Then, out of nowhere, we got a call from the landlord.¡±


    ¡°The owner of the house you lived in?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°What kind of relationship did you have?¡±


    ¡°He was my dad¡¯s college friend. But his life was the polar opposite of my dad¡¯s.¡±


    I recalled Defender¡¯s house. Despite its decay and disrepair, the signs of wealth were unmistakable.


    If the landlord had lived a life opposite to Defender¡¯s father, he must have amassed quite a fortune.


    ¡°He was the type to call Dad occasionally just to rub salt in the wound. Told him about buying a Porsche for his kid, buying an apartment, going on trips abroad. Later, he bragged about divorcing his wife and keeping a mistress. He was a scumbag.¡±@@@@


    Defender¡¯s face was etched with open disdain.


    ¡°When the war broke out, that bastard called to ask if Dad, Mom, and my sister were safe. Then he offered them a place to stay in one of his properties.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°So, in exchange for leaving ruined Seoul and living in a comfortable home, Dad became their servant. He cooked, cleaned, and did construction work. But something didn¡¯t sit right with me.¡±


    Defender¡¯s eyes narrowed, his gaze reflecting the light of the truck¡¯s interior as if inspecting a blade¡¯s edge. ¡°When we got there, only men were living there. Big, burly ones.¡±


    I didn¡¯t need him to spell it out. I¡¯d already pieced together the landlord¡¯s true intentions when he asked about Defender¡¯s mother and sister. It was a painfully common tale¡ªa predator using comfort and safety as bait to exploit the vulnerable.


    Women and children were the usual victims.


    Despite the myths of moral superiority Koreans like to boast about, this country proved no different from others in the aftermath of war.


    ¡°I told Dad we needed to leave,¡± Defender continued. ¡°I had a bad feeling. My sister agreed.¡±


    ¡°They came for me while I was in the bathroom,¡± his sister added. ¡°Waited until I was alone, then knocked on the door.¡±


    ¡°And that idiot got mad at us for even suggesting we leave. He actually yelled for the first time, saying you don¡¯t reject kindness. He even slapped me. It was the first time he ever hit me.¡±


    Defender¡¯s sister shifted in her seat, brushing aside her hair to reveal a scar along her temple.


    ¡°When I came back, Dad was tied up and beaten. Mom was dead, her head bashed in with a shovel. My sister was unconscious, bleeding from a head wound, and a group of men was stripping her.¡±


    ¡°The bastard didn¡¯t even seem to know how to undo a bra strap,¡± she scoffed.


    ¡°What happened next?¡± I asked.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± Defender replied with a wicked grin, spinning a razor-sharp knife between his fingers.


    ¡°I killed every single one of them. The landlord, his son, his son¡¯s friends, even the mistress¡¯s little brat and their damn dog.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Dad sat on the floor crying, but I didn¡¯t feel an ounce of pity for him. His stupidity ruined our family, led us to ruin. I treated my sister¡¯s wounds, buried Mom, and cleaned up the bodies. But I ignored him completely.¡±


    Defender sighed, tilting his head back to look at the sky. ¡°The next morning, he was dead.¡±


    ¡°Uh... yeah.¡±


    ¡°Get it out for me.¡±


    Though we had taken a detour by road, the actual walking distance to the theme park was short¡ªjust thirteen minutes. If I ran, it would take only five.


    I wasn¡¯t thrilled about carrying a corpse through possible encounters with soldiers, but this felt like the best way forward.


    Having lost my entire family to monsters, my own memories of family were faint. That empty space had been filled with hatred, which had become the source of my strength.


    But for those who still had family, who carried those memories alive in their hearts¡ªhow did it feel?


    Surely, it must be precious.


    Most of all, I remembered something: Defender, normally so cold and pragmatic, had gone out of his way to avoid even looking at his father¡¯s corpse. That emotion, as his sister had said, couldn¡¯t be simple contempt.


    Perhaps he had loved his father just as much as he had hated him, leaving him paralyzed, unable to act. If he truly despised his father, he would have handled it cleanly, like the children who abandoned Kim Elder and waited for him to die.


    ¡°Hey, Skelton. What are you doing?¡± Defender¡¯s voice came through my communicator.


    I ignored him.


    A moment later, his voice returned. ¡°I heard from my sister. You know you¡¯re doing something pointless, right? This is a family matter. I like you, Skelton, but I won¡¯t tolerate you interfering in my family¡¯s affairs. Turn back before this gets messy.¡±


    ¡°Let me ask you something,¡± I said.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It might sound like an insult, but it¡¯s clear your father wasn¡¯t a great dad.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he wasn¡¯t,¡± Defender replied, his tone flat.


    ¡°But do you think he was a bad dad?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s...¡±


    I don¡¯t think so. A man who, even in death, binds such cold-hearted siblings must have had some goodness in him.


    Not being a smooth talker, that was all I could say.


    ¡°Skelton,¡± Defender said again, as if he had made up his mind. ¡°I appreciate the thought, but this is a family matter. You need to...¡±


    ¡°Do you know why Dad liked that place?¡± his sister interrupted.


    Defender¡¯s silence suggested even he hadn¡¯t expected her to butt in.


    ¡°Da-jung,¡± he said, speaking her name for the first time in front of me.


    ¡°I hated him,¡± she continued, ¡°but I know why he went there and why he wanted to stay. He had memories there.¡±


    ¡°Memories?¡±


    ¡°Do you remember holding hands and going to the amusement park below our house?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°He told me once that those were the times he felt he could give us the best, when our family was at its most abundant.¡±


    ¡°Does that matter?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t believe in superstitions. But maybe he missed those days. Maybe he thought staying there would bring those days back. That¡¯s just my guess.¡±


    Defender said nothing. Not even his breathing came through the communicator. He must have muted himself.


    I stood under the corpse, now illuminated by the moonlight that the clouds had graciously cleared.


    ¡°Sir... that¡¯s what they said,¡± I murmured.


    The body swayed gently in the wind, like a banana tree, as if gazing down at the theme park below.


    Carefully, I cut the body down, wrapped it in a tarp, and strapped it to the carrying frame.


    ¡°Phew.¡±


    I had to get back as quickly as possible. With my eyes adjusted to the dark, I scanned the downhill path for footing.


    That was when Defender¡¯s voice returned, breaking the brief silence.


    ¡°Cultists,¡± he said.


    I heard him click his tongue in irritation.


    ¡°Damn it. There¡¯s Awakened with them.¡±

 Chapter 33.4

    When Awakened first appeared, there was significant debate about their true nature.


    The initial opinion was unequivocal rejection.


    It was asserted that Awakened¡ªreferred to at the time as sufferers of "Occipital Lobe Overgrowth Receptor Syndrome"¡ªwere a dangerous type of human mutation that needed to be isolated from society.


    But, as always, the world is driven by money and efficiency, and theories are often merely the handmaids of "progress."


    Hunters from the old era, like us, had already been under heavy criticism.


    Compared to trained soldiers, there wasn¡¯t much separating us from them, yet we bore the title of "Hunters," received better pay, and held more prestigious positions.


    In nations like South Korea, where wealthier neighbors tended to absorb all the good things, information about Hunters was kept classified, their identities hidden.


    In contrast, in the U.S., professional Hunters openly hunted mutations or monsters under their own names, building recognition and contributing to soldiers¡¯ feelings of psychological deprivation.


    That said, being a Hunter wasn¡¯t easy.


    Many Hunters lost their lives on the battlefield.


    The high costs weren¡¯t just about salaries¡ªgovernments saw it as indicative of extreme loss rates.


    Take our 13th class, for example: of the 1,200 members, only 300 survived.


    I suddenly recalled what my mentor, Instructor Jang Ki-young¡ªa first-generation Hunter who strongly insisted on being called "Professor"¡ªonce told me:


    "Park Gyu, if there were a hundred guys like you in this world, we wouldn¡¯t have been shoved into the backroom."


    Then, the concept of a "new humanity" emerged.


    That new humanity was none other than the Awakened.


    Support for them sprouted up everywhere, led by the media. Before long, they were seen as the upgraded version of old-era Hunters.


    My classmates played a key role in this transition: Kang Han-min and Na Hye-won.


    During the direst moments of war, both awakened simultaneously.


    Their awakening was like something out of a divine spectacle, as if gods had descended to save the world.


    In that coronation of gods, I was nothing.


    They quickly became the mainstream on the monster front, while we old-era Hunters, just as my mentor had predicted, were gradually sidelined and eventually became irrelevant.


    The fate of old-school Hunters who failed to save up money is exemplified by people like Baek Seung-hyun.


    Defender¡¯s case is even more tragic.


    He was betrayed by the very times.


    If I had to guess, he was probably part of the 17th or 18th class, based on his age.


    He enlisted as an old-era Hunter during the transitional period before the system shifted to the Awakened model. He experienced hell in China and North Korea before returning to Korea¡ªa cursed cohort.


    ¡°Phew...¡±


    Running full speed through a mountain path with a corpse on my back wasn¡¯t easy, even with the downhill incline.


    Balancing the need to watch for traps and monitoring soldiers¡¯ movements only added to the difficulty.


    ¡°What do we do now, Oppa?¡±


    Even now, the voices of the Defender siblings buzzed through my communicator.


    ¡°Quiet. Let¡¯s try that,¡± Defender said.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°You know.¡±


    What were they up to? Could it be...?


    No, not that. Not the one thing I hated¡ªseduction tactics.


    ¡°Even Awakened are just regular humans if you penetrate their reflective barrier,¡± Defender said.


    ¡°That¡¯s not quite true,¡± I cut in.


    ¡°They probably have one or two protective abilities.¡±


    ¡°Skelton?¡± both siblings asked in unison.


    ¡°Just hold out. Don¡¯t fight them. Stall as long as you can¡ªI¡¯m on my way.¡±


    ¡°Skelton... my father¡¯s body?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll bring it with me. Don¡¯t worry.¡±


    ¡°No, Skelton.¡±


    Defender¡¯s voice grew louder. He must have brought the mic closer to his mouth, because his whisper came through crystal clear.


    ¡°Just go. Forget the body.¡±


    ¡°Forget it?¡±


    ¡°You came here for us. That¡¯s enough. I¡¯m grateful¡ªI really am. Thanks to you, I¡¯ve felt some semblance of humanity in this cursed world. I was too harsh earlier. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    This guy.


    Who knew he could say such sweet things?


    He sounded even more endearing than his sister.


    I placed the corpse down and spoke into the communicator.


    ¡°Have you ever killed an Awakened?¡±


    ¡°Only with ricochet rounds.¡±


    ¡°So, no. How about monsters?¡±


    ¡°With Hunter gear and fire support...¡±


    ¡°Fine. Get your sister into the truck.¡±


    ¡°What? You¡¯re going to fight alone?¡±


    The handgun spun in my hand¡ªa dormant weapon coming to life.


    ¡°Watch carefully. It might be useful to you.¡±


    To us, Hunters, a Call Sign was more than a nickname. It was a title earned after much deliberation from our instructors.


    Mine was ¡°Professor,¡± unanimously decided because of my flawless techniques.


    Awakened had ended my lectures, but today, I would teach again.


    The Awakened didn¡¯t even flinch as I approached.


    Bang!


    The bullet fired.


    The black field appeared before me¡ªa reflective barrier, a mirror-like defense unique to Awakened.


    But the bullet grazed me harmlessly on its return.


    ¡°Watch closely,¡± I muttered, unsheathing my axe.


    When it was over, only the Awakened remained, kneeling in a broken prayer.


    ¡°This is where your doctrine ends,¡± I said coldly, driving the axe into his skull.


    Wiping the blood from the blade, I turned to the siblings, who stared wide-eyed.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Today¡¯s lesson was over.


    *


    Under the glow of the full moon, which had spent the night veiled by clouds, it was as if the celestial body sought to release its sorrow by proudly illuminating the horizon even as dawn broke. The moon, lingering near the central ecliptic, cast its pale light alongside the sun''s rising radiance.


    Beneath this mix of sunlight and moonlight, we prepared to bid farewell to a single corpse.


    A son and a father reunited¡ªafter two years and five months.


    The murderer of countless fathers now faced the shriveled visage of his own, his trembling eyes betraying fear and reverence alike.


    "Father," Defender whispered.


    His elegant, pale fingers grazed the corpse¡¯s dried face.


    "...I¡¯m sorry."


    He bowed his head.


    No sobs, no tears¡ªjust a silent bow that lasted for an extended moment, unmoving.


    Defender¡¯s sister glanced at me, the match in her hand poised to ignite. She nodded slightly in my direction.


    Returning the gesture, I stepped away, leaving them alone.


    As Defender had said, this was a family matter. One that an outsider like me had no place meddling in.


    Moments later, a thin plume of smoke rose, carried far by the dawn breeze.


    In the distance, a combat helicopter soared northward through the sky.


    *


    Despite the tumultuous series of events, I became neighbors with the Defender siblings, though we shared little interaction at first.


    The communication device I had given them remained silent. Defender stopped appearing on the community boards as well.


    Under normal circumstances, his absence would have stirred up speculation¡ªpeople would have asked questions. But the frequent incursions by PaleNet intruders and the steady decline in activity on our forums meant most users had shifted to browsing the higher-quality content on PaleNet. His absence didn¡¯t make much of an impact.


    And yet, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder... was this all part of Jonnaenon¡¯s plan? That man always gave me the chills.


    It wasn¡¯t until a week and a day after their reunion with their father that Defender reached out again.


    "Hey, Skelton! Skelton! My brother has something to tell you!" his sister chirped.


    What was this? A thank-you, perhaps?


    No thanks were necessary. Honestly, I already felt reassured having one more allied neighbor nearby. It was comforting in its own way.


    But perhaps I had underestimated this sibling duo.


    After a long pause, Defender finally spoke.


    "S-Suh-seobang...!"


    "?!"


    "Let¡¯s have a housewarming party, Suh-seobang!"


    What?

 Chapter 34

    I prepared the wild boar that Gold had brought over.


    After gutting it and draining its blood, I placed it in the freezer. Aside from the boar, I also had one more boar, two deer, and two chickens. The chickens were for me, and the deer meat wasn¡¯t of good enough quality to serve to guests. I decided to butcher one of the sows instead.


    It was my first time breaking down meat like this.


    I played a video tutorial and mimicked the process. It didn¡¯t go as smoothly as I¡¯d hoped¡ªskinning the hide was far harder than I expected. But as I worked steadily, the boar gradually began to resemble the cuts of meat you¡¯d see in a butcher shop.


    I sniffed the meat.


    Not exactly appetizing. There was a distinct gamey smell.


    They say that ribs are the most palatable part of a wild boar. I divided the ribs into three large portions. One for the Defender siblings, another for the Sniper and her daughter, and the last one for myself.


    It reminded me of my time in China.


    There, a house pig escaped from its pen, and one of my comrades managed to catch it. Along with some locals, we skillfully butchered the pig and held a small pork feast.


    Back then, it seemed like there was still hope for China.


    Even as the northern regions were being eroded, an overwhelming supply of resources continued to flow from the rear lines. Along with it came an unending stream of manpower, enough to densely fill every front line.


    I¡¯d heard that they trained a thousand new Hunters every month.


    For perspective, back in Korea, we struggled to graduate a thousand Hunters in an entire year. Yet, they managed to produce that many in mere weeks.


    To be fair, the quality of their training wasn¡¯t great, but that didn¡¯t matter much. Even rookies, with just the bare minimum of preparation, quickly became veterans in the life-and-death battles that raged on the front lines.


    In truth, those Hunters managed to drive out monstrous hordes from an entire metropolitan area and reclaim the eroded lands.


    It was, without a doubt, humanity¡¯s greatest victory against the monsters.


    The Chinese proudly declared that humanity, having already conquered nature, would soon overcome the monsters too¡ªwith the Chinese at the forefront of that triumph.


    But in the end, destruction was inevitable.


    From beyond the fissures, I had seen it.


    A despair called "Infinity."


    *


    Pioneers have become a part of daily life.


    If you keep your radio on long enough, you¡¯ll hear all sorts of chatter from the Pioneers¡ªpleas for help, silly jokes, gossip about others, and nostalgic ramblings about better days.


    I couldn¡¯t say for sure what had become of the Pioneers holding out in the north, nor did I need to. Other groups of Pioneers were already pushing through the roads they once defended, heading south.


    One thing did worry me, though: most of them seemed to know about the Sniper and her daughter.


    I¡¯d overheard them warning each other multiple times: ¡°Don¡¯t go near that village¡ªthere¡¯s a former U.S. soldier stationed there.¡±


    For now, it worked in the Sniper¡¯s favor, keeping intruders at bay. But in the long run, this kind of attention could attract more dangerous enemies, the kind who might challenge her territory. Someone like Jo Sung-yong¡¯s gang.@@@@


    Jo Sung-yong and his crew hadn¡¯t been spotted in a while, but I had no doubt they were still out there. Scumbags like him have a knack for surviving in times like these. He¡¯s probably terrorizing some other poor souls right now.


    With Pioneer chatter filling the radio, I pedaled my bike westward.


    The barren wasteland stretched out before me, pockmarked with craters left by missile strikes. This was where Chinese warships once dominated the West Sea, raining hellfire upon the land.


    At the edge of this scarred wasteland stood the Defenders'' new home, precariously perched on a corner of the ruins.


    As I approached, I spoke into the radio.


    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    Two figures emerged from the rubble¡ªa young man and woman.


    ¡°Suh-seobang!¡±


    The Defender and his sister waved at me with exaggerated enthusiasm.


    ¡°Stop calling me that.¡±


    ¡°Right? He¡¯s so impatient, calling you that before the formal introduction.¡±


    ¡°What introduction? Neither of you even has parents left to introduce me to.¡±


    The sister squinted at the crate I was carrying.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°This?¡± I couldn¡¯t help but grin as pride welled up inside me.


    It was wild boar ribs, butchered with my own hands¡ªthe choicest cut of meat.


    ¡°What kind of meat is it?¡±


    The Defender leaned in and sniffed. ¡°Pork? Smells amazing.¡±


    ¡°Wild boar.¡±


    ¡°Wild boar? Suh-seobang, you¡¯re a hunter too?¡±


    ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t say that. Let¡¯s just say... circumstances led to it.¡±


    No point in explaining that a mutant dog brought it to me¡ªthey wouldn¡¯t believe it anyway.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been much of a hunter myself,¡± the Defender admitted.


    ¡°That¡¯s surprising.¡±


    ¡°Human hunting and animal hunting are two entirely different things.¡±


    I glanced around. ¡°How¡¯s the new house? Livable?¡±


    The ruins of other abandoned homes stood nearby, their skeletal remains devoid of life. This place had been deserted long ago, untouched by human hands since.


    ¡°Wanna check it out? You¡¯re here for the housewarming, after all.¡±


    ¡°Housewarming? In this apocalypse? I¡¯m just here to check on you.¡±


    ¡°Come on, take a look.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    I remembered hearing once that starlight takes thousands, even millions of years to reach Earth.


    Could humans ever be as eternal as the stars?


    "When the world becomes quiet, when everything turns gray. When everyone is gone, and it¡¯s just me left on the forum... That¡¯s when I¡¯ll start."


    I want to be eternal.


    "I¡¯ll document each day as it comes."


    "In writing?"


    "No, on a computer. I¡¯ll print it out before I die and leave it by my bedside. Maybe someday, aliens or some mutant species that replaces humanity will find it. They¡¯ll read my records and think, Ah, this is what the last human thought as they spent their final days."


    As I finished, I noticed the siblings staring at me with dumbfounded expressions.


    "Skelton," the Defender said, his tone serious.


    "You¡¯re definitely... a little different from us."


    "...Yeah," I muttered.


    Am I not even "Suh-seobang" anymore?


    "That¡¯s pretty bleak," Da-jeong added.


    "But it¡¯s got a certain romantic charm," the Defender admitted. "Even if the alien part was a bit much."


    The Defender stood, gathering the teacups and teapot.


    "Still, if you¡¯re going to write a journal, why not make it more hopeful?"


    Hope.


    There¡¯s no such thing in this world.


    In a world with a predetermined end, what good is hope?


    Without thinking, I responded impulsively.


    "There¡¯s no hope in this world. Everyone is destined to die."


    The moment I said it, I regretted it. But the words were already out.


    What could I do? This is the reality we live in.


    Da-jeong¡¯s expression shifted.


    She stared at me intently before speaking bluntly.


    "Even that guy, m9, lives more positively than you."


    "What?"


    Did I hear that right?


    m9?


    No way.


    How could she compare me to him?


    Besides, wasn¡¯t he frozen to death last winter?


    "m9? Didn¡¯t he die?"


    I was 99% sure he froze to death.


    "He¡¯s alive."


    Da-jeong shoved her tablet in my face.


    Displayed on the screen was a post on PaleNet. The accompanying photo showed a dilapidated apartment, its windows shattered and its structure leaning precariously.


    In the image, a man stood inside, a rope tied around his waist as he risked his life hanging up laundry.


    No doubt about it.


    That pathetic silhouette was our old forum companion, m9.


    "Even he¡¯s fighting hard to survive..."


    As I stared at the screen in shock, fragments of m9¡¯s old posts resurfaced in my mind:


    mmmmmmmmm: Look at this! Behold the majesty of my royal view!


    Not everyone succumbs to despair.


    Even in this wretched apocalypse, some still fight against the enemy called despair with everything they¡¯ve got.


    "...Even if he dies tomorrow, it¡¯s all about the view, huh?"


    The world is vast.


    I suppose I should reflect a little.


    After the tea party, just as I was about to leave, the Defender approached me.


    "Hey, Skelton."


    "What? Am I not ''Suh-seobang'' anymore?"


    "I¡¯ve changed my mind."


    "...About what?"


    "You know about the school, right? They¡¯re tearing it down."


    "They¡¯re demolishing the school?"


    "And holding the principal¡¯s funeral at the same time."


    "The principal?"


    The same man who had given me the callsign Professor.

 Chapter 35.1

    I remember the first time I arrived at the school.


    Some new students were there with their parents and siblings, taking photos, laughing, chatting about the future. I, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, sat alone in a shadowy, secluded spot.


    Someone else was already there.


    A boy, radiating the same loneliness as me.


    Another new student, perhaps?


    "What¡¯s your name?" I asked first.


    I wasn¡¯t particularly outgoing, but the boy sitting next to me seemed so timid and forlorn that I couldn¡¯t help myself.


    He glanced at me with frightened eyes, barely making eye contact, before quickly looking away. His voice, barely more than a whisper, revealed his name.


    "...Kang Han-min."


    Perhaps I found his timidness intriguing, or maybe it was a boyish sense of superiority. Either way, for a moment, I forgot the miserable reality surrounding me and smiled at him.


    "That¡¯s a strong name. I¡¯m Park Gyu. Park is my last name, and Gyu is my first."


    And so, my first connection at the school was made.


    Despite his strong name, Kang Han-min was neither resilient in spirit nor remarkable in physique or skill.


    At first, I tried to help him. But perhaps it was the school¡¯s deeply ingrained Spartan culture; no matter how much I tried, he didn¡¯t improve. Eventually, I gave up on him.


    Maybe my mentor¡¯s teachings had already begun shaping my young mind.


    "People make mistakes because no one is perfect. However, we hunters cannot afford to make mistakes. Our enemy is not human. To confront something beyond human, we must shed a part of our insignificant humanity."


    Jang Ki-young was a first-generation hunter, a former soldier, and a man with the title of hero.


    Many students aspired to be his disciples, drawn by his fame. But Jang Ki-young was a difficult, irritable instructor.


    He demanded perfection¡ªan impossible virtue for humans to achieve.


    Grueling training, excessive criticism¡ªthose were the basics. For students he deemed subpar, he would use any means necessary to drive them out of the school.


    "Kang Han-min, you again?"


    "Kang Han-min, aren¡¯t you ashamed? Because of you, your team and classmates are penalized."


    "Kang Han-min!"


    Kang Han-min became a constant target of Jang Ki-young¡¯s ire.


    In Jang¡¯s eyes, Kang Han-min was defective¡ªa person who should never bear the label of hunter.


    Finally, Jang gave him an ultimatum in front of everyone.


    "Kang Han-min, you¡¯re not needed in my class. If you have any conscience, any decency, walk out on your own."


    Kang Han-min didn¡¯t leave.


    Surprisingly, he was more stubborn than he seemed.


    Maybe he hated monsters as much as I did.


    Jang¡¯s harassment and criticisms grew harsher, but Kang Han-min endured, clinging on until the grades rolled over.


    I can¡¯t forget Jang Ki-young¡¯s face or his words when Kang Han-min barely passed the final test.


    It was during the exam when Kang Han-min executed a feint attack on a necromancer-type hologram, breached its barrier range, and bisected it with a high-caliber shotgun.


    Jang, who had been nervously crossing his arms, shook his head and muttered, "That kid will ruin us one day. Mark my words!"


    It¡¯s doubtful Jang Ki-young had the gift of foresight.


    If he did, he couldn¡¯t even predict his own fate.


    Years later, during my time in China, when I was busy gathering data while navigating the government¡¯s watchful eye, Woo Min-hee¡ªwho, at the time, was still in good shape¡ªabruptly handed me a scatter slug from a high-caliber shotgun.


    "Did you hear about Jang Ki-young?" she asked out of the blue.


    "What about him?"


    "His record is total BS. The guys who fought alongside him spilled the beans. Apparently, Jang Ki-young didn¡¯t fight monsters with an axe. He curled up on the ground, sobbing, and buried his head like an ostrich."


    Jang Ki-young had always been cruel to Kang Han-min because he was a hero¡ªor so he claimed.


    His so-called heroism gave him the right to berate others, to belittle them, to dismiss them without remorse.


    Even the axe I used as my primary melee weapon owed some of its fame to Jang Ki-young¡¯s legendary stories.


    According to the now half-mythical tale, when a rift opened near Gochang County in North Jeolla Province, Jang and his troops confronted the monsters to protect the citizens.


    Faced with a monster that could reflect bullets, soldiers were slaughtered. To make matters worse, fallen soldiers rose as undead, attacking their comrades.


    The defense force was annihilated within moments. When two tanks were destroyed by the monster¡¯s reflective barrier, the survivors fled in terror.


    Amidst the chaos, Captain Jang Ki-young made a bold decision:


    He abandoned his firearm, feigned death, and waited for the monster to approach.


    With an axe conveniently within reach, he bided his time, his eyes fixed on the weapon.


    Ah, yes. I had offered hollow reassurances.


    "It¡¯ll get better. Just push a little harder, and Instructor Jang will recognize your efforts."


    The similarity of the situation was not lost on me. Almost instinctively, I delivered the same kind of empty consolation to Jang Ki-young.


    "Yes, I believe it was effective."


    Even those shallow words seemed to bring him some joy.


    His stern eyes glistened faintly with emotion.


    And yet, it must have been difficult for him.


    "I think...I¡¯ve discovered a way to become Awakened."


    "Is that so?"


    "Right, zombies. Aren''t they just another form of human mutation? When a human''s biological activity ceases, mutation factors latch onto the corpse and infuse it with energy from the otherworld. We could exploit that. Imagine putting someone into a near-death state¡ªessentially killing them¡ªand tricking the mutation factors into thinking the person is dead, triggering their effects! At that moment, we revive them. And voila! A human infused with otherworldly power, perhaps even endowed with the psychic abilities of an Awakened and an immortal body!"


    Hearing such madness from the mouth of my once-formidable instructor, the infamous Tiger Instructor, filled me with deep disappointment.


    I stood, ready to leave, but Jang Ki-young wasn¡¯t finished.


    "...People call me a fraud, but I¡¯ve seen it. The true nature of monsters. They have a leader. There¡¯s definitely a being that issues orders!"


    "A general type?"


    "What¡¯s that?"


    He didn¡¯t seem to know the term.


    Well, of course not. I had only discovered the existence of general types two months ago. Jang Ki-young had left his post over a year ago, so there was no way he could have known.


    Unintentionally, my discovery seemed to wound him.


    "No, that can¡¯t be! It¡¯s not possible! You must¡¯ve been mistaken. You said it was just a hypothesis, right? A hypothesis is just that¡ªa guess!"


    "Perhaps you¡¯re right."


    "No, listen! There was something, like a song¡ªyes, a song! I couldn¡¯t see it because it was inside the rift, but it was definitely singing something. Almost like that was their language. When I was playing dead, I heard it clearly. As it commanded, all the monsters retreated back into the rift... except for one. The one I killed with my axe!"


    He was spiraling. I made up an excuse to leave.


    As I was about to go, Jang Ki-young hesitated, then spoke to me.


    "Have you been in touch with Han-min?"


    I understood his meaning and responded coldly.


    "No."


    Jang Ki-young lost lawsuit after lawsuit.


    The former hero, once a staple of major broadcasting networks and newspapers, was now a regular on the channels of "wreck-casters" on YouTube¡ªpeople who thrived on public scandals. There, he criticized government policies and begged for super chat donations.


    When I saw him invoke Kang Han-min¡¯s name¡ªthe very student he had cast out, now a savior of our time¡ªand claim, "I made him who he is," I turned off the video in disgust.


    Now Jang Ki-young was dead, and the school to which he had dedicated his life was slated for demolition.


    I debated whether to go.


    The world was dangerous enough as it was; there was no need to invite additional risk.


    But a single message changed my mind.


    Private Identification Code: REDMASK


    It was a message from Woo Min-hee.


    "You know the school¡¯s being demolished this weekend, right? I think it¡¯d be good if you showed up."


    "Me?"


    "You¡¯re not far away, are you?"


    "...No comment."


    "Didn¡¯t think so. Talking to someone like me wouldn¡¯t do you any good anyway. But I still think you should go."


    "Why do you think that?"


    "Han-min said it¡¯d be fitting for you to be there."


    "Kang Han-min?"


    "Yeah. He said you¡¯re the most fitting person for the occasion."


    I fell silent, considering whether Han-min¡¯s comment was mockery or respect.


    In the quiet, I could hear Woo Min-hee clicking her tongue.


    "By the way, one more thing. You know about Jang Ki-young, right?"


    "Instructor Jang? I heard he died. There was a funeral, wasn¡¯t there?"


    "He¡¯s alive," Woo Min-hee said, laughing softly.


    "He¡¯s alive, and he¡¯s desperately waiting for you to show up."

 Chapter 35.2

    I couldn''t trust Woo Min-hee, so I attempted communication as far from my territory as possible, in a barren wasteland.


    ¡°Wait there. I¡¯ll send someone to get you.¡±


    Since the Gukwiwon had relocated to Jeju Island, the fate of those left behind seemed bleak.


    Even the once-prominent Kim Daram had gone missing.


    Searching for her name in Failnet turned up nothing, even within its vast sea of information.


    Woo Min-hee was different.


    She still had power.


    A helicopter showed up just to fetch me to the meeting spot.


    ¡°Are you Mr. Park Gyu?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°Please board. Director Woo Min-hee is expecting you.¡±


    So, she had climbed the ranks.


    I wondered what kind of agency she was heading now, but seeing the tight-lipped soldiers and their averted gazes, I figured it was better to ask her directly.


    The helicopter took me to Incheon.


    Now the de facto capital of South Korea, Incheon had replaced the destroyed and abandoned Seoul.


    More than anything, it was the sea that drew people to Incheon.


    The harbor was teeming with ships. People were welding on the decks, loading cargo, and preparing for departure.


    The destination? Jeju Island.


    Although the Gukwiwon, which controlled Jeju, hadn¡¯t made any official statements, the government was reportedly preparing to send a massive fleet of dozens of ships there.


    Countless people loitered along the pier, watching the workers or wandering aimlessly without a clear purpose.


    At the far end of the pier stood a research facility without a signboard.


    ¡°This is it.¡±


    This monochrome concrete building appeared to be the agency Woo Min-hee was directing.


    Inside, bright white lights and spotless white tiles greeted me.


    ¡°You¡¯re Mr. Park Gyu, correct?¡±


    A bespectacled woman I¡¯d never seen before greeted me.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°My name is Kim Soo-jin. I¡¯m here to guide you on behalf of Director Woo Min-hee.¡±


    ¡°Where is Director Woo Min-hee?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s currently out. I don¡¯t expect her back today, so I¡¯ll be handling this instead.¡±


    I followed Kim Soo-jin into the research facility.


    Inside, people in white lab coats were bustling around with documents and laptops.


    As an outsider, I couldn¡¯t tell what they were so busy with, but the constant phone calls and the way they hammered away at their keyboards suggested they had plenty to do.


    Then again, a quick glance revealed people gathered in corners, holding coffee cups and chatting, or lounging in chairs with their eyes closed.


    It was hard to tell if they were truly swamped or just pretending to be.


    As we walked further in, we passed a room filled with kids who looked to be around middle school age. Their curious eyes followed us as we walked by.


    I waited until we were out of their sight before asking Kim Soo-jin, ¡°Why are there so many kids here?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re new recruits for the Guard.¡±


    ¡°The Guard?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I heard they¡¯re demolishing it tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the old school in Seoul. The new one on Jeju is being set up to train children with Awakener aptitude into new hunters. Our facility is responsible for finding, recruiting, and protecting talented children for that purpose.¡±


    ¡°So, all those kids are going to Jeju?¡±


    ¡°Some of them might. They¡¯ll have to pass various tests first.¡±


    ¡°Psychological resonance tests, for example?¡±


    ¡°Yes. You seem well-informed.¡±


    Kim Soo-jin glanced at me for the first time, a flicker of displeasure in her eyes.


    It was clear she didn¡¯t want to say more, and I decided not to push it.


    After that, we walked a long distance in complete silence.


    As we went deeper into the facility, the smell of disinfectant grew stronger, mingled faintly with the stench of corpses.


    ¡°This is the place.¡±


    She led me into a dimly lit room.


    Several researchers, their eyes hollow, were staring at monitors.


    They didn¡¯t even glance up when we entered.


    In one corner of the room, medical beds were crammed together. On each bed lay a body, its face covered with a cloth.


    ¡°They¡¯re zombies,¡± Kim Soo-jin said, not looking at me.


    That might be true, but why did their small, cold hands look so human?


    The face of the boy who had once handed me a laptop flitted through my mind.@@@@


    Beyond the room filled with corpses was an eerily quiet hallway lined with numerous doors, each with a small bench outside.


    A tall girl, who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties, was the only person sitting in the hallway.


    When she saw Kim Soo-jin, she bowed her head slightly.


    ¡°Any improvement?¡±


    At Kim Soo-jin¡¯s question, the girl gave an awkward smile and shook her head.


    Kim Soo-jin opened the door next to her.


    ¡°This is it.¡±


    A man sat at a desk, perfectly upright.


    ¡°Hello,¡± I greeted her.


    She looked up at me blankly, tilting her head slightly before her eyes widened in recognition.


    ¡°Oh!¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Are you one of my dad¡¯s students?¡±


    ¡°Good guess.¡±


    She quickly tapped on her phone and showed me a photo.


    ¡°This was you, right? The one standing next to my dad?¡±


    The photo showed a younger Jang Ki-young, still in his thirties, standing proudly beside his students.


    ¡°He always said you were his proud students.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle at the photo.


    Perhaps it was my overly rigid posture that made me laugh, or maybe it was seeing Kim Daram looking so awkward, Lee Sang-hoon clinging desperately to the prettiest female classmate, Woo Min-hee striking a model pose off to the side, and Gong Gyeong-min crossing his arms in a bizarre fighting stance.


    But most strikingly, at the farthest edge of the group, stood Kang Han-min, slouching with a shadow of unease on his face, slightly separated from the others.


    That guy.


    So he had come for the group photo after all.


    I had thought he skipped it.


    ¡°So, you must know my name too, then?¡± I asked after a moment.


    ¡°Nope. I don¡¯t. My dad showed me photos of his students but never mentioned their names. The savior, Kang Han-min, must be one of them, though!¡±


    Her eyes sparkled suddenly.


    ¡°Are... are you Kang Han-min?!¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not anyone that impressive.¡±


    ¡°Right, I guess someone that amazing wouldn¡¯t be hanging out here.¡±


    From the start, something about her had struck me as odd:


    She showed no sadness. Not even a trace.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± I asked.


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried about your dad?¡±


    ¡°Not really. I haven¡¯t seen him since elementary school. You know what he was like, don¡¯t you? That temper of his.¡±


    ¡°...It was bad,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Exactly. You wouldn¡¯t understand unless you¡¯d experienced it yourself. Ugh.¡±


    She rolled her eyes and tapped her chest as if exasperated by old memories.


    ¡°Why are you here, then?¡±


    I asked, even though I already knew the answer.


    ¡°The communication¡¯s good here, the meals are decent, but mainly, I¡¯m trying to get to Jeju.¡±


    She handed me a resonance sheet.


    Unlike her father¡¯s, which remained black even in his current state, hers had shifted to a faint pink.


    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t know it could turn this color.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know the gradient? Black, blue, red, gray, white?¡±


    ¡°White is the best, I assume?¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡±


    ¡°And where are you?¡±


    ¡°Probably somewhere between red and gray. They say gray is the safety zone, but I¡¯ve got my dad, so...¡±


    She glanced at the closed door behind her with a bitter smile.


    ¡°They said if my dad wakes up, they¡¯ll let me into Jeju on a special admission. That lady, Woo Min-hee, promised me.¡±


    ¡°Lady? Isn¡¯t she more like an aunt than a sister?¡±


    ¡°She looks good for her age. You¡¯re pretty rude, huh?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    I said my farewells to the unnamed girl and returned to Kim Soo-jin.


    ¡°What will happen to Instructor Jang now?¡±


    Kim Soo-jin hesitated, clearly searching for a way to soften the blow.


    ¡°Just be honest. I¡¯m ready to accept whatever it is.¡±


    At that, she finally answered.


    ¡°We¡¯ll dispose of him.¡±


    ¡°...Dispose of him?¡±


    ¡°Even if we don¡¯t, he¡¯ll likely turn into a zombie soon. He hasn¡¯t eaten or drunk anything for four days now.¡±


    She sighed and added, ¡°Frankly, it might be better for him to find eternal rest than to wander around like a ghost.¡±


    I never got to see Woo Min-hee.


    I spent the night in the comfortable accommodations she provided, had a decent meal, and reflected on my situation.


    It was clear to me now:


    I wasn¡¯t important to her.


    She had called me here on a whim.


    To her, I was nothing more than that.


    ¡°Professor...¡±


    Lying on the bed with sunlight streaming in at an angle, I whispered the callsign once spoken with reverence.


    The man who had given me that name would soon be disposed of.


    Coincidentally, the time of Jang Ki-young¡¯s disposal coincided with the dynamite demolition of my alma mater.

 Chapter 35.3

    The end of The Guard, once hailed as the shield of South Korea and envied by many, was pitiful.


    Only a handful of people had gathered.


    A man stood on a podium, giving a speech.


    ¡°Those who were supposed to protect us abandoned us to save themselves. They¡¯re not planning a counterattack. No, they¡¯ve simply left us behind. They are the stain of this era. I am here to remove that stain and build a new future in its place.¡±


    His face looked familiar.


    Was it Park Sang-min?


    The self-important congressman?


    I hadn¡¯t seen him since he had been working with Je Pung-ho. As usual, people like him seemed to live long.


    Grumbling voices began to rise from the crowd.


    ¡°That guy¡¯s the one who insisted on tearing down the abandoned school building.¡±


    ¡°He must be trying to make a show of it. There¡¯s an election coming up, isn¡¯t there?¡±


    ¡°The National Assembly election? The one where they¡¯re electing 500 representatives?¡±


    ¡°Half the population¡¯s gone, but the number of leeches keeps growing. Who are they even for?¡±


    Half the people criticized Park Sang-min, while the other half seemed to be his supporters.


    ¡°What do you even know?¡±


    ¡°Shut up, you useless relic.¡±


    ¡°The more representatives we have, the more rights the people get. Don¡¯t you know that basic principle?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, blame the Gukwiwon who abandoned you. You won¡¯t dare say a word to those holding your leash.¡±


    Park Sang-min observed the scene from a distance before concluding his speech.


    ¡°This filthy era will end. A new age will begin. I, Park Sang-min, will run with all my strength to open that new age with you.¡±


    When Park Sang-min left in his car, half the already meager crowd dispersed as well.


    The desolate scene, with sand-laden winds blowing through, now held only about twenty people.


    They all looked older than me.


    Most were in their forties, some even in their fifties.


    I couldn¡¯t find anyone younger than me, not even anyone my age.


    Still holding onto a faint hope, I searched the crowd for a woman.


    Was Kim Daram here?


    She was one of the reasons I accepted Woo Min-hee¡¯s invitation.


    I thought she might show up.


    This place was as important to her as it was to me.


    Others may call our mentor a scammer, but I owe him a debt of gratitude.


    The same goes for Kim Daram.


    Jang Ki-young treated the children of wealthy families and orphans like us with the same fairness.


    He never looked down on us for not having parents, nor did he give us any disadvantage because of it.


    I¡¯ve always been grateful for that.


    Other instructors weren¡¯t like him.


    But Kim Daram didn¡¯t show up today.


    Neither did Baek Seung-hyun, who had tried to drag me down using her name.


    ¡°...¡±


    Two small purposes had failed.


    If even one of them had appeared, I might have resolved some of my long-standing questions.


    Next to the school stood a small memorial hall.


    It was Jang Ki-young¡¯s memorial.


    I didn¡¯t understand why they placed a memorial for someone still alive next to the school, but now I had a vague idea.


    This was Woo Min-hee¡¯s doing.


    Her pathological sense of drama added flair to the occasion.


    On the first page of the visitor¡¯s log, the name of the event¡¯s organizer was written in unnecessarily elegant handwriting:


    [Woo Min-hee]


    Other names, of instructors faintly remembered, and a few seniors, followed.


    Altogether, there were fewer than ten names.


    I became the tenth, signing my name in the log.


    ¡°...¡±


    I hesitated for a moment.


    Should I write "Park Gyu"?


    It felt right to use my full name here, both formally and personally, as a show of respect for the deceased.


    But an inexplicable whim strongly urged me to choose differently.


    The fact that no one was guarding the memorial also emboldened me.


    Slowly and respectfully, I left my mark in the log of the still-living deceased:


    [Professor]


    Perhaps this name would resonate more deeply with my mentor, who was already dead in all but body.


    After all, it marked his most shining moment¡ªthe one he had fought to achieve against all odds.


    Nearby, I overheard a conversation between middle-aged men.


    ¡°Jang said he had a trump card to stop the school¡¯s demolition. What do you think it was? He claimed it would succeed.¡±


    ¡°No idea. But whatever anyone says, Jang Dae-wi was a patriot. He stayed loyal to the country to the end. Even when he was embroiled in lawsuits and received scouting offers from China, he flatly refused. You won¡¯t find another person like him.¡±


    Whatever his faults, Jang Ki-young had more respect and admiration than someone like Lee Sang-hoon.


    Then he saw the four syllables written in the log:


    [Professor]


    In that moment, he felt an inexplicable urge and roared like a tiger.


    ¡°Professor!¡±


    I reached for the notebook tossed in the corner of my mattress.


    It was filled with strategies for dealing with different types of monsters, plans, positions, and ideas for more effective weapons.


    Honestly, it wasn¡¯t very practical¡ªtoo flashy and pointless in many areas.


    As I flipped through the pages, I wondered how he could fill every page with such outdated and unrealistic fantasies.


    How had someone like him been our instructor?


    Maybe that¡¯s why Jang Ki-young demanded perfection from us.


    He knew his vague dreams required the best actors or artists to bring them to life.


    But his imagination was too thin to shape reality.


    Who could¡¯ve guessed that Kang Han-min, whom he considered the least capable, would one day reshape the entire framework of the world?


    And yet, objectively speaking, I, Park Gyu, am the one best suited to bring his absurd visions to life.


    The final page seemed to confirm this, as it depicted a weapon that tied me to him:


    An advanced axe design he had envisioned.


    ¡°Seriously, Instructor?¡±


    Unintentionally, I muttered aloud.


    The axe had a rocket booster attached to its end.


    [Rocket-Propelled Impact Enhancer]


    Was this inspired by the robot animations popular during his youth?


    A faint smile crossed my lips as I stared at the axe, imagining the childlike wonder behind it.


    ¡°...Huh?¡±


    Something felt off.


    The shadowy shading on the axe handle had been cut away, as if something had been stuck there.


    I peeled it off.


    It wasn¡¯t ordinary paper.


    It was a resonance test sheet.


    The same black sheet as mine and Suer¡¯s, pinned to the wall.


    But this one was different¡ªit wasn¡¯t black.


    It was white.


    A pure, dazzling white.


    I closed the notebook and reconsidered my mentor¡¯s final moments.


    In the brutal experiment he had proposed himself, Jang Ki-young had been chosen by the divine.


    Like Kang Han-min or Na Hye-won, he had gained insight into the fabric of reality.


    At that moment, he understood everything¡ªhis monumental success and his inescapable dark fate.


    He likely knew he could never escape his role as a test subject.


    But now, he had the power to change his circumstances, to break free of his restraints and teach his mocking disciples a sharp lesson.


    I knew he wouldn¡¯t.


    He was a soldier, a patriot, and as harsh on himself as he was on others.


    He must have accepted his predetermined fate quietly, knowing it was for the good of the country he had sworn to protect.


    Still, the decision couldn¡¯t have come easily.


    He must have been aware of his daughter waiting in the hallway, hoping he would call her name.


    Until the very end, Jang Ki-young struggled between duty and personal desire.


    Even his anger at Woo Min-hee and the Gukwiwon must have weighed on him.


    Ultimately, he chose passive resistance¡ªsilent death.


    Why he called out my callsign in his final moments, I¡¯ll never know.


    Not his daughter, his wife, Kang Han-min, or even my name¡ªjust my callsign.


    After much thought, I came up with a clumsy answer:


    Perhaps he wanted to give his favorite student one last lesson.


    ¡°Professor!¡±


    To remind those of us who are unchosen that there¡¯s still an ¡°almost¡± ahead of us.


    *


    That night, I dreamed.


    In the monochrome dream, I was a teenager still brimming with youthful energy, and my mentor stood before me, his thirties marked by a faint trace of vitality.


    ¡°Park Gyu! This is how you use an axe!¡±


    We sparred with unrelenting intensity, my mentor and I.


    To the point of utter exhaustion.


    I struggled to follow the swift trajectories of his strikes, blocking his attacks and retaliating in kind with similar movements.


    ¡°Take a break!¡±


    Jang Ki-young, tireless and brimming with vigor as he had been in those days, turned his head sharply to the side, leaving me gasping for breath.


    His tiger-like eyes flashed with unmistakable anger.


    ¡°Kang Han-min! What are you doing?!¡±


    Then, Jang Ki-young looked back at me.


    He smiled.

 Chapter 36.1

    A sudden thought turned me into a rosy-cheeked teenager.


    It all began with Failnet.


    I hadn¡¯t logged in with any specific purpose. As usual, I was casually filtering through mostly meaningless information when one board caught my attention:


    [Guard Applicants¡¯ Board]


    This was a gathering place for those aspiring to be my juniors.


    The board was ranked 8th in popularity¡ªquite large.


    Its users were primarily teenagers in their mid-to-late teens.


    They logged into Failnet by begging for signals near government offices or military facilities, posting trivial messages as their only source of joy. The board had a reputation as a gathering place for lives considered to be 99% "wrecked."


    I had visited this board before but left quickly, as the immaturity and low quality of the posts were overwhelming.


    Yet, a place with so many people must have its attractions.


    This board had its own unique culture.


    That culture was none other than Rit Sheet Authentication¡ªusers would post their Resonance Test sheets (like the ones I had pinned to my wall) for validation and commentary.


    Searching for the ¡°authentication¡± tag on the Guard Applicants¡¯ Board revealed a mix of envy, approval-seeking, snide comments, and the occasional genuine compliment:


    ??: Did you get a Rit Sheet? (34)


    ??: Post your Rit Sheet results lol (12)


    ??: Did you get white?! (8)


    ??: Can I go to Jeju with this result? (31)


    ??: Got white on the day my mom died lol (131)


    Scrolling through, it seemed like everyone claimed to have gotten white, but most turned out to be black upon inspection.


    Occasionally, there were actual white sheets, but even those were often fake¡ªordinary white paper torn to resemble Rit Sheets.


    Amid these prank and bait posts, genuine authentication posts did appear now and then.


    I knew that Rit Sheets indicated levels of psychic potential based on their colors, but I didn¡¯t understand the exact thresholds each color represented.


    However, on this board, there were hints about what the colors might mean.


    From one post, I learned that blue indicated Level 1¡ªthe absolute minimum awakening of psychic abilities.


    Gray corresponded to Level 5 and above.


    As for white, its exact level was unknown, but the posts suggested something extraordinary.


    There was another interesting phenomenon: this board wasn¡¯t exclusively for kids.


    True to South Korea¡¯s relentless zeal for education, many parents seemed to frequent this board, despite its reputation for hosting 99% ¡°wrecked lives.¡±


    ??: Is gray good? Can my whole family go to Jeju with this? (43)


    ???????????: My kid¡¯s Rit Sheet result looks like this. How good is it? (88)


    ?????????: How can I change black to white? I¡¯ll offer a reward. (132)


    Yet, this board was far too cold for their enthusiasm.


    ??: Are you colorblind, ??? It¡¯s black, you crazy b**** lol (9)


    ?????????????????????: This is the Rit Sheet for my mistress¡¯s kid (attached). (33)


    ??????????????????: Reroll your kid¡¯s gacha. (13)


    The unrestrained, colorful ridicule made it clear that these parents weren¡¯t the important figures here.


    The real ¡°adults¡± were another story.


    In this cesspool of impersonators, trolls, and lowbrow drama, one adult received special treatment.


    REDMASK: Hello! I¡¯m a Guard admissions officer. Click the link I¡¯ll send you.


    Redmask.


    The absolute authority of this board.


    No one dared to post hate comments, mockery, or provocations at Redmask.


    Why? Because Redmask could give these users exactly what they wanted most.


    That name, though¡ªit meant something different to me.


    ¡°Woo Min-hee...¡±


    The moment I saw that nickname, I immediately thought of the loathsome woman with prosthetic limbs.


    The personal identifier matched the one Woo Min-hee used.


    If I hadn¡¯t visited her research facility, I might have dismissed it as coincidence. But that facility held over a hundred children crammed into small rooms, desperate to go to Jeju. Some were dead, laid out on dissection tables.


    ¡°...Yeah. It¡¯s her.¡±


    Redmask had to be Woo Min-hee.


    Unlike me, she enjoyed social media, especially Insagram, where she preferred to express herself through photos rather than text.


    I knew she had once hinted at her Hunter status on social media, earning a reprimand from the Gukwiwon Compliance Department.


    As her team leader, I had personally scolded her.


    A Hunter with over 10,000 followers revealing her identity was a breach of the confidentiality agreement.


    Given her penchant for the internet, it was no surprise she had a foothold on Failnet, the largest internet board in the apocalypse.


    However, identifying her solely based on her posts wasn¡¯t easy.


    She didn¡¯t write posts herself but consistently left comments:


    REDMASK: Hello! I¡¯m a Guard admissions officer. Click the link I¡¯ll send you.


    Conversations seemed to occur through those links.


    The idea of using a private network to address Failnet¡¯s lack of direct messaging was exactly the kind of creativity I¡¯d expect from her.@@@@


    ¡°...Woo Min-hee.¡±


    Even the kids seemed to recognize the authenticity.


    But their reactions weren¡¯t what I was waiting for.


    I was fishing for just one target: Redmask.


    The communicator buzzed.


    ¡°Skelton.¡±


    It was none other than Da-jeong.


    ¡°What is it, all of a sudden?¡±


    ¡°That post on the Failnet Guard Applicants¡¯ Board. Did you write it?¡±


    ¡°What post?¡±


    ¡°The one about 2 meters and all that.¡±


    ¡°Wait, you check the Applicants¡¯ Board?¡±


    ¡°No, I saw it on the trending list.¡±


    Trending?


    Could it be that my post had made it to Failnet¡¯s top posts list?


    What should I do?


    There¡¯s no need to admit it¡ªit¡¯s a private matter between Woo Min-hee and me.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t me.¡±


    ¡°Figured as much. It didn¡¯t seem like your style, but I thought I¡¯d check.¡±


    ¡°Yeah? What made you think that?¡±


    ¡°The username has that John_Nae-non vibe you like, but the content and tone felt like someone else wrote it.¡±


    A sly smile crept across my face as I listened to Defender¡¯s sister.


    Even she was convinced.


    She believed I was just an ordinary teenager.


    Skelton¡¯s transformation was flawless.


    Now, all I needed was a message from Woo Min-hee.


    And as expected, the bait was taken.


    REDMASK: Hello! I¡¯m the New Guard admissions officer. Click the link below.


    REDMASK: <Link>


    I clicked the link.


    My browser opened a new tab, taking me to an unfamiliar website.


    The interface was extremely simple, reminiscent of old-school internet chatrooms.


    <REDMASK has entered the chat.>


    REDMASK: Hello! I¡¯m Redmask, the admissions officer for the New Guard.


    REDMASK: Please introduce yourself!


    REDMASK: Type your name and age in the box below (e.g., Min-hee20) and press the enter button~~~


    Woo Min-hee messaged first¡ªthree times in quick succession.


    How was she even typing?


    This woman was missing an arm, yet here she was using tilde waves like a pro...


    Could Awakened abilities cover even this?


    No, wait. Upon reflection, it was probably voice recognition software.


    Modern voice recognition technology is incredibly reliable.


    This was it¡ªthe real beginning.


    I cleared my mind and visualized myself as a mischievous 10-year-old boy.


    Not Professor Park Gyu, but the 10-year-old version of Skelton.


    I began to type.


    ??????11 has entered the chat.


    REDMASK: ?


    REDMASK: Uh, Um-chang?


    ??????11: Hi!


    REDMASK: Is that... your name?


    ??????11: Yes. It¡¯s Um, from ¡°humble,¡± and Chang, from ¡°singing.¡± Kim Um-chang. I¡¯m 11 years old.


    REDMASK: Oh, I see.


    ??????11: Why?


    REDMASK: Oh, it¡¯s nothing. Just a unique name.


    ??????11: Yep.


    REDMASK: So, Um-chang, you¡¯re really 11 years old? By Western age?


    ??????11: Yes.


    REDMASK: And are you actually 2 meters tall...?


    ??????11: People say I¡¯m tall a lot.


    REDMASK: Kids these days really grow fast... And is your weight accurate, too?


    ??????11: No, actually, it¡¯s all lies. Everything but the last part was fake.


    REDMASK: The last part is true?


    ??????11: Why?


    REDMASK: Oh, no reason.


    ??????11: ?


    ¡°Hah!¡±


    Seeing Woo Min-hee flustered like this was a rare treat.


    She had probably never encountered someone like this before.


    Who could have predicted that a man in his thirties would be role-playing as a bratty elementary schooler?


    As much as I wanted to keep teasing her, this was also a good opportunity to dig for information.


    There were questions I had been dying to ask for a long time¡ªlike about the "Jeju Evacuation Ships," for example.

 Chapter 36.2

    REDMASK: So, Um-chang, let me ask you a few things. Did you personally test that Litzy?


    ??????11: ?


    REDMASK: ?


    ??????11: Why?


    REDMASK: Um-chang, are your parents around?


    ??????11: They''re at work.


    REDMASK: Even if you''re anonymous, you should maintain basic manners. We''re humans, not animals. ;;


    ??????11: Yes, ma''am.


    REDMASK: Sigh...


    ??????11: ??


    REDMASK: Alright, where are you right now?


    ??????11: In Incheon.


    REDMASK: I see... When you tested the Litzy, did you experience any hallucinations? Like strong imagery, something vivid that came to mind, or maybe light radiating from around you that surprised others?


    "Imagery..."


    I recalled something: the phenomenon commonly experienced during an Awakening, often referred to as the Awakening Moment.


    Woo Min-hee listed examples of these phenomena: pathological hallucinations, intense afterimages that linger with closed eyes, or symbolic visions.


    For lower-ranked Awakened individuals, these are the typical signs.


    For truly powerful Awakened, the Awakening can manifest as a dramatic sensory event that radiates a noticeable impact on their surroundings.


    I¡¯ve seen it before.


    I remember how Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in awakened in that hopeless battlefield and obtained their true strength.


    It felt like the world itself was shifting around them.


    Understandable¡ªtwo of the strongest Awakened of the era had awakened simultaneously.


    Then, my mentor came to mind.


    Had he experienced any visible Awakening phenomena?


    His white Litzy suggested he might have shown signs so vivid that anyone could recognize them.


    REDMASK: Um-chang? Why aren¡¯t you responding?


    Lost in thought, I didn¡¯t realize I¡¯d left Woo Min-hee waiting.


    Her tone betrayed her usual impatience, restrained only because she believed I was a child.


    If we¡¯d been face-to-face, I might have gotten a smack upside the head.


    ??????11: I saw a big axe.


    REDMASK: An axe?


    ??????11: Yes, it was burning on the blade, and, uh, the handle looked like water.


    I loosely based the description on something I¡¯d read in accounts of Awakening experiences.


    Why do I know this? I once participated in an Awakening trial myself.


    Barely survived it.


    Others didn¡¯t.


    Stronger tests can literally pulverize a person¡¯s soul.


    REDMASK: I see. Um-chang, do you realize what an extraordinary thing you¡¯ve done?@@@@


    ??????11: No. Some older guy lent me his phone and told me to post it here.


    REDMASK: I-I see.


    REDMASK: Are you eating well? And you¡¯re only able to use the phone near a military base, right?


    ??????11: Not really eating well. My dad brings back these weird nutrition bars, and we just scrape by.


    REDMASK: We can send your whole family to Jeju Island.


    There it was: Jeju Island.


    ??????11: Jeju Island? But we¡¯re taking a ship there. The schedule¡¯s already set.


    REDMASK: When? On which fleet?


    ??????11: Not sure. But we¡¯re leaving soon.


    REDMASK: The first fleet? Hmm, you shouldn¡¯t board that one.


    ??????11: Why not?


    REDMASK: Rumor has it that Chinese submarines are prowling around. If you''re unlucky, you and your family might end up sinking to the bottom of the sea.


    ??????11: Then how do we get to Jeju Island?


    REDMASK: By plane, of course.


    ??????11: Are planes even flying right now?


    REDMASK: Yes, if you know the right people. Don¡¯t worry. If you come here and pass a simple test, we can certify your eligibility for school, and your whole family can move to Jeju. On Jeju, you¡¯ll have electricity, houses, and even games. Do you like League of Legends? I do. You can even play ranked games there.


    She sent a picture.


    The image showed a picturesque row of townhouses against a backdrop of Jeju¡¯s stunning sunset, families enjoying a peaceful life reminiscent of pre-war times.


    "..."


    I had suspected this.


    The Jeju evacuation fleets were a lie, a ruse.


    The truly capable Awakened candidates were flown out separately.


    It made sense in a brutal, utilitarian way.


    Younger candidates¡ªthose with a higher Awakening success rate and who could be indoctrinated¡ªwere handpicked for Jeju.


    Veterans like Kim Daram, who had already been through hell, were left to fend for themselves.


    I had heard all I needed to.


    I¡¯m no John_nenon, a creator of worlds.


    But at the very least, I can sound the alarm to keep others from willingly walking into the jaws of death.


    ??: "Caught REDMASK in the act (Shocking Details Inside)"


    I uploaded a post to the Guard Applicants Board.


    The post contained my chat logs with Woo Min-hee, formatted to be easily readable for Failnet users.


    The key focus was on Jeju Island.


    The truth: those evacuation ships weren¡¯t heading to Jeju¡ªthey were a one-way ticket to death.


    This would be a more efficient and massive purge than the Pioneers ever achieved. A single container ship could hold tens of thousands of people.


    The eye-catching title quickly drew attention, garnering a flood of views and comments.


    ??: "Caught REDMASK in the act (Shocking Details Inside)" (1,132)


    ??: Is this real?


    ??: I knew there was something off about those Jeju ships.


    ??: It¡¯s just like the Pioneers, isn¡¯t it? Just a fancier version.


    ??: What do we do now?


    Young-min¡¯s Dad: This is fake. Lies. Total nonsense.


    ??: Honestly, isn¡¯t the scale too big to believe?


    ??: No way this counts as proof.


    ??: But if it¡¯s true, this is terrifying.


    ??: That interface looks just like when I talked to REDMASK...


    My post turned into a battlefield.


    There were those who believed me, those who used my words to attack the government, and those who dismissed me as a liar or fraud.


    The Guard Applicants Board was ablaze, and soon my post spread to the Failnet Hot Topics List, where it burned even hotter.


    ??: "Caught REDMASK in the act (Shocking Details Inside)" (10,001)


    Ten thousand comments.


    The entirety of Failnet had descended on my post.


    ¡°Wow, Skelton~!¡±


    Da-jeong contacted me again.


    ¡°You¡¯re basically a god over there! A god! Ten thousand comments! Amazing!¡±


    ¡°Sk¡ªSkelton-sama!¡±


    As my heart inexplicably fluttered at their reactions, I watched the situation unfold.


    ¡°Skelton-sama. Looks like they¡¯ve deployed trolls.¡±


    Sure enough, Defender chimed in.


    Imitation posts mocking mine began flooding the Applicants Board.


    It wasn¡¯t Woo Min-hee¡¯s style, but it was clear some department handling online narratives had been activated.


    ??: Nice bait, loser~


    ??: Typical Koreans, always jumping on the bandwagon.


    ??: Just some idiot making stuff up about Jeju ships, lol.


    The flames I¡¯d lit were extinguished.


    There was nothing I could do about it.


    I¡¯d started the fire, but it was too small, and the people tasked with putting it out were too skilled.


    I watched, half-disappointed, as Failnet¡¯s attention shifted to another topic.


    But it wasn¡¯t all meaningless.


    That night, I received a message.


    John_nenon: (Thumbs up emoji)


    That alone was enough.


    No, it was the best reward I could¡¯ve hoped for.


    gijayangban: Is there someone messing around on Failnet?


    gijayangban: That ¡°Um-chang¡± or whatever, they¡¯re not here, right?


    Even the journalists seemed unusually tense.


    gijayangban: If you keep stirring the pot on Failnet, don¡¯t be surprised if all our buddies on this board get killed. Watch yourselves.


    Why was he so agitated?


    It was out of character.


    ¡°...Could it be?¡±


    No. That¡¯s impossible.


    Was gijayangban actually Woo Min-hee?


    I mean, she had been in the school newspaper club back in the day...


    No way.


    It couldn¡¯t be.


    gijayangban was a revered figure on our board, a shining savior in the darkness.


    The idea of Woo Min-hee, someone so vile, hiding behind his mask felt wrong.


    I wanted to believe it wasn¡¯t true.


    ¡°...¡±


    Of course, I had worn the mask of Um-chang11 myself.


    I guess none of us are above deception.

 Chapter 37.1

    There were two webtoon authors.


    One of them enjoyed a long reign of success at the top, earning significant income and popularity. The other barely clung to the professional sphere, watching younger, fresher authors outpace him, advancing toward the pinnacle he longed for.


    One had much to lose.


    Before turning 30, he had already amassed enough wealth to live comfortably as a middle-class citizen for the rest of his life. This allowed him to marry and manage assets, things that brought stability and security.


    The other did not.


    He remained trapped in the instability that comes with being an artist¡ªan existence where living off one¡¯s craft is both a privilege and a curse. He had saved up some money, but it was only enough to scrape by for a lifetime. Marriage was a distant dream, and his personal charm couldn¡¯t compare to that of his successful peer.


    Then the world changed.


    The popular author, as someone with much to lose, viewed the world optimistically. He dismissed those predicting apocalypse with disdain, criticizing them for their negativity.


    Filkrum88: ¡°So many people these days are obsessed with end-of-the-world predictions. Just focus on living your life one day at a time. Build something worth losing instead of worrying about others losing their own.¡±


    This public statement, dripping with contempt for the times, garnered over 2,300 comments, most of which were fervent affirmations of his views.


    The other author, however, saw the world through a darker lens.


    His despair was fueled by the lukewarm reception of his supposed magnum opus¡ªa mystery thriller he had poured his heart into. Disheartened by its lackluster performance, he added gratuitous violence to the story in a desperate attempt to boost engagement, a decision that backfired and tarnished his career.


    He eventually received a warning from the platform, and whether by choice or necessity, he discontinued the series.


    The struggling author understood his fate all too well.


    DragonC: ¡°Thank you, dear readers, for all your support.¡±


    His farewell post received only 13 comments.


    Two of them were spam for illegal Cialis ads.


    The fates of these two authors, who had walked such different paths, were completely reversed when the war began.


    The popular author, once living in a luxurious suburban mansion in Gyeonggi Province, was pushed back to Seoul, then Bucheon, and finally to a cramped, foul-smelling rental near Incheon¡¯s docks. There, he spent his days trying to comfort his wife amidst the hardships.


    Meanwhile, the struggling author poured all his savings into building an impressive bunker equipped with a stable LPG fuel supply, a power generation system, and even satellite internet. He continued creating webtoons, which began to gain traction with the apocalypse-focused community.


    If you asked them whether life was better before or after the war, their answers would starkly differ.


    At least for DragonC, the once-struggling author, he could confidently say his post-apocalyptic life was an improvement.


    This shift in their fortunes became particularly evident thanks to the winds of change brought about by our messiah, John_nenon.


    The popular author, now active on Failnet, made a post on our forum.


    Filkrum88: ¡°Hello, DragonC. This is Filkrum88.¡±


    He had discovered his former rival, a low-tier author he barely remembered, now thriving in a secure, comfortable space, well-fed and continuing his craft among like-minded doomsayers.


    It¡¯s unclear what emotions Filkrum88 felt at first, but the ones we could see were jealousy and anger.


    Filkrum88: ¡°So, you¡¯re still pretending to be an author with those mediocre skills of yours? Honestly, I don¡¯t see any talent in your work, but I guess you got lucky preparing for the apocalypse. Enjoy playing the role of a great artist, haha.¡±


    If Filkrum88 had been just another reader, DragonC might have laughed it off.


    But Filkrum88 wasn¡¯t just anyone¡ªhe was a popular author, a towering figure in the industry before the war.


    When someone of that stature picks a fight, it¡¯s hard to ignore.


    I don¡¯t create much aside from beatboxing, so I can¡¯t fully grasp how DragonC must have felt. But it was clear he was angry.


    DragonC: ¡°Thank you for writing such a lengthy post while struggling with a barely functioning internet connection.¡±


    DragonC, usually composed, couldn¡¯t hide his irritation.


    Naturally, our community rallied around him.


    keystone: ¡°Why are you trying to bring DragonC down? Chill out.¡±


    Anonymous848: ¡°If you¡¯re so bitter, why didn¡¯t you prepare for the apocalypse? You had the money and resources to do it better than us.¡±


    Anonymous458: ¡°Get lost, loser.¡±


    roka3218: ¡°What¡¯s your problem? Jealous that someone less famous is doing well now?¡±


    SKELTON: (Skelton peace sign) ¡°Let¡¯s not fight, everyone!¡±


    unicorn18: ¡°Hey, Filkrum88, could I commission a piece from you?¡±


    It was a heartwarming display of loyalty.


    Moved by our support, DragonC posted a brief response:


    DragonC: ¡°You guys...!!¡±@@@@


    But Filkrum88 wasn¡¯t one to back down easily.


    He was a popular author¡ªsomeone who had clawed his way to the top by outshining countless competitors.


    And he knew exactly how to hurt a fellow creator.


    Filkrum88: ¡°Announcing my new series: The Remnants¡ªcoming soon.¡±


    He declared his intent to create a new series identical in concept, theme, and even title to DragonC¡¯s magnum opus.


    Some might call it plagiarism.


    But plagiarism only applies when the imitator is worse than the original.


    When someone more famous, popular, and skilled takes an idea and executes it better, the original becomes irrelevant.


    Filkrum88: The Remnants, Chapter 1: ¡°Kaildos¡± by Filkrum88.


    It was a masterpiece.


    The speed, quality of artwork, meticulous structure, and panel composition surpassed all expectations.


    Filkrum88 didn¡¯t just copy DragonC¡¯s work¡ªhe reinvented it, elevating it to a level that could only be described as art.


    Meanwhile, DragonC¡¯s version felt like a hastily prepared meal from a franchise restaurant compared to Filkrum88¡¯s Michelin-star-level creation.


    The climax, where Kaildos shares a final kiss with his wife before meeting his noble end, was so beautifully rendered that it was impossible not to admire it.


    Standing triumphantly atop the podium, Filkrum88 taunted his rival:


    Fortunately, it seemed like DragonC didn¡¯t take my catastrophically exaggerated profile seriously.


    What he wanted was something else entirely.


    DragonC: ¡°Could we meet in person?¡±


    He wanted to meet me.


    To my surprise, he wasn¡¯t too far from my territory.


    DragonC¡¯s hideout turned out to be in the western wasteland¡ªa barren stretch where, if you stood on tiptoe, you could just about catch a glimpse of the waves of the West Sea.


    Even DragonC likely didn¡¯t know this:


    Defender had recently moved close to his location.


    To be honest, even back during my Defender days, I¡¯d noticed something peculiar about the western coastline¡ªit was an area most people avoided.


    Rumors abounded that Chinese forces might attempt a landing there.


    And just across the bay, the land was actually under Chinese military control.


    While his choice of location was probably made out of ignorance and apathy, it had inadvertently turned out to be as dangerous¡ªand oddly safe¡ªas my own.


    Even the most meddlesome pioneers never set foot near the western coast.


    Defender:


    "West of your place? There¡¯s nothing there. The western coastal area was cleared out at the start of the war, right? The Chinese dropped conventional bombs there to keep us from setting up defenses.¡±


    Regardless, given how close he was, I decided to meet DragonC.


    Admittedly, part of the reason was concern over the reckless profile I¡¯d sent him.


    But that wasn¡¯t the whole story.


    As a fellow member of our community, I simply wanted to help him.


    That¡¯s all.


    ...Right?


    *


    I Had a Preconceived Notion.


    That webtoon authors were young.


    It seemed like youth was inherently part of their identity.


    But when I met DragonC in person, he was almost in his 50s.


    His hair was half-covered in gray, deep wrinkles lined his face, and his complexion was an unhealthy reddish tone.


    Probably due to liver issues.


    His breath carried the pungent stench of someone who smoked far too many cigarettes.


    ¡°Hello, I¡¯m Skelton.¡±


    I found myself naturally using formal speech¡ªit just felt appropriate.


    ¡°Why so formal? We¡¯re both from the same board,¡± DragonC said with a wave of his hand. ¡°Call me DragonC. Let¡¯s keep it casual.¡±


    Despite his worn appearance, his voice carried a surprising youthfulness.


    ¡°Nice to meet you, DragonC. I¡¯m Skelton.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re younger than I imagined. From your writing style, I thought you¡¯d be my age.¡±


    He extended his hand with a faint smile in his wrinkled eyes.


    His palm was calloused¡ªalmost as much as mine.


    Even people who wield pens instead of weapons could end up with such tough hands.


    The area around his bunker was eerily quiet.


    ¡°Here,¡± DragonC handed me a pair of binoculars.


    ¡°You see that red flag? Those are the Chinese. They haven¡¯t moved an inch. Below them is a zombie nest. Probably some monsters nearby too.¡±


    Sure enough, across the sea, I could make out the small-scale Chinese infantry unit Ji Young-hee had mentioned.


    But they didn¡¯t look like soldiers.


    They were just another group of survivors, struggling to stay alive.


    Instead of rifles, they carried farming tools, diligently tending to their crops in perfect synchronicity, guided by the sound of a whistle.


    ¡°Alright, shall we get started?¡±


    DragonC¡¯s enthusiasm was evident.


    ¡°Let¡¯s create the immortal masterpiece that¡¯ll crush that cocky little punk, Pilkrum!¡±


    What he wanted from me was the authentic stance and techniques of a real hunter:


    How to hold a gun, how to handle weapons, how to fight against monsters.


    To avoid drawing attention to my axe, I demonstrated with a makeshift dagger and a firearm.


    Snap! Snap!


    Precise stances. Perfectly executed movements.


    The fundamentals of an old-school hunter who once carried the title Professor came alive again on the desolate coastline.


    ¡°Wow...¡±


    DragonC¡¯s jaw dropped.


    ¡°Skelton, you¡¯re no joke.¡±


    ¡°...My callsign wasn¡¯t really ¡®Professor.¡¯ It was DANDY. D.A.N.D.Y.¡±


    ¡°Forget the callsign. You¡¯re incredible!¡±


    A grin of triumph spread across DragonC¡¯s face.


    ¡°Seriously... maybe I can win this after all...¡±

 Chapter 37.2

    It had been a long time since I last saw the ocean.


    Especially an ocean embracing a sunset.


    Sitting in a camping chair, I blankly and endlessly stared at the crimson sun dipping into the sea, dyeing the waters in its color.


    As twilight crept over the fields, the scent of coffee wafted through the air, signaling the arrival of DragonC.


    "Have a cup of coffee before you go."


    DragonC was a well-prepared doomsday enthusiast.


    His bunker wasn¡¯t as overwhelming as mine, but it was larger and more comfortable than any other I¡¯d seen, complete with ample supplies.


    The most fascinating part was his weaponry.


    DragonC, like me, had a Chinese-made rifle.


    "Not long after the war started, bodies of Chinese soldiers were washed ashore. A lot of them. The South Korean Navy submarines had utterly destroyed their fleet. Two of their ships were split in half and sank just off the coast. Some corpses drifted in, and I managed to swipe a few things."


    The most impressive part, though, was the coffee.


    Two and a half years into the war, and he still had coffee beans.


    "Half my soul is booze and cigarettes. The other half is coffee."


    It wasn¡¯t just the coffee.


    He even had an espresso machine you¡¯d expect to see in a professional cafe?.


    The rare luxury brought a smile to my face as I eagerly awaited a cup from our personal barista.


    While he roasted the beans, I took a look around his bunker.


    It felt hollow and barren.


    Unlike mine, the toilet wasn¡¯t smack in the middle, but the rough concrete finish, cracks, condensation stains, and scattered mold spots told a vivid story of just how challenging building a bunker was.


    DragonC seemed to have tried brightening the dreary atmosphere with webtoon posters in a familiar art style, likely his own work. But the piles of empty liquor bottles and cigarette packs in the corner evoked a mix of eeriness and pity.


    The alcohol was particularly striking¡ªeach bottle over 40% proof.


    He¡¯d emptied hundreds of those bottles.


    Perhaps that explained his pallor.


    "How¡¯s your health?" I asked.


    "Me? Do I look bad?"


    "A little."


    "I''m taking my meds. Don¡¯t worry. Anyway, take a look at this. This is my workshop."


    One corner of the bunker housed a workbench cluttered with wooden puppets, various art manuals, anatomy books, a printer, multiple lights, auxiliary monitors, and a tablet. The numerous notes and sketches scattered across the desk showcased a level of expertise that suggested he was a professional artist.


    In one corner of the desk sat a small decorative item.


    A tiny fish tank with a fake goldfish the size of a thumb floating lazily in the water.


    Despite being made of plastic, the goldfish bobbed around as if alive, reacting to even the smallest vibrations thanks to its lightweight construction.


    As I idly watched the drifting goldfish, DragonC handed me a cup of coffee.


    "Oh."


    It was delicious.


    How long had it been since I last had proper coffee?


    I instinctively widened my eyes and stared anew at the dark liquid in the warm cup.


    "Don¡¯t hold back; there¡¯s plenty. Honestly, it¡¯s nothing compared to the favor you did, coming all this way through such dangerous roads."


    DragonC gestured for us to head outside.


    By then, the ocean was already cloaked in darkness.


    The two community users sat side by side, gazing at the pitch-black sea and the stars gradually appearing above it.


    "I wasn¡¯t a late-blooming artist," DragonC began, his faint smile barely visible under the starlight.


    "If anything, I was a reckless idiot who dove into the world of comics before I even graduated high school."


    Back in DragonC¡¯s youth, weekly comic magazines, often referred to as "champ" magazines, were still thriving in South Korea.


    It¡¯s hard to imagine now, but back then, print comics were considered superior to the newly emerging webtoons.


    DragonC was part of that world.


    "The thrill of turning a page¡ªthat¡¯s why I loved comics. I thought scrolling couldn¡¯t compare."


    DragonC¡¯s initial impression of me was that of an older, prickly man who was hard to approach.


    But deep down, he was a born cartoonist.


    "So, on the previous page, you¡¯d draw the villain exuding this overwhelming aura, like, ''Wow, this guy is unstoppable!'' That¡¯d hook readers. They¡¯d be dying to know¡ªhow the hell are they going to beat this guy? That anxiety, curiosity, and the satisfaction of seeing the villain get pummeled¡ªthose feelings made them flip the pages!"


    Talking about comics made him seem like a boy again, full of youthful enthusiasm.


    "At least with a comic book, I could create and control an entire world within its pages. Sure, you could argue webtoons can do the same. But the world in your hands versus a world you click through¡ªthere¡¯s something different. I can¡¯t quite explain it."


    What started as a rambling story about his life flowed naturally into the challenges he faced.


    "There was a time when I thought I was better than the rest because of the comics I drew. It wasn¡¯t just me¡ªmy seniors and peers who were apprentices alongside me all thought the same. But talent... talent is undeniable. No matter how different the tools or techniques, drawing is one area where the gap is glaringly visible. I¡¯ve never tried music, but with art, you can see it with your eyes."


    "Thanks, Skelton. Thanks to you, I can pick up my pen again."


    He handed me a crumpled piece of paper.


    Scrawled on it was the synopsis for his one-shot, where I served as the model.


    "Don¡¯t miss the firestorm on Failnet!"


    He waved at me.


    I returned the gesture with a thumbs-up of my own.


    "...My callsign is Dandy."


    "Stop it!"


    Moments later, DragonC came back after taking his pills and handed me a heavy envelope.


    "What¡¯s this?"


    "A little gift. My collection of props."


    "Props?"


    "Short stories, random ideas. Nothing great, but it should help kill time."


    "This is valuable stuff."


    "It¡¯s just a copy."


    "Wouldn¡¯t a digital file suffice?"


    "I told you before, didn¡¯t I? I like the feel of turning pages. Sure, a printout and a screen aren¡¯t that different, but still."


    "Oh, thanks."


    "Ah."


    DragonC suddenly let out a noise.


    Turning to me, he wore a mischievous smile, one that made him look like a kid again.


    "Sorry, but can you read it later?"


    "?"


    "I don¡¯t want to spoil it."


    "Hmm."


    "Please, Skelton."


    When a veteran user and elder asks for a favor, it¡¯s hard to say no.


    "My callsign is..."


    "Dandy!"


    *


    A comic was uploaded to the Failnet comic board.


    The author: DragonC.


    The short story told the tale of a veteran hunter operating in China.


    Despite being skilled enough, the protagonist remained perpetually stuck at an A-rank due to always lacking that extra 2%. This had left him with an obsessive fixation on achieving the elusive S-rank.


    One day, disaster struck.


    A mid-sized monster appeared in an unanticipated area. The retreat route was cut off by a Necromancer-type monster, which raised zombies to block the way.


    The battle became a matter of life and death, transcending mere ranks.


    One by one, his comrades fell.


    Only he remained standing. Realizing that fighting the horde of zombies controlling the road would inevitably lead to his exhaustion and death, he set his sights on the mid-sized monster blocking the main avenue.


    The whispers of his surviving allies reached him.


    That hunter, Typhoon, had already far surpassed the S-rank.


    ¡°...Hmm.¡±


    For what DragonC called his magnum opus, it still felt 2% short.


    Just like the protagonist of the story, whose callsign was "Typhoon."


    However, the story¡¯s silent and serious protagonist, its complete lack of romance, and above all, its meticulous realism and accurate combat portrayal were enough to spark buzz among the notoriously picky Failnet readers.


    DragonC later uploaded a high-resolution version of his new work, Typhoon, to the forum with some delay.


    The response, as expected, was explosive.


    Anonymous848: Wow.


    Keystone: That¡¯s the most realistic hunter combat I¡¯ve ever seen.


    Dies_irae69: The combat details are insane.


    THE_LAST_MAN: Incredible.


    Anonymous458: After Filkrum embarrassed him, he really came back swinging.


    Kimcic: As expected of DragonC. Our DragonC is the best!


    Unicorn18: No female characters... Boring.


    Gijayangban: The accuracy is unreal. Did you consult an old-school hunter for this?


    James_Catterer: Wow.


    James_Catterer: Can somebody translate this to English? :)


    ¡°Hey, Skelton. Did you see the comic DragonC just uploaded?¡± Defender contacted me.


    As I wondered once again about the criteria that separated "Seoseobang" from "Skelton," I answered his call.


    ¡°I saw it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s 100%. He definitely knows a hunter. There are some old-school touches, but this level of detail can only come from someone who¡¯s been out in the field.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile quietly at that.


    After all, DragonC wasn¡¯t the only one bound by a confidentiality agreement.

 Chapter 37.3

    The momentum of the counterattack continued to grow.


    The views for Typhoon steadily increased, and the number of comments and recommendations surged as time went on.


    The fervor reached the point where it surpassed Filkrum¡¯s latest short story, The Bully Hunter.


    When Typhoon finally exceeded the recommendation count of The Bully Hunter, people began to say:


    DragonC had overtaken Filkrum.


    The perennial second- or third-rate artist had finally risen to the level where he could compete with top-tier creators.


    The curious part was Filkrum¡¯s reaction.


    He remained utterly silent about DragonC¡¯s magnum opus. Whether he was in shock or dealing with personal issues was anyone¡¯s guess.


    The entire Failnet community wholeheartedly celebrated DragonC¡¯s triumphant return.


    Though DragonC expressed humble gratitude, his true feelings were different.


    He revealed them only to me.


    Message from DragonC:


    Does winning or losing even matter? I¡¯m just so happy right now, in this moment.


    SKELTON: Really?


    Message from DragonC:


    Could I have ever dreamed of this before the war? A washed-up artist like me, without a single hit to my name, being compared to a top-class creator? It¡¯s all a miracle brought about by the war.


    Message from DragonC:


    I truly feel alive right now!


    Even through the text, I could feel DragonC¡¯s joy.


    There was no doubt about it.


    He was genuinely grateful for the current circumstances.


    For a brief moment, the rivalry between the two artists, which had set both Failnet and Viva! Apocalypse! ablaze, seemed to end like a fairytale.


    But their story wasn¡¯t over yet.


    There was still more to come.


    *


    Message from DragonC:


    I have to complete my final work before I die.


    SKELTON: You mean Remnant?


    Message from DragonC:


    Yeah. That¡¯s the one thing I absolutely have to draw. Even if it kills me, I¡¯ve decided to finish it.


    SKELTON: A masterpiece for the ages?


    Message from DragonC:


    It¡¯s nothing that grand. More like the desperate struggle of a man with little time left. But anyway, just wait. Something exciting is coming soon.


    That exciting news never came.


    Another event overshadowed it entirely.


    Filkrum88: I concede defeat, DragonC.


    Filkrum publicly admitted defeat.


    On a forum visible to everyone, he declared himself beaten.


    But his message was riddled with enough questionable details to cast doubt on his sincerity.


    First, I sincerely apologize for plagiarizing your work without permission, DragonC, and for upsetting you. My intention wasn¡¯t to provoke you but simply to draw attention.Do you remember meeting at the year-end party hosted by the platform four years ago? I think we exchanged greetings then.This may be a rude request, but is there any space available in your bunker?While interpreting Remnant in my own way, I felt my heart race.This is a masterpiece. A work that will go down in human history.I¡¯m willing to work as a servant, even live in an outhouse. Please, I just want to witness the completion of Remnant!


    The message shocked the entire Failnet community.


    Filkrum, who had long been considered untouchable in the art world, not only admitted defeat but also begged to join DragonC in his bunker.


    And his effusive praise for Remnant left everyone wondering¡ªjust what kind of monumental work was DragonC creating?


    *


    "......"


    It was probably my fault that things escalated like this.


    After all, it was me, Park Gyu, who turned into an 11-year-old skeptic about the whole Jeju Island convoy plan.


    With Failnet invasions now reduced to barely once a day and the forum users bored out of their minds, the popular post from Filkrum88 stirred up quite an intriguing reaction.


    Keystone: Wow, it''s Filkrum88. I¡¯m a huge fan of High School Emperor.


    Anonymous848: Is he starting a studio? Could be an unexpected synergy.


    Unicorn18: Filkrum88, can I request a commission, please?


    Defender: Hey, Filkrum88, you alone?


    As always, my internet friend Defender was the one to see the situation for what it truly was.


    The tone of his reply made it clear his younger sibling had taken over the keyboard.


    Defender: Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re bringing the full misery set¡ªkids, wife, parents¡ªall strung together like a sausage chain. We¡¯re already starting to see folks running low on food.


    It took about one minute and ten seconds for a reply to appear.


    Filkrum88: Including my wife, son, and younger brother, it¡¯s a three-person family.


    Defender: Younger brother?


    Filkrum88: Yes, my younger brother.


    Defender: lol.


    My radio buzzed.


    "Skelton! Are you on your computer?"


    As expected, Da-jeong¡¯s excited voice rang out.


    "That bastard¡ªno, that guy! Isn¡¯t he shameless? Huh?"


    "...Yeah, kind of."


    It¡¯s hard enough to take in a family, but three adult males?


    That¡¯s basically announcing his intent to seize the bunker.


    And besides, while DragonC¡¯s bunker was spacious enough for one person, wouldn¡¯t it be a bit cramped for four?


    I took a sip of the coffee DragonC had gifted me and asked Da-jeong, "How do you think DragonC will respond?"


    "Of course, he¡¯ll refuse, right?"


    "Yeah, I think so too."


    It¡¯s something I always feel¡ªpeople are truly unpredictable.


    Is there anything as changeable and hard to predict as the human mind?


    Sometimes I wonder.


    If humans were as straightforward as monsters, maybe this world wouldn¡¯t be as interesting.


    DragonC, against everyone¡¯s expectations, chose the unexpected.@@@@


    DragonC: Sure.


    *


    I attended the meeting between Filkrum88 and DragonC out of a sense of obligation.


    If I hadn¡¯t responded to DragonC¡¯s messages, his triumphant return wouldn¡¯t have been possible, and Filkrum would have had no reason to apologize.


    Of course, I wouldn¡¯t have been able to see DragonC for a while, but that¡¯s beside the point.


    I ignored the puffing and panting thug and pulled DragonC outside the bunker.


    "Are you sure about this?"


    Honestly, it didn¡¯t look good.


    That guy was just a gangster.


    Filkrum seemed somewhat decent, but he didn¡¯t strike me as particularly good-hearted. If he were, he wouldn¡¯t have brought someone like that thug along.


    "I¡¯m pretty sure they¡¯re planning to either kill you or drive you out and take over the bunker."


    Not 99%.


    100%.


    "That could happen," DragonC replied with a bitter smile and a sigh.


    Was it just my imagination, or did his already sickly complexion look even darker?


    He popped some pills straight into his mouth and swallowed them without water before speaking.


    "But Filkrum is the real deal. He¡¯s the genuine article. The very Filkrum I admired from afar."


    "I don¡¯t feel good about this."


    "Three days."


    DragonC held up three fingers.


    "Check back with me in three days. If I need help, I¡¯ll let you know."


    "No."


    I shook my head.


    "You contact me in three days. If I don¡¯t hear from you, I¡¯ll come straight over. Doesn¡¯t that make more sense?"


    "..."


    DragonC looked at me for a moment, then nodded reluctantly.


    "...Alright."


    He smiled at me.


    I couldn¡¯t understand it.


    How could someone smile when such a bleak future was staring them in the face?


    Was it because he didn¡¯t trust me?


    No, that wasn¡¯t it.


    Despite being dismissed as a washed-up nobody, the hatred that burned within me hadn¡¯t diminished in the slightest.


    Taking a deep breath, I stared at him firmly.


    "My callsign is Professor."


    "Professor? S-rank?"


    "Three seconds."


    "Huh?"


    "I could deal with that loudmouth inside¡ªincluding the big guy¡ªin three seconds."


    The axe twirled in my palm.


    "Answer me."


    At first, DragonC looked startled, but then he smiled again, an unfathomable, serene grin.


    He gestured for me to lean closer.


    I did, and he whispered.


    "Remember when Filkrum plagiarized my work and caused me so much trouble? At first, I was furious¡ªso angry I thought my head would explode. I wanted to drive to Incheon and shoot him dead. I even ran through simulations in my mind of how I¡¯d kill him."


    "...So why?"


    "Over time, I don¡¯t know... It just became okay. I can¡¯t explain it. Maybe it¡¯s my pride as an artist. Maybe it¡¯s something else. But this feeling stirring inside me right now? It¡¯s real."


    I looked at DragonC.


    His face, darkened by illness, couldn¡¯t hide the sincerity in his expression.


    "Just give me three days."


    With a heavy heart, I nodded.


    This was the path he¡¯d chosen.


    I didn¡¯t understand it, but he was still a member of our community.


    I respected his decision.


    "Oh, and I have a gift for you."


    "Another one?"


    "Yeah. Come inside for a moment."


    The gift DragonC gave me exceeded all expectations.


    An espresso machine.


    And a massive supply of frozen coffee beans to go with it.


    "Can¡¯t you just leave that here? Please?" Filkrum¡¯s wife interjected as she watched.


    Nearby, the thug grumbled under his breath while Filkrum tried to placate him.


    I was just as puzzled.


    "You¡¯re really giving this to me?"


    "I quit coffee."


    Filkrum¡¯s wife muttered from the side, "We haven¡¯t quit."


    Ignoring her, DragonC insisted that I take the espresso machine and beans.


    "Please. You came to visit me twice. Compared to that, this is nothing. Just take it¡ªit¡¯s my way of saying thank you!"


    "..."


    "Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve fired a gun before. I may be weak now, but I served full term in the army."


    Reluctantly, I took the gift back to my bunker.


    Three days passed.


    No word came from DragonC.

 Chapter 37.4

    Traveling an hour by bike to kill someone wasn¡¯t particularly difficult.


    The night was dark, and the trailblazers¡¯ lights were nowhere to be seen. Likely, the recent turmoil in Seoul had left the area unsettled.


    As Incheon regained some stability, power struggles that had remained dormant began to resurface. Criticism against members of parliament, who extended their terms indefinitely while enjoying unwarranted resources and privileges, grew louder. In response, the parliament proposed electing 500 ¡°people¡¯s representatives¡± ¡ª a kind of pseudo-parliament.


    Even among the trailblazers, there seemed to be those vying for these positions, believing they had the qualifications. After all, if sending people to their deaths counted as achievements, they probably felt entitled to a claim.


    Reality, as always, was dirtier and more despicable than one could imagine.


    Before I even reached DragonC¡¯s bunker on my third visit, I encountered an unexpected sight.


    Three men were sitting near a drum fire on the road some distance from the bunker. They were drinking and chatting.


    They were likely the cronies brought along by Filkrum¡¯s so-called younger brother.


    I hid myself and eavesdropped on their conversation.


    "Those people over there... aren''t they Chinese?"


    "God, I want to kill every last one of them."


    "They said the joint Korean-American forces cleared them all out into the sea. Government bastards, always lying."


    "That cartoonist¡¯s wife was hot as hell. Should we just kill the bastard and have some fun with her?"


    "I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s up to Hyung-min. But hey, we¡¯ve already looted so much food and booze. This is still a win for us, right?"


    Trivial talk.


    Nothing worth paying attention to.


    I mulled over how to handle them.


    I could shoot them, or I could cut them down with my axe.


    Before taking action, I scouted the area thoroughly.


    As expected, there was a vehicle nearby.


    An electric car outfitted with bulletproof plating.


    Next to it was a solar-powered charging station.


    The car was empty, but it was packed with supplies¡ªlikely DragonC¡¯s food and alcohol.


    I reassessed my targets.


    Three men near the bunker.


    Three more inside the bunker.


    I presumed DragonC was already dead.


    Approaching the car, I wedged large rocks in front of and behind its wheels. Just a bit of insurance to ensure no one left without my permission.


    Then, I slowly approached the campfire.


    They weren¡¯t watching their backs, so it was easy to get close.


    Without slowing down, I walked up and buried my axe into the neck of the man holding a bottle.


    Thunk!


    The sound of the axe biting into flesh and breaking bone reverberated softly.


    The man couldn¡¯t even scream as he staggered.


    Before he could fall, I swung my other axe, this time at the head of the man who was just beginning to turn toward me.


    Crack!


    The last man was lucky¡ªhe got to see my face, albeit briefly.


    But he was also unlucky.


    Both of my axes met his neck simultaneously.


    Supporting his body as though I were felling a tree, I guided him to the ground beside the fire.


    Blood trickled onto my gloved hands but didn¡¯t stain my clothes.


    Laying him gently next to the fire, as if putting a child to bed, I headed toward the bunker.


    Outside the bunker, Filkrum¡¯s ¡°younger brother¡± was lounging in a camping chair that once belonged to DragonC, staring out at the dark ocean.


    I glanced at him.


    No firearm.


    The bunker door was shut.


    "......"


    I wasn¡¯t particularly interested in talking to him, but a strange impulse stirred.


    Or perhaps I had questions that needed answering.


    Letting the moonlight expose me, I stepped out of the shadows.


    "Who¡ªwho the hell are you?!"


    His bloodshot eyes quickly locked onto me.


    "Pick up a weapon," I said, raising my bloodied axe.


    The man shrank into the chair as if he could disappear into it.


    "You¡¯re a hunter, aren¡¯t you?"


    "What¡ªwhat is this?! Ye-hoon! Ye-hoon!"


    He yelled toward the campfire.


    When no answer came, he turned toward the bunker and shouted frantically.@@@@


    "Ho-jun! Ho-jun!"


    He fired three rounds from his pistol toward the bunker entrance.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    The gunshots shattered the stillness, and the ricochets echoed around the bunker.


    I heard screams from inside and asked him calmly, "Where are they?"


    The man¡¯s eyes darted around nervously as he reached toward a knife lying on the ground.


    I let him grab it.


    "Where are the people who were here?" I asked again.


    It seemed he needed the knife in his hand to summon the confidence to answer.


    "They¡¯re dead," he said, sneering.


    As he spoke, he smirked as if the knife had empowered him.


    "You knew this would happen, didn¡¯t you? When you left, you knew that bastard would die. Why didn¡¯t you stop it, huh?"


    But all the knife gave him was false confidence.


    And then, something caught my eye.


    A draft.


    An unfinished post, waiting to be completed.


    I opened it.


    DragonC: I¡¯m teaming up with Filkrum!


    ¡°Filkrum, this guy¡ªhe¡¯s just a natural. His imagination is incredible, his fundamentals are outstanding. Honestly, I hit a wall watching him work.¡±


    ¡°But you know what, friends?¡±


    ¡°I realized there¡¯s one thing I¡¯m better at than him. I¡¯m a much better storyteller than he is.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to make something big. DragonC and Filkrum88, joining forces!¡±


    "......"


    DragonC¡¯s final message never made it to the forum.


    But its meaning reached me, clear as day.


    I understood what he had wanted to tell me.


    ¡°There¡¯s one way for you to survive.¡±


    Inside the bunker, I spoke calmly to Filkrum, who was kneeling on the floor, half-exhausted.


    ¡°You need to become DragonC.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡±


    I handed him DragonC¡¯s manuscript.


    ¡°Finish this. In his name.¡±


    ¡°T-This is?!¡±


    A flicker of shock crossed Filkrum¡¯s face.


    ¡°Is this... a sequel to what I worked on?¡±


    I nodded slowly.


    At first, Filkrum¡¯s expression was one of confusion. He stared at the manuscript and storyboard, flipping through the pages. But gradually, his face transformed¡ªshifting from surprise to awe, then to something like shock.


    ¡°This... this is...¡±


    He looked up at me, his expression now serious.


    ¡°It¡¯s honestly amazing.¡±


    I turned my back on him.


    ¡°Take as long as you need, but finish it. That¡¯s the condition for me to forgive you.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to speak to him anymore.


    If I stayed any longer, I might end up killing him¡ªand his family, too.


    On a desk in the corner of the bunker, the fake goldfish in its tiny aquarium flailed wildly, turning its stupid face toward me.


    "......"


    I picked up the aquarium and left.


    *


    DragonC: ¡°The Remnant¡± Chapter 2


    Two weeks later, the latest installment of The Remnant, DragonC''s magnum opus, was uploaded to the forum.


    This happened during a period of utter chaos: in Incheon, a farcical event involving the election of 500 so-called ¡°National Representatives¡± (parasitic figureheads, really) was stirring nationwide outrage, while rumors spread about the Legion Faction¡¯s elites once again attempting to seize power.


    Amid such a frustrating climate, the new chapter brought a shared wave of emotional impact to both Failnet and Viva! Apocalypse!¡ªtwo wildly different communities.


    While praise poured in from all sides, I sat enveloped in the overwhelming aroma of coffee, immersed in what was now officially his last, parting work.


    SKELTON


    Within the scribbles of the storyboard was a man standing with an axe.


    On the internet, he might¡¯ve seemed clumsy, but in reality, he was sharp, loyal, and capable of holding his own in a fight.


    Reading through DragonC¡¯s rough sketches brought back a familiar feeling, reminiscent of when I used to flip through comic drafts drawn by other kids back in school.


    ¡°Ah, come on. That¡¯s a bit much.¡±


    It was clear DragonC had been heavily influenced by me.


    This was evident from how I, Park Gyu, was depicted single-handedly slicing through mid-tier monsters like they were butter and even taking down large-tier monsters with some kind of aura-sword technique.


    I wasn¡¯t an Awakened. Heck, I¡¯d never even heard of an Awakened using aura-sword techniques.


    But it wasn¡¯t entirely implausible either.


    ¡°Ah, damn it. A dream!¡±


    The final monologue of the character SKELTON in the story made me crack a wry smile¡ªor maybe it was a genuine one. I couldn¡¯t tell.


    I opened a notepad on my laptop, and a pristine, empty space spread out before me.


    Without thinking, I typed two words.


    Immortality.


    But the words didn¡¯t stay long. A flurry of backspaces erased them almost as quickly as they appeared.


    "......"


    There had been two creators.


    One had died. One remained.


    All to achieve immortality.


    To remain immortal.


    To leave behind something immortal.


    ¡°Immortality, huh...¡±


    I shook my head.


    Trying to encapsulate DragonC¡¯s intentions with such a cliche?d word felt like a lazy oversimplification of the events that had transpired.


    The fake goldfish in its little tank seemed to agree with my doubts, turning its murky gaze toward me.


    I tapped the table lightly. It was, of course, mere coincidence that the resulting vibrations caused the goldfish to tilt in my direction, but seeing it brought a thought to the surface, almost like a dream.


    This situation, this sequence of events¡ªperhaps this was exactly what DragonC had intended all along.


    A masterpiece that completed itself through the creator¡¯s death.


    Or maybe...


    Maybe we are the fish, swimming in the dream of the dead.


    If our world had been absorbed into his story, it might not be as far-fetched as it sounds.

 Chapter 38

    ??: ¡°Hey, doesn¡¯t this look like Filkrum¡¯s art style?¡±


    ??: ¡°Yeah, feels like Filkrum drew it.¡±


    ??: ¡°Maybe DragonC is just mimicking it?¡±


    ??: ¡°Nah, this is DragonC¡¯s revenge. Remember when Filkrum plagiarized and messed with him before?¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°Hmph...¡±


    ??: ¡°Hmph, my ass, you noob.¡±


    The mixed reception to DragonC¡¯s latest work was inevitable.


    After all, it was Filkrum who drew it.


    I had given him a few ground rules, one of which was that, no matter what, he must never reveal he was Filkrum.


    As a result, DragonC reinvented himself as a mysterious artist who communicated solely through his works.


    But, of course, challenges arose.


    Message from DragonC: ¡°Hey, people on the Viva! forum keep sending me messages and acting all buddy-buddy. What should I do?¡±


    ¡°Hmm...¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°Ignore or block them.¡±


    Message from DragonC: ¡°Got it. I¡¯ll do that. But, uh, what if my wife or kid gets sick, or we need to go outside?¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°Send me a message. I¡¯ve got basic stuff like painkillers and antibiotics.¡±


    Message from DragonC: ¡°Thank you. Really. And I¡¯m sorry for all of this. I don¡¯t even know how to express it...¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°Time will sort it out.¡±


    And I meant it.


    Time has a way of fixing everything. Whether fast or slow, our fates inevitably converge on the same endpoint.


    gijayangban: ¡°Large-scale eruption observed at the Paju Gate.¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°Reports indicate the presence of colossal-tier monsters.¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°I¡¯ll post updates as the situation develops.¡±@@@@


    For once, our journalist friend was doing their job.


    Their intel was hot off the press, even before it made its way to the crowded Failnet forums.


    ¡°...¡±


    I sighed. Of all the videos I¡¯d hoarded before the war, not one was about operating an espresso machine.


    Sure, I enjoyed coffee, but I wasn¡¯t someone who couldn¡¯t live without it. Instant mix coffee had always been a perfectly fine substitute.


    Fiddling with the machine by instinct, I managed to brew something drinkable, though it lacked the richness of what DragonC used to make. Maybe I should invite Defender¡¯s sister¡ªshe used to work at a cafe?¡ªto teach me how to use it properly.


    As I sipped my mediocre coffee, I refreshed the forum, waiting for more news from gijayangban.


    gijayangban: ¡°Five colossal-tier monsters confirmed.¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°Heading south¡ªtwo directly south, one southeast, two southwest.¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°Map of projected paths attached.¡±


    An hour after the post, an emergency alert blared over the shortwave radio.


    ¡°This is an emergency disaster broadcast. Five colossal-tier monsters have emerged in Paju. Four are moving south. The exact routes are being tracked. Residents in affected areas are advised to evacuate to nearby shelters and follow the instructions of local authorities. This includes Paju, Uijeongbu, Yangju, Goyang, Gimpo...¡±


    I glanced at gijayangban¡¯s map while the radio droned on.


    The paths of the two heading directly south seemed troubling.


    They¡¯d pass through Seoul¡ªthat was a given. But after that? Would they hit Incheon, or, as before, take a sharp turn and end up in my territory? Or maybe they¡¯d be neutralized before getting that far.


    The destination of monsters was anyone¡¯s guess. One thing was clear, though:


    Paju was now officially monster territory.


    No, scratch that. The entire northern region was now their domain.


    I imagined it looking like those satellite photos of North Korea: a bleak expanse of gray, drained of life.


    gijayangban: ¡°Four colossal-tier monsters advancing southward.¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°Two heading due south, one southeast, one southwest.¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°Attached: Updated projected paths image.jpg.¡±


    About an hour later, my K-Walkie emitted a distinct ping.


    Personal ID: REDMASK.


    It was Woo Min-hee.


    Speak of the devil.


    What could she want?


    Honestly, I didn¡¯t want to answer. Every interaction with her left me in a foul mood.


    But ignoring her wasn¡¯t an option.


    If I didn¡¯t pick up, she¡¯d start suspecting me. And with her sharp intuition and tendency to jump to conclusions, it wouldn¡¯t take long for her to figure out my identity as Skelton.


    I cleared my throat, then answered.


    ¡°Min-hee! What¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°Hey, senior~.¡±


    Her voice, though tinged with her usual playfulness, didn¡¯t sound hostile.


    ¡°You¡¯re listening to the radio, right?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yeah, sure am!¡±


    ¡°There might be a Kraken-type monster heading toward where I dropped you off last time.¡±


    ¡°Wait, you called just to tell me that?¡±


    ¡°Of course! You¡¯re my senior, after all. Can¡¯t have you dying on me¡ªthere¡¯d be no one left to attend your funeral!¡±


    ¡°Min-hee...¡±


    I was... oddly touched.


    We¡¯d been through a lot, but she was still my junior, someone I¡¯d fought alongside.


    For a moment, all the resentment I¡¯d felt toward her seemed to melt away.


    Maybe Woo Min-hee wasn¡¯t so bad after all?


    ¡°By the way, do you know ¡®Eomchang¡¯?¡±


    ¡°!!!¡±


    Forget what I just said.


    I hadn¡¯t yet told Defender about what happened to DragonC.


    Still, it was only a matter of time.


    I was already planning for the opportunity.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    I had an idea to bring my sharpshooter neighbors and the Defender siblings together in one place.


    ¡°What¡¯s up, Sue? Where¡¯s your mom?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s napping.¡±


    ¡°Still on the internet?¡±


    ¡°She found some shocking news online.¡±


    ¡°What kind of news?¡±


    ¡°She said she¡¯ll explain it herself.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not something weird, is it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe it¡¯s juicy?¡±


    ¡°Juicy or not, you heard the radio, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but do you think it¡¯ll come all the way here?¡±


    ¡°Who knows? Better be prepared just in case.¡±


    I made all the necessary preparations and kept my ear to the radio.


    The monotone voice of the radio broadcaster continually updated us on the location of the colossal creatures, broadcasting through fragile airwaves.


    ¡°Colossal-class Unit 3 has passed through Seoul and is moving south. Currently approaching Suwon, where it is expected to dissipate.¡±


    I climbed the hill that sheltered my bunker and peered north through my binoculars.


    The northern landscape was barren, save for the faint lights of a few pioneer outposts. Beyond that, nothing but darkness.


    But above, the sky was full of stars.


    Beneath an infinity of stars, I waited for the guests.


    In the distance, a glowing light began to spread.


    The radio spoke again.


    ¡°Colossal-class Unit 3 has dissipated. Dissipation confirmed. Moving on to updates for Unit 4.¡±


    This time, the monsters hadn¡¯t made it into my territory.


    It looked like I¡¯d have to postpone the meeting between the sharpshooter mother-daughter duo and the Defender siblings.


    For a moment, I stood atop the hill, watching the colossal-class disappear into the night.


    The death of a monster¡ªespecially one of the colossal-class¡ªalways had a way of captivating the human gaze.


    My communication device suddenly buzzed.


    ¡°Skelton. Are you seeing this? The lights in the north are so beautiful!¡±


    It was Da-jeong.


    She was witnessing the same scene I was.


    ¡°Is that a monster¡¯s death?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°...It looks like butterflies made of light. Countless of them.¡±


    She sounded mesmerized, as if it were her first time seeing the dissolution of a colossal-class.


    Well, anyone seeing it for the first time would speak of its beauty.


    Because the death of a monster truly is beautiful.


    Bzzzzt¡ª


    Another signal came through the radio.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    This time, it was Sue.


    ¡°Are you watching? The monster is dying!¡±


    ¡°Hey, Skelton.¡±


    Rebecca must have joined her.


    ¡°We¡¯re hungry. Give me some chocolate.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    I stayed silent, and Sue¡¯s voice came through again, scolding.


    ¡°Why does Mom keep saying weird stuff? That¡¯s why Dad left us!¡±


    ¡°...Sorry. But Sue, Skelton¡ªthe monster dying, isn¡¯t it beautiful?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Just then, the collapsing monster tilted violently, expelling what seemed like thousands of butterflies, scattering the sky with particles of light.


    Perhaps that¡¯s why.


    Both my radio and my communication device fell silent.


    I too watched the infinite butterflies Da-jeong had mentioned.


    ¡°...¡±


    I hope human deaths can be like that too someday.


    That day, most of the people who refused¡ªor were unable¡ªto leave Seoul met their end.

 Chapter 39.1

    When we consume news or official announcements, we often see evidence of manipulation¡ªexaggeration or omission. This isn¡¯t just about misinformation; it¡¯s a method of conveying intent.


    One such method is to avoid mentioning a subject entirely.


    Anonymous848: Damn it. How many people died?


    Dolsingnam: I¡¯ve lost contact with my friend living on the outskirts of Seoul. He survived the war, but now...


    Anonymous458: I heard the Legion faction evacuated most of their people before the monsters arrived.


    Keystone: Weren¡¯t there at least a million people living there?


    Dies_irae69: Probably not a million. At most, maybe 300,000. Still, why isn¡¯t the government saying anything about it?


    The government had issued warnings about the monsters¡¯ approach but remained silent about the aftermath. No casualty reports, no damage assessments¡ªnothing.


    Even Failnet had gone down.


    Worried about the safety of Jon Nae-non, I messaged one of his subordinates.


    183cm88kg18cm: I¡¯m alive. The colossal-class monster moved toward the National Assembly faction¡¯s controlled area, not the Legion¡¯s. But lots of people lived there. The death toll must be enormous.


    Failnet¡¯s outage, it turned out, wasn¡¯t due to the monster attack but a network issue.


    The real problem came later.


    Static¡ª


    The government broadcasted an emergency radio message.


    ¡°This Wednesday, we will conduct the national representative elections. Voting stations will be set up in each shelter. All citizens intending to vote must bring their old IDs or shelter registration documents to the polling place. I repeat...¡±


    That was it.


    No mention of the potentially catastrophic casualties. Instead, they focused on announcing elections.


    Unsurprisingly, outrage erupted online.


    Dentist_Kim: This is ridiculous.


    tntn_Orthopedics: Thousands of people died, and they¡¯re holding elections? Are they insane?


    Berkut_Break: Should¡¯ve known when they extended their terms indefinitely.


    Denis_Oldman: Why don¡¯t these bastards ever die?


    Even the usual lurkers¡ªthose who rarely posted¡ªwere speaking up. Many usernames were unfamiliar, even to me.


    Defender: I just want to kill them all.


    Defender¡¯s post, venting frustration, shot to the top of the trending list.


    For the first time, Defender broke his record for the number of likes received. Even people who usually disapproved of his rants were rallying behind him now.


    Perhaps feeling the weight of their expectations, Defender posted something uncharacteristically hesitant.


    Defender: Stop putting me on a pedestal. Even I can¡¯t storm a military-guarded National Assembly building and start shooting.


    Shortly after, Failnet came back online.


    Failnet users, though different in tone from us, shared the same outrage. On Failnet¡¯s popular ¡°Hot Topics¡± section, the criticisms were even harsher than ours.


    The highlight was a post on Failnet¡¯s ¡°Roasting Board,¡± its most infamous thread for heated debates.


    Anonymous: I¡¯m going to kill those National Assembly bastards. (23,123 replies)


    Thousands of people died, and all they care about is holding elections? Fine, go ahead. My ballot is a bullet.


    The post featured a masked man openly brandishing weapons, threatening to kill the election committee and candidates.


    23,000 comments.


    I gulped.


    ¡°Wow.¡±


    The sheer number of replies was staggering.


    They had 10,000 more than my most popular post...


    For a brief moment, I considered posting something similar to gain attention. But seeing the flood of similar posts beneath it, I reconsidered.


    PropoFol: I¡¯m an ex-hunter. Starting the hunt today. (19,839 replies)


    Anonymous: I¡¯m from North Korea. These southern bastards are doomed. (13,234 replies)


    ImHyoChang: This is Hyo-chang from Busan. (11,320 replies)


    Monster: Hello? I¡¯m a monster. (10,232 replies)@@@@


    KILLER: See you on election day. (9,327 replies)


    Anonymous: I¡¯m an awakened, hiding my power. (8,234 replies)


    The number of posts promising to kill the representatives was absurd.


    But I doubted most were serious. Many were clearly jokes.


    Speaking of jokes, what was that ¡°Monster¡± post? A monster using the internet?


    ¡°...That¡¯s clever.¡±


    Their ability to turn even this chaos into humor was impressive. Yet, it also reflected the bitterness of nameless people who had no other outlet for their anger.


    Amid the confusion and rage, another day passed.


    Jon Nae-non¡¯s masterpiece worked as intended.


    Failnet users swarmed the ruined streets of Seoul, investigating and reporting on the damage.


    Within hours, dozens of posts flooded in. Our Journalist Comrade sifted through them, compiling and editing the best information for our board.


    Journalist_Comrade: Summary of Seoul Damage from the Recent Eruption.txt


    No one likes long reports, so here¡¯s the gist:


    Damage concentrated in the southwestern Seoul area¡ªNational Assembly faction territory.Legion faction evacuated before the colossal-class monsters appeared.Large-class monsters were spotted in Legion-controlled areas but quickly dissipated. Minimal damage.The Hope hasn¡¯t fallen.


    No exact death toll was mentioned.


    Not because they were hiding it, but because it was impossible to count. Every number was just an estimate.


    Most believe at least 500,000 people died.


    But as the years passed, it seemed like she had mellowed out.


    Not that her core flaws had disappeared¡ªshe was still the same at her core¡ªbut it felt like she¡¯d come back to being somewhat human, as if she¡¯d moved from being something alien to at least brushing the edges of humanity again.


    Then again, I had changed a lot, too.


    I¡¯d softened, far more than anyone who remembered the Professor from my heyday could imagine.


    Maybe it was nai?ve, but I thought that if I had changed, maybe she had too. That hope was the first reason I decided to give her proposal a chance.


    The second¡ªand more decisive¡ªreason was the act of goodwill Min-hee had shown me during the recent monster eruption.


    Never in my wildest dreams had I expected her to personally contact me with a warning.


    And it wasn¡¯t just a gesture; the information she provided was precise and invaluable.


    Even my most trusted junior, Kim Daram, hadn¡¯t gone to such lengths.


    At the very least, in front of Um Chang-yi, Min-hee could play the role of a regular older sister¡ªalbeit the kind of older sister with a bad temper that everyone knows.


    "..."


    I decided not to think too much about what Woo Min-hee was up to.


    There was no need to know, and I wasn¡¯t in a position to act picky like some finicky child who only eats what they want.


    After Kim Daram disappeared, I learned the hard way how crucial it is to have powerful connections.


    Without them, you¡¯re blind.


    If even Viva! Apocalypse! weren¡¯t around, I would be living no differently than some primitive caveman.


    Maybe I¡¯d already be dead, swept away by a random storm I couldn¡¯t predict, entirely cut off from the outside world.


    I wouldn¡¯t fully trust Woo Min-hee, but maintaining a modest connection with her didn¡¯t seem like a bad idea.


    It required a bit of work on my part, but it wasn¡¯t really a loss.


    In fact, it had its perks.


    ¡°So, Seoul, huh? What a tragedy. Mostly the elderly and the sick who died. No place to go, no will to leave. Even when the evacuation sirens sounded, they just stayed in their homes and chose to die there.¡±


    I could glean some useful information.


    ¡°This is something Director Woo Min-hee asked me to deliver to you.¡±


    I¡¯d even score juicy cans of preserves that Sue enjoyed.


    ¡°Almost in Seoul now. Don¡¯t expect anything too shocking¡ªit¡¯s just people who are gone, leaving everything else behind.¡±


    And I got to visit the Seoul everyone talked about.


    ¡°We¡¯re here now, Hunter Park.¡±


    The desolation of Seoul unfolded before my eyes once more.


    Two years and seven months into the war, Seoul had effectively fallen.


    A handful of survivors wandered the empty streets.


    ¡°Hahaha...¡±


    A crazed woman was wandering through the city.


    Her hair was tangled, and her clothes were torn, exposing her chest, but she didn¡¯t seem to care as she strolled through the empty streets.


    The soldiers only watched her, making no move to intervene.


    A shard of what looked like metal was embedded in the back of her head.


    ¡°This way, please.¡±


    In my life, I¡¯d never imagined I¡¯d be involved in election campaigning.


    Fortunately, the campaign Woo Min-hee asked me to assist with wasn¡¯t a traditional one¡ªit was something I was good at.


    ¡°Our candidate wants to hunt a monster to boost their campaign. Apparently, they feel they¡¯ll lose otherwise.¡±


    Of course, her request was to help with the campaign, not to ensure the candidate¡¯s victory.


    Just showing up and pretending to help was enough.


    Whether it actually benefited the candidate or not didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°They¡¯re blackmailing us over some dirt they have. There was no other choice. Seriously. Back in the day, Kim Daram handled things like this. Daram had some real nerve. If it were me, I¡¯d have just killed them.¡±


    The candidate in question stood with their hands behind their back, gazing blankly at the ruins of Seoul.


    That back of the head... it was familiar.


    When the man turned, I realized why. It was someone I knew.


    ¡°Ah, are you the Hunter introduced by the councilman?¡±


    The man turned to face me.


    ¡°What?!¡±


    His expression twisted as if it were rotting away.


    It wasn¡¯t surprising.


    That man, Park Sang-min, and I had clashed during the Jaepung-ho Chairman incident.


    I¡¯d seen him once more during the school demolition, but for Park Sang-min, this was likely the first time seeing me since.


    ¡°Y-you! You¡¯re that... that person from back then?!¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t like it, feel free to send me back.¡±


    That would be perfect.


    I didn¡¯t want to spend even a second getting involved with someone like him.


    But it seemed our dear Representative Park had fallen on hard times compared to two years ago.


    ¡°Haha. What are you saying? Hunter, come on.¡±


    Judging by his desperate attempts to read my mood, things weren¡¯t going well for him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go! The vehicle is ready!¡±

 Chapter 39.2

    When Park Sang-min entered the monster-controlled zone with Je Pung-ho, his authority was awe-inspiring.


    He rode in a chauffeured car, accompanied by aides who yelled and grabbed people by their collars on his behalf.


    Now, he was alone, driving a car running on fumes.


    The vehicle, clearly using poor-quality fuel, belched thick black smoke from its exhaust, filling the air with a stench reminiscent of a forest fire.


    ¡°People really look down on proportional representation, don¡¯t they?¡±


    It was a topic he brought up after swallowing his dry spit several times, forcing the words out.


    I remained silent, merely checking the direction the vehicle was heading.


    It seemed to be heading toward Yeouido.


    ¡°But proportional representation is a legitimate form of public representation determined by law and the will of the people. It¡¯s an advanced system first adopted by developed countries like Germany and Northern Europe, aimed at diversifying policies and expanding the interests of minorities.¡±


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Oh, to the National Assembly.¡±


    ¡°Just the two of us?¡±


    ¡°No, there will be reinforcements waiting in front of the Assembly.¡±


    As soon as the short exchange ended, I turned my head to look out the window.


    At least Park Sang-min was perceptive enough to realize I didn¡¯t want to talk to him. Seeing him clamp his mouth shut confirmed that much.


    In front of the National Assembly, whose roof was half-collapsed, stood a group of people, including soldiers.


    It appeared they had arrived by bus parked nearby.


    ¡°Assemblyman!¡±


    ¡°Assemblyman~!¡±


    Middle-aged men and women greeted Park Sang-min with beaming smiles.


    They seemed like his followers.


    What stood out was the predominance of middle-aged women over men.


    Park Sang-min approached one of the women and bowed excessively. I didn¡¯t care.


    There was someone far more important here.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a while.¡±


    It was Baek Seung-hyun, my senior by one year.


    My blood had already run cold, reptilian cold, during the ride with Park Sang-min, but seeing Baek¡¯s face sent an icy chill deep into my core.


    As I offered a brief nod of acknowledgment, I considered how to deal with this man.


    ¡°...¡±


    For now, let¡¯s keep the house a secret.


    Yes, that would be best.


    ¡°Ah, Senior Baek, it¡¯s been a while. How have you been?¡±


    ¡°Senior? That¡¯s too much.¡±


    He offered me a cigarette.


    It was a pre-war product with a filter.


    I held it in my mouth briefly before he could light it, but for some reason, I felt nauseated.


    I wasn¡¯t a non-smoker.


    I had smoked my fair share.


    What made me retch was the rancid, corpse-like odor seeping into my mouth through the filter.


    ¡°Good stuff. Pre-war cigarettes have their charm.¡±


    I expressed gratitude while the nicotine-laden smoke chased away the stench of death in my mouth.


    ¡°I got it with great difficulty,¡± Baek replied with a faint smile.


    I wanted to ask how he got it but held back.


    We stood side by side, smoking, watching Park Sang-min¡¯s actions.


    Rather than preparing for a monster hunt, he seemed to be campaigning.


    He shook hands and hugged each of his supporters who had come this far to see him.


    Baek, his face indifferent, watched as he exhaled a puff of white smoke.


    ¡°Were you called here too?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I had some connections.¡±


    ¡°Got it. Are you still in your bunker?¡±


    ¡°No, I moved to Incheon.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m in Incheon too. Near Michuhol.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in Gyeyang.¡±


    ¡°Gyeyang?¡±


    Baek¡¯s eyes widened in surprise.


    ¡°That place was declared a warzone. Didn¡¯t giant monsters push that far in?¡±


    ¡°I evacuated south during that time.¡±


    ¡°I see. Is your house still intact?¡±


    ¡°I need to check. There wasn¡¯t much worth calling a household, so I doubt there¡¯d be much damage. What¡¯s going on here, anyway?¡±


    I smoothly shifted the subject.


    Baek didn¡¯t seem suspicious of my intentions.


    In fact, he seemed to enjoy the change in topic, his subtle smile suggesting it pleased him.


    ¡°In short, it¡¯s a show.¡±


    Baek looked up at the sky.


    Above, indifferent clouds floated leisurely against the blue.


    ¡°That guy¡ªPark Sang-min¡ªwants to act as the people''s representative, but he has nothing to show for it. So, he¡¯s staging a spectacle to hold a vote at the Assembly. The problem? Capsules are inside the Assembly.¡±


    ¡°He wants to make a name for himself by removing the capsules?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°I thought they were monsters.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the public narrative. They¡¯re capsules.¡±


    Baek spat on the ground with a click of his tongue.


    He glanced at the forlorn children huddled in a corner of the crowd.


    ¡°For all we know, he might¡¯ve placed them there himself.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the kind of thing fanatics would do.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to do it?¡±


    Engines roared to life as several vehicles started up simultaneously.


    Vroom!


    The tattered flags mounted on the vehicles trembled weakly, reflecting the vibrations of their engines.


    Then, Baek Seung-hyun approached, riding his signature vintage motorcycle. His goggles and German-style helmet added to his unique appearance.


    ¡°Hunter Park!¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Do you have a personal identification number? Let¡¯s grab a drink sometime.¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t have one.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you have one before?¡±


    ¡°I did, but it¡¯s gone now. A lot has happened since then.¡±


    I noticed Park Sang-min giving me a peculiar look, but it was fleeting.


    ¡°Is that so? That¡¯s unfortunate.¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Senior Baek. What¡¯s your identification number? In case I ever get one again, I¡¯d like to get in touch.¡±


    As far as I knew, Baek Seung-hyun, unlike me, hadn¡¯t been granted an identification number.


    Apparently, that had changed. He seemed confident enough to flaunt it.


    I expected him to answer¡ªand he didn¡¯t disappoint.


    Baek, wearing a smile that made him look both mature and childlike, cheerfully replied, ¡°DARAM.¡±


    ¡°Daram?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I like squirrels.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    I frowned, staring at him.


    Seeing my expression, Baek quickly erased his smile and gave a more serious answer.


    ¡°...Actually, it¡¯s from Hunter Kim Daram.¡±


    That was a lie.


    There was no way that possessive woman would hand something like that over to him.


    ¡°Ah, I see.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s grab that drink sometime. You¡¯re in Gyeyang, right? I¡¯ll visit if I get the chance.¡±


    I had many questions for him, but one thing was certain: he had more friends than I did.


    Armed friends, numbering in the dozens.


    Still, there was one thing I wanted to confirm.


    ¡°Do you know anything about Commissioner Kim Daram?¡±


    I locked eyes with him as I asked.


    ¡°Not really,¡± Baek replied, revving his motorcycle engine.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard she¡¯s joined the Legion faction.¡±


    He looked at me and added, ¡°She made the wrong bet.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t so sure.


    Kim Daram was a smart woman. Among the people I knew, she was the sharpest.


    I was convinced she wasn¡¯t dead.


    Baek¡¯s motorcycle roared as he departed, leaving a deafening sound in his wake.


    Park Sang-min approached me with an awkward smile.


    ¡°Haha... Hunter Park.¡±


    It seemed I was his last hope now.


    All those supporters, all his power, even the aides who used to grab people by the collar to show their loyalty¡ªgone.


    All that remained were a few powerless supporters.


    ¡°Go, Park Sang-min!¡±


    One middle-aged woman shouted awkwardly, and the others followed suit.


    ¡°Go, Park Sang-min!¡±


    ¡°Assemblyman Park, stay strong!¡±


    ¡°U.Y.P.B.! Park Sang-min!¡±


    They even threw in an outdated slogan that hadn¡¯t been relevant for years.


    ¡°...¡±


    Clad in tepid, lukewarm support, Park stood before me.


    ¡°Hunter Park.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I have no intention of taking any risks.¡±


    I planned to politely decline and leave.


    After all, there was no way this guy would offer me a ride, so I¡¯d have to wait for someone from Woo Min-hee¡¯s side.


    But this guy¡ªPark Sang-min¡ªseemed intent on clinging to me.


    Glancing at his supporters, he leaned in and started whispering.


    ¡°I made a mistake during Chairman Je Pung-ho¡¯s time. I didn¡¯t have connections because I¡¯m not from a prominent school. I couldn¡¯t recognize someone as remarkable as you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not the same as I used to be. It¡¯s been over four years since I stood on a battlefield. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me¡ª¡±


    As I turned to leave, he blocked my path.


    ¡°For the people... Can¡¯t you do it for the people?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    This guy.


    ¡°For the people,¡± he repeated.


    Why was he like this?


    ¡°I just need you to accompany me to the Assembly,¡± he pleaded, glancing back at his supporters.


    A handful of people stared at him with expectant eyes.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Suddenly, he looked like a scolded child about to cry.


    ¡°My mother is here...¡±


    From the crowd, an older woman shouted in a raspy voice, ¡°Sang-min! Stop and come here!¡±


    It was the same woman he had excessively bowed to earlier. She must have been his mother.


    ¡°Come here!¡±


    Tragically, the brave defender of our constitution, Assemblyman Park Sang-min, would never return to his mother¡¯s embrace.

 Chapter 39.3

    Where should I even begin?


    How does one explain the situation to a mother who has just lost her son?


    I could just leave. Ignoring it and walking away would be simple.


    When would I ever see her again? Maybe in the afterlife¡ªif such a thing exists. Even then, the chances are slim. That afterlife would be crowded with unprecedented numbers of visitors.


    But seeing the old woman left alone in the dark to grapple with the reality of her only son''s death gnawed at me. And knowing that I was the one who had witnessed his death up close, without offering her any explanation, sat heavily on my conscience.


    There was time before the armored vehicles arrived.


    Whether it was obligation or a moment of whimsy, I couldn''t tell. I approached her and spoke.


    ¡°...The Assemblyman¡¯s death was heroic.¡±


    Park Sang-min¡¯s mother seemed like a strong-willed woman.


    Despite her worn and tattered appearance, her clothes hinted at once being luxurious, and the jewelry she wore wasn¡¯t ordinary.


    However, there wasn¡¯t even a trace of elegance about her. Perhaps her personality was too harsh to accept refinement.


    ¡°That fool couldn¡¯t possibly have died heroically.¡±


    The old woman glared at me, her eyes wide with accusation.


    ¡°You killed him, didn¡¯t you? Huh? It was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    She lunged to grab my collar without warning.


    I brushed her hand away with a firm gesture.


    ¡°Watch your words.¡±


    ¡°How dare you talk back to me, you lowborn bastard! A wretched, pedigree-less punk!¡±


    ¡°Mind your language!¡±


    Her overbearing attitude made me raise my voice without realizing it.


    ¡°A filthy creature who wouldn¡¯t have dared to meet my gaze before the war?!¡±


    She raised her hand, aiming to slap me.


    That was crossing the line.


    There were other ways to handle this, but I chose to teach her a lesson. I pushed her with my foot, making her tumble backward.


    ¡°Ahhh!¡±


    Some people only come to their senses when they feel pain.


    She seemed to be one of those.


    As she lay sprawled on the ground, her fine clothes now covered in dirt and her body aching, she finally seemed to grasp reality. She sat on the ground, her head bowed.


    ¡°Why does everyone hate him? My son... Sang-min, my boy Sang-min...¡±


    For the first time, her eyes glistened with tears.


    I hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to tell her the truth.


    ¡°...¡±


    Perhaps my decision was already made the moment she called for her son to come back, and I overheard it.


    Call it a sense of duty.


    Even if Park Sang-min couldn¡¯t return, I felt that I owed her an explanation of what had happened to him.


    ¡°...Alright. I¡¯ll explain everything step by step. If you don¡¯t believe me, you¡¯re welcome to go into the Assembly and see for yourself.¡±


    And so, the story began, tracing back to the moment we parted ways with her.


    "There was nothing else I could do. Honestly, in a situation where the government has fled, and the country is in shambles, what can the National Assembly possibly do? By law, our role is legislation and oversight of the executive branch. But oversight is only possible when the country is on a stable footing, isn¡¯t it? The head of the executive branch¡ªthe President¡ªhas fled. All that¡¯s left are bureaucrats. What can we possibly achieve?¡±


    I didn¡¯t bother listening to Park Sang-min¡¯s excuses.


    I just acknowledged that he had his own circumstances.


    "The election wasn¡¯t something I decided. It wasn¡¯t me¡ªit was those higher up.¡±@@@@


    He tried multiple times to provoke a response from me, but I ignored all of his attempts.


    The National Assembly was just ahead.


    He fiddled with his phone before showing me a photo.


    The picture depicted several gloomy and disheveled children standing in neat rows. At the center, Park Sang-min stood confidently, his hand on a boy¡¯s shoulder, smiling.


    As he looked at the photo of himself, he began to speak.


    ¡°I know I¡¯m not likable. It¡¯s a politician¡¯s fate. It¡¯s a profession that naturally invites criticism. But I think it¡¯s better than being a judge.¡±


    ¡°Better? Better than what?¡±


    ¡°No, not better. I mean better, like ¡®better,¡¯ not birthing something.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right.¡±


    ¡°This photo is from a private orphanage I support.¡±


    With pride in his eyes, he swiped through more photos.


    There were not only group pictures but also snapshots of the orphanage¡¯s crumbling yet somewhat lived-in facilities, along with images of the children.


    In every photo, Park Sang-min was front and center, striking a political smile.


    ¡°I take pride in saving countless children who have lost their parents. But if I¡¯m not elected as the people¡¯s representative this time, I¡¯ll lose the ability to care for them.¡±


    He looked up at me with sorrowful eyes.


    ¡°If I¡¯m not elected, all those children will die.¡±


    I said nothing.


    I didn¡¯t even look at him.


    His intentions were so transparent that I needed to focus on maintaining a neutral expression.


    The Assembly was now directly in front of us.


    Once the most powerful and influential individuals in South Korea passed through these doors, which now stood wide open, rusted, and corroded.


    A flock of pigeons scattered, leaving feathers floating in the air.


    ¡°...For the first time, I¡¯ve disobeyed my mother.¡±


    ¡°Woo Min-hee is... strange. The way she talks¡ªit¡¯s unsettling. It¡¯s not malicious, but her tone makes people uncomfortable.¡±


    Woo Min-hee did have that effect.


    Park let out a deep sigh.


    ¡°...Just like my mother.¡±


    I looked at him.


    This was the second time.


    Coincidentally, both times I showed interest in him were when he mentioned his mother.


    His mother didn¡¯t seem like the kindest person.


    She was the archetype of a wealthy, imperious madam¡ªthe kind you could imagine forcing a young department store clerk to kneel while berating her with cutting words.


    Park Sang-min let out a faint laugh, gazing into the distance.


    ¡°Well, when you think about it, I might be here because of my mother.¡±


    ¡°She told you not to come, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    ¡°No. I mean, looking at my entire life. It¡¯s like inertia. The inertia my mother created pushed me here.¡±


    ¡°Inertia...¡±


    ¡°From the moment I came out of my mother¡¯s womb, my life was decided.¡±


    Park opened his hand and stared at his palm.


    He examined it closely before turning his gaze to me.


    ¡°Like the lines on my hand.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Snacks, toys, clothes, school, hobbies, friends, even my wife¡ªall chosen by my mother. Becoming a National Assembly member was also thanks to her.¡±


    ¡°You must come from a good family.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do. It¡¯s true, whether you like it or not.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder.


    ¡°What about your father?¡±


    What kind of life could the husband of such an overbearing woman have led?


    ¡°He left to start a new family.¡±


    Of course.


    ¡°Who could endure her personality? Even my wife couldn¡¯t handle it and left me. My younger brother developed something close to autism. You¡¯d be surprised. The rude and arrogant Park Sang-min has such a shy, awkward brother.¡±


    One thing was clear¡ªthis man was acutely self-aware.


    He knew how others saw him, what they thought of him.


    And yet, he lived his life hurting and exploiting others. In a way, it was remarkable.


    Most incompetent people don¡¯t even realize they¡¯re incompetent.


    Anyway.


    ¡°It¡¯s been ten minutes.¡±


    Park rose from his seat.


    Strangely, I was the one who felt a twinge of regret.


    I¡¯d found myself drawn to the life story of a man just five years older than me, a man whose life trajectory was entirely different from mine.


    Perhaps it was a curiosity fated by our circumstances.


    His story of an oppressive parent was an experience I, an orphan, could never have.


    ¡°Shall we go a bit farther inside?¡±


    I realized that Park Sang-min hadn¡¯t become a National Assembly member by chance.


    This man had a keen sense for reading situations.


    Behind his arrogance, vanity, and selfishness, he hid claws of sharp insight.


    Recognizing that his politician persona wouldn¡¯t work on me, he had swiftly switched to presenting himself as a human being. It was a commendably shrewd move.


    As a result, I found myself heading deeper into the heart of the country¡¯s constitutional history¡ªa place I had no intention of exploring.


    The corridor leading to the Assembly was lined with framed artworks.


    Amendments, the Four-Six Vote scandal, the gymnasium elections.


    These moments, symbolizing the Assembly¡¯s impotence, were depicted in modern artistic styles. Under the roofless ruins, the paintings were left to weather and decay.


    ¡°I still remember the day I first entered the Assembly.¡±


    Walking with a steady gait toward the Assembly chamber, Park spoke.


    ¡°Everything was astonishing and new. For the first time, I felt alive.¡±


    His steps came to a halt.


    His eyes locked onto a round, grayish-white object brazenly occupying the central podium.


    ¡°...Even if it was all on a track my mother had laid out for me.¡±


    At the heart of the ruined capital lay a monster¡¯s egg.


    ¡°I like it here.¡±


    Park slipped his hand into his pocket.


    Before he withdrew it, the outline of a familiar handle made of metal and plastic emerged.


    A pistol.


    ¡°...¡±


    I had anticipated this.


    Click.


    ¡°Drop the gun.¡±


    I had already drawn my weapon first, aiming squarely at him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you three seconds.¡±

 Chapter 39.4

    Thunk.


    The gun fell to the floor.


    I picked it up with my free hand, ejected the ammunition, and pressed the barrel of the weapon to the back of Park Sang-min¡¯s head as I searched him.


    ¡°...Ugh.¡±


    Park Sang-min¡¯s face turned pale as he bit his lip nervously.


    Was he really that shocked?


    To be honest, I had anticipated this.


    This man, attempting to provoke sympathy, lower my guard, and then threaten me with a firearm to force me into a deadly situation¡ªit wasn¡¯t exactly groundbreaking.


    Despite his unique backstory, this was an unremarkable and predictable move.


    ¡°...¡±


    What to do?


    The logical choice would be to kill him.


    That would be the most reasonable option.


    The only question was how.


    I wasn¡¯t keen on using the gun. The sound of a gunshot and the sight of a bullet-ridden corpse would undoubtedly spread rumors and potentially attract unnecessary attention¡ªespecially from Woo Min-hee.


    ¡°Turn around.¡±


    ¡°Hunter Park, this is a misunderstanding. I was going to fire a warning shot at the capsule to intimidate it, that¡¯s all¡ª¡±


    Thwack!


    I struck his shoulder with the butt of the gun without hesitation.


    ¡°Argh!¡±


    ¡°Keep walking.¡±


    ¡°W-what are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Forward.¡±


    I looked down at the ground.


    There was a Spider Type in the Assembly building.


    That much was certain.


    Though it was strange for one to produce minions before establishing a proper nest, the traces of its offspring were unmistakable evidence of its presence.


    Perhaps this one followed an unfamiliar pattern.


    Few people know this, but monsters often change their behavior.


    Of course, there was always the slim chance that the Spider Type was just a figment of my imagination.


    If so, there was still a contingency plan: I could awaken the capsule. It wasn¡¯t an ideal solution, given the hassle involved, but it would suffice as a last resort.


    I forced Park Sang-min along the trail of the Spiderling traces.


    The methodical silence, combined with the looming fear, pulled him steadily toward the abyss¡ªa technique I¡¯d learned from my senior, Baek Seung-hyun.


    ¡°C-can we talk?¡±


    Park Sang-min finally managed to speak.


    I allowed it. At the very least, he could talk while walking.


    ¡°I truly regret this. I understand why you¡¯re angry. I don¡¯t even know why I acted the way I did. Maybe the pressure got to me.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°You saw my mother earlier, didn¡¯t you? I mentioned her before, and it¡¯s all true. She¡¯s a formidable woman. As I said before, I¡¯m just a small ball she threw, my vector predetermined the moment she let go.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Where exactly are you taking me?¡±


    The corridor ahead stretched into darkness.


    ¡°...There.¡±


    I turned on the flashlight, illuminating the path ahead.


    The scenery changed.


    There were ¡°webs.¡±


    Not the kind spun by actual spiders, but the invasive, terrain-distorting effect of a Spider Type¡¯s nest.


    The corridor, which should have extended in a straight line, was warped at some point. The ground itself seemed to bulge upward, creating grayish-white protrusions that jutted from the floor, ceiling, and walls.


    This optical illusion, defying gravity, was the hallmark of a Spider Type¡¯s web.


    It was clear the nest was recent.


    A fully established web would have been so disorienting that even gravity¡¯s direction would feel uncertain.


    ¡°Are you trying to kill me?¡±


    ¡°Do I have another choice?¡±


    ¡°If you kill me, you won¡¯t walk away unscathed.¡±


    Park Sang-min stopped walking.


    Click.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s true. Just like that punk Baek Seung-hyun said, I¡¯ve been abandoned. I¡¯m younger than most, even if not by much, and without my father¡¯s influence, I¡¯m just a disposable pawn. But, Hunter Park...¡±


    He smirked shamelessly as he turned around.


    ¡°A dead Park Sang-min still has value.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a useful card. That¡¯s what this is about.¡±


    He spread his arms wide.


    ¡°Kill me however you like¡ªwith fists, with a gun. I don¡¯t care anymore.¡±


    He stepped closer to me.


    The shadows peeled away from his face, revealing his expression.


    ¡°Go ahead. I¡¯m done. I¡¯m sick of this.¡±


    Tears and snot covered his face, blending into a mess of raw emotion.


    He looked like a child crying for his mother.


    ¡°Do I have to die, following orders, until my last breath? Is that what being a representative of the people means?¡±


    He froze suddenly.


    It wasn¡¯t out of fear of me.


    Some thought had seized him, holding him in place.


    ¡°Come to think of it, my job is to convey the will of others to the Assembly. Technically, isn¡¯t that what representation is?¡±


    It didn¡¯t matter what he said.


    A silvery light shimmered at the end of the dark corridor.


    The creature of the depths had noticed us.


    Park Sang-min seemed to realize it too. Slowly, he turned his head to see the massive figure filling the corridor with its grotesque form.


    ¡°A-a monster...!!¡±


    Correct.


    ¡°A Spider Type!¡±


    Correct again.


    The creature, resembling a spider with three segments and six legs, matched the textbook description of a Spider Type perfectly.


    Except for one detail.


    It had horns.


    Massive horns, larger than a person, rose prominently from its head.@@@@


    I¡¯d never seen a Spider Type with horns before.


    A mutation?


    That seemed likely, especially as smaller spider-like creatures spilled from its gaping maw.


    Typically, Spider Types establish a nest and lay polyhedral eggs to produce Spiderlings that defend their territory.


    This one, however, carried its minions inside its body, releasing them when needed.


    Perhaps even softer than Woo Min-hee.


    No, if I had possessed this softness earlier, I wouldn¡¯t have ended up this way.


    How many have I lost because I couldn¡¯t offer even a shred of forgiveness?


    Kang Han-min. And Na Hye-in.


    They are still beyond forgiveness¡ªboth mine and theirs.


    Park Sang-min tore his suit and bandaged my wound.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like it hit an artery. I know a doctor who can help.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I can handle this on my own.¡±


    We re-entered the National Assembly Hall.


    Much had happened, but neither of us spoke of our pasts.


    The capsule still loomed over the speaker¡¯s podium, its grotesque grayish-white sheen watching over us as if it belonged there.


    ¡°....¡±


    There¡¯s no avoiding it.


    It¡¯s probably a symbol of sorts¡ªa representation of this country¡¯s fate.


    South Korea was finished.


    It had been for a long time, but now the monsters seemed intent on destroying even its soul and roots, mocking us under the guise of coincidence.


    There was nothing I could do in this situation.


    I turned to leave, ignoring it as best I could.


    ¡°Wait, Hunter Park Gyu.¡±


    The voice came from Park Sang-min, who had been supporting me. Suddenly, he stepped away and headed toward the podium.


    What was he planning?


    Was he going to betray me now?


    He didn¡¯t have a gun.


    Was he going to attack the capsule and take me down with him?


    As unsettling thoughts swirled, Park Sang-min made a choice I hadn¡¯t anticipated.


    ¡°Urgh¡ª!¡±


    Park Sang-min, the former member of parliament, hoisted the capsule into his arms.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    He wobbled under the weight of the massive gray object, staggering step by step toward the Assembly Hall¡¯s exit.


    ¡°I am Park Sang-min.¡±


    ¡°Put it down. After all the effort I made to keep you alive¡ª¡±


    ¡°No. I have to. Something ignited in me.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Watching you fight, Hunter Park Gyu, it made me feel... I should fight too. I should stand up and face it.¡±


    ¡°Do you have a death wish?¡±


    ¡°If I can just move this! Then I can come back here! I can return!¡±


    Sometimes I wonder.


    Is the scariest aspect of destruction not the simple act of ruin but the way it corrupts the human spirit?


    I¡¯ve seen many forms of collapse, each unique to the person experiencing it.


    Some are ugly. Others are noble and beautiful.


    Unlike the feeble members of parliament in the murals of constitutional amendments and fraudulent compromises, Park Sang-min now displayed a will to defend the Constitution stronger than any predecessor.


    To preserve his position, he was literally trying to drive out the forces threatening the Assembly.


    He was as earnest about his election campaign as he was about his legislative activities.


    ¡°Record this. You have a phone, right?¡±


    ¡°No, the battery¡¯s dead.¡±


    Park Sang-min put down the capsule and suddenly pulled out his phone, tossing it to me.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°You came here to support my campaign, didn¡¯t you? Do your job. My election campaign begins now!¡±


    He spoke so confidently that I forgot about my pain, raised the phone, and captured the image of Park Sang-min struggling to move the capsule.


    Thunk!


    As he trudged forward, his voice, slurred as though he¡¯d bite his tongue at any moment, rang out:


    ¡°I¡¯ll walk on my own now! Damn it. This is so hard. Feels like my back¡¯s about to give out! But this, this is the true beginning of Park Sang-min!¡±


    Thunk!


    ¡°No longer the small ball my mother threw. Now, I walk on my own as her son.¡±


    I watched in silence.


    Watching was all I could do.


    It was his choice. His story.


    And truthfully, I rooted for him, just a little.


    ¡°There it is¡ªHan River. As the representative of the people, I¡¯ll toss this thing into it!¡±


    Park Sang-min stepped out of the Assembly Hall.


    ¡°And now, I will expel this evil disrupting the constitutional order from the sacred Assembly Hall. Zoom in on this!¡±


    As I zoomed in on the screen, the frame first captured Park Sang-min¡¯s smiling face.


    It was a smile that seemed to embody freedom.


    Far removed from the awkward grin he had worn beside the orphanage children.


    But that smile was abruptly overshadowed by a burst of white noise.


    The capsule exploded.


    ¡°...This is the last image of your son.¡±


    Park Sang-min¡¯s mother said nothing.


    Her fierce, unrelenting eyes, a legacy she could not pass on to her son, remained fixed on the image of her child struggling to carry the capsule out of the Assembly Hall.


    When the armored vehicle arrived, I left the scene.


    In the darkness, I glimpsed the crazed woman approaching the old lady.


    For Park Sang-min, it was a tragic end.


    The election didn¡¯t happen.


    The rage that had been simmering online finally boiled over into reality.


    Hundreds of thousands of people swarmed the government complex, condemning the current state of affairs.


    All schedules were canceled, the military moved to block the crowds, and guns were raised.


    ¡°So, what happened to Park Sang-min? Did he die? What about the monster? Did you take care of it?¡±


    The Defender¡¯s voice came through the communicator, his curiosity evident.


    ¡°Come on, Skeleton, tell me already,¡± his younger sibling chimed in, equally intrigued.


    ¡°Well... how should I put it?¡±


    After a moment of thought, I calmly recounted what I remembered of Park Sang-min¡¯s end.


    ¡°You see...¡±


    The ruined National Assembly Hall was now occupied by a spider-type monster, a subspecies known as the Spider Type.


    While typical Spider Types are stationary monsters, the one that took over the Assembly was different in one key aspect:


    It had horns.


    Whether someone had been impaled or fused into it, a man was affixed to those horns like an ornament.


    By some mix of coincidence and tragedy, a man had become a figurehead on the monster¡¯s horn, akin to a ship¡¯s prow statue.


    I remember it clearly. Beneath the open sky visible through the shattered roof of the Assembly Hall, I saw the final image of Park Sang-min.


    Frozen in place atop the horn, eyes wide open, his petrified body stood as the monster¡¯s maw spewed countless smaller spiders, filling the now-empty hall.


    Park Sang-min, now part of the Assembly itself, endlessly enacts mock votes and deadlocks, repeating the chaos of prewar politics.


    ¡°...And now, that man has eight legs.¡±

 Chapter 40.1

    Two years and eight months had passed since the war began.


    The world had entered a numb, desensitized phase where nothing seemed surprising anymore.


    After nearly three years of witnessing countless atrocities and bizarre occurrences, we forum users had grown indifferent to most things. It was to the point where the days when everyone was horrified by Defender¡¯s murder confessions now felt like comedy.


    But the resurrection of one man was enough to jolt the entire forum back to its sharp, hyper-aware state of the past.


    MMMMMMMMM: Hello?


    MMMMMMMMM: You bastards? ^^


    M9 had returned.


    And not just as m9, but as MMMMMMMMM.


    Was this some kind of upgrade?


    In any case, no one could deny that the sole resident of The Hope, m9, was extraordinary in more ways than one.


    His terrifying survival abilities had been proven time and time again through an impressive array of photographs, cementing him as the ultimate survivor of the era.


    I still vividly remember the image of him living in a tilted house, secured by a rope tied around his waist.


    Even when news broke of martial law being declared in Incheon, protestors killing soldiers, and soldiers killing civilians, our forum users barely reacted. But the reappearance of an old friend had everyone, quite literally, leaping to their feet.


    Anonymous458: No way. Who the hell is this?


    Anonymous848: How the f*** is he alive? Wasn¡¯t everyone in Seoul wiped out?


    roka3218: Is this really M9?


    ??: Who the hell is this guy? Can someone explain?


    Defender: Yo, are you some kind of immortal?


    ??: Is he one of your so-called legends?


    iamjesus: Om mani padme hum.


    keystone: This guy deserves genuine respect.


    SKELTON: (Skelton gasps) ?!


    To sum it up, m9¡ªno, the reborn M9¡ªwas indeed the person we knew: the last official resident of Korea¡¯s final mixed-use residential complex, The Hope.


    A man who embodied a rich mixture of intense inferiority complex, relentless patience while biding his time, and unabashed vulgarity unleashed when the opportunity arose.


    The return of M9, a living embodiment of crude capitalism incarnate, symbolized an era in itself.


    And despite his crassness, his presence carried with it the weight of the times.


    *


    It had been two years and eight months since the war began.


    The era had reached a point where nothing seemed surprising anymore.


    After nearly three years of witnessing countless atrocities and bizarre events, we forum users had become desensitized to almost everything. It was hard to believe there was a time when everyone was shocked by Defender''s murder confessions¡ªthose days now felt almost comedic.


    But one man''s resurrection was enough to send the entire forum spiraling back to its earlier, sharper days.


    The parliamentary government had made the worst possible misstep.


    Everyone knew it.


    They had forced an election during a time when they absolutely shouldn¡¯t have, and the price was steep.@@@@


    The silent, patient citizens finally rose up, and Incheon descended into chaos.


    However, the turmoil didn¡¯t last long.


    Both the citizens and the government were well aware that the current state of Korea was dire.


    Representatives of the citizens and the government came to an agreement.


    The deal included the indefinite postponement of elections, the resignation of incumbent members of parliament, securing support from the Jeju government, guarantees of safety, and access to essential resources like food and other survival necessities.


    The citizens¡¯ demands were fully met.


    The protests subsided, and once again, the citizens chose patience.


    But the discontent wasn¡¯t entirely resolved.


    Some citizens demanded to know who exactly was representing this government they were negotiating with.


    One post on PaleNet bluntly laid bare the current issue:


    ??: Who the hell are these ¡°government representatives¡±? Why do they keep changing? Why do we keep getting all these new organizations we know nothing about? Who¡¯s really pulling the strings behind the scenes? The leftover parliament? The military? Or those traitors who ran off to Jeju?


    It was true¡ªthis new government made it hard to discern who was in charge.


    Ever since the president had fled with senior government officials, most key positions were left vacant. Parliament had taken on the role of the executive branch, resulting in a strange, makeshift system.


    It was clearly dysfunctional, but no one had the time to care.


    Between civil war and monster invasions, there were more pressing concerns.


    The questioning didn¡¯t last long, though.


    A bigger topic soon overshadowed the protests.


    That topic was none other than the carrot the Seoul-Incheon government had been dangling to pacify the people for so long.


    The Jeju evacuation fleet was finally about to depart.


    The timeline had been announced before the elections, but in a new update, the schedule was moved forward by an entire month.


    One theory suggested a council member assassinated the president after he opposed evacuating hunters to Jeju.Another claimed the president fled to Jeju only to be killed in an argument with a senior council member.Yet another theorized the president¡¯s plane crashed en route to Jeju.


    Message from MMMMMMMMM: Well, enjoy rotting in your damp bunker ^^ I¡¯m off to Jeju, to the sunny presidential residence! Off to eat some tangerines, baby!!!


    ¡°...¡±


    I unwrapped the bandages on my leg and disinfected the wound.


    ¡°Ouch.¡±


    It stung a little.


    The wound had gotten worse from picking at it while removing shrapnel. A classic amateur mistake.


    After re-disinfecting and wrapping the bandage, I sat in front of the computer, cleared my mind, and began typing.


    SKELTON: (Skelton Analysis) The Dangers of the Jeju Evacuation Fleet.txt


    Jeju is small and has low arable land.This means there¡¯s not enough food.Despite China¡¯s fall, naval remnants, especially submarines, still roam the seas.A large fleet is an easy target for submarines.The Jeju government is unlikely to fulfill its promises.There¡¯s a chance the fleet won¡¯t even be allowed to dock.Jeju is run by council members who favor only the Awakened. Regular people have no chance.The odds of being accepted are virtually zero.


    After spending a good 15 minutes writing, I uploaded my analysis.


    But the response was underwhelming.


    Even the clever quip about ¡°elders¡± in point 8 didn¡¯t garner any comments or likes.


    My carefully crafted post was soon buried under an avalanche of low-effort posts and spam from other users and newcomers.


    Was this the fate of my work?


    No¡ªsomeone finally commented.


    With a hopeful heart, I clicked.


    MMMMMMMMM: LOL


    ¡°Ha.¡±


    Fine. That much was expected.


    It was, after all, a veiled critique directed at him.


    But M9 wasn¡¯t satisfied with just that.


    He went further.


    MMMMMMMMM: (M9 Video) M9¡¯s Beatboxing (1)


    ¡°?!¡±


    This was unmistakably an attack.


    M9 was taking shots at me, Skelton!


    As if on cue, my communicator buzzed.


    ¡°Hey, Skelton, are you watching this?¡±


    ¡°Hahaha! This is hilarious!¡±


    It was the Defender siblings.


    ¡°What the hell did you do to M9 to make him hate you so much?¡±


    I recounted the story of how I had uncovered the truth about The Hope through a mutual contact and had shared it with M9 out of goodwill. But instead of gratitude, he had twisted my intentions into malice, resulting in our feud.


    Clearly, M9 was the one in the wrong.


    But Defender didn¡¯t see it that way.


    ¡°From M9¡¯s perspective, you might¡¯ve been more annoying.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Ever heard the saying, ¡®The meddlesome sister-in-law is worse than the nagging mother-in-law¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Sister-in-law? Bernoulli?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re getting roasted.¡±


    ¡°?¡±


    I was at a loss for words, utterly dumbfounded, when Dajeong suddenly spoke up.


    "Hey, Skelton, check the forum. M9 is picking a fight with you again!"


    Sure enough, M9 had posted yet another new thread.


    MMMMMMMMM: (M9 Poll) Who¡¯s better at beatboxing: me or Skelton?


    Of all the things, M9, that human piece of garbage...


    If there¡¯s one thing he never fails at, it¡¯s making his presence felt, even from that tilted house of his.


    When John Nae-non hacked the Viva! Apocalypse! network, it weakened its security. This allowed access to our forum''s backend tools, which our resident hacker FoxGame used to add some new features¡ªone of them being a polling function.


    While it was mainly used for trivial purposes, like deciding meals for forum users or Unicorn18''s 2D female character popularity polls, M9 clearly saw it as the perfect opportunity to turn the forum into his personal battlefield against me.


    Anyway, M9 was now enjoying what could only be described as his second heyday.


    The voting results below made it painfully clear who had the upper hand.


    M9 is better (22 votes, 88%)Skelton is better (3 votes, 12%)


    "...No, this doesn¡¯t feel right," I muttered, staring at the screen in disbelief.


    "Skelton!"


    Dajeong¡¯s voice suddenly turned serious.


    "Let¡¯s turn this into an opportunity."


    "An opportunity?"


    "I¡¯ll become Skelton."

 Chapter 40.2

    ¡°So you¡¯re saying you want to cosplay as me?¡±


    Defender¡¯s sister¡¯s proposal sounded surreal.


    The idea of someone else impersonating me¡ªacting as if they were me¡ªfelt completely disconnected from reality. To mimic Park Gyu? The Professor Park Gyu?


    ¡°That... wouldn¡¯t be easy.¡±


    It wouldn¡¯t. It was far from simple.


    ¡°What¡¯s so hard about just borrowing your account?¡±


    Well, when she put it that way, it did sound a bit easier.


    ¡°...Hmm.¡±


    ¡°Let me explain why I¡¯m bringing this up all of a sudden. Oppa, you¡¯re okay with it, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Skeleton, listen to what my sister has to say.¡±


    But as usual, when it came to Defender¡¯s sister, listening wasn¡¯t enough. It was more about watching.


    Message from Defender:


    Did you know our Viva! Apocalypse! accounts and gear are being traded on PaleNet? They keep popping up on the secondhand boards. Probably from people who died ages ago. Looters or scavengers must have kept them without knowing what they were, and now they¡¯ve figured out their use and started selling them.


    Message from Defender:


    One of the buyers is watching us.


    Defender¡¯s sister showed me a message from the suspicious individual.


    Message from JUSTICE_MIN:


    Hey, Defender. You¡¯re that crazy bastard from Viva! Apocalypse!, right? Killing people left and right and posting proof of it? Lol. What the hell, man. Lololol.


    Message from JUSTICE_MIN:


    Well, now I know who you are. The Warrior of Justice knows you. From today onward, I¡¯m hunting you down. I¡¯ll track you, expose you, and ¡°certify¡± it. Wait for it. It won¡¯t take lo-o-o-ong...!!!


    ¡°What the hell is this? Is this guy a middle schooler?¡±


    ¡°I wish,¡± Defender¡¯s sister sighed.


    ¡°But if someone¡¯s capable of getting their hands on our gear in today¡¯s world...¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re no ordinary person,¡± Defender added.


    Both siblings seemed to take this situation pretty seriously.


    ¡°They could be part of a looter gang or even a pioneering squad.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not out of the question.¡±


    ¡°In a situation like this, it¡¯s dangerous for people to know that we¡¯re a two-person team. You understand, right? That¡¯s one of our weapons.¡±


    ¡°Hmm...¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t just hum. Listen to the rest!¡±


    Defender¡¯s sister¡¯s plan was straightforward: she would record a beatboxing video, upload it using my Skeleton account, and draw attention away from us.


    ¡°It¡¯s bound to go viral,¡± she said confidently.


    ¡°I used to upload videos to PickTok all the time, you know.¡±


    ¡°Ahem...¡±


    I had to admit, it could get some views. After all, there were plenty of guys on the forum who wouldn¡¯t admit it, but they¡¯d flock to anything with a girl in it.


    But me turning into a girl? That would, how do I put it... damage Skeleton¡¯s image.


    Skeleton is Skeleton.


    I have my own reputation. Sure, the forum doesn¡¯t see me in the best light, but I¡¯m the guy who always steps up for the forum¡¯s sake, who occasionally soothes his loneliness with beatboxing, and, most importantly, the last user of Viva! Apocalypse!


    ¡°You don¡¯t like it, do you?¡± Defender¡¯s sister asked cautiously.


    ¡°Not really.¡±


    Before I could elaborate, Defender himself jumped in.


    ¡°Skeleton, someone like you is bound to be recognized. Don¡¯t you think?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but nod.


    He was right.


    ¡°One look at your old beatboxing video, and anyone could figure out your identity if they paid attention. You¡¯re just lucky it was so shoddy that it wasn¡¯t worth anyone¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s... true.¡±


    If I had indulged myself and revealed even a little more of my face or body in that video, Woo Min-hee would¡¯ve discovered my identity long ago.


    ¡°With PaleNet creeping into our forum, it¡¯s best to stay as ambiguous as possible. You know, strategic ambiguity?¡±


    ¡°Strategic ambiguity, huh...¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t anonymity our best shield? One day you¡¯re a girl, the next you¡¯re a guy, and the day after that you¡¯re an old man¡ªor even a bastard like Umchang.¡±


    ¡°...Hmm.¡±


    While I wasn¡¯t thrilled about the siblings¡¯ suggestion, I had to agree with their reasoning.


    In a world where anonymity was as crucial as survival, being identifiable was a liability.


    Defender was being threatened by this Justice Min guy, and I could just as easily be targeted by someone like Woo Min-hee or anyone else who knew the old me.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like the idea of being seen as a girl, huh?¡± Defender¡¯s sister asked suddenly.


    ¡°It¡¯s not exactly appealing.¡±


    ¡°Then digitally distort it, make it look like a fake, or create some family resemblance¡ªthere are ways to preserve Skeleton¡¯s identity.¡±


    ¡°But there are people who know my face.¡±


    ¡°They might recognize you, sure. But even they¡¯d start to doubt themselves.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s do it. Whatever it takes.¡±


    M9 had picked a fight, and while winning or losing didn¡¯t matter much, this could be the opportunity Defender¡¯s sister had mentioned.


    If I uploaded another beatboxing video on my own, it would probably suffer the same fate as before¡ªforgotten and buried. But with M9 stirring the pot, people would watch.


    We wouldn¡¯t even need to force it with viral marketing. People would spread the video naturally.


    And if it wasn¡¯t me but Defender¡¯s sister in the video? It could have a real impact. It would amplify the ¡°strategic ambiguity¡± the siblings wanted.


    Just as I was about to end the call, Defender interrupted.


    ¡°Oh, Skeleton. Don¡¯t hang up yet. I¡¯ve got something to discuss too.¡±


    ¡°Telekinesis! That bastard¡¯s using telekinesis!¡±


    The monster I faced within the rift was something I could do nothing against.


    The creature I had named myself, the one I had set out to hunt.


    The General Type.


    The axe that had slaughtered countless monsters was useless against it.


    No, it wasn¡¯t just useless¡ªI couldn¡¯t even move it.


    The seemingly infinite, formless power it wielded crushed my pathetic strength, my blood, and my tendons as if they were mere pebbles.


    I had hoped to kill it and prove my worth, but instead, it passed judgment on the threadbare potential I clung to.


    ¡°Gah!¡±


    ¡°Captain!!!¡±


    From that day on, the Professor was dead.


    Though I, Park Gyu, somehow survived, it didn¡¯t mean much.


    In the end, I left the battlefield and was buried here, in this darkness.


    That was how my life seemed destined to sink, like sediment accumulating at the bottom of a river, settling forever.


    But the world is vast.


    Far vaster than the narrow scope of my own vision could ever grasp.


    ¡°Wow. It¡¯s huge. Really huge. But what the hell?! Why is there a toilet in the middle of the room? And on a raised platform, no less?!¡±


    ¡°I know this! What¡¯s it called again? That thing where they put a toilet in an art museum? Dada or something?¡±


    ¡°Was this a Western artist¡¯s work?!¡±


    I made a friend.


    For the first time since elementary school.


    What would my sister say if she saw this?


    She¡¯d probably be utterly astonished.


    Especially since the one who came in with me was a girl¡ªa rather pretty one, at that.


    ¡°...Welcome to Skeleton¡¯s Proud Supreme Castle.¡±


    *


    Using my bunker as a backdrop, Dajeong began her beatboxing performance.


    To be honest, her beatboxing was so bad it was almost unbearable.


    ¡°Boom-tss-boom-tss chikichiki boom-tss!¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    But her experience on the internet was no joke.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to apply digital aging to this. That¡¯ll create confusion!¡±


    With deft hands, she applied an aged effect to her video, added layers of noise as if it were a vintage recording, and even altered the metadata to make it seem like the video was shot before the war.


    ¡°Sure, people will still call it a fake, but, well, that¡¯s your problem to handle, Skeleton.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. There¡¯s nowhere lower for me to fall.¡±


    ¡°You never know!¡±


    Dajeong flashed me a mischievous smile and tapped on her tablet, showing me the caption she added:


    [Could our Skeleton become a legendary name~ ?]


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s do this!¡±


    And so, Skeleton¡¯s latest masterpiece was uploaded to the Viva! Apocalypse! forums.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton Video) Skeleton¡¯s Beatbox (4)


    The Defender siblings sat nearby, happily raiding my food supplies, as we monitored the forum¡¯s reactions together.


    At first, there wasn¡¯t much of a response.


    But then...


    unicorn18: ?


    One of them took the bait.


    Dajeong, crumbs falling from her snack, burst out laughing.


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s Unicorn! That otaku creep!¡±


    Soon enough, Unicorn sent me a direct message.


    Message from unicorn18: Skeleton noona? Noona... you¡¯re a woman...???


    ¡°Wow, look at this DM! This otaku is so shady!¡±


    Although Dajeong was laughing, I noticed a hint of concern in her gaze.


    She was probably worried about me.


    But it didn¡¯t take long for her concern to morph into shock¡ªmaybe even a touch of disdain.


    Click-clack-click.


    ¡°S-Skeleton?¡±


    SKELTON: I¡¯ll leave it to your imagination~ ?


    ¡°Wow...¡±


    ¡°You said you hated pretending to be a woman...¡±


    The Defender siblings, unified as always, turned to look at me simultaneously.


    ¡°...¡±


    This is strategic ambiguity.

 Chapter 40.3

    The results of the underground battle were as follows:


    M9 is better (23 votes, 26%)


    Skelton is better (55 votes, 74%)


    I won.


    The reactions were mixed.


    unicorn18: Oh yeah! My body is shaking! (@@ ) ( @@)(@@ )( @@)


    keystone: Unicorn, you idiot. You can''t even type a proper dance move...


    Anonymous848: ??? Skelton is a girl? (confused)


    ??: Oh, not bad! Show your face, too.


    Anonymous458: Isn''t this just an impersonator?


    Dies_irae69: ?


    kimcic: Wow.


    gijayangban: Huh?


    Defender: Oh, are you someone who knows how to have fun?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: WHAT THE....


    ...


    ...


    The world is really small.@@@@


    Who would have thought the sniper and her daughter would see this too?


    "Skelton? Skelton? Are you alive?!"


    Rebecca. She wandered through the Korean forums, too.


    As if that wasn''t enough, Sue joined in as well.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: (It¡¯s me, Sue!) Skelton, who¡¯s that girl?


    SKELTON: (Yes, it¡¯s me, Skelton.) Shh! I¡¯ll explain later.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive, don¡¯t worry. I just called an acquaintance to help with a little trouble.¡±


    While clearing up the misunderstanding over both the internet and the radio, I continued reading through the forum responses.


    ??: What the hell? I came rushing to Viva! after hearing there was a pretty girl, but she won¡¯t even show her face?


    ??: I analyzed the video source, and it¡¯s from before the war. It¡¯s just an impersonator.


    HoyoungMom: But judging by the heavily cracked nails, it might actually be a recent recording?


    foxgames: It looks edited, but I¡¯m no expert on videos!


    keystone: Skelton, no matter how desperate you are for attention, pretending to be a girl is a bit much, don¡¯t you think?


    ??: What? Skelton is a netkama? This bastard?


    ...


    ...


    As expected.


    The flow was proceeding just as Defender''s sister and I predicted.


    Now, people were thrown into confusion about "Skelton," about my identity as someone entirely different from what they had imagined.


    Some knew the truth, but their truths wouldn¡¯t be accepted by everyone, not entirely.


    After all, people tend to believe what they want to believe.


    Isn''t it called confirmation bias?


    M9¡¯s complete lack of interest in this fight also ties back to that same confirmation bias.


    He was on Failnet.


    Another battlefield where clashing confirmation biases collided¡ªon the so-called "Jeju Island Forum."


    *


    <Jeju Island Forum>


    After the government announced its Jeju Island evacuation plan, the forum skyrocketed from 40th place to 1st in Failnet¡¯s rankings.


    The one who informed me that M9 was messing around on the Jeju Island forum was none other than unicorn18.


    Message from unicorn18: "Noona! M9 is arguing on the Failnet Jeju Island forum!"


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Click-clack


    SKELTON: "Thanks~~?"


    Message from unicorn18: "Tehehe!"


    It was around that time that the Defender siblings left my bunker in a hurry.


    "I-I''ll come back next time."


    "Skelton, don¡¯t get too addicted to the internet."


    After they left, I searched to find out what exactly M9 was doing on the Jeju Island forum.


    Actually, I didn¡¯t even need to search.


    MMMMMMMMM: "Defeated another bum! Alright, next one, let¡¯s go!"


    From the first page, it was already chaos.


    I scrolled through the forum to get a sense of the atmosphere.


    The Jeju Island forum was a literal battlefield.


    The posts were split between optimists, who believed the refugee fleet would arrive safely in Jeju and receive all the services promised by the government, and pessimists, who were convinced the fleet would sink into the ocean, taking everyone with it. The two sides were locked in a fierce fight.


    Honestly, I might bear some responsibility for this conflict.


    Feeling a sense of duty, I quietly observed their arguments.


    ??: "Jeju? Who would believe that bullshit?"


    "I heard hundreds of Chinese submarines are waiting at Yeonpyeongdo, eating crabs and ready to strike!"


    Why the hell was he messaging me?


    A bad feeling welled up as I replied.


    SKELTON: "Hey~?"


    But as I thought about it, this M9 guy...


    He had a thing for women.


    I remembered how he spouted nonsense about lining up for pretty girls when he moved out of The Hope.


    Sure enough.


    Message from MMMMMMMMM: "Skelton, are you a girl?"


    Exactly as I expected.


    Message from MMMMMMMMM: "I saw the video. You know, that one?"


    SKELTON: "Oh my."


    Message from MMMMMMMMM: "You were covering your face, so I couldn¡¯t see clearly, but you looked pretty. Your figure is just my type."


    Message from MMMMMMMMM: "I forgive your sins. LOL."


    How could someone be so transparent?


    Message from MMMMMMMMM: "Come to Jeju with me? Huh? I can take one woman with me, you know?"


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    They say a dragon only has one reverse scale, but humans seem to have several.


    Feeling an indescribable mix of disgust and rage, I pounded my keyboard.


    Clack-clack! Bang!


    SKELTON: "Get lost, you fucking bastard!!!"


    This was the roar of my soul.


    At the time, I had no idea that this little incident was a prelude to the events to come.


    *


    MMMMMMMMM: "Shit, I lost everything..."


    The once-great figure who left our humble forum to ascend to new heights, M9, had returned to us in disgrace.


    MMMMMMMMM: "I got scammed by a gold digger... I lost everything. My ticket, my housing certificate... everything."


    At first, everyone thought it was a joke.


    They assumed M9 was trolling us for a laugh.


    After all, how could anyone forget? M9 wasn¡¯t living in The Hope anymore; he had moved into a secure government-provided house near the Incheon dock, reserved for Jeju Island ticket holders. He was under military protection.


    The idea that someone could rob him of his most prized possessions seemed utterly absurd.


    gijayangban: "How the hell do you even get robbed in a place like that?"


    The moment I read Gijayangban¡¯s post, a sinking feeling told me I already knew what had happened to M9.


    ¡°No way...¡±


    MMMMMMMMM: "Well, the thing is... shit... I was trying to find a woman to live with..."


    I once saw a nature documentary about a certain bird species in Africa. To attract mates, the males build elaborate nests as part of their courtship ritual.


    It seemed M9 had turned into one of those birds, actively seeking a partner and sticking his nose wherever he thought he might find one.


    The text he sent me had been just one part of his grand reproductive mission.


    But finding a partner in this dangerous world is no simple task.


    Especially for someone like M9, a small-minded fool with terrible judgment.


    From what I could gather, one of M9¡¯s followers had slyly presented herself as an alluring and charming woman, gaining his trust. She arranged to meet him and ended up stealing every last bit of his wealth.


    Though M9 didn¡¯t post any proof, he claimed he¡¯d been beaten so badly during the robbery that his nose was nearly broken.


    He even appealed to the government for help, but of course, they refused. After all, he¡¯d ignored their warnings and recklessly taken his precious ticket and housing certificate outside. They weren¡¯t about to lift a finger for him.


    The kind-hearted users of our forum comforted him, saying he was lucky to have survived.


    Anonymous848: "Stay strong, M9."


    Dolsingnam: "You¡¯ve been through a lot."


    RokaGG: "Just be thankful you¡¯re alive."


    Foxgames: "Yeah, surviving is what matters. Welcome back!"


    Dies_irae69: "If you¡¯ve got nowhere to stay, join us."


    ...


    ...


    It was a rare moment of warmth from the forum.


    After some hesitation, I decided to add my voice to the chorus of support.


    SKELTON: "Stay strong..."


    Typing that was harder than I expected.


    After the wave of encouragement subsided, M9 posted a final message.


    MMMMMMMMM: "Thank you, everyone..."


    It was like watching a lonely actor take their final bow before leaving the stage.


    It seemed he was resigning himself to returning to his only remaining refuge, The Hope.


    But M9 was stronger than we gave him credit for.


    Click-clack.


    A new pessimist appeared on the Jeju Island forum.


    And to everyone¡¯s surprise, the pessimist¡¯s identity was none other than M9¡ªthe same M9 who had once been the champion of the optimists.


    MMMMMMMMM: "3,238 Chinese submarines are currently stationed off the coast of Incheon, eating crabs near Yeonpyeongdo while they wait!"


    From within his tilted apartment in The Hope, M9 was now fighting a lonely battle against the optimists he once led.


    MMMMMMMMM: "Gurgle!"


    I sincerely hope fortune finds him again.

 Chapter 41

    This story is a reimagined version of something Rebecca read on the Viva! Apocalypse! American forum, filtered through my imagination.


    Before she shared this unbelievable tale, she had summoned me to her territory, complaining about a lack of food.


    While handing over some supplies, she abruptly asked, ¡°Got a spare spot there?¡±


    I didn¡¯t give her a definitive answer.


    It wasn¡¯t a simple question. I¡¯d been considering it for a while, but I still couldn¡¯t decide. As someone who was used to living alone, the idea of adapting to a neighbor so close was daunting. Moreover, as someone who had always pursued individual survival, the notion of switching to collective survival was a significant challenge.


    Instead, I gave her some meat and left the matter open for another day.


    ¡°Skelton juicy¡ªso juicy.¡±


    For Sue, I handed over some canned peaches I¡¯d received from Woo Min-hee, though Rebecca promptly took half for herself.


    As Rebecca ate the peaches, she said to me, ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you I had an amazing story to share?¡±


    She picked up an old guitar she¡¯d scavenged from somewhere and strummed it like a bard. Her skills were so poor that I told her to stop, and she immediately tossed the guitar aside, whispering to Sue to begin the story.


    ¡°Listen carefully, Skelton.¡±


    The stage of the tale was China.


    In a place called Hangzhou, there was a beautiful lake known as West Lake.


    On a gentle hill overlooking the lake stood the luxurious villas of China¡¯s wealthiest elites. A brilliant inventor made rounds to these villas, spreading a peculiar advertisement.


    He declared that war was inevitable, that no other country would accept Chinese refugees, and that even if they did, life would not be satisfying. Instead, he proposed creating a paradise exclusively for them, a place they could escape to.


    But the paradise he spoke of wasn¡¯t a heavenly realm guarded by the Jade Emperor or the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. It was a virtual world built with coding, programming, and human labor.


    Inspired by classics like Journey to the West, Water Margin, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, and works by authors Jin Yong and Gu Long, the inventor created a virtual world spanning a staggering 144 square kilometers. It was steeped in Chinese aesthetics, yet included Japanese, and even American elements¡ªthings many Chinese openly despised.


    The virtual world had no traditional hanbok, bamboo hats, kimchi, or pickled mustard greens, perhaps making the inventor less patriotic than his peers.


    Nevertheless, the virtual world was meticulously crafted, bordering on obsessive. Nearly every interactive element mirrored reality, reacting to player actions based on data and algorithms.


    For instance, if a player picked a flower by the roadside, it would disappear, leaving behind a changed object¡ªa germinated seed. After 24 hours, a new flower would bloom, unless someone planted a different flower or destroyed the seed. In that case, no flower would ever grow there again.


    Such interactions spanned almost the entire 144 square kilometers of the virtual world.


    The possibilities were endless.


    Players could farm, fish, train weapons to hunt monsters and level up, or use construction features to build castles and claim lordship. Entire factions could wage large-scale sieges over those castles.


    The most significant boast of the virtual world was its landscapes, inspired by both Chinese landmarks and global wonders, sprinkled with the dreams and imaginations of its creator.


    The inventor boldly named his creation after the famous dream in The Butterfly Dream¡ªHu?die? Zhi? Me?ng.


    However, the inventor¡¯s ultimate goal didn¡¯t lie in the perfect virtual world itself.


    The virtual world was just a component.


    The true vision was to combine this virtual world with self-sufficient bunkers, perfectly secured against any external threats. People would receive nutrition from survival facilities while leisurely enjoying daily fantasies in the world he had created.


    It was like living in an endless midsummer daydream.


    Unable to change reality, the inventor sought to create a new one where people could wait out the storms of life.


    Of course, his grand plan didn¡¯t succeed immediately.


    The paradise he envisioned required an enormous amount of money.


    Initially, the inventor targeted the working class, hoping to amass capital through a monthly subscription model, similar to the globally popular Viva! Apocalypse!. His plan was to eventually evacuate people to Butterfly Dream Centers in various provinces of China, where they could dream forever.


    But the inventor, Zhang Shaoqing, was no Melon Musk. Though he tried to mimic Musk¡¯s antics on Chinese social media, he lacked Musk¡¯s wealth and accomplishments.


    The working class brutally rejected him.


    Undeterred, he shifted focus to China¡¯s top 0.1%¡ªthe ultra-wealthy elites.


    Even this approach faced challenges. The elites, who lived like Qing dynasty royalty, viewed spending millions on a virtual world and living in controlled environments with strangers as akin to self-imposed exile.


    One VIP mocked him by throwing an ashtray at his face.


    ¡°Does it hurt? It does, doesn¡¯t it? Your reaction amuses me. The rage and humiliation etched on your face¡ªthose emotions only a living human can show. Think about it. What fun is there in lashing out at lifeless dolls?¡±


    Zhang Xiaowei, the inventor, rubbed his bruised eye in shame and fury, eventually coming up with a chilling idea.@@@@


    He launched a new investment pitch.


    This time, he swapped the casual jeans and black T-shirt mimicking Musk for an ostentatiously shiny tuxedo and bow tie. Despite his swollen face, he smiled obsequiously and bowed deeply to the investors.


    Though the initial response was lukewarm, Zhang pressed on with an audaciously shameless grin, introducing his ¡°improvements.¡±


    The martial artists realized that nothing entertained them as much as people did. They began to fight among themselves.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the fighting to spill over into the real world.


    Bang! Tat-tat-tat!


    The bunker turned into a battlefield.


    A VIP with hired guards secured a strong position, but a former soldier among the VIPs rallied survivors and counterattacked, quickly overturning the balance.


    As blood was shed in retaliation after retaliation, the inventor, as if guided by fate, stepped outside the bunker.


    The world had turned entirely gray.


    A massive monster, its form otherworldly yet hauntingly familiar, glanced at him before striding away into the ashen wasteland.


    The inventor retreated into the "Administrator¡¯s Shelter," a fortified space within the bunker he had designed for himself.


    Inside, he logged onto the Viva! Apocalypse! English forum¡ªusing banned communication equipment secretly sanctioned by the government. He had often accessed the American forums before the war, using the English he had learned in his youth to interact with American users.


    xiao837: "Could this world be someone¡¯s dream?"


    He began posting repetitive, unilateral messages on the forum, like a bird singing alone in the mountains.


    The American users found his Chinese username peculiar but paid little attention. The English forum was as full of eccentric and mentally unstable users as the Korean one.


    How much time passed after that is unclear.


    Feeling his death approach in the empty bunker, the inventor logged into the virtual world one last time to witness the fantasy he had created.


    What he saw was beyond belief.


    The martial artists lay dead, their bodies scattered across the ground.


    The culprit was an ordinary user.


    The user held a simple wooden club and was repeatedly striking the frozen avatars of martial artists.


    1! 1! 1! 1!


    Only 1 damage per hit.


    As the inventor approached, the ordinary user spoke through voice chat.


    "Are you the last one? You piece of shit."


    It was undeniably the voice of a living human.


    The voice of a regular user, reduced to a plaything by the VIPs.


    It was a voice filled with unquenchable rage.


    That immeasurable fury had driven them to spend 3 hours and 12 minutes repeatedly striking each martial artist avatar until they died.


    When the inventor tried to say something, the ordinary user vanished before his eyes.


    The inventor realized the user had simply clicked <Log Out>, leaving the virtual world.


    But the dying inventor interpreted what he saw differently.


    To him, it wasn¡¯t an ordinary user but a monster.


    He logged back onto the Viva! Apocalypse! English forum and wrote a solemn account of his experience.


    At the end, he left a brief reflection of his final impression:


    xiao837: "...And so, our dream was devoured by monsters."


    For some reason, he uploaded a picture of his face.


    The man in the photo was shrouded in heavy shadows, the low resolution and poor quality making it difficult to discern details. But his lower face, where it was visible, had skin that was ash-gray and hardened like the bark of an ancient tree.


    ¡°What do you think, Skelton?¡±


    Sue showed me the photo of the face, which was clearly no longer human, and asked.


    ¡°Looks like a monster.¡±


    ¡°Right?¡±


    In Incheon, the first refugee fleet blew its horns and set sail for Jeju Island.


    According to reports, the Jeju government welcomed them warmly and grandly.


    For some reason, the news felt like a distant dream from another world.

 Chapter 42.1

    Before the apocalypse struck, one of the most popular threads on Viva! Apocalypse! was titled ¡°Show Off Your Shelter.¡±


    Survivalists from around the world shared glimpses of their refuges, inspiring their peers who walked the same path.


    Each showcased shelter had its merits¡ªenough to make one nod in agreement at their ingenuity.


    Not all shelters involved digging bunkers or constructing defensive structures.


    One Canadian user, for example, had mastered the techniques of Native Americans to such a degree that they demonstrated living completely off the grid without cumbersome equipment or construction.


    Their "shelter" was the endless expanse of the primeval forest.


    On the other hand, there were wealthy users whose sheer displays of extravagance silenced any critics.


    Take the Arabian oil tycoon who boasted a luxury yacht worth billions, fully equipped with survival essentials, private security, and even a helicopter. No one dared to question his setup.


    In Korea, the most extravagant shelter belonged to Chairman Park Cheol-joo, a scion of a powerful chaebol family.


    Perched atop a hill, his fortress was nothing short of a small self-sustaining world. It featured grandiose walls, agricultural and livestock facilities, and even a modest golf course.@@@@


    However, the fortress met its end unexpectedly when artillery fire rained down, leaving it in ruins.


    For no discernible reason, the Legion faction¡¯s artillery unit launched a barrage, and the chaebol¡¯s fortress crumbled helplessly under their firepower.


    Since then, few have heard anything about the fate of the chaebol family.


    It was two days after the Jeju fleet¡¯s arrival that they came to my territory.


    *


    Message from unicorn18:


    "Hey, Nuna! When¡¯s the next beatbox upload?! I¡¯m totally vibing right now! (@@ )( @^))(@@ )( @@)"


    Lately, unicorn18 has been sending me messages every day.


    I think I know why, but it¡¯s starting to feel a little overwhelming. Still, it¡¯s probably best to just ignore it.


    ¡°...¡±


    Strategic ambiguity.


    And it seems to work.


    ¡°Hey, senior.¡±


    Not long after I uploaded SKELTON¡¯s Beatbox (4), Woo Min-hee reached out directly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have some kind of weird hobby, do you?¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°N-never mind, forget it.¡±


    She abruptly cut off the transmission, almost like she was running away.


    I have no way of knowing what was going through her head, but maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªshe had started to suspect me, SKELTON, even just a little.


    Well, anyone might be suspicious if they noticed the identical personal identification numbers and usernames between me and my Viva! Apocalypse! handle.


    The debates on Failnet and our own boards have been heating up.


    The main topic? As always, the Jeju evacuation fleet.


    The government¡¯s recently released video shows a procession of ships docked at the serene blue Jeju harbor, unloading countless people.


    Everyone who arrived seemed overjoyed, embracing either waiting family members or what looked like welcoming crowds.


    In a time like this, where there¡¯s little reason to smile, it was a heartwarming video. But, as always, some claim it¡¯s all fake, a fabricated illusion.


    Leading the charge among skeptics is none other than m9, the most infamous figure on the Jeju forum.


    No one knows what he did for a living before the apocalypse, but now m9 has appointed himself as South Korea¡¯s top fake-video analyst.


    m9''s posts on the Jeju forum:


    ¡°00:13 ¡ª Upper left corner: The woman in the purple jumper¡¯s hand creates visible noise artifacts.¡±


    ¡°03:37 ¡ª Close-up of a man: The angle of light reflecting in his pupils doesn¡¯t match the way it reflects off the child¡¯s hair beside him.¡±


    ¡°04:10 ¡ª The trawler visible in the upper-left corner has a mismatched shadow direction. Q.E.D., proven fake.¡±


    ¡°...What.¡±


    I have no clue what he¡¯s going on about.


    I¡¯ve never delved into that kind of analysis, and frankly, doubting everything is exhausting.


    Still, watching the keyboard wars between optimists and skeptics is oddly entertaining.


    Time flies when you¡¯re watching someone else¡¯s ¡°homework.¡±


    But before I get too distracted, I have more pressing matters.


    It¡¯s time to sort my supplies.


    Rustle.


    The once-endless supply in my food storage is starting to show empty spaces.


    My freezer, in particular, is being heavily depleted¡ªa deliberate choice.


    Even with electricity, I¡¯ve realized that running a freezer for nearly three years has risks.


    When the power inevitably goes out, it becomes a huge liability.


    While stockpiling is essential, it¡¯s only sustainable with an infinite power supply and absolute security¡ªneither of which I have.


    Although my territory is relatively safe, nowhere is truly 100% secure. Another crisis could strike at any moment.


    It¡¯s better to reduce my reliance on frozen foods, converting what I can into preserved forms like smoked meat, pemmican, jerky, or sausages.


    The biggest nuisance right now is the game animals Gold brought me.


    After dropping off a boar, two roe deer, and three of each¡ªchickens and pheasants¡ªGold hasn¡¯t returned.


    Apparently, in Gold¡¯s mind, this offering was sufficient payment for his medical treatment.


    So, according to him, his life is worth precisely:


    One boar,Two roe deer,Three chickens, andThree pheasants.


    I devoured the birds in a frenzy, but the four-legged game is another story¡ªespecially the venison.


    I can¡¯t bring myself to eat it. Even boar meat is a stretch for me, and venison is just... too much.


    They were having a barbecue.


    Fifteen people, men and women, gathered around a grill. Each held a glass of beer, smiling as they watched their food cook.


    Even though the smell couldn¡¯t possibly reach me, the sight of large metal skewers loaded with vegetables and meat sizzling over charcoal was enough to make me imagine the aroma wafting toward me.


    A fleeting thought crossed my mind:


    Were they trying to lure me out with food?


    ¡°...¡±


    No, that would be giving myself too much credit.


    Still, the scene managed to ease some of my tension.


    I spoke into the transceiver.


    ¡°Hello? Can you hear me?¡±


    This time, I introduced myself.


    ¡°This is Park Gyu. Do you remember me?¡±


    *


    "It''s been a while, Hunter Park Gyu. We were worried something might¡¯ve happened since you hadn''t been in touch," Ji Young-hee greeted me.


    This time, she wasn¡¯t accompanied by her father.


    I didn¡¯t bother asking about him.


    More importantly, standing in front of me, glaring at me with sharp, intense eyes, was someone far more notable: Park Cheol-joo, the chairman of Seokju Group, one of South Korea¡¯s top two conglomerates¡ªthough now, barely a trace of their former glory remains.


    Instead of speaking to me directly, Park leaned toward a middle-aged man who seemed to be one of his subordinates, whispering something in his ear.


    The man then turned to Ji Young-hee, saying something that made her wave her hands in protest.


    "Hunter Park Gyu isn¡¯t that kind of person. He lives here alone. My father and I have confirmed it several times."


    It seemed like I was the one being suspected.


    I couldn¡¯t blame them. I¡¯ve always been wary of others, wondering if they¡¯re raiders¡ªbut to strangers, I must look just as suspicious.


    In this world, being a young, armed man is enough to intimidate anyone, let alone someone labeled a ¡°Hunter.¡± That alone could make anyone see me as a potential threat.


    Ji Young-hee guided me to another table, away from the grill, to a dimly lit corner. Still, she brought over a plate piled high with meat and a glass of beer.


    "I¡¯m fine without the alcohol," I said.


    "We have cola too."


    "Then cola, please."


    As she went to grab the soda, I picked up a piece of the meat to try.


    ¡°...!¡±


    My eyes widened in astonishment.


    Real beef.


    It had been so long since I¡¯d tasted beef this good.


    And it wasn¡¯t just the beef¡ªthe bell peppers and green onions threaded on the skewer were fresh and vibrant.


    I devoured one skewer in no time, savoring every bite.


    Ji Young-hee returned, watching me.


    "Would you like more?"


    "No, this is enough. Thank you. More importantly, what brings you here?"


    As I slowly finished the rest of the plate, she began explaining.


    However, Ji Young-hee didn¡¯t share anything about herself¡ªnothing about why she was with the Seokju Group, nor about her father¡¯s current whereabouts.


    Instead, she spoke calmly about the purpose of the people she was with.


    "We¡¯re planning to go to Japan," she said.


    "Japan?"


    I almost couldn¡¯t believe my ears.


    Japan?


    Right now, Japan has a strict isolation policy. No ships, planes, or people are allowed entry or exit.


    There were even rumors of a refugee ship carrying thousands from Busan being sunk by Japanese warships.


    Hearing someone talk about going to Japan sounded, to me, like a death wish.


    "Japan? Isn¡¯t that too dangerous?"


    "We¡¯ve secured permission. The chairman has connections with Japanese politicians."


    "I see. And where in Japan are you headed?"


    "The Ogasawara Islands," she said with a smile, taking out her phone.


    She showed me photos¡ªlikely taken for promotional purposes¡ªof the idyllic tropical scenery of the islands.


    "The chairman told us," she added, her smile radiant.


    "He said, ¡®Let¡¯s leave this hell and go to paradise.¡¯"


    Her smile was so genuinely happy that I couldn¡¯t bring myself to ask how they planned to get there.


    In a world like this, I know how difficult it is to hold onto even a small shred of hope.


    I¡¯d had a good meal, and that was enough for me.


    The next day, as I continued making roe deer sausages, I kept a distant watch on their operations.


    I saw a forklift pulling something large out of a shipping container.


    The moment I realized what it was, I couldn¡¯t stop myself from exclaiming aloud.


    An airplane.


    It wasn¡¯t assembled yet, but the sleek, silver fuselage radiated hope.


    That elegant structure seemed to hold the promise of taking them anywhere in the world.

 Chapter 42.2

    It wasn''t surprising that Chairman Park Cheol-joo''s security detail included Hunters, but I didn¡¯t expect one of them to be someone I knew.


    Kim Pil-seong, one of the guards, accompanied Ji Young-hee to my bunker.


    A fellow graduate from my academy days¡ªand even a former classmate.


    Not that it was shocking; our cohort consisted of 1,200 trainees. Most are dead now, but a fair number of them survived and continue to operate in this harsh world.


    "Park Gyu... it really is you."


    With so many classmates, it¡¯s normal to forget faces, but I remembered Kim Pil-seong.


    I specifically recalled him for lasting quite a while against me during our simulated melee combat exercise using cold weapons.


    7.8 seconds.@@@@


    That¡¯s how long it took for me to disarm him.


    "...Sh*t."


    Right after losing, he cursed¡ªa breach of our academy¡¯s strict etiquette rules.


    Our instructor, Jang Ki-young, was especially intolerant of profanity.


    "You, step forward! Hunters do not curse! Repeat after me!"


    With his thunderous voice, Instructor Jang summoned Pil-seong and promptly subjected him to disciplinary drills.


    Later, I heard that Pil-seong came from a lineage of kendo practitioners who ran a dojo for generations, and he was a black belt himself.


    No wonder he¡¯d reacted with such fury when he lost.


    After that, he vanished from my life. He likely operated in China, but he must have been assigned to different missions and fought on other battlefronts.


    Over a decade later, here we were, two former classmates reunited.


    The lanky, short-haired boy I remembered had transformed into a muscular man with tanned skin and long hair slicked back into a ponytail.


    "Wow..."


    Kim Pil-seong looked at my camouflaged bunker and let out a wry laugh, his expression incredulous.


    "How does anyone live in a place like this?"


    Of course, no one would want to.


    But telling the truth wouldn¡¯t benefit me, so I kept a straight face and replied evenly.


    "The mountain is a mountain, and the water is water. Home is wherever you make it."


    I¡¯ve never been a skilled liar, but life has taught me to fake it when necessary.


    After all, I¡¯ve even pretended to be a woman online¡ªthis was a trivial falsehood by comparison.


    "Here, take this."


    Pil-seong, at least, had manners.


    He wasn¡¯t empty-handed. He handed me a large container of oil while Ji Young-hee carried a bulging black bag.


    Inside the bag were yesterday¡¯s leftover beef, fresh vegetables, instant rice, combat rations, and even water purification capsules.


    "You didn¡¯t have to bring all this."


    I waved my hands dismissively but still accepted the gifts. Practicality outweighed pride in this world.


    Food like this¡ªfresh vegetables and premium protein¡ªwas rare luxury.


    I¡¯d take eating beef for a thousand days over gnawing on roe deer sausages for ten thousand.


    Ji Young-hee smiled softly.


    "We owe you for your help before, and we figured you might need these."


    Her thoughtfulness was evident.


    I nodded in gratitude.


    "Have you been living here the whole time?" Pil-seong asked as he surveyed my bunker.


    His question caught me off guard.


    We might be former classmates, but we were practically strangers now. His sudden familiarity felt jarring.


    After a pause, I answered vaguely, "On and off. I go to Incheon when there¡¯s work, then come back here when it dries up."


    "I see."


    He glanced toward the low hill where my main bunker was situated.


    "That¡¯s the highest ground here. Good vantage point to keep an eye on everything."


    "...Yeah."


    He then grinned, his expression turning mischievous.


    "Your whole setup feels... sharp. Like the whole place is on edge."


    Had he sensed it?


    The death traps hidden in my seemingly haphazard domain?


    With a sly smile, he asked, "You set up booby traps, didn¡¯t you?"


    It seemed his experience in combat had made him perceptive.


    "I¡¯ve set up a few, yeah," I admitted half-heartedly.


    "I knew it."


    Pil-seong nodded approvingly, clearly pleased for some reason.


    "You¡¯re heading to Japan, I hear," I said quickly, steering the conversation in a different direction.


    Pil-seong glanced at Ji Young-hee.


    "She can fill you in. I¡¯ll take a quick nap in the car¡ªI¡¯ve been up all night keeping watch."


    After scanning my territory one last time, he let out a long yawn and headed to the SUV¡¯s passenger seat.


    Through the open door, I saw his booted feet dangling out lazily.


    "How¡¯s your father?" I asked Ji Young-hee.


    The question wasn¡¯t entirely intentional. I mostly wanted to buy some time, given how unexpectedly sharp Pil-seong had been.


    Thankfully, Ji Young-hee smiled as she answered, "He¡¯s staying with Chairman Park Cheol-joo."


    She raised her hands in mock exasperation, shaking her head.


    "He finally got what he wanted."


    "What do you mean?"


    "He¡¯s finally living the life of a chaebol."


    Her explanation shed light on what had happened.


    Apparently, her father, Ji Chang-soo, had purchased Park Cheol-joo¡¯s estate¡ªor what was left of it.


    I didn¡¯t ask how he¡¯d managed to amass the money during an apocalypse, but Ji Chang-soo had somehow become the proud owner of the Seokju Group¡¯s ruined mansion.


    Ji Young-hee even showed me a photo.


    The only thing he did right was marry well.His greatest achievement was nepotism, thriving under government protection.Without his father¡¯s shadow, he wouldn¡¯t even manage a corner store.


    ¡°INFP? INFP?¡±


    Park Cheol-joo suddenly leaned in close, blurting out nonsense.


    ¡°...What?¡±


    ¡°Are you an INFP?¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you know MBTI?¡±


    I vaguely recalled hearing about it¡ªa personality test dividing people into sixteen types. Another pseudo-science, no different from zodiac signs or blood type personality theories.


    Certainly not a topic I expected from someone claiming to be a business mogul.


    ¡°You seem like an INFP. Am I right?¡±


    ¡°I have no idea what that is.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m an ENFP. The Campaigner! Full of spark and creativity¡ªthat¡¯s me!¡±


    He grinned brightly, rattling off his MBTI type like an excitable teenager.


    For a moment, I genuinely wondered if this man was just a middle schooler masquerading as a chairman.


    ¡°Ha! They say INFPs and ENFPs don¡¯t really click, and it¡¯s true! I¡¯m not feeling that spark between us.¡±


    What was with the piercing gaze he¡¯d given me earlier?


    Was he evaluating me based on personality types this whole time?


    ¡°Take this quick test.¡±


    He handed me a tablet.


    "Free Personality Type Assessment (MBTI)"


    ¡°Try it. It won¡¯t take long.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Just once! What¡¯s the harm?¡±


    ¡°I said no.¡±


    Seeing my growing annoyance, he backed off, smiling slyly and pointing at me with both index fingers.


    ¡°Knew it¡ªyou¡¯re totally an INFP!¡±


    This was Park Cheol-joo.


    *


    ¡°Chairman Park has been like this ever since the bombardment,¡± explained a man introduced as Park Cheol-joo¡¯s son-in-law, Go Seong-jun.


    ¡°He was always cheerful, but he¡¯s become even more lively since then.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like he¡¯s been eating a lot of salted pollock roe,¡± I quipped.


    ¡°...?¡±


    ¡°Never mind. Please, continue.¡±


    Go Seong-jun, a sharp-looking man, cast me a skeptical glance, his expression wordlessly saying, "This guy?"


    I wasn¡¯t sure if my joke warranted such a dry reaction. At least Ji Young-hee chuckled softly beside us.


    Once the mood settled, Go Seong-jun resumed speaking.


    The Mission


    ¡°We need your escort to the rendezvous point with the Chinese. Aside from the mutant dogs, there shouldn¡¯t be significant danger.¡±


    The Chinese.


    I couldn¡¯t help but be curious. What kind of lives were the Chinese, who had landed on this land, leading? What circumstances drove them to trade with Koreans despite the chaos?


    ¡°We¡¯re prepared to offer food, fuel, and medical services as compensation. Ten hours a week of duty at most. We also have a specialist doctor¡ªthis could be a good chance for you to get a health checkup!¡±


    ¡°A specialist?¡±


    That caught my attention.


    But the primary reason I accepted the offer wasn¡¯t the doctor¡ªit was Gold.


    Kim Pil-seong was, as far as I knew, a former A-rank Hunter by the old standards. He was highly experienced and armed with top-tier Hunter equipment.


    His group of soldiers wasn¡¯t ordinary either.


    Though dressed in civilian clothes, I was certain they were military men. Soldiers who had seen significant combat, likely former members of the Corps faction''s private army.


    If they clashed with Gold, he¡¯d literally end up as dog meat.


    Of course, my curiosity about the Chinese also played a significant role in my decision.


    The Rendezvous


    We set out in SUVs toward the rendezvous point.


    The area was a reclaimed land strip bordered to the south by a zombie-infested city and to the north by a deep bay that resembled a river.


    From a distance, the Chinese approached in modified SUVs with their headlights on.


    The red flags attached to their vehicles stirred memories of a tedious past.


    ¡°Be cautious. Who knows what they¡¯re planning,¡± Kim Pil-seong warned.


    Drones from both sides hovered overhead, scanning for ambushes or dangerous equipment.


    After a prolonged standoff and mutual surveillance, the two groups finally met.


    Kim Pil-seong, fluent in Chinese, began speaking with a man dressed in tattered military fatigues.


    Their conversation seemed productive. After some time, the two exchanged fist bumps.


    Food and fuel were handed over from our side, while the Chinese brought forward a heavy piece of equipment loaded on a forklift.


    The machinery was so massive that it made the 3.5-ton truck carrying it wobble under its weight.


    Though I knew aircraft engines were large, this engine for a 15-seat jet seemed excessively oversized.


    A Disturbing Discovery


    A sudden gust of wind from the bay dislodged a wooden panel covering the equipment.


    What lay beneath was not an engine.


    It was a simple, conical piece of metal.


    Not an aircraft engine.


    I knew instantly what it was.


    My stomach churned as the realization struck me.


    It was a nuclear bomb.


    I averted my eyes, pretending not to notice.


    There was no other choice.


    Acknowledging what I had seen would only invite trouble.


    And trouble was the last thing I needed.

 Chapter 42.3

    ¡°What? A health checkup? What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°A medical check.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Is that even possible?¡±


    Among my neighbors, the ones whose health concerns me the most are the sniper mother and daughter duo.


    After some persuasion, I managed to convince Rebecca to accompany me for the health checkup.


    ¡°Camp Dutch Goose.¡±


    Rebecca murmured the name of the former U.S. military base with a gloomy look in her eyes.


    ¡°What kind of place is it?¡±


    ¡°A base where tactical nuclear weapons were stored,¡± I replied, summarizing my limited knowledge.


    When the war broke out, the U.S. military swiftly withdrew its strategic assets and evacuated the base.


    ¡°My husband was there.¡±


    ¡°Husband?¡±


    ¡°I was in Daegu. He was here.¡±


    ¡°Where is he now?¡±


    ¡°He must¡¯ve gone to America.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good to hear.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still searching for him online.¡±


    Her bloodshot eyes indicated she¡¯d spent all night on the internet, but her gaze remained resolute, fueled by sheer willpower.


    Gripping her daughter¡¯s hand tightly, she muttered softly, ¡°I don¡¯t want to raise a daughter without a father.¡±


    I understood.


    Looking at her, I spoke sincerely.


    ¡°I hope you find him.¡±


    The Medical Checkup


    I entered the military base alongside Rebecca and her daughter.


    The base, now occupied by Park Cheol-joo¡¯s people instead of the U.S. military, drew considerable attention as I arrived with unfamiliar outsiders.


    ¡°Who are they?¡±


    ¡°Foreigners? Are those military uniforms?¡±


    ¡°What about the kid?¡±


    Amidst the murmurs, a man approached me.


    It was Park Cheol-joo¡¯s son-in-law, Go Seong-jun.


    ¡°Who are these people?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re my relatives.¡±


    ¡°Relatives?¡±


    Kim Pil-seong tilted his head skeptically as he looked at Rebecca.


    ¡°Relatives, really...?¡±


    ¡°My sister-in-law. Or my brother¡¯s wife, if you prefer.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you call her je-su-si?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m a bit international, so I¡¯m not well-versed in kinship terms.¡±


    Go Seong-jun gave me a look that screamed what does that even mean? but refrained from voicing it aloud.


    I let him think I was ignorant.


    ¡°This way, please,¡± he said.


    Go Seong-jun led us to the underground facilities of the U.S. military base.


    The area was fairly well-organized, with one section transformed into a decent-looking infirmary.


    Inside were medical beds, IV drips, and neatly arranged medical tools on silver trays.


    Rebecca, who had been muttering complaints, gripped her daughter¡¯s hand tightly upon seeing the orderly medical setup. The sight seemed to instill a sense of trust in her.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the doctor?¡± I asked.


    Suddenly, Go Seong-jun donned a white coat, turned on the medical lamp, and equipped himself with a head reflector and stethoscope.


    ¡°I¡¯m the doctor.¡±


    He chuckled wryly as he pulled out his phone and showed me an old photo of himself¡ªa university hospital professor.


    ¡°Let¡¯s begin.¡±


    The examination started.


    Blood was drawn, a cold metal tongue depressor was pressed against my tongue, and my blood pressure and vision were measured. A strange little hammer tapped my knees.


    Go Seong-jun glanced at me with a hint of surprise.


    ¡°I heard you¡¯ve been living in rough conditions...¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been living in harmony with nature.¡±


    ¡°Is that so? Most people who try that end up dead.¡±


    A fair point.


    If I were simply thrown into nature, I wouldn¡¯t survive either.


    ¡°How am I?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in excellent health. As healthy as our chairman, in fact.¡±


    My examination was complete. Next was the sniper mother and daughter.


    Rebecca grumbled incessantly, but Go Seong-jun handled her well with his fluent English and knack for soothing people.


    I worried she might spout nonsense, but as long as she spoke in English, she didn¡¯t make any mistakes.


    Surprisingly, Su, despite being American, struggled to understand some of Go Seong-jun¡¯s more technical terms.


    Each time, Rebecca would gently stroke Su¡¯s head and whisper explanations in her ear.


    It was a heartwarming sight.


    I felt reassured about bringing them here.


    When their examinations were done, Go Seong-jun approached me.@@@@


    ¡°Your sister-in-law and her daughter are relatively healthy. Let¡¯s call them average for this era. However, there are concerns about chronic malnutrition and vitamin deficiencies. We¡¯ll know more once the blood test results come in.¡±


    He rose from his seat.


    ¡°The blood test results will take about a day.¡±


    A day.


    That felt like a long time.


    Feigning nonchalance, I adjusted my belt and casually asked, ¡°Are you heading to Jeju Island too?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Are you going to Jeju with the chairman?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not.¡±


    ¡°That plane looks impressive.¡±


    ¡°A Gulfstream. It¡¯s a toy for the world¡¯s wealthy.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s piloting it?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a pilot. Our chairman also has a pilot¡¯s license from his younger days. Oh, and I have one too¡ªa U.S. light aircraft license, though.¡±


    Talking about planes brought a smile to Go Seong-jun¡¯s face.


    ¡°Is your wife going with you?¡±


    His smile disappeared as he shook his head.


    ¡°She died in the last bombardment. Along with my child.¡±


    He recounted the horrific loss with a blank expression, devoid of emotion.


    It sounded like he was talking about someone else¡¯s life.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to be. It¡¯s the reality we face. There are countless others who¡¯ve suffered worse. What can we do but accept it?¡±


    He sighed.


    ¡°If you¡¯re looking for a place to stay, ask Kim Pil-seong. He might find you a good spot.¡±


    By now, Ji Young-hee had reached us, but Park Cheol-joo barely glanced at her before continuing.


    "The search for paradise itself is fun, isn¡¯t it?"


    He turned back to gaze at his plane with eyes full of satisfaction.


    "Ogasawara. Ogasawara," he murmured like a mantra, as if conjuring the paradise he envisioned.


    He walked away, leaving me standing with Ji Young-hee.


    After a brief silence, I asked her, "Are you really going to the Ogasawara Islands?"


    She nodded.


    "Yes, I told you before, didn¡¯t I?"


    "When are you leaving?"


    "It won¡¯t take long¡ªtwo days, at most."


    "I see."


    As soon as I returned to my bunker, I contacted Woo Min-hee.


    *


    It couldn''t have been any other way.


    I believed the destination of that plane was Jeju Island.


    A fallen corporate tycoon hiding a nuclear bomb inside his luxurious fac?ade, intending to strike a devastating blow against the government of Jeju that betrayed him.


    A plausible scenario.


    But before addressing the issue, I needed to ask something.


    "Jeju Island¡ªit''s important, right?"


    "Yeah," Woo Min-hee replied absentmindedly.


    "Why wouldn¡¯t it be?"


    "Can you tell me even a little about what you''re doing?"


    "All of a sudden?"


    Her tone sharpened, her irritation palpable.


    Under normal circumstances, I¡¯d have dropped the subject. But not now.


    "It¡¯s important."


    "Senior, you know your position, don¡¯t you?"


    "I do."


    "You¡¯re a civilian. I haven¡¯t mentioned this, but people could easily label you a sympathizer with the Gundan faction."


    "...Min-hee, I¡¯m asking you as a favor."


    She couldn¡¯t see me, but I lowered my head regardless.


    There was only silence on the other side of the radio, save for the faint sound of her breathing.


    Finally, she chuckled bitterly.


    "Park-seonbae. I didn¡¯t think you could ask for favors."


    "...."


    "Why didn¡¯t you try asking sooner?" she said, her voice tinged with mockery.


    I had no response to her taunt. Only silence that feigned repentance.


    The heavy silence lingered until Woo Min-hee spoke again.


    "Back then, if you¡¯d asked Kang Han-min for help, you wouldn¡¯t be stuck in this godforsaken place. Everyone knew you were more qualified than Lee Sang-hoon. And now..."


    A sharp, grating sound suddenly pierced my ears through the speaker.


    Was she scratching something with her prosthetic hand?


    Such a habit seemed disturbingly characteristic of her. Still, I waited for her response, as unsettling as the noise was.


    "...We¡¯re closing the Rifts."


    Her words were worth the wait. My heart raced.


    "...Is that even possible?"


    "They managed it in India with a Rift of the lowest intensity. Although, that was only after 99.8% of the population had already perished."


    "...!!"


    My fists clenched involuntarily.


    If my eyes had been flammable, the fire in them would have scorched my surroundings.


    I pictured Lee Sang-hoon standing before me, smirking in that infuriating way of his.


    So, in the end, was it him who planned to stab me in the back?


    That spoiled rich kid who¡¯d always trailed behind me?


    I had to suppress a bitter laugh.


    Woo Min-hee hated any background noise during a conversation.


    Instead, I channeled the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins and waited for her next words.


    "Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in are working to close the Rifts right now. At enormous cost."


    She spoke the truth.


    "Don¡¯t post about it online. If you do, I¡¯ll come find you immediately."


    "Online? What¡¯s that?"


    "Don¡¯t play dumb. Just don¡¯t do it. That¡¯s all."


    "Fine."


    And if I were to speak the truth, I¡¯d have to meet it in kind.


    "I¡¯ve found a nuke," I admitted.


    I told her everything¡ªabout Park Cheol-joo, his private plane, the Chinese, Kim Pil-seong, the Ogasawara Islands, and the nuke.


    Her response was succinct and heavy.


    "It¡¯s Jeju, then."


    She scoffed.


    "Their goal must be to drop the nuke on Jeju."


    I¡¯ve never liked Woo Min-hee, but I¡¯ve often found her thoughts aligned with mine.


    She chuckled darkly.


    "Could this be Kim Daram¡¯s idea?"


    "Kim Daram? She¡¯s with the Gundan faction?"


    "Probably."


    "You don¡¯t know for sure?"


    "Doesn¡¯t it smell fishy to you?"


    I could almost picture her cruel smirk.


    She was likely sitting in her dimly lit lab, her prosthetic hand flexing lazily as she smiled to herself.


    "She sang about Jeju, didn¡¯t she?"


    "...She did."


    "If she couldn¡¯t have her paradise, she¡¯d rather destroy it. Doesn¡¯t that fit someone like her? Someone as two-faced as Janus?"


    That did sound like Kim Daram.


    If she was alive and had joined the Gundan faction, she¡¯d likely want to destroy the people who abandoned her¡ªthe betrayers who had fled to Jeju Island.


    Burning the paradise she once dreamed of¡ªit felt plausible.


    "Thanks for the info. It¡¯s a good thing you reached out. If you hadn¡¯t, we might never have known."


    "...The feeling¡¯s mutual."


    "There¡¯s going to be a battle, Senior. Stay out of it. You could die."


    There would soon be a war in my territory.


    A calamity I had summoned.


    But there was no other way.


    I couldn¡¯t afford to lose Jeju Island.


    After all, Jeju held the paradise my comrade Lee Sang-hoon had left behind.


    A place called hope.

 Chapter 42.4

    Clack.


    There¡¯s a price to pay for everything.


    I might have felt that the era of fighting for grand ideals and the fate of the world had long passed, but if those ideals intersect with my survival, isn¡¯t that reason enough to fight for them?


    I checked my weapons and examined the snares.


    I stripped other tools down and modified them to match the lethality of my death traps, ensuring my bunker was thoroughly fortified.


    Preparing for battle is essential.


    Not because I intend to use my base as a defensive stronghold.


    It¡¯s because if the National Assembly faction troops can¡¯t drive away that other group¡ªlikely from the Legion faction¡ªthen the fallout will inevitably land on me. That much is painfully obvious.


    When that time comes, there¡¯ll be no talking my way out of it.


    They¡¯ll likely bear down on me mercilessly, searching every corner, and possibly even resorting to torture.


    While coating the steps leading to the main bunker with wax to create another defensive layer, Ji Young-hee came to see me.


    I moved to the decoy house to meet her.


    "The blood test results are in," she said. "I tried contacting you via radio, but you didn¡¯t respond."


    "My health suddenly took a turn," I replied casually.


    "A cold, perhaps?"


    "Something similar, I think."


    "You¡¯d better recover quickly. Oh, by the way, Hunter Park, are you planning to stay here indefinitely? It feels like such a waste for someone as capable as you to live in seclusion like this."


    "I¡¯m fine here. Honestly, my knees aren¡¯t in great shape. I can¡¯t walk too far anymore."


    Effortless lies slipped from my tongue as I studied her face.


    Still the same composed, mechanical expression.


    Beautiful, but in a way that seemed devoid of humanity¡ªlike a doll.


    There was something about her that felt diluted compared to the past, like the faint humanity she once had when she subtly resented her father was now gone.


    Even without facing extreme hardship, war had left its mark on her too.


    Ji Young-hee, standing just inside the shadow of the house, spoke again.


    "Do you have any interest in the Legion faction?"


    "No. I¡¯m not interested in any group. I¡¯d say I¡¯m just tired¡ªexhausted, really. Besides, I¡¯m not suited for organizational life."


    "I see. I¡¯m thinking of going there myself."


    She handed me the blood test results.


    Everything was normal.


    Rebecca and Sue had no major issues either, although Rebecca¡¯s liver function wasn¡¯t in the best shape. A bottle of pills to improve liver health was included with a note advising one pill per day after meals.


    Soon after, trailers and trucks packed up and left the area.


    Though the large vehicles disappeared, the airstrip remained abuzz with workers repairing the runway and technicians tinkering with airplanes.


    Amid all the activity, my eyes were drawn to one thing: a stunningly beautiful white plane, incongruously elegant in this wretched world.


    It looked poised, ready to take off gracefully at any moment.


    For a moment, I wondered.


    If I could board that plane, where would I go?


    It was a question I once discussed with Park Cheol-joo.


    Maybe India?


    I¡¯ve heard they¡¯ve managed to close the Rifts there.


    But even if I went, I¡¯d still be an outsider.


    India¡¯s caste system, in some ways as cruel as the monsters we face, would categorize people by rank. With my foreign appearance, I¡¯d probably be no more than a talking monkey in their eyes.


    What about the Ogasawara Islands?


    I had no particular thoughts about them until Park Cheol-joo mentioned the place.


    But even there, the situation likely wouldn¡¯t be much different.


    I can¡¯t speak a word of Japanese. I¡¯d still be an outsider.


    If I¡¯m already an outsider in Korea, is there anywhere I truly belong?


    I stared blankly at my fortified bunker before my eyes fell on an old, dusty laptop shoved in a corner.


    I opened it.


    <Viva! Apocalypse! Korean Forum>


    I scrolled through the mundane posts trickling in.


    "...Hmm."


    Yes. Here.


    This is my paradise.


    If you can call it that.


    Because thinking about it too deeply would only drive me insane.


    *


    Early in the morning, the radio crackled noisily to life.


    ¡°This is Colonel Cho Sung-yong of the 21st Pioneer Corps. Do you copy? This is Colonel Cho Sung-yong of the 21st Pioneer Corps. The area you are unlawfully occupying has been allocated to our Pioneer Corps. We hold exclusive rights to its use, income, and disposal. Once again...¡±


    I quickly washed my face and checked outside.


    ¡°...Shit.¡±


    A curse escaped my lips at the sight of the disappointing force that had arrived.


    It was the Pioneer Corps.


    Woo Min-hee... What the hell are you thinking?


    Sending such trash when the other side is suspected to be from the Legion faction?


    The core strength of the Legion faction isn¡¯t their equipment.


    It¡¯s the seasoned soldiers who form their backbone, those who¡¯ve been through hell and back.


    Every so-called bodyguard of Park Cheol-joo¡¯s that I¡¯ve seen has been a battle-hardened veteran.


    They probably aren¡¯t just bodyguards.


    ¡°Retreat! Retreat!¡±


    The survivors scrambled in panic, trying to flee, but the shells followed their movements as if calculating their escape paths.


    Out of ten vehicles, only two managed to escape.


    The rest left behind a scene of craters, blackened ash, and unrecognizable remains.


    ¡°Those insects really had the nerve.¡±


    Kim Pil-seong¡¯s voice came through, his tone now measured and calm.


    ¡°Park Gyu. Are you there? Can we talk for a moment?¡±


    I didn¡¯t respond.


    There was no need to.


    Answering would only confirm my presence.


    As far as anyone knew, I, Park Gyu, had left this place.


    Vanished without a trace.


    Drones began to rise into the sky.


    They carefully scanned the area around my decoy house.


    ¡°Park Gyu. Are you listening? Come out. Maybe you ratted us out, huh? That¡¯s okay. I¡¯ll forgive you. Just let me punch you once, alright? Just once. I swear I won¡¯t kill you. Why would I kill you, Professor?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Join us. Come to the Legion faction. We can thrive there too. They have Awakened, sure, but they don¡¯t hunt monsters. That¡¯s where we come in. You probably don¡¯t understand, but the world¡¯s changed. Who knew so many North Koreans would flood over?¡±


    Kim Pil-seong rambled on.


    I just listened.


    I would only listen.


    Until this storm passed.


    The soldiers soon reached my territory.


    They ransacked the decoy house, overturning items and kicking at the container walls.


    ¡°Be careful. There might be booby traps around here,¡± Kim Pil-seong warned, his voice coming through the listening device.


    He was close.


    My old comrade, who once sparred with me in melee combat, was now searching for me nearby.


    Aside from the explosives in the decoy bunker, I hadn¡¯t set up any visible traps.


    No artificial contraptions.


    The true defense of my territory lay in its concealment.


    I checked the tripwires on the Claymores and double-checked the connections to the remote detonator.


    The motion sensors blinked steadily, covering all directions.


    ¡°Nothing here.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve checked for vents and found nothing.¡±


    ¡°No signs of life near the sewer either.¡±


    Their conversation filtered through the listening device.


    Then Kim Pil-seong¡¯s voice came back.


    ¡°What about the drones?¡±


    ¡°They haven¡¯t found anything yet.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s probably hiding in the brush. He couldn¡¯t have gone far without gear. Focus the search around this area.¡±


    Moments later, the radio buzzed again.


    ¡°Park Gyu. Do you know Kim Daram?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°That arrogant woman who used to be a commissioner. Oh, wait¡ªshe¡¯s a colonel now.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Colonel Kim¡¯s the one who planned this. She bought nukes from the Chinese to take out those bastards who used us and discarded us. All her idea.¡±


    I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.


    Was it just my imagination, or do bad scenarios and wild guesses always seem to come true?


    My mind flashed to the face of my subordinate, who had once marveled at the toilet in my bunker while bringing her family here.


    Why did she make that choice?


    Could there have been another way?


    Would she have done the same even if the toilet hadn¡¯t been here?


    The listening device crackled with Kim Pil-seong¡¯s sharp voice.


    ¡°Get Kim Daram on the line. What? She¡¯s busy? Stop with the bullshit. Tell her Park Gyu ratted us out and put her on now!¡±


    After a brief silence, the radio crackled again.


    ¡°Hey, Park Gyu.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re here, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Kim Daram said you built a bunker and live here, right? Should we play hide-and-seek?¡±


    I exhaled the last breath left in my lungs and opened my eyes.


    Then, I spoke.


    ¡°...I¡¯m here.¡±


    A rule drilled into me by Jang Ki-young during hunter training flashed across my mind.


    Face death with composure.


    I¡¯d say it differently.


    I won¡¯t die disgracefully.


    I won¡¯t let myself be captured and slaughtered like a pig.


    I¡¯ll fight until the end, taking down as many of them as I can.

 Chapter 42.5

    The soldiers gathered.


    Their equipment was familiar, resembling what I had seen when meeting the Chinese mercenaries.


    Each was armed with rifles equipped with laser sights, well-fitted with body armor, and carrying grenades and other gear.


    There were sixteen of them¡ªjust the combatants. Workers weren¡¯t included in this count.


    Not one of them was a non-threat, but the most dangerous among them was Kim Pil-seong.


    In the brief conversation we¡¯d had before, he mentioned serving in China just before the war.


    Back then, the enemy wasn¡¯t monsters but fanatics.


    He hunted humans.


    Now, my former comrade and other trained killing machines were here to end me.


    The situation was horrific, yet strangely, I felt a sense of calm.


    It was almost dreamlike.


    I¡¯d imagined scenarios like this thousands of times, dying and killing over and over again in my mind.


    I hadn¡¯t told my neighbors about this.


    I didn¡¯t want to drag them into it.


    This was a fight I had brought upon myself.


    I couldn¡¯t bear to see others die because of my stubbornness.


    Of course, I had tried to request support from Woo Min-hee. I¡¯d wanted to inform her that the Legion faction had found me and was intent on killing me.


    But after the helicopter went down, I couldn¡¯t get through to her.


    Interference? Jamming? I wasn¡¯t sure.


    Or maybe she was simply ignoring me.


    It was possible. Her long-standing psychological issues could be flaring up again.


    That woman thrived on tragedy.


    If it wasn¡¯t present, she would manufacture it, inhaling sorrow like a drug.


    That sadness was the essence of her illness, the only thing that made her feel alive.


    Despite my grievances, she might still send help.


    But for now, I was on my own.


    ¡°Form into groups of four. Sweep and secure all suspicious areas while maintaining perimeter awareness. The only counterattack they can mount is an ambush. As long as you don¡¯t give them that chance and pin them down in a hole, it¡¯s over. Even an S-Class Hunter is still human. They can¡¯t deflect bullets like an Awakened.¡±


    Kim Pil-seong sounded like an experienced commander.


    ¡°Don¡¯t cluster together. There¡¯s a chance they might have high-powered weapons.¡±


    The soldiers fanned out loosely, covering one another as they combed every inch of my territory.


    Thud.


    I heard footsteps directly above my main bunker.


    Were they headed up the hill?


    ¡°Do we know their exact location?¡±


    One soldier shouted from above.


    ¡°I heard they¡¯re below the hill. Check down there.¡±


    In front of the entrance to my main bunker, I¡¯d placed a large boulder.


    Even I couldn¡¯t use the entrance without first removing it.


    I hadn¡¯t just placed the boulder; I¡¯d also shoveled dirt to fill in the gaps, making it nearly impossible to spot unless you were extremely observant.


    My plan was simple: I wanted them to find the decoy bunker and enter it.


    But they were stubbornly focused on searching the area around my main bunker, likely tipped off about its general location.


    ¡°There! There¡¯s something that looks like a vent!¡±


    They finally found it.


    I heard the soldiers quickly moving.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a vent. I¡¯ve never seen one like this, though.¡±


    ¡°Toss tear gas in.¡±


    They threw in tear gas canisters.


    Not a chance.


    Their tricks could be countered with the press of a button.


    I hit the large red button labeled Exhaust on the control panel for the ventilation system.


    Viiiiiing¡ª


    The propellers installed in the ducts roared to life, expelling the harmful gas back toward the soldiers.


    ¡°Cough! Cough!¡±


    ¡°What the hell?!¡±


    The sound of violent coughing and hacking was music to my ears.


    ¡°Fall back! Fall back!¡±


    The motion sensors blinked again.


    Several sensors flashed simultaneously, but one area hadn¡¯t been triggered¡ªsouthwest of my main bunker.


    There were no enemies there.


    Click.


    I grabbed my rifle and recoilless launcher and headed for the emergency passage.


    Behind the main door lay a network of tunnels leading to multiple decoy bunkers.


    Thirteen doors.


    Twelve led to decoy bunkers, and one to a garage.


    I quietly opened the door marked 5 and hurried down the tunnel I had dug myself using an excavator and bulldozer.


    Another steel door.


    I didn¡¯t know what might be beyond it, but I didn¡¯t hesitate.


    I opened it and aimed my weapon.


    Nothing.


    The sensors weren¡¯t wrong.


    Through the observation windows in the bunker, I could monitor the area.


    The enemy soldiers had spread out along the ridgeline near the main bunker, focused on the vent now spewing smoke.


    ¡°Toss grenades in.¡±


    ¡°The holes are too small. They¡¯ve been drilled tightly, like a showerhead.¡±


    Kim Pil-seong was standing in a blind spot, pressed close to a pile of scrap near the bunker¡¯s entrance.


    It wasn¡¯t the behavior of a Hunter.


    It was the habit of a soldier.


    That scene told me everything I needed to know about Kim Pil-seong.


    ¡°...Hah.¡±


    I took a deep breath.


    Should I target the isolated figure of Kim Pil-seong, or aim for the cluster of soldiers?


    Taking out Pil-seong would guarantee one kill, but the latter option could take out up to five at once.


    One Hunter or five soldiers.


    It didn¡¯t take long to decide.


    I visualized their positions in my mind, emerged from the bunker, and fired the recoilless launcher.


    The moment I showed myself, at least two soldiers spotted me and instinctively aimed their rifles.


    ¡°There!¡±


    Too late.


    The recoil sent a powerful shockwave behind me, blowing away dust and grass as the black projectile shot out.


    ¡°Get down!¡±


    Their screams were drowned out by the explosion.


    BOOM!


    The blast struck the ground near the vent, engulfing the soldiers in flames and debris.


    As rocks and gravel rained down, I tossed aside the launcher and fired into the cloud of dust.


    Rat-tat-tat-tat!


    Just hit one.


    The sharp sound of a blade striking the wall rang out, followed by the clatter of smoke grenades being tossed into the bunker entrance.


    Pssshhhhhh¡ª


    White smoke began to billow out, swirling as the grenades spun.


    What were they planning?


    I stayed silent, observing as ghostly hands reached through the fog, dragging out the bodies of the fallen.


    I didn¡¯t interfere.


    Let them take the corpses. I hated the idea of my bunker being sullied further.


    In retrospect, it was a wise choice.


    Clink.


    Grenades were tossed where the bodies had been.


    Three of them.


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    Three explosions echoed, followed by three more grenades being thrown.


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    It was a pointless effort.


    The entrance to the main bunker was a steep staircase, and the grenades could only follow limited trajectories.


    Moreover, I had constructed a slanted barrier near the final step, filled with dirt and sand to absorb explosions¡ªa trench specifically designed to nullify grenade attacks.


    To be thorough, I¡¯d even installed a grenade net at the entrance.


    Breaking through this defensive setup would require nothing short of dynamite.


    A moment of stillness followed before something shiny appeared just beyond the blind spot of the entrance.


    A mirror.


    Bang!


    I shattered it with a single shot.


    ¡°How are you still alive?¡± Kim Pil-seong¡¯s voice came, now tinged with genuine unease.


    ¡°Well enough,¡± I replied calmly, keeping my weapon trained on the entrance.


    He sighed before speaking again.


    ¡°You know we¡¯ll win in the end, right?¡±


    I didn¡¯t respond, but I understood his point.


    I was holding them off for now, but that¡¯s all it was¡ªholding them off.


    I was alone, while they were an army.


    They had equipment, reinforcements, and even time and biology on their side.


    True to his word, Kim Pil-seong did nothing else.


    It was the most terrifying strategy¡ªprolonging the stalemate.


    A time-tested tactic: wear down the defenders until they collapse under the strain.


    Rustle.


    I tossed a glucose candy into my mouth, letting it dissolve as I relaxed my body.


    Thoughts swirled in my mind, but I tried to keep the negative ones at bay.


    I widened my eyes, staying alert, waiting for a shift in the situation.


    Hoping for that single unexpected chance.


    For some reason, I felt drowsy.


    It was similar to the feeling I had experienced in China.


    Perhaps, to someone who had witnessed so much death, the act of falling asleep felt dangerously close to dying.


    Buuuuuum¡ª


    The sound of an approaching truck snapped me back to full attention.


    The truck came to a stop, followed by the hurried footsteps of more than ten people.


    Reinforcements?


    In my current position, all I could do was speculate.


    ¡°Is the work done?¡±


    Kim Pil-seong¡¯s voice echoed again.


    ¡°Almost complete. Once the warhead is loaded, everything will be ready.¡±


    Workers, then.


    It seemed they had brought over the airport workers.


    ¡°Is the chairman on board?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°As soon as it¡¯s finished...¡±


    Before he could finish his sentence, gunfire erupted from the direction of the runway.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    The sharp report of a pistol.


    I recognized it instantly.


    The sound of the pistol I had once sold to Cheol-joo in exchange for a kilogram of gold.


    Bang!


    ¡°Aaaaargh!¡±


    A pained scream rang out from the base.


    The soldiers who had been silently waiting in front of me suddenly sprang to life, climbing the hill to get a view of the airstrip.


    I moved to the periscope to observe.


    It was Park Cheol-joo.


    He was shooting the workers.


    Three were already sprawled lifelessly on the ground, and the last one knelt, pleading for his life.


    That man was his son-in-law, Go Seong-jun.


    ¡°...¡±


    I had no way of knowing what had transpired between them, but the story of a son-in-law and father-in-law was ending in tragedy.


    Bang!


    A merciless bullet pierced Go Seong-jun¡¯s forehead, and he collapsed.


    Park Cheol-joo boarded the plane.


    Viiiiiiing¡ª


    The airplane¡¯s engines roared to life.


    ¡°Stop him!¡±


    Kim Pil-seong shouted.


    ¡°Stop him, damn it!¡±


    Buuuuuuum¡ª


    The vehicle that had brought the reinforcements roared back toward the runway.


    But its noise was quickly drowned out by another sound.


    Sshhhhhhkkkkkkk¡ª


    ¡°What?¡±


    That sound...


    Sshhhhhhkkkkkkk¡ª


    There was no mistaking it.


    The air-tearing roar of jet engines.


    A fighter jet streaked through the sky.


    ¡°Who is it?! Whose side are they on?¡±


    The soldiers¡¯ sharp cries filled the air.


    Then, the long-silent radio buzzed.


    Personal ID: REDMASK.


    It was Woo Min-hee.


    ¡°Senior, are you still alive?¡±


    She had finally answered my call.

 Chapter 42.6

    "I¡¯m alive," I shouted urgently into the radio.


    ¡°There will be an airstrike. If you¡¯re near the U.S. military base, well... rest in peace.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bomb the airport,¡± I demanded.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°They haven¡¯t loaded the warhead yet.¡±


    Speaking in a low voice, I kept my eyes glued to the periscope.


    ¡°Really? Are you serious? Oh, you¡¯re right.¡±


    Her voice confirmed it. The roar of another jet engine screamed through the sky, echoing like the roar of a beast.


    Viiiiiiing¡ª


    It was Park Cheol-joo¡¯s plane.


    Who was piloting it?


    A hired pilot? Perhaps someone he bribed?


    No, that couldn¡¯t be it. Among the fallen bodies, one wore a pilot¡¯s uniform.


    The elegant plane wobbled as its rudder flaps moved erratically.


    ¡°Could it be...?¡±


    Was it Park Cheol-joo himself?


    Now that I thought about it, Go Seong-jun had mentioned that Park Cheol-joo had a pilot¡¯s license.


    ¡°That crazy old man! Stop him! Quickly!¡±


    As the rumble of vehicles reverberated, the plane began to taxi toward the runway.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Gunfire erupted between the airport and my position.


    It seemed they were attempting to intimidate the pilot, but the plane didn¡¯t stop.


    Bullets riddled its sleek fuselage, but the majestic machine continued forward, its engine roaring as it picked up speed.


    Viiiiiiing¡ª


    Over the cacophony, the radio transmitted a clear, resonant voice.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, this is Seokju Group Flight One, departing from Korea to Japan. The current time is 12:22 PM, and the weather is a pleasant 15 degrees Celsius, with clear skies.¡±


    It was none other than Park Cheol-joo himself, his voice transmitted across public channels.


    ¡°Our destination is paradise~.¡±


    The plane lifted off the ground, just as the fighter jets above scattered in all directions.


    Missiles screamed in from the east, streaking across the sky.


    The jets released chaff to confuse the missiles, twisting and turning in dazzling evasive maneuvers, while the passenger plane soared, its silver body gleaming in the sunlight.


    I couldn¡¯t help but clench my fist.


    The sight was absurdly beautiful.


    Maybe I felt envious¡ªjealous of the freedom to escape this cursed land of death.


    Perhaps it was because of the earlier drowsiness, but I felt as though I were walking through a dream.


    ¡°SKELTON!¡±


    The urgent voice jolted me back to reality.


    ¡°SKELTON!¡±


    It was Defender¡¯s voice, crackling through the radio.


    ¡°Yeah. What is it?¡±


    ¡°Are you alive? What¡¯s going on over there? What the hell is happening?!¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± I hesitated. ¡°A little skirmish is unfolding.¡±


    ¡°What about you? Are you safe? You¡¯re not under attack, are you?¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    What should I say?


    Should I tell the truth?


    But it didn¡¯t seem necessary.


    ¡°Just a second.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Just a moment.¡±


    I set the radio down and focused on the bunker¡¯s entrance.


    A man was descending the stairs slowly.


    In one hand, he carried a massive ballistic shield, and in the other, a heavy Chinese greatsword.


    Kim Pil-seong smiled at me.


    For a moment, I recalled the buzz-cut boy from our school days.


    It was as if that boy were speaking to me now.@@@@


    Challenging me to a rematch.


    I stood up, gripping two axes in my hands, leaving behind the countless death traps that lined the bunker.


    Thud.


    Kim Pil-seong tossed aside his shield and shut the bunker door.


    ¡°Does this lock it properly?¡± he asked.


    I nodded.


    Now, only two hunters with shared pasts remained in the bunker.


    The sounds of gunfire, missile explosions, and shouts outside no longer mattered.


    Two people who had attended the same school, received the same training, and walked similar paths of fate now stood face to face, holding the same thought.


    Kim Pil-seong grinned.


    The moment I saw that smile, I couldn¡¯t help but smile back.


    This guy...


    He really had wanted to fight me at least once.


    It seemed this was the true, long-repressed desire he had been holding back.


    Well, childhood defeats do leave scars for life.


    Seeing the person who beat you rise to near-legendary status must have deepened the wound.


    But he had never abandoned faith in his own skills.


    It was evident from the engraving on his greatsword¡¯s blade.


    ¡°?????¡± (The Strongest).


    Suddenly, Kim Pil-seong took a step back, his expression faltering.


    ¡°What... what is that toilet doing here?¡±


    ¡°What? Got a problem with it?¡±


    ¡°Anyway, I must admit,¡± he said, lifting the grenade net and stepping further into my space. ¡°You¡¯ve built yourself quite the bunker.¡±


    His gaze landed on the intersecting Claymores.


    ¡°Corporal Gwon suggested we push through with shields earlier. That would¡¯ve been a massacre.¡±


    *


    Among the Legion faction members dispatched to the airfield, no one survived, except for Ji Young-hee and a technician who had departed the previous day.


    The attack helicopters pursued not only those who had been in my vicinity but also vehicles attempting to flee, turning them into flaming wrecks.


    When it was all over, the helicopters collected the nuclear warheads and calmly headed north.


    I scoured the area, looking for any hidden survivors, but aside from a body at the bottom of a cliff, there was nothing new to discover.


    ¡°You could¡¯ve called me,¡± Defender said, wearing an expression of mild disappointment.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think it was necessary.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t used my ¡°Defender Summon¡± card, yet I ended up calling him.


    Handling all these corpses¡ªespecially in a season where decomposition happened quickly¡ªwas too overwhelming to do alone.


    Defender expressed his annoyance at not being summoned earlier but still helped me efficiently and without complaint to deal with the bodies.


    As expected, someone who had dealt with corpses before knew exactly how to handle them: how to lift and carry them with ease, how to clean and process badly mangled remains.


    Thanks to his help, I managed to clear the area much faster than I could have alone.


    With a dull thud, the last body was loaded onto the truck.


    It was my comrade, Kim Pil-sung.


    ¡°...If you¡¯re in trouble next time, just call me.¡±


    ¡°To be honest, this was on the scale of a war. It wasn¡¯t something that would¡¯ve changed even if you¡¯d come.¡±


    ¡°I get that, but it still stings a little, you know?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, that¡¯s just how I talk.¡±


    ¡°No wonder you weren¡¯t very popular.¡±


    ¡°Not denying it.¡±


    Defender waved as he prepared to leave.


    I handed him a few tokens of appreciation¡ªsome beef and fuel that Ji Young-hee had provided.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    I bowed deeply, with genuine gratitude.


    ¡°Thank you truly. I won¡¯t forget this favor.¡±


    In this wretched world, how many people would help dispose of corpses?


    ¡°...Call me next time.¡±


    Defender accepted the gifts and mounted his bicycle.


    ¡°Sure. And you, call me if you¡¯re in danger too.¡±


    That day, our forum was abuzz with speculation and rumors about the thunderous sounds of planes and artillery that had echoed throughout the previous day.


    At the center of it all was our very own Gija Yangban (Reporter Guy).


    gijayangban: (Photo attached) ¡°Intense Battle Between the Legion Faction and National Assembly Faction at the U.S. Military Base?!¡±


    The post included photos of the battlefield, likely taken from one of the attack helicopters.


    The images showed burned-out trucks, wreckage, a crashed attack helicopter buried in a rice paddy, the remains of fighter jets, and missile debris¡ªall vividly illustrating the chaos.


    Thanks to these pictures, Gija Yangban¡¯s post became a hot topic both on Failnet and on our forum.


    ¡°...¡±


    At this point, it was hard not to suspect that Gija Yangban might actually be Woo Min-hee.


    Despite the incident, the ceasefire between the Legion faction and the National Assembly faction hadn¡¯t officially ended.


    Neither side made any statements about the events.


    In essence, this was treated as a mere ¡°incident¡±¡ªone with casualties but no clear perpetrator or cause.


    The forum buzzed with activity over the event, but I couldn¡¯t fully enjoy the online spectacle.


    I had taken considerable losses myself.


    One of my dummy bunkers had been destroyed, the ventilation system and other bunker facilities were damaged, and most importantly, my main bunker was no longer secure.


    I had made an enemy of the Legion faction.


    While no one survived to tell the tale, there was someone who knew of me.


    Kim Daram.


    She had loathed my sanctuary and left it behind, only to help those who sought to destroy it.


    ¡°...¡±


    Even now, I didn¡¯t regret showing my bunker to Kim Daram.


    If anything, this incident gave me a strange sense of purpose¡ªa glimmer of hope.


    The Rifts could be closed.


    I didn¡¯t know if what Woo Min-hee said was true, but perhaps the claim about closing the Rifts held some truth.


    I thought of my comrades, chosen by God in ways I wasn¡¯t.


    If they, along with newer and stronger allies, supported each other, perhaps they could close the Rift on Jeju Island.


    This thought gave me something to wait for.


    Not just the day I might die, but the day the Rifts might close¡ªa new goal to work toward.


    Living with the hope that the world could improve is far different from living with the certainty that everyone but me will die.


    Perhaps this faint glimmer of hope was part of the journey toward the paradise that Park Cheol-joo spoke of.


    In that sense, I had found my own paradise too.


    Epilogue


    Mayuzumi88: ¡°Hey, Korean friends, is this one of yours?¡±


    A Japanese user had joined our forum, sharing a post about a popular thread from the Viva! Apocalypse! Japanese forum.


    The story described an impossibly beautiful airplane landing on an abandoned runway of a southern island surrounded by an endless expanse of blue sea.


    When the plane was discovered, no one was found aboard.


    But I knew that plane.


    It was Park Cheol-joo¡¯s.


    Where had he gone?


    A clue emerged from another post shared by the Japanese user.


    In one photo, a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses posed in front of the camera with a double peace sign, surrounded by curious onlookers admiring the plane.


    I couldn¡¯t help but laugh.


    It was Park Cheol-joo.


    In the end, yet another corporate magnate had found his version of paradise.


    To pay homage to his determination, I broke a long-standing taboo and tried something new for the first time: an MBTI test.


    ¡°...¡±


    The result? INFP.


    A ¡°Mediator¡± who enjoys introspection?


    An introverted type that gets lost in their own world?


    For some reason, it didn¡¯t sit right with me.


    I asked Dajeong, who seemed like someone who might know about MBTI.


    ¡°INFP?¡±


    She scoffed and said bluntly, ¡°That¡¯s the loser archetype.¡±

 Chapter 43.1

    Monsters, mutations, humans, diseases, and food shortages.


    When I built and expanded this bunker, one of the key considerations was the type of threats that might come my way.


    There will be many kinds of threats.


    Some can be stopped, some cannot, and some will appear as threats but will merely pass by.


    What is the worst kind of threat?


    The spread of erosion reaching my territory?


    No.


    That¡¯s inevitable, like the unavoidable end of a human lifespan.


    The threat I truly fear is becoming the target of a powerful human group.


    Such groups will come in many forms.


    They could be desperate refugees, pioneers, or raiders.


    But the group I truly dread is clear.


    The military.


    I¡¯ve made the military my enemy.


    What should I do?


    Should I abandon the bunker, or die defending it?


    This isn¡¯t a simple question.


    Even if I run, where would I go?


    Should I live as an errand boy for someone like Baek Seung-hyun under Woo Min-hee¡¯s thumb?


    Should I join a pioneer group and drive others to their deaths?


    Or should I move in next door to M9, tie myself up with ropes, and perform circus acts to survive?


    This is a defining moment for Park Gyu.


    Yet, I seem to be an ordinary person after all.


    The fact that I¡¯m wasting time on frivolous things instead of making this crucial decision proves it.


    It all started when I logged onto the internet, intending to cool my overheated, overthinking brain.


    Although Failnet was an option, my heart naturally gravitated toward my true home: the Viva! Apocalypse! Korean forum.


    I¡¯m not the only one who feels this way.


    Many of my friends, who had been drawn to the vast content of Failnet for a while, couldn¡¯t resist the nostalgic warmth of our community. One by one, they returned, bringing even more energy than before, and the forum is now as lively¡ªif not livelier¡ªthan it used to be.


    When I logged in, the forum was already bubbling with an intriguing topic.


    Anonymous458: What¡¯s the worst thing you did before the war? Let¡¯s hear it.


    This provocative opener, posted by Anonymous458, one of Kyle Dos¡¯s friends, sparked the thread.


    A so-called Confession of Bad Deeds.


    With the battle outside my house no longer a hot topic, forum users gleefully latched onto this new bait.


    Soon, the forum turned into a giant confessional.


    Anonymous458: I¡¯ll start with my bad deeds.


    ??: I¡¯ll confess, too.


    RKKArA: Confession.


    Dolsingnam: Confession (A.K.A. adultery).


    Da-young¡¯s Dad: This forum is wild~ I¡¯ll confess too.@@@@


    iamjesus: Therefore, bear fruit worthy of repentance.


    The pre-war condition was a necessary qualifier. After all, murder is considered an unforgivable sin in almost every religion.


    For those who lived in urban refugee camps, it might not apply, but for people like us¡ªisolated and living alone or in small groups¡ªviolence is an ever-present reality, and self-defense is essential.


    Most people here have probably killed at least once.


    Even now-deceased users like Kyle Dos and DragonC never explicitly said so, but they likely had their share of blood on their hands.


    The pre-war qualifier wasn¡¯t just to prevent our confessions from being filled with monotonous tales of murder. Unexpectedly, it also served to remind us of a bygone era¡ªthe things we did back then that are now irretrievable memories.


    Anonymous848: (Confession) I drove drunk once. I was so wasted my blood alcohol level was 0.1%.


    Take Anonymous848¡¯s confession about drunk driving.


    That¡¯s not even a crime anymore.


    There¡¯s no alcohol, no cars, and no roads left to drive on.


    In other words, it¡¯s a crime that¡¯s practically impossible to commit now.


    These differences make our lives in the apocalypse strangely fascinating.


    ??: When I was in college, I skipped out on paying at a bar once.


    Even this has become a nostalgic memory.


    I¡¯ve never been to college, but it¡¯s a scenario anyone can imagine and a story that sounds vaguely familiar.


    These stories remind us of a past we can no longer return to.


    Foxgames: Back in high school, I stole 50,000 won from my dad¡¯s wallet to buy a game console...


    Foxgames¡¯ confession feels like a bad deed, sure, but there¡¯s something about it that stirs our emotions.


    Unicorn18: In high school, there was this bully who wouldn¡¯t stop harassing people. So one night, I put on a mask, found him, and beat him to a pulp. He cried and begged for his life...


    Some posts were outright lies no one would believe.


    Defender: I was so hungry once, I stole a fish cake skewer from a convenience store.


    Then there were confessions from friends whose bad deeds seemed oddly virtuous.


    Reading that, I quickly exited the group chat.


    Though their quick response was unexpected, my plan went smoothly overall.


    The first step was to repay the principal on the loans for three months.


    Why three months?


    According to a_few_good_man, skipping the first payment could result in fraud charges. However, paying at least three installments could avoid that.


    After the third month, I stopped paying.


    Loan collectors started calling.


    At first, the calls came as polite texts, followed by smooth-voiced representatives from call centers asking when I would repay.


    ¡°I¡¯ll repay soon. I¡¯ve got some money coming in,¡± I would reply.


    Of course, the bank didn¡¯t buy it.


    The day after my third missed payment, they exercised their mortgage rights on my villa.


    It went to auction.


    This was all within expectations.


    The key was what came next.


    According to a_few_good_man, maintaining close communication with loan officers was crucial. Most chronic debtors are flat broke, and creditors know that legal action against such people rarely recovers the principal.


    So, I answered every call diligently.


    ¡°I¡¯m truly sorry! I promise I¡¯ll repay it soon. I¡¯ve hurt my back doing manual labor, but as soon as I recover, I¡¯ll pay everything!¡±


    Eventually, the debt was transferred to a collection agency.


    The polite calls were replaced with gruff voices.


    ¡°Sir, you live in Busan, right? Every time we visit your house, you¡¯re not there.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I¡¯m so sorry. I¡¯ve been working 23 hours a day to repay my loans. It¡¯s been... exhausting.¡±


    We arranged a meeting.


    Though I prepared a slew of excuses, they didn¡¯t buy any of it.


    ¡°This week, pay three months¡¯ worth. Not one month¡ªthree months.¡±


    ¡°What happens if I don¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯ll be a lawsuit.¡±


    ¡°Please, no lawsuit! My family would be devastated.¡±


    ¡°Your family records show you¡¯re single.¡±


    ¡°I have a common-law wife and two adorable kids!¡±


    ¡°This week. No excuses.¡±


    Naturally, I didn¡¯t pay a dime.


    A few days later, I received a court order in the mail.


    Seeing an official document from the court for the first time rattled me, so I turned to a_few_good_man for advice.


    a_few_good_man: They sent that because you¡¯ve been responsive and seem to be living at your registered address. Just let it sit for a while.


    He was at Kangwon Land (a casino) when he replied.


    a_few_good_man: If your goal is to buy time, you can drag this out for another three months.


    SKELTON: (shocked) Really?!


    a_few_good_man: The court order isn¡¯t finalized until two weeks after you receive the official copy. Let it sit until the last moment, then...


    Clearly with time to kill, he gave me a lot of detailed advice.


    Thanks to a_few_good_man, I survived that difficult period.


    Almost three years later, I shared the full story on the forum.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton¡¯s Confession) I borrowed money from the start with no intention of paying it back¡ªand I never did.


    I described my interactions with a_few_good_man, the battle of avoiding repayment, and the whole ordeal.


    Honestly, I thought it was a harmless little prank.


    I didn¡¯t kill anyone, rape anyone, or commit any atrocity worthy of news headlines.


    But...


    Anonymous458: Wow...


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    Why is the reaction like this?


    Anonymous848: You¡¯re a real piece of work...


    Dies_irae69: It¡¯s been ages since I¡¯ve seen a_few_good_man mentioned.


    Foxgames: This is too much.


    gijayangban: ?


    Defender: Disappointing.


    unicorn18: Nuna...?!


    ??: Human trash.


    ¡°...¡±


    What was I even doing?


    Only then did I pick up the K-walkie-talkie and finally carry out what I was supposed to do earlier.


    Personal Identification Number: REDMASK.


    I contacted Woo Min-hee.

 Chapter 43.2

    "Hey, senior? What''s up?"


    Woo Min-hee sounded unusually cheerful.


    "Good news?"


    "Ah, someone posted something hilarious on the internet."


    "The internet? How are you even accessing that these days? Aren¡¯t all the cables cut?"


    "There¡¯s a way. The site I use has someone with the exact same name as your personal identification number."


    "SKELTON?"


    "Yeah. At first, I thought they were just a bit odd, but wow, what¡¯s with them? It¡¯s like they¡¯re fundamentally twisted or something."


    "Oh, I think I get it."


    It¡¯s you. It¡¯s literally you.


    Who has the right to call anyone weird at this point?


    I humored her for a bit before steering the conversation to my real agenda.


    "Anyway, are there any jobs in Incheon? Things are starting to feel risky here."


    "You¡¯re thinking of coming to Incheon?"


    I hadn¡¯t made any final decisions yet, but one thing was certain: my bunker was no longer a safe zone.


    It was time to consider alternatives.


    What pushed me the most was the change I saw in Woo Min-hee herself.


    This junior of mine, who once radiated unapproachable madness, had somehow started resembling an actual person now that she was in her thirties.


    Honestly, I never thought a year ago that we¡¯d be casually chatting like this.


    But on the flip side, others had changed too.


    Who would¡¯ve thought Kim Daram would turn out like this?


    Once my best partner in crime, my "soulmate" in survival, she now had no qualms about selling me out.


    Sure, she¡¯d always had a calculating streak, but the fact that it took her no time at all to tip off Kim Pil-seong about my location was a shock.


    "I just want to check it out for now."


    I¡¯d already chosen sides in the struggle between the Parliamentary faction and the Legion faction.


    I chose the Parliamentary faction, which meant siding with Woo Min-hee.


    "Well, I won¡¯t stop you. After all, you helped me resolve a big issue recently. But I¡¯m not sure you¡¯ll like the job. Things here are pretty saturated. And..."


    No matter how much people change, their core nature rarely does.


    Dealing with Woo Min-hee would still be exhausting in many ways.


    "You¡¯d have to come alone. Think you can make it here by yourself?"


    "Not sending an armored vehicle to pick me up?"


    "I don¡¯t need you enough to do that, do I?"


    The way she already showed her true colors was telling.


    Honestly, the fact that she even answered my call might just be because she was in a good mood.


    "I¡¯ll manage on my own."


    "Alright, come to the lab when you arrive. I¡¯ll let them know. You know where I am, right?"


    "Y-yeah."


    To be frank, dealing with Woo Min-hee would mean swallowing a lot of unpleasantness.


    But what choice did I have?


    Survival makes you do things you¡¯d rather not.


    For now, I just wanted to see for myself.


    What was life like in a city on the verge of collapse?


    Could I, someone who¡¯d lived a luxurious life in a well-equipped bunker until now, even adapt to such a place?


    "Oh, and senior," Woo Min-hee added with a smirk.


    "Have you ever borrowed money in the past?"


    "Uh, yeah. A little, maybe?"


    The most critical point of all:


    "I lost it gambling," I said.


    The fact that I¡¯m a scammer? That secret is coming with me to the grave.


    *


    Since I planned to leave my home for an extended period, I informed my neighbors about my absence.


    "What? You¡¯re going to Incheon for a week?"


    First, I contacted Defender.


    "It might be longer."


    "Why would you go to such a crowded place?"


    "Well, I¡¯m starting to consider moving. Things aren¡¯t looking great here."


    "You¡¯ve been marked by the military, haven¡¯t you?"


    "Yeah, something like that. This place was good, but now it¡¯s not anymore."


    "Do you really need to move? It¡¯s not like the Legion faction will send a million soldiers just to take you out, right? You¡¯re not exactly a VIP."


    At the mention of VIPs, Defender¡¯s sister jumped into the conversation.


    "SKELTON is a VIP? Were you a VIP?!"


    The hallmark of these siblings is how one gets excited, and the other follows suit.


    "Su-seobang?!"


    "No, nothing that grand. I¡¯m just being overly cautious¡ªcall it paranoia."


    "I get it. But, you know..."


    Defender trailed off, his tone suddenly serious.


    One thing was clear as I entered this government-controlled area.


    The soldiers were using mobile phones.


    The signal was working.


    Curious, I took out my own phone.


    Sure enough, it showed a signal.


    While waiting for the higher-ups¡¯ orders, I approached one of the soldiers, handed him a cigarette, and casually asked, "Do phones work well here?"


    "Pretty well."


    "It feels like the reception is better here than in Seoul."


    "That¡¯s right. Fewer people and less land mean stronger networks. Plus, we¡¯ve expanded the infrastructure."


    "Really?"


    "In a world where strange things pop up everywhere, isn¡¯t it better to have everyone carrying a phone and acting as an information source? Add to that the government providing sites like Failnet, and it¡¯s a win-win."


    This soldier seemed under the impression that Failnet was a government creation.


    I didn¡¯t bother correcting him. Who would believe that such a monumental site was built by one man¡¯s obsession?


    Soon, the higher-ups sent their orders.


    "Leave your bicycle here. You¡¯ll be escorted by Jeep."


    The soldier smiled as he delivered the message.


    Relieved, I no longer had to endure the envious, greedy stares of others while riding my bike.


    The Jeep took me straight to the research lab.


    By the time we arrived at the port, the salty sea breeze greeted me, and it was already late at night.


    A staff member on duty assigned me a room connected to the lab.


    The room had a bunk bed, but no one else was there.


    I lay down, waiting for morning to come.


    When the sun rose, I began my day.


    For the first time in a while, I showered in someone else¡¯s facility.


    The lab had excellent shower facilities, allowing me to clean up thoroughly.


    For some reason, they even had baby powder, so I used it generously.


    It wasn¡¯t something I had in my own supplies, so I relished the fresh, soft feeling.


    While I rested in my room, one of Woo Min-hee¡¯s subordinates came to find me.


    This time, it was a different man from the one who¡¯d guided me before.


    "I¡¯m sorry, but Director Woo is currently out."


    Dressed in a white lab coat and looking unassuming, the man seemed unable to make eye contact as he relayed Woo Min-hee¡¯s message.


    "The Director mentioned you were a former hunter. Is that correct?"


    "Yes."


    "She suggested freelance hunting. I was just about to guide you to the freelance hunter accommodations."


    "Freelance hunter accommodations?"


    "Ah, yes. You see..."


    For the first time, he made eye contact with me as he explained.


    "Originally, there weren¡¯t any welfare provisions for freelance hunters. But since the Legion faction has been recruiting them aggressively, the government hastily implemented support measures."


    "I see. What kind of work does a freelance hunter do?"


    Though I already knew, I asked out of courtesy.


    Freelance hunters were essentially problem-solvers.


    They handled issues in remote areas where government intervention was too costly and inefficient.


    Their main targets were usually mutations, not monsters.


    Before the civil war, freelance hunters had operated somewhat effectively in the shadows. Mutations appeared unpredictably, and deploying the military for every instance was far too expensive.


    However, the treatment of freelance hunters had never been favorable.


    Just look at Baek Seung-hyun.


    Once an A-rank hunter by old-world standards, he now fraternized with the likes of pioneer scum.


    The freelance hunter accommodations were located behind the research lab.


    Between the red-brick lab and the densely packed port warehouses was a narrow alley.


    That alley housed the freelance hunters.


    A handwritten sign on a white wooden board marked the entrance:


    Hunter Street.


    "B-23. That¡¯s where you¡¯ll be staying," the staff member said, stopping at the alley¡¯s entrance.


    He clearly didn¡¯t want to go in.


    After assuring him I could manage on my own, I ventured into the alley.


    In the shadows, I saw people sitting by the roadside.


    Old men playing chess, elderly women hanging laundry, children fiddling with phones.


    They seemed ordinary.


    Surprisingly so.


    I¡¯d expected a den of old-world hunters, filled with hostility.


    Then again, maybe I¡¯d run into someone who recognized me.


    "Ah?"


    In front of a makeshift building marked A-13, a man greeted me with surprise.


    "You¡¯re here?"


    It was Baek Seung-hyun.


    Holding a baby in his arms¡ªa baby that looked just like him¡ªhe stared at me with a stunned expression.

 Chapter 43.3

    I saw Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s wife.


    ¡°Oh, hello?¡±


    My first impression was that she looked young.


    Not just her face, but her voice and actions, too¡ªeverything about her exuded the inexperience of someone unaccustomed to life¡¯s challenges.


    How did Baek Seung-hyun, who was well into his thirties, end up with a woman who looked barely past her early twenties, and even have a child with her?


    Before the war, such a story might require an elaborate script filled with chance encounters and drama. But now, two and a half years into the apocalypse, no one needs such convoluted narratives.


    The burn scars etched on her arms, the jagged scar across her face, and the missing teeth revealed when she smiled¡ªall these details provided a 100% convincing backstory without needing further explanation.


    ¡°She was captured by gangsters, and I rescued her. That¡¯s how we ended up together,¡± Baek Seung-hyun said with a casual shrug.


    At first, Baek Seung-hyun had spoken to me informally, as if it were only natural. But at some point, he had shifted to using polite speech.


    It was probably after I removed a capsule on my own.


    I hadn¡¯t thought much of it then since our interactions were minimal, but now things were different. If I decided to settle here, Baek Seung-hyun would become my neighbor.


    ¡°Feel free to speak casually,¡± I offered.


    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re okay with it, sure. You can speak comfortably too,¡± he replied.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m more comfortable using polite speech,¡± I responded.


    Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s house, now home to a father, was essentially a shack.


    Literally made of planks.


    Judging by its construction, the foundation was likely made of bricks, topped with plywood, and then planks haphazardly nailed together to form walls, finished with a slate roof.


    It resembled the kinds of barns or equipment sheds you¡¯d see in rural areas. I¡¯d even built similar structures under Kim Elder¡¯s guidance in the past.


    Naturally, there were no plumbing facilities.


    For basic needs, they had to use a shared toilet in the back and fetch water from a pipe next to it.


    ¡°...¡±


    Was this a house or a pigsty?


    ¡°You have no idea how rare it is to have a home of your own in these times,¡± Baek Seung-hyun said, laughing at my astonishment.


    ¡°Besides, this Hunter House has electricity. You can read and write at night! You can even charge devices indoors without waiting in line at public charging stations.¡±


    This man seemed to genuinely like his home.


    Soon, he led me to what he called my potential new home, located diagonally across from his shack.


    ¡°...¡±


    Was this supposed to be a house?


    That was my immediate thought.


    It looked like a slightly larger version of the cardboard shelters homeless people construct.


    What about the inside?


    Even in his modest circumstances, Baek Seung-hyun had at least decorated his walls with some wallpaper. Maybe the interior of this place would be somewhat cozy.


    I opened the door, trying to comfort myself with the thought.


    Squeak, squeak!


    Several city rats scurried to the corners to greet me.


    In the darker recesses, loathsome urban pests swarmed.


    ¡°...¡±


    I couldn¡¯t utter a word.


    Only one thought crossed my mind:


    Am I really supposed to live here?


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to disinfect the place,¡± Baek Seung-hyun remarked nonchalantly as he stepped inside to inspect the corners, unfazed by the pests.


    ¡°Since there¡¯s no electrical wiring here, a good cleaning and a bit of waterproofing should make it livable.¡±


    I wanted to echo Kim Daram¡¯s words back to him: How could anyone live here?


    ¡°When did you start staying in this place?¡± I asked as I hurriedly stepped back outside.


    Baek Seung-hyun pulled out a cigarette and offered me one. I waved it away.


    ¡°You don¡¯t smoke?¡± he asked.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t.¡±


    His cigarettes had a distinct aftertaste, one reminiscent of death.


    ¡°About half a year ago, I think,¡± he said, lighting his cigarette and looking up at the sky.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t this place get built recently?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s been around since Kim Daram¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡°Kim Daram?¡± I repeated, surprised.


    He nodded, watching my reaction carefully.


    ¡°Do you know what she did before she disappeared?¡± I asked.


    ¡°She managed us freelance hunters. Didn¡¯t she tell you that?¡±


    ¡°No, she never mentioned it.¡±


    Even though I¡¯d met her a few times after retiring, we never discussed her work. I only knew she was affiliated with the National Crisis Management Committee, but I¡¯d never heard her specific title.


    ¡°To stay in a high-ranking position like that...¡± Baek Seung-hyun exhaled a puff of smoke and sighed.


    ¡°You can¡¯t get by on ability alone. Most people burn through their past connections and resources just to hold onto their seats.¡±


    He spat on the ground and continued, ¡°It¡¯s the same in companies, isn¡¯t it? Retirees from big corporations either survive on the knowledge they gained there or start parasitic little companies, draining the life out of their former employers under the guise of maintenance contracts.¡±


    His words made me feel a bit ashamed.


    I had never bothered to learn what exactly Kim Daram¡¯s role was in the National Crisis Management Committee.


    While Lee Sang-hoon had a solid political foundation and untouchable connections, Kim Daram had no family, came from a team background, and had never been particularly notable in her own name.


    She was known to be sharp and meticulous, but how many competent people like her exist in this world?


    It was surprising to hear what Baek Seung-hyun said next.


    ¡°Did you know the freelance hunter system was her creation?¡±


    ¡°Kim Daram created the freelance hunter system?¡±


    This was news to me, though it somehow made sense.


    ¡°She made it to avoid directly employing or taking responsibility for retired hunters like me. It¡¯s a nice-sounding term, isn¡¯t it¡ªfreelancer?¡± he said with a bitter laugh.


    ¡°She turned her seniors, peers, and juniors into day laborers. She sucked the blood out of her past connections.¡±


    Baek Seung-hyun sighed again and pulled out a military radio.


    A K-Walkie Talkie, identical to the one I owned.


    ¡°When she defected to the Legion faction, she left this behind. She was probably scared of being tracked. Military radios can be used to pinpoint locations for artillery or airstrikes.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    I didn¡¯t respond.


    Those hollow-eyed people gave me the impression that they wouldn¡¯t mesh well with me. They felt like strangers.


    ¡°Well then, shall we start fixing up the house?¡± Baek Seung-hyun rolled up his sleeves.


    ¡°Huh? Are you going to help, senior?¡±


    ¡°Of course. My precious junior¡¯s here¡ªI have to lend a hand, don¡¯t I?¡±


    He pushed me aside and began repairing the shack himself.


    He removed the rotting planks, sprayed disinfectant, set up a makeshift bed, and even pulled over an electrical wire to install a lightbulb in the room.


    ¡°...¡±


    It was excessive kindness.


    Uncomfortably so.


    And as expected, such over-the-top generosity always came with a price.


    ¡°Can you fight?¡± Baek Seung-hyun finally revealed his true intentions.


    Oddly, his directness felt familiar and even reassuring. I answered calmly.


    ¡°To some extent.¡±


    He nodded.


    ¡°There¡¯s a mutation. I¡¯d like your help dealing with it.¡±


    So this was what he wanted.


    If it were a monster, I would¡¯ve declined. But if it was just a mutation, that was a different story.


    Still, it didn¡¯t quite make sense for a hunter of Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s caliber to struggle with a mere mutation.


    ¡°How many?¡± I asked.


    Perhaps it was dozens.


    If so, I¡¯d have to refuse.


    ¡°One.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t believe my ears.


    One?


    Not a monster, but a single mutation?


    I looked into his eyes, curiosity sparking.


    ¡°What kind?¡±


    ¡°A chimpanzee.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    Hearing the original species, I realized it might indeed be a nuisance.


    Still, it was just a chimpanzee. Even if it grew larger, stronger, and gained human-level intelligence, it wouldn¡¯t have the ability to deflect bullets.


    ¡°Take a look at this,¡± he said, showing me a photo on his phone.


    It was of a ruined domed stadium.


    At the entrance, about ten people hung like fruit, strung up by their necks.


    ¡°This is its handiwork.¡±


    ¡°Looks human.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t surprising. There was a human-like one living near my area too.


    Gold, they called him.


    ¡°A hunter I know said something,¡± Baek Seung-hyun muttered, glaring at the photo. He bit his lip.


    ¡°They think this mutation might be an Awakened.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Now that was new.


    Unconsciously, I thought of my former mentor, Jang Ki-young.


    ¡°Woo Min-hee said if I brought the creature¡¯s corpse, they¡¯d send me to Jeju Island.¡±


    ¡°Jeju Island?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes. Jeju Island.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a rumor the refugee fleet to Jeju sank in the sea.¡±


    ¡°There are those rumors, yes. But...¡±


    He turned to look back.


    There stood his crumbling shack, his wife, and his child.


    ¡°I have to go to Jeju.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no guarantee it¡¯ll be better there.¡±


    He gestured for his young wife, who approached, handing him their baby.


    ¡°Kim Daram wanted to go there, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    The baby, cradled in his arms, laughed joyfully at his father¡¯s face.


    Even at that tender age, the child seemed to adore him.


    As he gently rocked the baby, Baek Seung-hyun looked at me with desperate eyes.


    ¡°We want to live better than Kim Daram¡¯s family.¡±


    His words carried no literal weight.


    But they pressed down on my shoulders with a weight far heavier than that of a single family.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you help us, just this once?¡±


    I lowered my head, gathered my thoughts, then looked back up at him.


    ¡°Where is it?¡±


    There were many reasons.


    Curiosity about seeing a mutation-Awakened hybrid. The chance to gauge Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s true capabilities.


    And perhaps, as a newly minted freelancer, it was only proper to prove my skills.


    But there was one reason above all.


    If I stayed here, I¡¯d eventually have to face that creature myself.


    If Baek Seung-hyun died, the task might fall to me next.


    Better to take care of it together with him now.


    Not that his desperate plea had entirely moved me.

 Chapter 43.4

    We traveled by truck.


    In the cargo bed, besides Baek Seung-hyun and me, there were three other hunters: Bang Jae-hyuk from the 15th graduating class, who had injured his knee; Ha Tae-hoon from the 11th class, who refused to be called ¡°senior¡±; and Cheon Young-jae from the 18th class, who had joined us midway.


    They didn¡¯t speak, nor did they seem inclined to.


    Since I also had nothing particular to say, I simply observed the cityscape as it slowly passed by.


    The streets were a stark blend of pre-war splendor and post-war decay, where corpse-like people gathered in groups of two or three, casting soulless stares at the passing truck.


    Their malnutrition was apparent.


    Here and there, I could spot individuals so emaciated that they seemed nothing more than skin and bones.


    ¡°There are a lot of people here,¡± I remarked, breaking the silence.


    Baek Seung-hyun, who was inspecting his firearm beside me, glanced briefly at the crowd before turning his attention back to his weapon.


    ¡°They¡¯re barely keeping themselves alive,¡± he said.


    Bang Jae-hyuk, who had been silent until now, let out a scoff and spoke.


    ¡°Since the bigwigs all fled to Jeju Island, Seoul has turned into nothing more than a human farm.¡±


    He was checking a large-caliber rifle similar to Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s.


    On the stock, tally marks indicated the number of mutations he¡¯d killed¡ªeasily over a hundred, by my estimation.


    It was impressive.


    Even with his damaged knee, supported by a steel brace, he had managed such an extensive kill record.


    He must have been an exceptional marksman, though his demeanor seemed as twisted as his injured leg.


    ¡°Some fish farms grind up dead fish into feed for the others. This place is probably the same,¡± he said, voicing a grotesque analogy without hesitation.


    ¡°Surely they¡¯re not feeding people human meat,¡± Ha Tae-hoon finally spoke up.


    His weapon of choice was unusual¡ªa Blader, a close-combat armament that launched multiple small blades.


    Designed with safety mechanisms to prevent accidental detonation from monster abilities, it could scatter sharp, dagger-sized blades like shotgun pellets, making it effective against medium-sized monsters. However, its poor penetration had rendered it an unpopular choice, leaving surplus stock.


    According to those who had used it, it worked decently against zombies.


    ¡°No matter how morally bankrupt the times are, the government wouldn¡¯t go that far,¡± Ha Tae-hoon added, checking the blades with practiced precision.


    ¡°There¡¯s a factory,¡± Bang Jae-hyuk muttered, not even looking at him.


    ¡°You read that on Failnet, didn¡¯t you? Ninety percent of the stuff there is rumors and lies. Don¡¯t take it seriously,¡± Ha Tae-hoon retorted, setting the Blader aside and twirling a dagger in his hand.


    ¡°Even the thing we¡¯re hunting now¡ªhow many lies were spread about it?¡±


    Listening to their exchange, I turned to Baek Seung-hyun.


    ¡°What¡¯s this thing we¡¯re dealing with? Are there any special precautions we need to take?¡±


    A shadow crossed Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s face.


    ¡°It¡¯s the thing that chewed through three hunter teams.¡±


    The creature¡¯s name, like many mutations, was derived from its color: Red.


    That was the name of the monster I was tasked with killing.@@@@


    Though it was hard to believe, this monster was reported to possess sensory abilities similar to those of certain Awakened individuals. Through these abilities, it could detect the location and movements of its opponents without relying on sight.


    ¡°At least there¡¯s no report of it generating shockwaves, so it¡¯s likely below Level 5,¡± Baek Seung-hyun said.


    ¡°I see. But are we headed the right way?¡± I asked.


    What Baek Seung-hyun hadn¡¯t mentioned was Red¡¯s territory.


    The area it inhabited was a zombie zone.


    As we entered the zone, the chorus of zombie moans greeted us.


    ¡°So, this area has become a zombie zone too?¡± I asked, though I already suspected the answer.


    It seemed this place, once a human settlement, had fallen.


    ¡°Civil war, winter¡ªtoo many people died. Those people turned into zombies,¡± Baek Seung-hyun explained.


    A short while later, the truck came to a halt.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wait here. You folks go on ahead,¡± the driver said.


    The combat team consisted of me, Baek Seung-hyun, and Cheon Young-jae, who hadn¡¯t said a word until now.


    Bang Jae-hyuk and Ha Tae-hoon stayed behind to guard the truck and support our retreat if needed.


    As if sensing our arrival, the pitch of the zombie moans shifted.


    They were likely waking up their dormant brethren.


    ¡°This is messier than I imagined,¡± I said, half-joking, casting a sharp glance at Baek Seung-hyun.


    He avoided my gaze, muttering, ¡°Sorry. I should¡¯ve told you earlier.¡±


    If he¡¯d given some flimsy excuse, I would¡¯ve berated him, but his candid admission left me with nothing to say.


    Now that I was here, going back empty-handed wasn¡¯t an option.


    ¡°That building, right?¡± I asked, pointing at Red¡¯s supposed lair, which I had seen in the photos¡ªa half-collapsed domed stadium.


    I didn¡¯t care much for baseball, but I recognized it as a professional team¡¯s home ground. The mascot statue at the entrance, decapitated and peeling, confirmed it.


    The collapsed dome had exposed steel beams that jutted out like the bones of a human skull, their rusted, blood-red appearance lending the place an eerie, macabre atmosphere.


    ¡°There are two objectives: kill the creature and secure its corpse, then retreat safely,¡± Baek Seung-hyun said, glancing back.


    Around the truck, the other hunters were setting up barricades.


    ¡°But no one¡¯s ever made it past the first step,¡± he added grimly.


    Though the stadium dominated the landscape, the battlefield offered little advantage to us.


    ¡°When I give the signal, attack,¡± he said, directing his words to Baek.


    As he passed me, Cheon glanced my way, his sly smile lingering.


    That enigmatic expression¡ªit was hard to tell if it was a challenge or an expression of confidence.


    What mattered was that this cursed 18th-class hunter had volunteered for the most dangerous role.


    The weapon Baek Seung-hyun carried was a 21st-pattern large-caliber hunter rifle.


    The name sounded sophisticated, but in reality, it was a bolt-action rifle modified to fire 12.7mm .50 caliber machine gun rounds.


    A crude adaptation of an old design.


    Although originally developed for hunting monsters, it was later overshadowed by more efficient weaponry, relegating it to mutation hunting. Yet, for that purpose, it was exceptionally effective, capable of delivering fatal blows to mutations impervious to 5.56mm rounds.


    Even with such a powerful weapon, the challenge wasn¡¯t killing the chimpanzee mutation¡ªit was retrieving its corpse.


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s decision to take the bait role left me in an unexpected position: idle.


    Originally, I was supposed to act as bait while Baek Seung-hyun took the shot.


    While it was a relief not to be in immediate danger, a strange unease gnawed at me.


    ¡°Should I really not go?¡± I muttered.


    Perhaps it was inevitable.


    As a team leader, I had always taken on the riskiest roles.


    Whenever someone else took on the dangerous tasks, an inexplicable anxiety would creep over me¡ªespecially since I¡¯d seen teammates die in my place before.


    Even after retiring, the same unease returned.


    Maybe it was an occupational hazard, this compulsion to believe that no one else could handle it but me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. That bastard can die for all I care¡ªhe¡¯s insufferable,¡± Baek Seung-hyun said, only after Cheon had walked far ahead.


    ¡°His skills are top-notch, but his attitude... If even Kim Daram didn¡¯t take him on, you know he¡¯s got serious personality issues.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying he¡¯s S-class?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely.¡±


    An S-class designation wasn¡¯t determined in Korea. To earn it, one needed to prove exceptional skill in battle and pass a rigorous test administered by the International Hunter Standards Organization in the United States.


    China reportedly had a similar designation called Special Class.


    I had encountered a Special Class hunter before. Their prowess had been undeniable.


    Watching Cheon Young-jae through my binoculars, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder how his abilities compared to the old standard of S-class.


    The range of a mutation¡¯s sensory ability varies by individual, but there¡¯s an average range.


    Typically, it¡¯s around 50 meters, though with focus, it can extend up to 150 meters.


    As someone without sensory abilities¡ªor even mutation affinity¡ªI couldn¡¯t truly grasp what it felt like. Sensory ability users described it as seeing living creatures within their range as stains on their consciousness.


    In other words, if you were within a sensory ability¡¯s range, you couldn¡¯t escape detection.


    Baek Seung-hyun had based his plan on the assumption that Red¡¯s sensory range was 150 meters.


    While this made Cheon Young-jae¡¯s role the most dangerous, it was also optimal for luring out and killing the mutation.


    But then, trouble appeared: zombies.


    A dozen or so of them began to push aside a wrecked car, rushing toward Cheon Young-jae.


    I watched his reaction carefully.


    Unfazed, he jogged backward, matching their speed, his movements deliberate.


    As if performing a clumsy but effective dance, he dispatched the first zombie with a clean machete strike to the head, then gained momentum, cutting down the next in the same manner.


    Effortlessly, he wiped out the zombie horde.


    ¡°Ever seen someone kill zombies like they¡¯re doing manual labor?¡± Baek Seung-hyun asked in awe.


    ¡°No,¡± I admitted.


    I¡¯d never seen someone handle them so nonchalantly, as if it were just another task.


    It was efficient, though.


    ¡°If Jang Ki-young saw this, he¡¯d lose it,¡± Baek added.


    He was right.


    My mentor wouldn¡¯t have stood for such a lack of flair. While I¡¯ll never know exactly what he envisioned a hunter to be, one thing was clear¡ªhe valued style.


    When Cheon Young-jae finished off the last zombie, he waved his hand dramatically.


    The prey had appeared.


    But to us, there was nothing in sight¡ªnot in or around the domed stadium.


    Suddenly, Cheon sprinted toward us at full speed.


    Then, from the collapsed roof of the stadium, a crimson figure leaped into view.


    A massive primate.


    A chimpanzee mutation, towering at nearly 2 meters, stood atop the debris, glaring down at us.


    And then I saw it.


    ¡°...Shit,¡± Baek Seung-hyun muttered under his breath.


    There was a reason for his curse.


    That Red bastard¡ª


    It was armored.


    Plates of armor covered its entire hulking body, its massive frame fully encased in protective gear.

 Chapter 43.5

    "Headshots are the only way," muttered Baek Seung-hyun, his lips trembling.


    "But how do you even hit it? I can''t even get a clear shot at its torso," he continued.


    Against a human target, it might be feasible. At 150 meters, a human would appear ant-sized and move sluggishly compared to this creature. But even humans, when darting erratically, are difficult to hit at that range.


    Red¡ªthe hulking, crimson-furred chimpanzee mutation¡ªwas a nightmare to track. It moved with an unnatural agility, using its long arms to swing from exposed steel reinforcements like branches. It leaped high into the air and dropped down to grab hold of another piece of debris, constantly shifting its position unpredictably.


    This wasn¡¯t just a moving target; it was chaos incarnate. Medium- to long-range sniping typically required controlled conditions, but there was no controlling this beast.


    Baek Seung-hyun hesitated, time slipping away as the mutation bounded across the terrain with thunderous crashes, dragging its elongated arms along the ground. Red hopped closer to Cheon Young-jae, moving in strange, jerking bounds that were deceptively fast¡ªmuch faster than any human.


    "Why aren''t you shooting? Shoot!" Cheon screamed as he sprinted toward us, but Red was already upon him.


    Cheon turned, brandishing his machete. "Come at me, you bastard!" he shouted, steeling himself.


    Even as he faced the charging beast, he glanced back at Baek Seung-hyun. Maybe he had some faith in him¡ªa belief that the man aiming the rifle would come through.


    But Baek Seung-hyun faltered.


    His finger, encased in a leather glove, hovered over the trigger, trembling. He pulled slightly but couldn¡¯t commit, letting go midway.


    "Skreeee!" Red shrieked, swinging one of its long, muscular arms.


    The beast''s arm was easily two meters in length, like a small crane, covered in thick, crimson fur. Its elbows were clad in makeshift armor¡ªscraps of steel wire twisted and knotted into crude plates. While it hadn¡¯t achieved the full ingenuity of a human crafting plate armor, it had done enough to protect critical areas.


    Still, there were vulnerabilities: its face, neck, upper arms, wrists, hands, and feet were exposed. But expecting someone like Baek Seung-hyun to hit those weak points was asking the impossible.


    Even I would struggle to hit a target as fast and unpredictable as this one, despite years of experience.


    And this wasn¡¯t just about Red. The zombie zone around us was alive, teeming with restless creatures. They knew we were here, biding their time. The longer gunfire continued, the more they would swarm us like a relentless tide.


    This wasn¡¯t just a fight¡ªit was a race against disaster.


    Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s hesitation wasn¡¯t only about poor odds. It was also about Jeju Island.


    He was carrying the weight of a dream¡ªJeju, the promised land. The same place Kim Daram had failed to reach, the paradise he both envied and resented.


    I turned to him, my voice cold and sharp. "What are you waiting for? Shoot."


    "I can''t get the angle," he stammered.


    "If you don¡¯t shoot, that guy¡¯s going to die," I replied flatly.


    "I¡ªcan¡¯t," he admitted, his voice cracking.


    "Why not?"


    "The angle¡¯s no good! Dammit!" he yelled, his frustration boiling over.


    "Look at that damn monkey! It knows exactly what it¡¯s doing!"


    He was right.


    Red was using Cheon Young-jae as a shield, positioning him perfectly between itself and us.


    Cheon, for his part, swung his machete, trying to create openings. But against a mutation this agile and cunning, it was futile.@@@@


    The creature moved with eerie intelligence, almost as if mocking us. Its screeches echoed like twisted laughter, and its movements were like a grotesque dance.


    "Skreee!"


    The situation grew more dire by the second.


    As if its armor wasn¡¯t enough, Red now had a human shield.


    "Move aside!" Baek Seung-hyun shouted.


    "Fake it!" Cheon Young-jae yelled back, veering sharply to the right before sprinting left.


    For a moment, an opening appeared.


    Bang!


    A gunshot rang out.


    It was a clean shot, the bullet striking Red¡¯s torso dead-center.


    But the armor held.


    Clang!


    The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the makeshift plating, leaving nothing but a faint scorch mark.


    "Skreeee!" Red shrieked again, pausing to raise its long arms high above its head.


    "What the hell is it doing now?" I muttered.


    Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s face turned pale.


    The beast extended both middle fingers toward us.


    "Skreee!!!"


    Then, with deliberate mockery, it tapped its temple with a clawed finger, as if taunting us for our stupidity.


    "That goddamn monkey..." Baek growled through clenched teeth.


    Cheon Young-jae resumed his charge, closing the distance to within 100 meters.


    At this range, even a split-second hesitation could mean death¡ªfor all of us.


    But Baek Seung-hyun hesitated again.


    "Fire, you washed-up coward!" Cheon roared as Red¡¯s massive arms reached for him.


    Cheon swung his machete, narrowly deflecting the beast¡¯s grasp. Without that desperate move, he would already be dangling in its grip, moments from being smashed into the ground.


    "Shoot!"


    Nearby, Cheon Young-jae lay sprawled beside a wrecked car, groaning loudly.


    "Shiiit! That hurt like hell!" he cursed, his colorful language a clear sign he was alive and kicking.


    Scanning the area with the rifle, I spotted Red. The beast was limping, struggling to support itself with its two massive, bloodied arms. Its crimson-furred face twisted into a snarl as its gaze locked onto me.


    The mutated chimp opened its mouth and began making guttural noises.


    "Bah... Bah..."


    What was it trying to do? Talk?


    No, that couldn¡¯t be. A mutation couldn¡¯t possibly manage that. And yet...


    "Bah... Park Gyu," it rasped.


    "...?"


    My name. The mutation had spoken my name.


    It had to be a coincidence. There was no way¡ªespecially given the crude middle finger it was flipping me as it growled.


    With its underdeveloped vocal cords and clumsy tongue, what it meant to say was probably closer to "F**k you."


    Regardless, it was still alive, and as long as it moved, it remained a threat.


    The time had come.


    Drawing my axe, I took a step toward Red, circling to its flank. I waved the weapon menacingly, daring it to focus on me.


    "Come on, monkey."


    Red hesitated, its hostile glare shifting between me and Baek Seung-hyun, who stood with his rifle raised.


    "Where are you looking?" I muttered, hurling the axe with all my strength.


    The throw was fast, but the mutation¡¯s reflexes were sharper than any monster I¡¯d encountered.


    "Skreee!"


    Even with blood gushing from its hand, Red swatted the axe out of the air with ease, sending it clattering to the ground.


    "Senior!" I called out, trusting Baek Seung-hyun to act.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    At close range, his shots were precise and unimpeded.


    "Skreee!"


    The bullets struck Red in its exposed neck, armpit, and the vulnerable spot beneath its jaw.


    The mutated chimpanzee staggered, letting out a guttural gasp before collapsing with a heavy thud.


    Thud.


    The creature was dead.


    "Whoo..." Baek Seung-hyun exhaled shakily, his face pale as he looked at me.


    "Shit..." he muttered, lifting his thumb in a gesture of approval.


    I returned the gesture with a smirk.


    Only one person didn¡¯t share in the victory: Cheon Young-jae, who lay sprawled on the ground, flipping us both off with both hands.


    "You said you liked this kind of thing, didn¡¯t you?" I teased.


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s double middle fingers transitioned seamlessly into a double thumbs-up.


    "..."


    He was certainly consistent.


    But the danger wasn¡¯t over.


    The low, mournful wails of zombies began echoing from the distance.


    We¡¯d broken the so-called "three-shot rule," firing not three but four shots. The horde was coming.


    "What now? Can you walk, Young-jae?" I asked.


    "...F**k! My leg¡¯s broken, I think," he groaned.


    "Looks like we¡¯ll need a ride out of here," I said.


    "Got it," Baek Seung-hyun replied, pulling out his communicator. He spoke calmly into the device.


    "This is Laser. Primary target has been neutralized. We¡¯ve got one injured. Requesting extraction support."


    The distant rumble of a truck engine answered his call, growing louder as it approached.


    I let out a sigh, retrieving my fallen axe.


    Red¡¯s lifeless body lay nearby, its glassy eyes staring blankly at me.


    I didn¡¯t feel any particular emotion toward the dead monster.


    But as I caught sight of my reflection in its lifeless gaze, I felt a pang of realization.


    This was my future.


    This was the life ahead of me: endless hunts, endless danger, all while scraping by in a ramshackle house with eccentric neighbors.


    It wasn¡¯t glamorous, but it was survival.


    "..."


    My doubts and hesitations seemed to dissolve.


    The decision I¡¯d been agonizing over felt suddenly, painfully clear.

 Chapter 43.6

    Killing the chimpanzee was hard, but transporting it was a whole other ordeal.


    Even with five fully grown men working together, we couldn¡¯t manage it until we wrapped the mutation¡¯s body in wires and finally dragged it out of the zombie-infested area.


    Of course, as we left, thousands of zombies came chasing after us in a raucous send-off. Strangely, instead of fear, I felt a sense of comedy in the whole situation.


    A fully armored chimpanzee being dragged along with thousands of zombies losing their minds behind us¡ªit looked like something straight out of an old cartoon I used to watch as a kid.


    It felt like a dream.


    Not a prophetic dream, though. Just a common, nonsensical one.


    So, when we returned to the city, I felt like I¡¯d woken up suddenly.


    Here, reality hit hard: poverty, destitution, hunger, anxiety, fear, disease, and despair permeated everything.


    What kind of feeling must it be to live in such a place every single day?


    "Wow, is this the one?"


    In stark contrast to the bleak atmosphere of the city, there were people who still exuded the vibrancy of the pre-war era: the research lab staff.


    Whenever I visited, they always pretended to be busy, though most of the time they were just stealing paychecks. Now, they eagerly surrounded the mutation¡¯s corpse, laughing and snapping endless photos.


    One staff member even stepped on the creature¡¯s head, striking a pose like a famous hunter.


    "Look at me! The legendary beast hunter has arrived~!"


    We hunters said nothing.


    In this small world, we were firmly at the bottom of the hierarchy.


    A short while later, the staff member we were waiting for finally appeared.


    "Thank you for your hard work, hunters. Here¡¯s a token of our appreciation. Oh, this is just a bonus; the actual payment will be calculated and delivered later."


    A soft-spoken female employee handed us our reward.


    The cart pulled in by another male staff member was loaded with goods: meat, rice, various groceries, and even alcohol.


    "Whoa, rice! Actual rice!"


    Despite his broken leg, Cheon Young-jae¡¯s eyes lit up at the sight.


    "I¡¯ve been dreaming of eating rice!" he exclaimed, drooling as if he¡¯d forgotten his pain entirely.


    The others were equally thrilled, especially with the meat, which looked like premium beef wrapped in paper.


    "This looks like refrigerated meat," Ha Tae-hoon said, unable to take his eyes off the marbled slices.


    "Can you believe there¡¯s still such a thing as refrigerated beef these days?"


    "Look at the marbling! Where did they even get this?"


    Even Baek Seung-hyun and the others stared in awe at the meat.


    "It¡¯s real."


    "Real beef."


    But, of course, Bang Jae-hyuk, the ever-pessimistic one, didn¡¯t miss the chance to share his twisted perspective.


    "This stuff... It¡¯s mutation meat, isn¡¯t it?"


    No one responded to him.


    It was like the online forums I used to frequent. When someone started spouting nonsense, the entire community would collectively ignore them.


    Except, in real life, there¡¯s no "block" function.


    "I¡¯m telling you, it¡¯s mutation meat! Those Legion bastards started eating it first."


    Even as no one replied, Bang Jae-hyuk continued undeterred.


    "They inject mutation factors into cows to make them grow massive, then slaughter them for meat. Just one cow can feed an entire division, you know!"


    Finally, Ha Tae-hoon, his face utterly expressionless, cut him off.


    "Is this from FailNet again?"


    "Yeah."


    "Stop with that crap site. I visited it once¡ªfull of lunatics."


    "Where else tells the truth, huh? FailNet is the light! The light!"@@@@


    "..."


    "Seriously, listen to me, Ha-senior¡ª"


    "Stop calling me senior. I¡¯ve disowned that school."


    "Fine, Ha-hyung!"


    Ignoring their bickering, we returned to the street.


    "Hey, everyone! Gather around! Let¡¯s eat some meat!"


    Despite his limp, Cheon Young-jae energetically called people over.


    At the word "meat," the residents of the street poured out of their homes and gathered around a grill set up by the water supply station.


    It was quite a crowd¡ªaround thirty people.


    "Wow~ Meat! Meat!"


    Strangely, there were many children among them. Just as many elderly people too.


    As I silently observed the gathering crowd, Baek Seung-hyun sidled up to me.


    "Most of the people who stayed here did so for their families."


    "Seems that way."


    "You saw Bang Jae-hyuk earlier¡ªhis shooting skills are S-class, no doubt. Even with his injured leg, he¡¯s more than capable."


    During the earlier zombie chase, I¡¯d seen Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s sharpshooting firsthand.


    He¡¯d gone from casually laughing at his phone and spouting FailNet conspiracy theories to precisely landing every shot on the heads of charging zombies with his .45-caliber handgun.


    Beside him now, a middle-aged woman who looked to be his mother was smiling, celebrating her son¡¯s safe return.


    "He¡¯s a dutiful son," Baek Seung-hyun added with a wry smile.


    The women, including Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother, cooked up a feast using vegetables and meat. Despite the limited ingredients and seasonings, the dishes they produced were quite decent.


    Still, the star of the show was the beef.


    Sizzle!


    A grin spread across his face as wide as his ears.


    "I get flamed like crazy whenever I go online. I mean, it¡¯s no joke."


    With some time left before the armored vehicle arrived, I watched him try out the equipment.


    I didn¡¯t help, feigning ignorance about the internet, but Baek Seung-hyun was surprisingly adept and soon managed to log into Viva! Apocalypse! successfully.


    dongtanmom: Yum


    "Huh?"


    "What is it, Park Gyu?"


    "Nothing," I replied.


    "Yum," huh. And that username¡ªDongtan Mom?


    Wasn¡¯t that the nickname of someone who got blown up in an accident?


    Looking at the laptop, it seemed the satellite equipment had been salvaged, and the account restored. The Viva! Apocalypse! manual did mention that in emergencies, you could recover your account using just the satellite equipment.


    But why Dongtan Mom?


    Everyone has their stories, I suppose.


    No regrets, though. Watching a father holding the hands of his young wife and newborn child, stepping into the unknown world of our forum, was oddly satisfying.


    "Hey, Park Gyu."


    As I prepared to leave, Baek Seung-hyun called out to me.


    "Take this."


    "What¡¯s this?"


    What he offered me was his trademark motorcycle.


    The image of him riding that motorcycle with his back straight, as if he were on horseback, was one of the quintessential pictures I had of Baek Seung-hyun.


    And now, he was offering it to me.


    "I can¡¯t exactly take it to Jeju, and honestly, since I¡¯m only going because of you, I¡¯d feel bad if you left empty-handed."


    This was an unexpected windfall.


    "It runs great on synthetic oil, so don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ve already tuned it up for you."


    "Thank you."


    "No, I¡¯m the one who should be grateful."


    He gently ran his hand over the motorcycle, like a father saying goodbye to his grown daughter.


    "Hey."


    It felt like the right time.


    The time to ask why he had come looking for me in my territory.


    I¡¯d had plenty of opportunities to ask before but refrained, wary of what his answer might reveal.


    But now, I felt ready.


    "Did you search for me near my place before, using a radio?"


    "What? Oh, yeah, I did."


    He seemed momentarily flustered.


    That reaction alone confirmed my suspicions.


    I felt my heart grow cold as I pressed further.


    "Why were you looking for me?"


    Awkwardly smiling, he avoided my gaze.


    "Well... I just wanted to see your face for a bit."


    "Really?"


    "Alright, fine! I was desperate back then!"


    Of course. This guy and I just don¡¯t click.


    *


    Back in My Shelter


    The dark, quiet place, at times resembling a tomb, brought me a strange sense of relief as soon as I returned.


    In the end, there was only one answer:


    I have to live here.


    I am now a creature that cannot survive anywhere else.


    How long can a fish live once it¡¯s out of water?


    Even if the fish somehow adapted to the air, could it still be called a fish?


    Staring at the fake goldfish trembling inside the glass tank of my Dragon C, I steeled my resolve.


    Even if I die, I¡¯ll die here.


    I thought about the armored mutation again.


    At least before it died, wasn¡¯t it happy?


    It couldn¡¯t have believed that its happiness would last forever.


    This place is my home and my sanctuary.


    Even if I die, I¡¯ll die here.


    That was the conclusion I reached after all my contemplation.


    But in coming to this answer, I had committed yet another sin.


    dongtanmom: Yum yum... criticizing Jeju just because you can¡¯t go... yum yum... why do people sour grapes what they can¡¯t have? Yum yum...


    The reappearance of the dead on the forum was no longer shocking, but the newly revived Dongtan Mom brought shock and terror in a uniquely horrifying way.


    dongtanmom: Yum yum... why would the government kill people? Yum yum... Pioneering Team? They just threw in those over 55 who don¡¯t listen and complain too much! Yum yum... wait, are you in that age group? Yum yum...


    Dongtan Mom had returned.


    With even more grotesque content and a darker concept than before.

 Chapter 44.1

    Two years and seven months have passed since the war began.


    Destruction has risen to our throats, suffocating us slowly.


    The lives of the refugees I saw in Incheon were miserable.


    One could hardly call it living¡ªjust existing.


    Their basic needs, even their very fates, were entirely dependent on a government whose leaders were barely identifiable.


    Recently, there¡¯s been a small change in the cities: they¡¯ve started providing a mysterious nutrient porridge instead of the cockroach-colored nutrition bars.


    Apparently, it tastes better and is more nutritious.


    The problem lies in the porridge¡¯s ingredients, sparking all sorts of speculation among the people:


    Mutated meat?


    Human meat?


    Zombie meat?


    Whatever the truth, the urban population has no choice but to rely on it.


    Without it, survival is impossible.


    For the average person, eating that mysterious substance and enduring is the only way to hope for a place on the convoy heading to Jeju Island¡ªa dream that¡¯s quickly becoming their last and only hope.


    Even for the doomsday enthusiasts on our forum, times aren¡¯t great.


    Anonymous424: Food supplies are running out¡ªwhat should I do?


    Doyourbest321: I¡¯m in Busan. Anyone willing to trade food for fuel?


    RKKArA: I¡¯m starving. When will the barley be ready to harvest?


    Though such posts appeared occasionally before, as summer approached, more and more users began revealing their struggles with food shortages.


    On average, the forum users prepared three years¡¯ worth of food.


    Initially, the standard was two years, but John Nae-non (Doomdad) insisted three years was safer. His argument convinced most of the community, and the ¡°three-year stockpile¡± became the norm.


    Now, those three years are almost up.


    And food, as it turns out, spoils and gets consumed faster than expected.


    Some of us might starve.


    When I last saw SeamonkeyPAPA, his supplies were already gone.


    Beyond food, some users were struggling with external threats.


    Up north, in Seoul, users who had hidden themselves away were entirely wiped out.


    Down south, a more unsettling development was brewing¡ªa mysterious cult spreading rapidly among the starving population.


    The name of the religion isn¡¯t known, but their insane rhetoric about coexistence and harmony with monsters screams of Manlyugyo (Cult of Ten Thousand Ghosts).


    The fire that burned China has now spread to our land.


    With both the north and south in turmoil, I, Park Gyu, am no exception.


    I couldn¡¯t bear to live in that squalid neighborhood any longer, so I returned to my beautiful home.


    But this place is no longer safe either.


    I must prepare for a fight.


    The Legion could come crashing down on me at any moment.


    ¡°Seems like you¡¯re worrying for nothing.¡±


    Defender didn¡¯t share my concerns.


    ¡°Be honest. Are you really such a high-value target? Worth breaking a ceasefire, deploying special forces, and risking enemy territory to eliminate?¡±


    ¡°No, not really.¡±


    Defender had a point¡ªI¡¯m not a VIP.


    Maybe someone like Woo Min-hee is, but for an ordinary hunter like me? Sending elite troops to take me out would be overkill.


    If I were to die, what would they gain?


    Let¡¯s consider some possibilities:


    Satisfaction from killing a traitor?Setting an example for other defectors?Simple revenge?


    No matter how I look at it, there¡¯s no real benefit.


    But humans often do things without any benefit.


    So, I need to be prepared.


    History is full of people acting without thought, and I doubt that¡¯s changed even now.@@@@


    The problem is that preparing for an army is daunting.


    How does one stand against a military force alone?


    No matter how much I think about it, I can¡¯t find an answer by myself.


    ¡°Rebecca? Rebecca? It¡¯s SKELTON. Hey, can I use the internet for a bit?¡±


    That¡¯s what the community is for.


    *


    While waiting for replies, I surveyed the sniper mother-daughter duo¡¯s lair.


    Both their ammo and food supplies had dwindled significantly since I¡¯d last been here.


    ¡°Is this all you¡¯ve got left?¡± I asked, staring at their pitiful reserves.


    Rebecca sighed and nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a solution for the average person, but the poster was part of a group of survivalists in the U.S. They had extensive resources, and their bunker was as robust and well-equipped as mine¡ªif not more so.


    ¡°What do you think, SKELTON?¡± Rebecca asked, watching my reaction.


    I nodded and gave her a thumbs-up. ¡°It¡¯s good. Really good.¡±


    For the first time in a while, I felt the value of our community¡¯s collective knowledge.


    Still, Callum¡¯s method wasn¡¯t entirely applicable to my situation. While the U.S. had vast, open land, my bunker sat in a very specific location¡ªbetween a military base and a golf course. Its position was far too precise to hide completely. And then there was Kim Daram, who remembered my location all too well.


    I couldn¡¯t disappear entirely, but I could still come up with something. This bunker was my home, my sanctuary. It wasn¡¯t something I could abandon so easily.


    ¡°I should head back,¡± I told Rebecca.


    ¡°Wait, SKELTON! A new comment just came in!¡± Sue exclaimed, pointing excitedly at the screen.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a helpful suggestion?¡± she added with a hopeful smile.


    But before I could approach, Sue¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°What the...¡±


    It was obvious why.


    dongtanmom: Yum-yum... You¡¯re done for... Yum-yum...


    ¡°That bastard,¡± I growled through clenched teeth, unable to hold back my frustration.


    Sue and Rebecca stared at me, wide-eyed. I had never raised my voice in front of them before.


    ¡°SKELTON...?¡± Rebecca ventured cautiously.


    Realizing I had startled them, I quickly apologized. ¡°Sorry. Really sorry. It¡¯s just... this person is the absolute worst.¡±


    ¡°I can see that,¡± Rebecca replied. ¡°Why do they keep saying ¡®yum-yum¡¯? What¡¯s wrong with them?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s... a kind of mental illness,¡± I said flatly.


    I thanked Rebecca and Sue once more for their help and left their building. As I descended the stairs, Rebecca called out after me.


    ¡°If you need people, let us know. We¡¯ll help.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± I promised. ¡°If it comes to that.¡±


    Riding the motorcycle I¡¯d inherited from Baek Seung-hyun, I couldn¡¯t help but speak to the machine as I stared at its dashboard.


    ¡°Your previous owner... why was he like that?¡±


    The motorcycle didn¡¯t answer, of course, but I couldn¡¯t deny its usefulness. It was well-maintained and incredibly efficient, capable of reaching speeds of up to 180 km/h. Against human enemies, it was a lifesaver¡ªgood luck trying to shoot a target moving that fast.


    Though I didn¡¯t like Baek Seung-hyun as a person, I had to admit he¡¯d done an excellent job taking care of this bike.


    Back at my bunker, I stood with my hands behind my back, surveying the place from all angles.


    ¡°Hmm...¡±


    How could I modify it? The entrance was an obvious target¡ªit needed to be changed. Or maybe I should leave it as it was to mislead attackers?


    No matter how much I mulled it over, I couldn¡¯t decide on the best course of action. This wasn¡¯t something I could figure out on my own.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I called out.


    Defender¡¯s voice crackled through my comms. ¡°SKELTON, what¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°Can I use a summoning token now?¡±


    ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°Not a fight. I just need some advice.¡±


    ¡°A consultation, huh? Save the token. I¡¯ll come.¡±


    ¡°And bring your sister.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°Just... bring her.¡±


    After a pause, he sighed. ¡°Fine. Be there soon.¡±


    As usual, Defender¡¯s arrival was preceded by a drone reconnaissance sweep. Once the area was deemed safe, he and his sister arrived together¡ªher on a kick scooter, of all things.


    ¡°Hello, SKELTON!¡± she greeted cheerfully, removing her goggles as she waved.


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    After brief pleasantries, I dove into my concerns, explaining the compromised location of my bunker and my thoughts on concealing it.


    Defender and his sister inspected the bunker thoroughly, their movements methodical. Finally, standing in front of the main entrance, Defender crossed his arms.


    ¡°It¡¯s solid as is, but once the location¡¯s known, all its strengths are nullified.¡±


    ¡°Yeah... I figured.¡±


    His blunt assessment stung, but it confirmed my fears.


    ¡°You should just move. Hell, come live at my place.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s...¡±


    ¡°Your former subordinate knows where this is, right? Then you need to leave immediately.¡±


    ¡°I know, but...¡±


    Why was he like this? Couldn¡¯t he offer even a shred of encouragement?


    ¡°Why not just build a new one?¡± his sister suggested casually, chewing on jerky.


    ¡°Build... a new one?¡± I repeated, my mind racing.


    Then it hit me.


    An idea¡ªa way to hide my bunker from both the Legion faction and Kim Daram.


    It wasn¡¯t perfect, but it was something.

 Chapter 44.2

    Next to my main bunker is a garage even larger than the living quarters.


    Like the bunker, its interior is reinforced with steel and concrete, while the entrance is concealed with dirt and rocks. To enhance its secrecy, the garage was deliberately built on lower ground, forcing vehicles inside to ascend a ramp with a gradient of about 15 degrees to exit.


    Inside this garage are various pieces of heavy equipment and vehicles I purchased before the war, spending myself into debt. All of them sit neatly parked, waiting for their owner¡¯s touch.


    Excavator, loader, drill rig, forklift, bulldozer.


    It¡¯s Park Gyu¡¯s collection of heavy equipment.


    Most are second-hand, but their condition is excellent, thanks to the meticulous maintenance I¡¯ve given them, just like Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s motorcycle.


    ¡°Wow...¡±


    While I¡¯ve had guests inside my bunker a few times, this is the first time I¡¯ve let anyone into my garage.


    ¡°You built all of this yourself?¡± Da-jeong, momentarily forgetting her usual playful demeanor, stared at me wide-eyed in disbelief.


    Feeling a rare sense of pride, I tried to maintain my composure as I replied.


    ¡°Well... it took some effort.¡±


    Defender was equally astonished. He turned to me, stammering in awe.


    ¡°Su... Suh-seobang.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on. Why do you keep calling me Suh-seobang every time something happens?¡±


    My plan was to use my heavy equipment collection and the labor provided by Defender and his sister to construct a new bunker next to the main one.


    The idea was to create a decoy bunker to conceal the real one.


    ¡°What? You¡¯re starting construction now? How long will it take?¡±


    ¡°About a month?¡±


    ¡°Will that be enough?¡±


    I explained that I wouldn¡¯t include water or electricity¡ªjust excavate the ground, pour a reasonable amount of concrete, and build something resembling my current bunker. Then I¡¯d place a single toilet in the center, and that would be it.


    ¡°The toilet is the most important part.¡±


    I asked Defender to procure a toilet.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a spare one at home. It¡¯s broken, though. Will that work?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. This decoy bunker is supposed to look like it¡¯s been abandoned for ages.¡±


    The Defender siblings didn¡¯t seem thrilled with my plan. Defender¡¯s sister, in particular, was skeptical. Unsurprisingly, she tapped on her tablet and showed me the screen.


    [The concept is fresh, but will intruders really just pass by an obviously makeshift bunker? If I were them, I¡¯d check thoroughly and scout the surrounding area.]


    ¡°That¡¯s possible. But don¡¯t worry; that¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m counting on.¡±


    [Really...?]


    ¡°Trust me. Let¡¯s just get to work.¡±


    When I originally designed my bunker, endless expansion and modification were my intentions. That¡¯s why I kept my heavy equipment despite mounting debt collectors.


    The timing of the construction was ahead of schedule.


    In my mind, the right time to expand the bunker would¡¯ve been when people became as rare as endangered species in this land. That way, I could build freely without fear of gunfire, only needing to watch out for mutations or monsters.


    I¡¯d envisioned an idyllic setup, not as extravagant as Park Cheol-joo¡¯s, but fortified with walls, maybe solar panels for abundant electricity, and a self-sustaining farm to enjoy humanity¡¯s twilight years in comfort and luxury.


    I thought three years would suffice to reach that point.


    But humans are surprisingly resilient creatures.


    Cities still teemed with millions of people, and the wilderness was dotted with stubborn elderly survivors clinging to life like weeds.


    In such conditions, construction was undoubtedly risky, but a greater danger loomed over me.


    This construction wasn¡¯t optional. It was essential.


    So, I began construction with the Defender siblings.


    This was also a kind of test¡ªfor me, to see if I could work and live with others rather than surviving as a lone wolf.


    With Rebecca wanting to join me, I needed to consider shifting toward communal survivalism. The Defender siblings, though not vocal about it, also seemed to need allies to help defend their territory.


    Defender¡¯s increasingly somber expressions suggested that this Justice Min guy from Viva! Apocalypse! wasn¡¯t someone to be taken lightly.


    It¡¯s something I¡¯d have to address eventually.


    We were slowly becoming a shared destiny, something we all felt but hadn¡¯t yet said out loud.


    ¡°All right, a bit more... yes, that¡¯s it, this way.¡±


    Construction with others was surprisingly easier than doing it alone. They spotted things I might miss and handled tasks I would otherwise have to do myself.


    Though I only knew fragments of Defender¡¯s past, it was clear he¡¯d done all sorts of rough work since returning from China. Judging by how he effortlessly handled construction tasks without needing instructions, he¡¯d clearly done this type of work before.


    While Defender worked with the heavy equipment, his sister used a drone to monitor the surroundings, easing my worries.


    The worst-case scenario for this project was a Legion faction ambush during construction. Even without them, dealing with Pioneers would be a headache.


    Fortunately, there were no attacks, likely because this area had been bombed and fought over before.


    Once a place gets shelled, there¡¯s always the chance it¡¯ll be shelled again.


    During the project, I offered the Defender siblings the decoy bunker as lodging. Though I suggested staying in my main bunker, they declined.


    ¡°Honestly, we value our privacy.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you do something about the bathroom, though?¡±


    Nature itself turned out to be the greatest obstacle, not the Legion or human attackers.


    The rainy season caused water to pool in the excavated areas, making it impossible to continue. Without a septic tank pump, we might¡¯ve had to abandon the project.


    The pump roared loudly as it worked, prompting Defender to ask in amazement.


    ¡°Skelton, is there anything you don¡¯t have?¡±


    ¡°I made a lot of preparations.¡±


    ¡°Overkill, don¡¯t you think? You¡¯re like a treasure goblin. Or maybe a treasure Skelton?¡±


    While the rain hindered progress, it also softened the ground, making excavation easier. Watching the small excavator tear through the loose soil with its powerful engine was oddly satisfying.


    ¡°This should do.¡±


    After about a week, the decoy bunker took shape. Due to the risk of soil collapse, it was only half the size of my main bunker, but that didn¡¯t matter. The key feature was the toilet in the center¡ªits centerpiece.


    I¡¯d momentarily forgotten¡ªthis man was a cautious, calculated killer.


    Bringing people together is as hard as getting them to live together peacefully. If we ever form a community, conflict will be inevitable.


    Still, I had a feeling we¡¯d get along just fine.


    ¡°All right, let¡¯s get back to work. We don¡¯t know when the Legion might show up.¡±


    Above all, Defender was a first-class worker.


    *


    2 Years and 8 Months into the War


    It has been two years and eight months since the war began.


    In Incheon, preparations for the second evacuation fleet are in full swing.


    Still, there is no word from the Legion faction, but troubling news from the south reports the growing influence of a cult.


    The days grew hotter, and the swarming insects signaled that summer was near.


    As always, in this grim period that feels like the calm before the storm, our construction project finally came to an end.


    The secret veil to conceal my bunker had at last been completed.


    ¡°Hmm...¡±


    Da-jeong stood with her arms crossed, glaring at the new bunker with dissatisfaction.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t this a bit too slapdash?¡±


    Defender shared a similar opinion.


    ¡°We worked hard, but the result feels underwhelming. It looks like it could collapse any moment.¡±


    It was no surprise that they criticized the shoddy state of the decoy bunker.


    The area was halved, and the concrete pouring was done just enough to keep it standing. From a distance, it might look convincing, but upon entering, the rushed nature of the construction was painfully obvious.


    If not for the toilet placed conspicuously in the center, it might pass for a generic bunker.


    But the toilet is key.


    This toilet is what makes the bunker special.


    ¡°My plan, you see,¡± I began, ready to explain how I intended to use this crude bunker.


    First, I planned to use the excavator to bury the entrance to my existing bunker.


    It was unfortunate to lose one of the entrances, but it couldn¡¯t be helped.


    I could always use the other exits connected to the decoy bunker or the garage.


    Once the main bunker¡¯s entrance was erased, I would use the excavator to dig up a dried tree root from above the old entrance and place it atop the decoy bunker.


    This tree root was one of the defining features of my bunker, as mentioned by Kim Daram to Kim Pil-seong.


    When intruders reached the hill where my bunker was located, they would search for the tree root and discover the decoy bunker¡¯s entrance beneath it.


    Like the main bunker, the decoy entrance was built with varying levels.


    ¡°Won¡¯t they figure it out just by checking the ventilation ducts?¡±


    Defender¡¯s sister, who had been skeptical of my plan from the beginning, pressed her point persistently.


    I waved a finger at her.


    ¡°Now, it¡¯s time for some magic.¡±


    ¡°Magic?¡±


    This magic, of course, involved tripwires and explosives.


    I plucked the tripwire, making it twang sharply, demonstrating its strength and flexibility. Then I began installing explosives in key locations around the decoy bunker.


    ¡°Skelton... Don¡¯t tell me¡ª¡±


    Defender seemed to have finally grasped my plan.


    I nodded with a grin and revealed the secret of my magic to Da-jeong, who still looked clueless.


    ¡°A grand explosion finale.¡±


    ¡°Explosion finale...?¡±


    Let¡¯s assume, based on Kim Daram¡¯s intel, that a group of Legion soldiers enters my territory.


    Using the landmarks she described, they would quickly locate the general area of my bunker.


    But they wouldn¡¯t know its exact location or layout.


    The only things they¡¯d know for sure were that the entrance was marked by a tree root and that there was a toilet in the center of the bunker.


    When they found the tree root and entered the crude decoy bunker, the only thing awaiting them in the darkness would be the toilet.


    If they tried to investigate further, they¡¯d encounter the tripwires glinting faintly in the shadows, halting their progress.


    As they paused, I¡¯d be watching from inside the main bunker, waiting for the perfect moment to detonate the explosives and bury the decoy bunker¡ªand them¡ªin debris.


    ¡°I feel like I¡¯ve seen this in a mystery manga before,¡± Da-jeong said, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she finally grasped the plan. ¡°The culprit pretends to kill the victim right in front of the protagonist, right?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Su-Suh-seobang!¡±


    My plan wasn¡¯t perfect.


    The amount of explosives might be insufficient to cause the desired collapse, or worse, it could damage my main bunker.


    I had calibrated the quantity by instinct, but I wasn¡¯t a demolition expert.


    The biggest risk, however, was someone who had been to my bunker before returning to find it again.


    Kim Daram.


    That infuriatingly sharp junior of mine, who had absorbed my teachings all too well.


    If she ever came back here, I¡¯d have to confront her outside the bunker.


    And I would ask her one simple question.


    Why.


    Because that¡¯s the kind of world we live in now.

 Chapter 45

    Rain poured down relentlessly.


    It was monsoon season, and the downpour showed no signs of stopping.


    While my bunker was equipped with an excellent drainage system, capable of handling all but the heaviest of rains, the recently built decoy bunker wasn¡¯t as fortunate.


    Wearing a raincoat, I ventured outside to inspect the decoy bunker, and my uneasy premonition proved correct.


    The decoy bunker, which I had spent an entire month building, was already showing signs of collapse.


    At this rate, it might cave in before the Legion faction even arrived.


    Reinforcements were necessary.


    I removed the booby traps connected to the tripwires, retrieved the explosives, and used a pump to drain out the accumulated water.


    Once the water was gone, I felled nearby trees and fashioned makeshift supports to reinforce the ceiling.


    I wanted to use cement, but with the rain persisting, it was impossible to even pour it, let alone allow it to cure. I had to settle for the wooden supports.


    Since the Defender siblings had left, I was stuck doing all the work on my own.


    Doing it alone was undoubtedly more exhausting.


    Before the war, I could work until I was soaked to the bone, sleep soundly, and get back to it the next day without a care for what others thought. But now, I couldn¡¯t even get proper rest. On top of that, I had to stay vigilant, constantly scanning my surroundings even while working.


    This made me realize just how invaluable a scout like Defender¡¯s sister was.


    The temptation to call Defender for help surged up my throat, but I had my pride.


    In the end, I didn¡¯t summon them and managed to patch up the decoy bunker¡¯s structural issues to some extent.


    But the sky can be merciless at times.


    Shwoooosh...


    This year¡¯s monsoon was particularly unforgiving.


    Thunder roared, and torrential rain poured down as though the sky itself had been ripped open.


    The rainfall was so intense that my rain gauge recorded a staggering 70mm per hour.


    It was the worst downpour since the war began.


    Perhaps that¡¯s why¡ª


    Drip. Drip. Drip.


    For the first time, water began seeping through my bunker¡¯s previously impenetrable ceiling, and murky water started creeping into the main entrance, which had been sealed with earth.


    Then came trouble with the plumbing.


    Gurgle... gurgle...


    The central toilet emitted a strange, eerie groan, prompting me to immediately shut off all the pipe valves.


    Just in the nick of time.


    I narrowly avoided a sewage backup flooding the entire bunker.


    That would have turned my haven into a literal cesspool.


    But this was just the tip of the iceberg.


    The massive downpour was pressing down on everything beneath it with merciless weight.


    Splat, splat, splat.


    In the afternoon, I heard the sound of a landslide.


    It wasn¡¯t near the decoy bunker but across the valley, where weak ground composed of dead and young trees had given way and spilled downhill.


    Countless worries raced through my mind.


    The worst-case scenario was flooding.


    If the underground food storage or generator were submerged, it would spell certain doom for me.


    Throughout the storm, I kept vigilant, darting between the second and third underground levels, the garage, and the main bunker to check for leaks.


    I had to give my past self some credit.


    Even under over 300mm of torrential rain, my bunker stood firm.


    But it wasn¡¯t without damage.


    The first floor, directly connected to the outside, was inevitably flooded.


    Though the water only reached ankle height, it was enough to make living in the bunker nearly impossible.


    The stench was the worst part.


    While I had managed to prevent sewage from directly backing up, the septic tank had filled with rainwater, causing its contents to spill everywhere. Some of that waste had mixed with other rainwater and seeped into the bunker, spreading a foul, damp odor.


    The rain let up momentarily, and I stepped outside to survey the sky.


    Though the downpour paused, the skies remained overcast, and the monsoon showed no signs of abating.


    I checked the decoy bunker.


    Despite my exhausting reinforcement efforts, it hadn¡¯t collapsed but had essentially turned into a water tank.


    Sigh.


    Grasping the shovel tightly, I felt the weight of humanity¡¯s insignificance in the face of nature.


    Thunk.


    My next target was the entrance to the main bunker, which I had previously buried with the excavator.


    I needed to reopen it.


    For drainage, for ventilation¡ªthere was no other choice.


    Without reopening this door, I had no idea how to expel the water and foul air.


    Even with a decent ventilation system, nothing beats having the door wide open.


    Thunk.


    Thankfully, the ground had softened, making digging easier. Soon, the sturdy front door of my home came into view.


    Here¡¯s an obscure fact: engraved on the solid steel door, in small letters, is the name Park Gyu.


    It¡¯s a sort of nameplate.@@@@


    I¡¯d seen nameplates on houses while strolling through residential areas in the past and decided to imitate the idea. Not that many people would notice it.


    Anyway, as I pushed open the heavy door, a blast of hot, humid, foul-smelling air rushed out, revealing the staircase that descended endlessly below.


    Carefully, I made my way down and began draining the water.


    Vroooom...


    Purchasing a drainage pump had been a stroke of genius.


    It felt like ordering a side dish at a restaurant only to find it tastier than the main course.


    I had bought the pump for cleaning the septic tank, never imagining it would perform so admirably.


    Sure enough, our trusted Gija Yangban (Reporter Guy) shared an update from Incheon.


    gijayangban: ¡°Current flood-related missing persons: over 50,000.¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°Government has stopped counting.¡±


    There were no photos or other evidence, but everyone believed him.


    They believed him because they had experienced the devastation firsthand.


    Flooding in a well-built apartment protected by aluminum frames was one thing; being waist-deep in water was another entirely.


    And this time, more people had experienced the latter.


    Vroooom!


    Next to the decoy bunker, the pump hummed as it worked tirelessly to drain water.


    Even though I¡¯d been working throughout the monsoon, the tasks seemed endless.


    Cleaning the water tank, repairing the groundwater pump, clearing clogged drains, drying, organizing¡ªit was an unending list.


    ¡°....¡±


    Moments like this brought the temptation to give up on everything.


    To escape into drugs or alcohol, living recklessly like so many others.


    But I couldn¡¯t afford that.


    There were still things I wanted to see.


    In the far south, on Jeju Island, my former colleagues were closing the Rifts.


    I wanted to see their results.


    Of course, it wouldn¡¯t be easy.


    Rain or shine, I was still on the Legion faction¡¯s radar and could be attacked at any time.


    Even draining the decoy bunker¡¯s water was just another desperate act to stay alive.


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    Something wriggled out of the damp earth.


    It was a cicada nymph.


    It wasn¡¯t fully grown, but the chaotic weather must have pushed it out prematurely for an early glimpse of adulthood.


    I picked it up and tossed it back into the soil before turning my gaze to the decoy bunker.


    Suddenly, a thought struck me.


    Was I so different from this cicada?


    Cicadas spend nearly seven years living underground, preparing to molt. Once they emerge, they live briefly, crying and mating before dying.


    This decoy bunker was no different.


    It had been built solely for one moment¡ªa grand performance.


    A dramatic bang! before collapsing under the Legion faction¡¯s eyes.


    Until then, it would remain in waiting.


    No one knew how long it would have to wait.


    Defender might be right; perhaps the Legion faction would never come.


    If that were the case, it meant I¡¯d have to endlessly maintain and repair a bunker built to collapse someday, all for an enemy that might never arrive.


    What if that waiting stretched beyond seven years?


    ¡°...Mimimi.¡±


    Just like a cicada.


    SKELTON: Mimimi... The rain is too much. So exhausting. Mimimi....


    dongtanmom: Yum yum... Why are you copying me? Yum yum....


    SKELTON: Mimimi... Shut up, Mimimi....


    dongtanmom: Yum yum... That¡¯s rude... If you met me in person, you wouldn¡¯t dare say that. Yum!


    SKELTON: Mimimi... I¡¯m a Level 18 Awakened. Wanna fight IRL? Mimimi....


    It was all just to mess with dongtanmom, or rather, Baek Seung-hyun.


    Message from defender: ¡°Skelton? Have you finally lost it?¡±


    Message from Anonymous848: ¡°What¡¯s this? Did the rain make you snap?¡±


    Message from mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Yomnyomnyom~?¡±


    Message from gijayangban: ¡°?¡±


    The reactions around me were universally shocked.


    I admit, it was a bizarre concept even by my standards.


    But it was just stress relief.


    That surge of impulsive energy that sometimes takes over and makes you act crazy.


    Perhaps it was inevitable.


    I had been harboring a grudge against Baek Seung-hyun for so long that my pent-up stress finally burst out.


    However, my strange antics seemed to resonate with someone unexpected.


    iamjesus: ¡°Mimimi....¡±


    One of the four self-proclaimed lunatics of the board, iamjesus, had taken to my concept.


    So far, so good.


    It¡¯s natural for one lunatic to be drawn to another, like magnets attracting each other.


    The problem was the photo he attached.


    ¡°...Hm?¡±


    The photo showed the interior of a dark bunker.


    It was a grim scene of poverty, littered with explicit adult items, and a man who looked downright pitiful.


    It would have been an ordinary, miserable photo if not for the eerie glow in his eyes and the halo-like grayish light shining behind him.


    I recognized the phenomenon immediately.


    ¡°Alpha Awakening.¡±


    A distinct phenomenon that occurs when a high-level Awakened becomes conscious of their power.


    Unlike other Awakened, they exude an otherworldly brilliance, as though proclaiming to the world that they¡¯ve been chosen by a higher power.


    iamjesus: ¡°Mimimi... What¡¯s happening to me? Mimimi....¡±


    It seemed that a divine power had chosen one of the board¡¯s outcast lunatics.

 Chapter 46.1

    There¡¯s a term called Oldbie.


    It¡¯s used to refer to veteran members in contrast to Newbies, the newcomers. It¡¯s a term often seen in internet communities and games.


    I, Park Gyu, am undeniably an Oldbie of the Viva! Apocalypse! Korean forum. While there were gaps in my activity, I was one of the earliest adopters who registered for the service when it first launched.


    Because of that, I pride myself on knowing the forum¡¯s history and evolution quite well.


    The forum¡¯s atmosphere has shifted over time, reflecting the state of the world. Broadly, it can be divided into three distinct eras: before the war, during the early days of the war, and one year after the war began.


    Before the war, the forum was an intellectual and academic space. It was a gathering place for mature users who debated survival strategies and post-apocalypse scenarios. Discussions were refined and thoughtful, shaped by the social decorum of older adults.


    This era¡¯s most representative figure was none other than John Nae-non.


    The second era was the Age of Chaos.


    It was a time when pre-war values clashed with the violence and confusion of the early stages of collapse. Sophisticated users, accustomed to academic debates, began blending into the internet¡¯s rough-and-tumble culture.


    The third era is what I call the Age of Adaptation.


    This is the era we are living in now.


    By this time, everyone had grown accustomed to the despair of the apocalypse and the rules of online discourse. Failnet users had also integrated into our community, creating the liveliest period in the forum¡¯s history.


    We are in the Age of Adaptation, where everyone knows how to navigate the internet and blend into its culture.


    But during the Age of Chaos, many users were still fragile and unaccustomed to the harshness of internet culture.


    Looking back now, it seems insignificant, but back then, there were four so-called "forum maniacs" who stood out:


    The Murderer, the Schizophrenic, the Attention-Seeker, and the Cultist.


    The Murderer eventually evolved into Defender, a well-known user.


    The Schizophrenic and the Attention-Seeker both died.


    The last one, the Cultist, degraded into something akin to forum debris¡ªsomething no one paid attention to anymore.


    That last one was IamJesus.


    He was a user who would quote Bible verses at every turn, spew nonsense about the Rapture, and eventually faded into obscurity.


    In a way, he became something like an NPC¡ªa background character no one cared about.


    But then, he awakened.


    Like a prophet, his eyes began to glow with a radiant light.


    He became an Awakened.


    Not just any Awakened, but one so high-level that even the factions in Jeju Island would welcome him with open arms.


    This story begins when I started taking an interest in IamJesus, the user who had been relegated to the sidelines.


    *


    It was a year and a half ago when I first began to pay attention to IamJesus.


    When will the Rapture of the believers occur?Armageddon = A war of otherworldly beings on Earth.The zombie apocalypse was foretold in Zephaniah 1:17.Dinner tonight.Progress in today¡¯s game.It hurts.Super Mario Time Attack.


    It wasn¡¯t a happy life.


    I didn¡¯t feel compelled to approach him.


    And honestly, IamJesus himself resisted connection.


    I once saw another user, RealKorean, attempt to engage with him:


    Conversation with RealKorean


    RealKorean: "Hey. How long are you going to post this stuff? Your taste in games is similar to mine."IamJesus: [No response.]


    RealKorean, known for his disdain for refugees, lived somewhere near Paju. Like others from that region, he eventually disappeared without a trace. Before vanishing, he tried multiple times to reach out to IamJesus, but the latter never reciprocated.


    Final message from RealKorean


    RealKorean: "Ignoring me?"


    That short, sharp comment marked the end of his attempts to connect with IamJesus.


    It was ironic.


    Someone who craved attention enough to endlessly post on the forum would retreat like a turtle when someone extended a hand.


    After RealKorean gave up, IamJesus returned to his routine: posting Bible verses, speculations about the Rapture, and snippets of his mundane life.


    White noise.


    And so, my interest in him waned. I stopped paying attention.


    But then, the "white noise" became the center of the forum¡¯s universe.


    When IamJesus posted a photo that revealed his newfound radiance, reactions were mixed.


    Forum Reactions


    Anonymous848: "What the hell is that?!"Anonymous458: "Did he swallow some radioactive material?"Anonymous121: "Is that a TikTok filter? You know, that cheap Chinese video app."Foxgames: "???"


    Others, however, recognized the phenomenon:


    Dies_irae69: "Can I message you? This is important."Anonymous777: "Wow."CrunchRoll: "Check your DMs."dongtanmom: "Yum."armeegruppe_B: "Achtung!"inevitable: "Congratulations. You¡¯ve awakened."gijayangban: "!"


    Even I could tell what had happened.


    This was the hallmark of Alpha Awakening¡ªan event where high-level Awakened individuals exude an extraordinary aura, signaling their chosen status to the world.


    Suddenly, IamJesus, the madman no one cared about, had become the most sought-after person on the forum.


    Private Messages to IamJesus


    Dies_irae69: "You¡¯ve awakened an incredible power. Join us. We¡¯ll protect you."inevitable: "Have you heard of the Universal Convergence Religion?"CrunchRoll: "Here¡¯s what we can offer."dongtanmom: "Need porn?"armeegruppe_B: "Do you want to be a hero?"gijayangban: "Help me with my story?"


    Yet, true to his eccentric nature, IamJesus responded by posting screenshots of these messages for everyone to see.


    The forum exploded.


    In the midst of the chaos, I, too, sent a message.


    My Message


    SKELTON: "Mimimimi."


    It was impulsive, something I sent without much thought.


    But then, something surprising happened.


    Response from IamJesus


    IamJesus: "Mimimimi."


    The very man who had ignored powerful players and shady organizations had answered me.

 Chapter 46.2

    It was a memory from long ago, so distant I could barely recall it.


    I believe it was a Thursday.


    A world of ash-gray skies.


    Beyond the horizon, countless colossal monsters swarmed¡ªa realm of nightmares.


    I vividly remember the radio chatter that reached me as I lay broken, my arms and legs shattered, unable to move in that forsaken place.


    Radio Transmission:


    "What¡¯s the Professor¡¯s life signal?""It¡¯s not showing. Too much noise in the rift.""Should we keep searching?""Let¡¯s check one more time.""No, I¡¯m against it. The Professor¡¯s dead. If he were alive, he would¡¯ve contacted us by now.""The Professor isn¡¯t dead.""Even if he¡¯s alive, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s worth risking our lives to save him. Fool, you¡¯re the leader now. Give the retreat order.""Minerva... No, Hye-in... How can you say that? Have you forgotten how Park Gyu saved you?""He¡¯s the one who said it, didn¡¯t he? ¡®The incompetent have no place in our war.¡¯ Now, he¡¯s become one of them. What? Do you want to deny it? Think about our value. We¡¯re worth more now than thousands like him.""Fool, what¡¯s your decision? An electromagnetic storm is coming¡ª a big one.""...We¡¯re retreating."


    I was abandoned.


    The reason? I was deemed worthless.


    A year earlier, who would¡¯ve believed it?


    Once considered a candidate for the world¡¯s greatest hunter, now labeled as useless.


    To die there might have tied up the story of Park Gyu with a bitter lesson¡ªa finality steeped in regret.


    But I came back alive.


    I reset my broken bones and dosed myself with painkillers just shy of a lethal amount, dragging my body across the terrain until I reached the patrol routes of the exploration team.


    For nearly a month, I survived on emergency rations, enduring hunger as I waited for the next expedition.


    By the time I was found, my weight had dropped from 81 kilograms to 45.


    But my resolve hadn¡¯t diminished in the slightest.


    Even then, I clung to my pride and dignity as the ¡°Professor,¡± an elite.


    I refused to accept that I was worthless and volunteered for the artificial Awakening enlightenment trials.


    This was the same extreme ordeal that claimed the lives of countless children, now known as the mental resonance test.


    I attempted it three times, failing each.


    One attempt left me comatose, confined to a hospital bed for a month, with no memory of the time that had passed.


    Looking at my emaciated arms, I finally closed my eyes and admitted the truth.


    Park Gyu was an ordinary man.


    A human unworthy of confronting the infinity that lay beyond the rift.


    I stared blankly at the sticker affixed to the corner of my room.


    It was black, hung next to one bearing Suu¡¯s name.


    Black¡ªthe color of incompetence.


    It also symbolized my lingering obsession.


    A glaring reminder that I was still desperate for power, despite being declared unworthy.


    Message from IamJesus:


    Mimimimi.


    While I was comatose, I heard that Woo Min-hee and others had awakened as Awakened beings.


    I didn¡¯t know the exact details, but the rumors intrigued me.


    They said that Awakened beings could draw others into their fold.


    Like an exemplary mentor inspiring those around them, a powerful Awakened could guide others toward enlightenment simply by proximity.


    Woo Min-hee had been an apprentice to the Savior, Na Hye-in.


    Once, Min-hee asked me why I didn¡¯t ask for help.


    I could have.


    I could have begged to glean even a sliver of understanding, just by staying near the greatest of that era, known as the Savior.


    But back then, I was a different person.


    Despite opportunities, I didn¡¯t seize them and chose to retire instead.


    More than five years have passed since then.


    I¡¯ve changed¡ªif only a little.


    I¡¯m now in my thirties, learning to navigate relationships and the dynamics of living among others.@@@@


    ...And so on.


    It was undeniable. IamJesus was now the undisputed name in Viva! Apocalypse!, a literal deity among us.


    Yet, despite this seismic shift, IamJesus himself remained unchanged. He continued posting cryptic Bible verses no one ever read. But the world is a fickle place.


    IamJesus: ¡°Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the years approach when you will say, ¡®I find no pleasure in them.¡¯¡±


    Whenever he posted, a chorus of replies followed:


    ??: ¡°IamMen~¡±


    ??: ¡°IamMen~¡±


    ??: ¡°IamMen.¡±


    ??: ¡°JeeMen.¡±


    DongtanMom: ¡°NyaMen~¡±


    His following had grown into a devoted congregation.


    Even as underground factions continued their courtship of IamJesus, the offers became increasingly absurd:


    CrunchRoll: ¡°Let me lay it all out. I¡¯m a gang boss in the southern provinces. My gang¡¯s got 1,200 members, tons of women, drugs, booze, games¡ªyou name it. You love games, right? I¡¯ve got every damn Mario game ever made.¡±


    Dies_Irae69: ¡°We don¡¯t have much to offer, honestly. But if you want a family, come to us. We¡¯ll be your family.¡±


    Armeegruppe_B: ¡°You know the Legion, right? Join us. We¡¯ll make you a general instantly.¡±


    DongtanMom: ¡°Nya...¡±


    But IamJesus, possessing an iron will, refused to waver. No matter how tempting the offers, he stood firm, resembling Christ himself resisting Satan¡¯s temptations in the desert. Even the Defender siblings couldn¡¯t hide their amazement.


    ¡°Wow, I thought he was just a nutjob, but this is incredible. Skelton, you seeing this?¡±


    Da-jeong was ecstatic.


    Even Defender couldn¡¯t help but admire him. ¡°Man... this guy¡¯s something else.¡±


    However, Defender soon voiced his characteristic concerns.


    ¡°Still, don¡¯t you think this could get dangerous for him?¡±


    And he was right. It wasn¡¯t just online factions vying for IamJesus. They¡¯d undoubtedly scour every post he¡¯d ever made, trying to pinpoint his location to claim the rare prize of an Alpha Awakener.


    I asked Defender, the expert in hunting people, for his opinion.


    ¡°How do you think they¡¯ll track him down? Can they locate him based on the photos?¡±


    ¡°I looked at a few. Aside from the... uh, adult toys, there¡¯s nothing incriminating. He doesn¡¯t seem cautious¡ªjust never leaves his bunker.¡±


    ¡°Got it. By the way, has Justice Min been bothering him?¡±


    ¡°Nah, not recently. That guy hasn¡¯t posted anything in ages, so it¡¯s hard to tell what he¡¯s planning. But I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if he¡¯s searching for IamJesus, too.¡±


    ¡°So, there are more fans than we think?¡±


    ¡°Of course. You know how valuable an Alpha Awakener is. Didn¡¯t you have people like Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in in your cohort?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, they were there.¡±


    ¡°How were they?¡±


    I recalled that day¡ªthe day I witnessed their ¡°transformation.¡± It wasn¡¯t like IamJesus, with glowing eyes and radiant halos. Instead, the world itself seemed to shift around them, as if bathed in an indescribable light.


    But there was one thing that stood out: a small flame in their hands. It felt as if it held the weight of humanity itself.


    ¡°...They were a level above IamJesus, I¡¯d say.¡±


    Still, tracking him down wouldn¡¯t be easy. According to Defender, satellite-based networking made pinpointing someone¡¯s location nearly impossible without ¡°Melon Mask¡±-level authority.


    The real issue was IamJesus himself. How long could he resist the temptations? His frail body, his impoverished diet¡ªit was a recipe for disaster.


    Then, one day, he messaged me.


    IamJesus: Mam... ?


    A tear emoji. It spoke volumes.


    Skelton: (Skelton Concern) Maaaaaaam?!


    IamJesus opened up, something he rarely did.


    IamJesus: I¡¯m hurt and hungry... ??


    He was reaching out¡ªnot to the gangs, not to the religious cults, but to me.


    Skelton: Where are you?


    I knew what I had to do. This wasn¡¯t just about altruism¡ªI needed him, too. My heart remained in the battlefield.


    If he could give me the strength to return, I¡¯d gladly become his disciple.

 Chapter 46.3

    Unlike Seoul, which had relatively well-prepared evacuation facilities and plans, rural areas lacked the manpower and resources to implement any proper contingency plans. Among these numerous cities, one particularly unlucky place stood out.


    Around the outbreak of the war, a small monster infiltrated the city and killed an unfortunate victim. Coincidentally, this monster turned out to be a necromancer-type creature that reanimated its victims as zombies. While nuclear strikes, chemical weapons, and all manners of mass destruction rained down on Korea, this city quietly transformed into a city of the dead.


    And on the outskirts of this dead city, now referred to as Jephungho City, lived IAmJesus.


    The distant sound of zombie howls echoed through the air.


    Even on the city¡¯s outskirts, the eerie chorus of the undead filled the atmosphere. Why zombies howl like wolves remains unknown. Scientists theorized that their degenerated brains occasionally triggered vocal cords to produce primitive sounds by sheer coincidence. Personally, I wasn¡¯t sure about that theory.


    From what I¡¯ve encountered, zombies aren¡¯t all that different from wild beasts, though they seem to retain fragmented remnants of their memories from when they were alive.


    The hum of my motorcycle engine came to a stop.


    Regardless of Baek Seung-hyun''s questionable character, his gift¡ªa motorcycle¡ªwas proving extremely useful. It ran on almost any fuel, handled rugged terrain well, and had remarkable power. I had to admit, I was a little envious when I saw him riding it around.


    I gently tapped the ¡°White Beauty,¡± which was now my trusted steed, and rechecked the address.


    The location was on the outskirts of a town¡ªan odd mix of cafes, warehouses, small factories, farmhouses, studio apartments, and tire shops. Somewhere among this mishmash of buildings lay IAmJesus¡¯ bunker.


    A few zombies wandered in the distance.


    Hissss!


    I sprayed myself with so-called ¡°zombie spray.¡± It had a minty scent, supposedly something zombies instinctively avoided. While its actual effectiveness was questionable, humans tend to cling to even the faintest glimmer of hope in desperate situations.


    What I trusted far more than zombie spray was the heavy two-handed hammer slung over my shoulder.


    Unlike axes, which dull quickly and have limited range, hammers don¡¯t lose their edge, and they can take out zombies almost indefinitely¡ªas long as you get the first hit.


    The method was simple:


    Sneak up behind a zombie,


    WHAM!


    Smash the back of its skull with all your might.


    Zombies, after all, are animated corpses kept alive by mutation-inducing factors. They still rely on brains and nervous systems to function.


    The first zombie I struck¡ªa young woman dressed in a fashionable outfit¡ªshuddered violently before collapsing.


    Was she attacked during a date?


    Dwelling on such thoughts wasn¡¯t productive when dealing with zombies. I quickly erased her appearance from my memory and moved on to the next target.


    WHAM! Second zombie down.


    WHAM! Third one.


    After dealing with several more, I finally reached the area surrounding IAmJesus¡¯ bunker.


    It was a lot surrounded by a makeshift wall. To the right stood a single-story chicken restaurant; to the left, a two-story adult store. Beyond the crumbling wall lay heaps of construction materials¡ªpipes and rebar, either discarded or left behind by some unscrupulous contractor.


    Poking out of the rubble were short, red-painted stakes.


    Ventilation shafts.


    There were also various wires and pipes burrowing underground¡ªclear signs of a bunker.


    Here in zombie territory, this setup worked. Anywhere else, though, IAmJesus would have likely been discovered and killed long ago.


    As I prepared to climb over the makeshift wall,


    ¡°Grrrrr!¡±


    Two shadows lunged at me from the blind spot.


    Zombies.


    SQUELCH! SQUELCH!


    I swiftly swung my hammer, dropping the pair before they could even touch me.


    One was a man in a suit; the other, a woman in high-end designer clothes. Pulling my embedded hammer out of their crushed skulls, I wiped off the gore on their once-fine attire and listened carefully.


    The distant howls of zombies persisted, but there was no immediate response to my attack.


    Some nearby zombies stirred, their movements sluggish and disinterested. Eventually, they staggered off in different directions.


    Taking a deep breath, I approached the entrance to IAmJesus¡¯ bunker.


    There was a wooden plank covering the hatch. It was thick with layers of dirt and dust¡ªclearly untouched for years.


    Had he really stayed inside without coming out even once?


    I pushed aside my brief moment of doubt and pried up the plank, revealing a steel hatch underneath.


    Using the axe handle, I knocked on the hatch in a prearranged rhythm:


    Bang-bang... Bang-bang-bang... Bang-bang-bang-bang.


    Our agreed-upon signal.


    Holding my breath, I waited for a response.


    ¡°Sk-Skelton?¡±


    His voice was faint and trembling.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me.¡±


    Click.


    The locks disengaged.


    ¡°Sorry... I¡¯m too weak to open it myself.¡±


    With a grunt, I lifted the heavy hatch myself, revealing a ladder leading down into the darkness.


    Carefully descending, I kept my pistol ready in case of an ambush.


    But the real threat wasn¡¯t an attacker¡ªit was the stench.


    ¡°Ugh!¡±


    It was beyond words.


    Not the smell of rotting flesh, but the overwhelming stench of a living person who had long neglected hygiene.


    It was the pinnacle of human-generated foulness.


    Spraying some zombie repellant near my nose, I steeled myself and continued down.


    At the bottom of the ladder, holding a dimly lit phone as a makeshift flashlight, stood a man hunched over.


    I¡¯d decided to take him to my territory.


    I wasn¡¯t entirely sure how I¡¯d handle him, but he deserved the chance.


    The sniper mother-and-daughter duo would just have to tolerate some minor inconvenience.


    ¡°Where?¡±


    IAmJesus asked, looking bewildered.


    ¡°To my place. It¡¯s bigger and nicer than this. The air is fresh, and there aren¡¯t any zombies.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    He stared at me in silence.


    The faintly glowing pupils in his hollow eyes fixed on me for a long moment.


    ¡°Can you move my computer and satellite equipment?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What about my gaming console?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    Moving all of it would have been impossible on a bicycle, but the motorcycle could manage. His console was one of those ancient ROM cartridge-style devices from thirty years ago.


    He owned dozens of those cartridges¡ªclassic games.


    ¡°You can¡¯t take all of them,¡± I said.


    ¡°Oh, okay...¡±


    ¡°Pick five.¡±


    ¡°Can I take six?¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    That seemed to satisfy him. But then, there was one more thing.


    ¡°...My dad¡¯s church.¡±


    As he gathered one of the grotesque adult toys and stuffed it into his pocket, he spoke.


    ¡°Can you take me to my dad¡¯s church?¡±


    Annoyance flared up within me.


    ¡°Where is it?¡±


    There was a slight edge in my voice.


    At even that faint sharpness, he flinched like a startled animal and avoided my gaze.


    ¡°N-nevermind...¡±


    This wouldn¡¯t do.


    He was afraid of me.


    After all the effort I¡¯d put into building a connection, if he started fearing and avoiding me, it would ruin everything.


    ¡°Where is it? If it¡¯s possible, I¡¯ll take you.¡±


    I softened my tone as much as I could, speaking gently.


    He turned his glowing eyes back toward me, his hands fidgeting nervously before he finally spoke.


    ¡°Downtown.¡±


    ¡°Downtown is swarming with zombies.¡±


    ¡°Y-yeah, I guess so...¡±


    Disappointment clouded his frail features.


    For a brief moment, I thought I understood one of the things that had eaten away at his sanity.


    He must have been desperate for news of his family.


    Yet, he couldn¡¯t step outside, couldn¡¯t open the hatch, and couldn¡¯t even attempt to break through the hordes of zombies.


    Trapped between the longing to know and the inability to act, IAmJesus had become the bizarre recluse of the forums.


    ¡°Where is it?¡±


    It was dangerous¡ªI knew that.


    But if granting him this small wish could help, it might be worth it.


    Even if only to achieve my own larger goals.


    ¡°Where is it? Let me check it out first.¡±


    Of course, I¡¯d back out if it was too risky.


    ¡°R-really?¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s possible.¡±


    The key was to show sincerity.


    It was far better to physically demonstrate why something was impossible than to just say no.


    ¡°Ah, okay!¡±


    He showed me a picture.


    The church was excessively large and lavish, resembling a palace adorned with a cross.


    The moment I saw it, memories of a pre-war news story surfaced.


    It was one of those pseudo-religious cults labeled heretical by the mainstream Presbyterian Church.


    I didn¡¯t know the exact details, but I remembered hearing about the cult leader¡¯s unspeakable crimes against female followers. The story was so infamous it had reached even someone like me, who barely paid attention to the news.


    Pointing to the grinning cult leader in the photo, IAmJesus said,


    ¡°That¡¯s my dad.¡±


    The glow in his eyes carried a mix of emotions¡ªlove, hate, and everything in between.

 Chapter 46.4

    I stepped out of the bunker and scanned the area.


    Nothing unusual caught my attention.


    The rifle hanging on the side of the motorcycle drew my gaze.


    Despite Defender''s advice, I couldn¡¯t shake the concern that there might be competitors out there.


    Those are far more dangerous than zombies.


    The worst-case scenario would be an ambush while I escort IamJesus out of the bunker.


    If that happened, surviving would be nearly impossible.


    Thankfully, there were no signs of an ambush, not even a hint of human presence.


    It was probably just needless worry, but I¡¯d rather be overly cautious than too relaxed.


    ¡°You can come out now.¡±


    A trembling hand extended over the ladder, holding out a bundle of belongings.


    Inside were a satellite terminal, a laptop, and a retro gaming console.


    Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s motorcycle had ample storage compartments on the front, rear, and sides of the frame.


    The elongated satellite receiver, which jutted out like a spire, was the only thing that didn¡¯t fit neatly and had to be propped diagonally in the rear compartment.


    ¡°Come on, climb out.¡±


    IamJesus was still inside the bunker.


    To be exact, he clung to the ladder at the entrance, where the bunker met the outside world.


    His frail body looked like a cicada larva clinging to a tree.


    Cicada larvae shed their skin while hanging like that, but this guy? Well, in a way, you could say he¡¯s undergone his own metamorphosis.


    ¡°Are you staying in there?¡±


    Those wide, glowing eyes said it all.


    ¡°C-can you give me a hand?¡±


    IamJesus¡¯s trembling voice cracked as he spoke.


    I grabbed his bony hand and pulled him out into the world.


    He stood there, looking shocked, taking in the outside world with wide, unblinking eyes.


    ¡°...¡±


    I waited for him to settle down while checking the map.


    Fortunately, the church wasn¡¯t far¡ªjust about 2 kilometers.


    However, I couldn¡¯t forget that this area was infested with zombies.


    The closer we got to the city center, the more zombies we¡¯d encounter.


    When zombies swarm together, smashing them isn¡¯t effective.


    Unless I had superhuman strength to knock down five zombies at once, I¡¯d need to switch to other weapons.


    In the end, firearms are the answer.


    But firearms are a double-edged sword.


    If you shoot one zombie, ten more will come. Kill ten, and hundreds will swarm you.


    Without Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s motorcycle, I wouldn¡¯t even dare to enter this area.


    ¡°Ahhh!¡±


    As I reviewed the route, a sudden scream rang out behind me.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    I turned to see IamJesus sitting on the ground, pointing at a makeshift wall with a look of utter terror.


    ¡°A-a-a corpse!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a zombie.¡±


    ¡°A zombie?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. They were here when I came in.¡±


    I helped him back to his feet.


    ¡°D-did you... did you kill them, Skelton?¡±


    IamJesus stared at the two collapsed zombies with trembling eyes.


    Both had their heads split open by an axe, grayish fluid oozing out.


    Despite his fear, he cautiously approached the zombies, his wide eyes fixed on them.


    ¡°It¡¯s my first time... seeing a zombie.¡±


    ¡°Seriously?¡±


    ¡°Seeing one in person, yeah.¡±


    He stared intently at the zombie wearing a suit.


    ¡°D-did you kill it, Skelton?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It tried to kill me.¡±


    ¡°Are you good at fighting?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good enough to protect myself.¡±


    I checked my watch. It was around 3 p.m.


    It was time to start worrying about sunset.


    We had to finish our business and leave this city before nightfall.


    Everyone, even children, knows zombies are nocturnal.


    But IamJesus couldn¡¯t seem to take his eyes off the zombie corpse in the suit.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°N-nothing.¡±


    Even as he replied, his gaze stayed fixed on the corpse.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stare at it too long. Zombies are just reanimated corpses. Fixating on them messes with your head.¡±


    ¡°Got it, Skelton.¡±


    I thought about handing him a weapon but stopped myself.


    A pistol seemed reasonable, but someone this nervous might end up shooting me instead of a zombie.


    It¡¯s a dark comedy you see all too often¡ªpeople killing their allies out of panic rather than their enemies.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go before it gets too late.¡±


    The city of the dead was eerily silent.


    The roads were blocked with debris and abandoned cars, but the buildings lining the streets were in surprisingly good condition.


    Some shops even looked as if they hadn¡¯t changed much since before the war, giving the area a surreal, time-frozen quality.


    If not for the occasional zombie visible on the street, I might¡¯ve been tempted to walk into one of the shops, like an audio equipment store.


    Even the best beatboxing is wasted if the microphone sucks.


    ¡°Can¡¯t we just ride the motorcycle through here?¡±


    IamJesus asked, his eyes still filled with fear as he scanned the streets.


    We were pushing the motorcycle as we approached the city center.


    It couldn¡¯t be helped.


    The engine noise could attract zombies.


    Thankfully, the city was mostly flat, making it easy to roll the motorcycle along.


    ¡°Zombies might hear the sound and swarm us.¡±


    There were only two times when I¡¯d start the motorcycle here: when heading home or when zombies started pouring out of buildings.


    ¡°Hold up.¡±


    There was a zombie in our path.


    According to a manual distributed by schools, zombies had vision but couldn¡¯t process information properly.


    Even if they saw something move in the distance, they wouldn¡¯t react unless their brain registered it as a target.


    ¡°Serves him right. He didn¡¯t listen to me, and this is what happened. That bald idiot. I told him everyone would die once the war broke out, but he wouldn¡¯t listen. Never.¡±


    It was a scene I¡¯d seen countless times¡ªsomeone cursing their own family after losing them.


    I let him vent.


    If it eased his living heart even a little, it was a small price for the dead to pay.


    I stayed silent as IamJesus turned to look at me, his glowing eyes filled with an eerie light.


    ¡°You know my dad was a piece of s**t, right?¡±


    ¡°Your dad?¡±


    ¡°You know, don¡¯t you? There¡¯s not a single person in Korea who doesn¡¯t.¡±


    I studied his face and slowly nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard bits and pieces.¡±


    Hearing that, IamJesus let out a derisive snort and fixed his gaze on the ruined church, spewing venomous words like a blade.


    ¡°My dad used to claim he could hear Jesus talking to him directly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impressive.¡±


    ¡°Impressive? He was a f*ing lunatic. It was all bullst. But that bulls**t worked on some rich old hag, and then her friends bought into it, and that¡¯s how this whole thing got so big. It used to be just a tiny little startup church.¡±


    IamJesus stared into the empty air, his expression twisted with bitterness.


    ¡°I mean, who the hell does he think he is, huh? Why would Jesus talk to some bastard who raped middle school girls?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all because they didn¡¯t listen to me! I told them to evacuate. I told them, but no one listened...¡±


    After a torrent of curses, IamJesus crouched down, hugging his knees.


    I stood beside him, hammer in hand, scanning for any zombies lurking nearby.


    ¡°F***... that idiot... he should¡¯ve listened to me...¡±


    Tears began to stream down his face.


    At that moment, I understood.


    For all his hatred, he still loved his father.


    ¡°Do you want to go closer to the church?¡±


    The words left my mouth impulsively.


    But I won¡¯t deny that a sharp calculation lay beneath them.


    Getting this guy to calm down quickly and leading him out of this zombie-infested hellhole was my best option.


    IamJesus looked up at me, his tear-filled, glowing eyes locking onto mine as he extended his hand.


    ¡°Y-yeah.¡±


    I helped him to his feet.


    A ruin.


    We both gazed up at the crumbling remains of the church.


    Its grotesque skeleton reminded me of the Behemoth¡¯s corpse from the Bible¡ªa monstrous, desolate sight.


    I could see IamJesus¡¯s eyes gradually calming as he stared at the ruin.


    It seemed he was starting to accept reality.


    Deep down, he must¡¯ve already known.


    In nearly three years of continuous calamity, everything he knew had been destroyed.


    He was simply late in confirming it with his own eyes.


    ¡°Skelton.¡±


    He looked at me.


    It was time to leave.


    But then¡ª


    ¡°What?¡±


    His eyes began to shake violently.


    ¡°N-nuna?¡±


    I turned around.


    A zombie in a flowing dress was staggering toward us.


    There was no doubt about it.


    That zombie¡ªit was the woman in the photo frame.


    ¡°N-nuna...¡±


    She was undeniably beautiful.


    Even in her zombified state, traces of her charm remained.


    I could see why he would cling to her memory.


    But a zombie is a zombie.


    Whatever she might have been to him, she had to be dealt with.


    When should I kill her?


    Taking the lead and doing it immediately might be too much for him.


    I decided to wait and see.


    ¡°Nuna?¡±


    IamJesus began moving toward the zombie.


    ¡°Grrrr...¡±


    The zombie recognized him.


    It bared its teeth and lunged at him.


    ¡°Grrrrrrr!!!¡±


    IamJesus stood frozen, staring blankly at the zombie charging at him.


    ¡°N-nuna?¡±


    ¡°Your sister is dead.¡±


    I lunged forward with my hammer, ready to crush the zombie¡¯s skull.


    But before I could swing, a cold hand grabbed my wrist.


    It was thin and frail, yet it radiated an indescribable power.


    Boom!


    A shockwave erupted from IamJesus¡¯s chest, where his heart was.


    I felt my insides tremble and stopped in my tracks, staring at him.


    IamJesus shook his head at me.


    ¡°No.¡±


    He walked toward the zombie.


    ¡°My sister is alive.¡±


    I was witnessing a miracle.


    The zombie, which had been about to attack him, stopped.


    It stood still, watching the human approaching it.


    Almost as if it thought it was human, too.


    Boom!


    Another shockwave emanated from IamJesus¡¯s chest.


    The energy felt disturbingly similar to a monster¡¯s aura.


    ¡°...¡±


    Curiosity stirred within me.


    I wanted to see how this miracle would end.

 Chapter 46.5

    Nowadays, the byproducts emerging from rifts are considered mundane, but the monsters that appeared in the early days of the rifts were drastically different from what we know today.


    The first creatures to be labeled as monsters were interdimensional species that looked like pill bugs blown up to human size.


    These creatures didn¡¯t display hostility toward humans but had a habit of gnawing on everything around them. Coupled with their grotesque appearance, it wasn¡¯t long before people started calling them monsters.


    Their combat abilities were pitiful.


    Although they had hard exoskeletons, their toughness was only comparable to old tree bark. Their movements were sluggish, and most importantly, they lacked any concept of resistance. A grown man could easily beat one to death with a club.


    There were other types, but none posed a real threat to humanity.


    These early creatures were no different from the exotic species that Europeans discovered in Africa or Asia centuries ago. They¡¯ve since been reclassified as "native interdimensional species" rather than monsters. These beings marked the early days of the rifts.


    The monsters we know today came later.


    It was during the era when humans began "pioneering" beyond the rifts, sending expeditions to stake their claims and plant flags across interdimensional lands. The atmosphere beyond the rifts was shockingly similar to Earth¡¯s, and the seemingly infinite expanse of land was hailed as a blessing and an opportunity for humanity. At the time, it was widely believed that the otherworld posed no threat to humans.


    That¡¯s when they appeared.


    There¡¯s some debate over what the first aggressive interdimensional species was, but no one denies that necromancer-type beings were among the earliest.


    The fact that zombies were reported during those first attacks is documented with chilling precision in surviving video footage.


    The image of a reporter being devoured by zombies on live camera served as a grim announcement: the rifts weren¡¯t a blessing or an opportunity¡ªthey were the gateway to humanity¡¯s doom.


    Necromancer-types had the unique power to turn human corpses into aggressive mutations and command them like pawns on a chessboard.


    That ability has long been considered an exclusive trait of necromancer-types.


    But today, that theory may need to be discarded.


    ¡°Look at this,¡± IAmJesus said, pointing at the zombie standing motionless beside him.


    ¡°It¡¯s not doing anything.¡±


    Despite the presence of a living human right next to it, the zombie didn¡¯t move or even twitch.


    If this were the only phenomenon, skeptics might dismiss my claims, arguing that there was something wrong with the zombie itself or that, like awakened beings, zombies couldn¡¯t perceive certain individuals as enemies.


    But the next moment shattered any ground those arguments might have stood on.


    ¡°Noona. Follow me.¡±


    When IAmJesus gestured, the zombie obediently moved toward him.


    There was no doubt about it now.


    A human was controlling a zombie.


    ¡°They keep calling it a zombie, but I think differently,¡± IAmJesus said, glancing at the zombie standing docilely beside him.


    ¡°It feels alive. I don¡¯t know why, but my heart is telling me it¡¯s alive.¡±


    He reached out to touch the zombie¡¯s face.


    While its original features might have been beautiful, the pale gray skin and shriveled visage were undeniably that of a terrifying zombie.


    Yet IAmJesus gently caressed its face without hesitation.


    ¡°...Noona is alive,¡± he murmured.


    I couldn¡¯t help but feel sorry for him.


    Unconsciously, I had gripped the handle of my axe, and I hadn¡¯t loosened my hold for even a moment.


    Even now, I was prepared to act at the slightest sign of the zombie attacking him.


    ¡°Can¡¯t I take Noona with me?¡± he suddenly asked.


    I was momentarily stunned.


    ¡°...?¡±


    Take a zombie with him?


    What kind of lunatic would come up with that idea?


    Oh, right¡ªthere was a story like that on Failnet.


    Some recluse, not unlike IAmJesus, had been lucky enough to find a suitable shelter. One day, he discovered that an idol singer he¡¯d once admired had turned into a zombie. He brought her into his home.


    That story ended with the creation of a zombie couple.


    Expanding on that tale, the recluse, who had been afraid of the outside world, eventually stepped out of his home and began mingling with the very people he once feared. It became a bizarre story of reconciliation.


    ¡°Do you want to become a zombie too?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Are you afraid of her?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. She¡¯s a zombie.¡±


    ¡°No, I can control her just fine,¡± IAmJesus insisted stubbornly.


    It was absurd, but his argument wasn¡¯t entirely without merit, leaving me momentarily searching for a counterpoint.


    I looked around.


    Zombies were everywhere.


    Most of them stood dormant, swaying as if in a trance, occupying various spots on the main road. Some, however, turned their grayish, corpse-like eyes toward us, staring blankly.


    ¡°...¡±


    I had a bad feeling.


    My blood ran cold as I turned back to IAmJesus and spoke firmly.


    ¡°Let¡¯s say you¡¯re right, and this zombie is a person. Can it talk?¡±


    ¡°Talk?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the point of keeping it if you can¡¯t even communicate with it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need words to understand her. We share a connection.¡±


    I scoffed at his naive idealism.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re planning to use this zombie like one of the sex toys in your room.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not it!¡± IAmJesus protested, his eyes shaking violently.


    ¡°It¡¯s... it¡¯s Plastic Love! My connection with Noona is pure.¡±


    ¡°Plutonium?¡±


    ¡°Y-yeah! Plutonium Love! Wait, no, that¡¯s not it. Is that right? Did I say it wrong?¡±


    ¡°...Placebo?¡±


    ¡°No! It¡¯s pure love, okay? I¡¯d never do something like that to Noona... never.¡±


    Judging by the way his pale face had turned as red as a beet, he wasn¡¯t joking.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just get out of here.¡±


    ¡°Y-yeah!¡±


    And so, our odd little party was complete: a man, a motorcycle, a lunatic, and a zombie.


    Thwack!


    Nothing had changed.


    I continued clearing the path, scouting ahead, and dragging the motorcycle along.


    The only difference was that our group now included one zombie.


    After a while, we returned to the flower shop.


    IAmJesus began talking to the zombie.


    ¡°Noona, do you remember this place? You quit school and opened this shop, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    He poured his emotions into the conversation, but the zombie only stared blankly into the void with its cloudy, grayish eyes.


    We passed the flower shop and retraced our steps.


    Whenever we encountered a shop or landmark that triggered a memory, IAmJesus would stop and talk to the zombie.


    ¡°Noona, do you remember how good the bread here was? You bought it for me once. It was just a cheap red bean bun, but it was the best bread I¡¯ve ever had.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t we go out that night? You said you wanted to drive the Bentley. I took Dad¡¯s car out secretly, but you didn¡¯t read my message, so I went on a night drive alone...¡±


    This was no ordinary phenomenon.


    Let¡¯s consider what this could lead to.


    The immediate outcome that came to mind was this: restoring zombies to human form.


    Even this alone would be monumental.


    After all, the sheer number of humans still alive in this world was already overwhelming¡ªenough to become a trap in itself.


    But I knew something else.


    Something my mentor, Jang Ki-young, had taught me.


    He once demonstrated the potential of beings standing on the boundary between zombie and human.


    Awakened candidates.


    There are likely billions of zombies worldwide and at least a million within Korea alone.


    What if they could be restored to humanity?


    What if they, like my mentor, were ideal candidates for awakening?


    It could lead to a million new awakened.


    Set aside the risks for a moment¡ªthe fact remains that awakened individuals are humanity¡¯s most effective weapon against monsters.


    Awakened powers had once rendered even me, a top-tier hunter, obsolete on the battlefield.


    Right now, my comrades are fighting tooth and nail on Jeju Island, sacrificing countless lives to close the rifts.


    Woo Min-hee seems to have stayed behind specifically to supply combatants to those forces.


    What if we could reliably generate awakened individuals from zombies?


    We wouldn¡¯t even need a million¡ªjust a few thousand.


    With that, the tide of battle could shift.


    For a humanity doomed to extinction, it could offer a glimmer of survival.


    ¡°Load the zombie,¡± I ordered.


    Even if despair had once knocked me down, it hadn¡¯t broken my resolve.


    In the face of hope, I was always ready to stand and fight.


    ¡°Hurry!¡±


    I did what I had to do.


    ¡°W-where?¡±


    ¡°Shove it into the storage compartment!¡±


    I was a professional.


    ¡°And the equipment?¡±


    ¡°Dump it.¡±


    I was once called the best hunter among all.


    Thunk.


    The satellite equipment was discarded.


    But something far more valuable had taken its place in the storage compartment.


    ¡°Hold on tight.¡±


    And that, was hope.


    Vroom!


    The motorcycle roared to life, surging forward.


    Up ahead, countless zombies spilled out, blocking our path.


    We could take the slope beside the zombies and leap clear, but there was a risk of losing either our passengers or the cargo.


    ¡°Can¡¯t we do something?¡±


    The next moment¡ª


    Boom!


    A shockwave erupted from behind us.


    ¡°Argh!¡±


    I knew that the intensity of a shockwave increases the closer you are to its source, but this was my first time experiencing it while in direct contact.


    The impact was immense.


    It rattled my insides, made my head buzz, and...


    Boom!


    A second shockwave followed.


    ¡°...Gah!!¡±


    For an instant, my breath caught, and my vision went black.


    The sensation was unmistakable.


    It was the same jolt I felt during my psychic aptitude test.


    ¡°...¡±


    I couldn¡¯t see or hear anything.


    All I could feel was an endless sensation of falling, as if I were sinking into an infinite abyss.


    Far off in the distance, a grayish hue beckoned to me, as if calling my name.


    Was this the end?


    No.


    There was light.


    ¡°Skelton?!¡±


    An unfamiliar but distinctly recognizable, thin voice broke through.


    ¡°Gasp!¡±


    I snapped back to my senses.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    IAmJesus¡¯s worried voice came from behind me.


    ¡°...I¡¯m fine.¡±


    It felt like I had briefly glimpsed a grayish world.


    I quickly regained my composure and focused on the road ahead.


    The zombies were parting.


    They were obeying the commands of their savior.


    ¡°Ha...¡±


    I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and offered a genuine compliment to my companion.


    ¡°Well done.¡±


    But this was still the zombies¡¯ world.


    And every world has its king.


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    Each thunderous pulse distorted the space around us.


    Hovering in midair, surrounded by thousands of gray, malevolent zombies, stood the master of this city.


    A small, infiltrator-class necromancer-type monster.


    The ruler of this forsaken place.

 Chapter 46.6

    ¡°Grrraaah!¡±


    Directly beneath the hovering necromancer-type monster, Je Pung-ho, the chairman, stood amidst thousands of zombies, baring his teeth.


    ¡°Chairman.¡±


    I found myself muttering as I looked at him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s not do this.¡±


    But Je Pung-ho took the lead, charging toward us.


    Behind him, an infinite sea of zombies flooded the entire roadway, advancing on us with overwhelming force.


    ¡°Is there nothing you can do?!¡±


    I turned to IAmJesus in desperation.


    ¡°N-no! They¡¯re not listening to me!¡±


    His pale face was filled with despair as he stammered.


    ¡°I can¡¯t use my power¡ªnot now.¡±


    I understood what he feared.


    Every time he unleashed a shockwave, I¡¯d collapse, losing consciousness. He was terrified of that happening again.


    It was a reasonable concern.


    But stopping the motorcycle wasn¡¯t an option. Even if we dismounted, it was doubtful he¡¯d be able to command the zombie horde led by the true king.


    With no other choice, I swerved into reverse, dodging the incoming wave.


    Vrooooom!


    For a fleeting moment, I felt a hint of gratitude toward Baek Seung-hyun. The fact that this motorcycle could carry both me and two other beings¡ªone human, one zombie¡ªwhile still moving so powerfully was a testament to its build.


    But the road behind led deeper into the city center¡ªthe zombies¡¯ den.


    I quickly reconstructed the mental map I¡¯d memorized earlier.


    There was no escape route.


    Every potential path was flooded with an unmanageable number of zombies.


    ¡°...¡±


    If I were alone, I might have made it.


    If I ditched IAmJesus and his sister, the motorcycle would be lighter, allowing for faster, more agile maneuvers.


    But I couldn¡¯t abandon them.


    What I carried wasn¡¯t just flesh and blood¡ªit was the weight of humanity.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you do something?¡±


    At this point, all I could rely on was IAmJesus.


    I didn¡¯t believe in gods or saviors, but in this moment, I had faith in this immature boy.


    ¡°Yes! Wait!¡±


    IAmJesus¡¯s eyes darted around before lighting up with realization.


    ¡°My dad¡¯s church!¡±


    ¡°What about it?¡±


    ¡°The basement! Take us to the basement¡ªit should still be intact.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s an underground parking lot! Behind the church!¡±


    Vrooooom!


    At his words, I floored the gas and sped toward the back of the church.


    There it was¡ªa wide underground parking lot entrance, partially hidden beneath the rubble of the collapsed building.


    I plowed through the debris and descended directly into the parking lot.


    Click.


    I turned on the headlights, illuminating the scene.


    Corpses were strewn everywhere.


    These weren¡¯t zombies¡ªthey were unturned corpses. Likely former church members or people who¡¯d sought refuge here, only to die before they could reanimate.


    ¡°Go to B3! The third basement level!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a third floor?!¡±


    ¡°Yeah! There¡¯s a place I know down there!¡±


    The spot he mentioned turned out to be a dead end.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing here!¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡±


    He jumped off the motorcycle and felt along the wall.


    ¡°There it is!¡±


    With a press of a hidden button, a shutter camouflaged as a wall began to rise with a mechanical whir.


    Behind it was a small garage containing a pristine Bentley, untouched and without a single scratch.


    ¡°It¡¯s my dad¡¯s private garage.¡±


    We hurriedly parked the motorcycle in the empty space and closed the shutter.


    From beyond the underground walls, we could hear the sharp, echoing footsteps of approaching zombies, accompanied by their haunting groans.


    I grabbed my axe and scanned the area.


    Sure enough, faint glints of eyes began to appear in the darkness.


    There were around fifty of them.


    ¡°...Hey.¡±


    I called out to IAmJesus.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you do something?¡±


    Boom!


    A shockwave rippled out as IAmJesus extended his hand.


    The fifty glowing pairs of eyes dispersed and slowly ascended to the second basement level.


    ¡°Phew...¡±


    ¡°Skelton, over here. This way.¡±


    He opened a door at the back of the garage.


    ¡°What¡¯s in there? More stuff?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    I followed him inside.


    It was a surprisingly spacious room, complete with a bed and other amenities.


    Everything inside was top-notch¡ªeven the bed was far better than anything I¡¯d ever used.


    But as I scanned the room, my appetite for comfort vanished.


    The space was cluttered with a nauseating number of explicit adult items, strewn about without care.


    When IAmJesus turned on the light, the pink hue of the room¡¯s illumination only intensified its disturbing atmosphere.


    ¡°What is this place?¡±


    I asked, though I already knew the answer.


    He chuckled bitterly, his tone dripping with self-deprecation.


    ¡°It¡¯s where my dad brings women.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°After he got caught by reporters doing it elsewhere, he decided to build this in the church basement.¡±


    ¡°...And the electricity still works?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s probably backup power. I once heard him rant about getting stuck here during a blackout with one of the women.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    It was an outrageous family history, but now wasn¡¯t the time to dwell on it.


    I turned my attention to the zombie.


    It still stood there, obedient to IAmJesus¡¯s every command.


    Placing my ear to the garage door, I listened carefully.


    Judging by the sounds, the zombies from the second level were mingling with those from the third, creating a chaotic shuffle.


    We¡¯d be safe for the time being.


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    It was time to focus on the most important task.


    Turning the zombie back into a human.


    This was the moment when IAmJesus would ascend from a deranged poster boy of the forum to humanity¡¯s messiah.


    As he sipped from a bottle of water, I asked:


    *


    "From the beginning, he wasn''t a bad father."


    On our way back, I heard about his father.


    "When it was just a small pioneering church, he was a good man. Kind, polite, deeply faithful. He knew every part of the Bible. We didn''t have a mom, but Dad filled in for two parents."


    He glanced at the cargo compartment.


    Though we had discarded the satellite equipment to make room for the zombie, the small gaming console and cartridges were still there, squished and lying scattered.


    "This game console¡ªDad got it for me."


    "Really?"


    "Yeah. When I was in elementary school, I begged for the latest console¡ªthe one that played Blu-rays. But we didn¡¯t have any money. So instead of buying one, he got an old one someone from church was throwing out. It wasn¡¯t even secondhand¡ªit was practically garbage. But he gave it to me anyway."


    He picked up one of the cartridges.


    I recognized the game. It was the same classic bestseller he was doing a speedrun of when I first tried to befriend him.


    IAMJesus looked at the faded cartridge with a melancholy expression before putting it back in the cargo compartment.


    "Maybe those days were better."


    "The past always gets romanticized."


    "Maybe."


    We were heading to IAMJesus¡¯s bunker.


    He said there were still some things he hadn¡¯t taken with him.


    The sun had set, and the city was cloaked in darkness, but there was no reason to worry.


    I was more concerned about the mental state of this young man.


    "Dad committed too many sins. He''s probably in hell."


    His voice carried the instability of his inner turmoil.


    It was understandable.


    For someone who had shut himself off from the world and lived in isolation, he had experienced far too much in such a short span of time.


    "Don¡¯t worry about your father. Right now, focus on calming your mind and resting."


    It was sincere advice.


    Too much emotional turbulence can drive a person insane.


    Especially someone as fragile and inexperienced as IAMJesus.


    "...Dad."


    Tears began welling up in his eyes again.


    "I... I should have..."


    His voice, already hoarse, was barely a whisper.


    "If I had just said something stern to him..."


    "You think that would¡¯ve changed him?"


    "Yeah."


    He looked at me with certainty.


    "Dad would do anything I said. He worshipped me."


    "Really?"


    "If I told him to die, he would¡¯ve done it."


    "Hmm."


    "I lost my mind because of the money Dad gave me. Even though I knew he was going off the rails, I turned a blind eye. And now, look what happened."


    The familiar makeshift walls came into view.


    We had reached IAMJesus''s bunker.


    "Dad built this bunker for me, too."


    "Figures."


    While he went inside, I stood outside, staring blankly at the night sky.


    I guess I¡¯m no better.


    Even in this moment, I was thinking about whether I might pick up a shard of power from this kid, enough to light a cigarette I didn¡¯t even need.


    "Skeleton!"


    IAMJesus emerged from the bunker.


    "Let¡¯s go!"


    He handed something to me.


    "What¡¯s this?"


    It was a gold cross.


    "You came all this way to get me. I figured I should give you something."


    "What¡¯s this between us? Let¡¯s not get sentimental. Don¡¯t freak out when you see the toilet, though."


    "The toilet?"


    "Let¡¯s move."


    As we were preparing to load the most important cargo and leave, something stopped us.


    "Not getting on?"


    IAMJesus was staring at the ground.


    To be specific, at a zombie.


    The one I had split with my axe earlier.


    "What is it?"


    "I don¡¯t know. I just... I suddenly wanted to see its face."


    "Why? Do you know them?"


    "No, just..."


    I got off the motorcycle and flipped the zombie¡¯s body over.


    Under the moonlight, the disfigured face of a middle-aged man, split by my axe, was revealed.


    A nondescript face.


    But suddenly, a flash of recognition struck me¡ªan image from a news segment long ago.


    "Ah."


    I looked at IAMJesus.


    "Your dad?"


    His face was completely expressionless.


    Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he collapsed to his knees before the corpse, grasped its cold hand, and buried his face into its chest.


    "...Dad."


    The zombie I had split open with my axe was none other than IAMJesus¡¯s father.


    *


    "And then what happened, Skelton?"


    Su asked eagerly while munching on jelly, her curiosity apparent.


    I stirred the tomato-scented soup simmering in the pot, made from canned goods, and glanced at Rebecca¡¯s back as she scribbled down my words exactly as I recounted them.


    "He went back to the city."


    "The one crawling with zombies? Don¡¯t tell me he went to die?!"


    Su gasped, horrified, but I shook my head.


    "No."


    I reflected on IamJesus¡¯s final moments.


    That man, glowing in the darkness, walked forward with his arms wide open, stepping voluntarily toward the countless undead with their gaping maws directed at him.


    "...He went to save the zombies."


    "Like a messiah?"


    "Probably."


    I allowed myself a bitter smile and pulled the cigarette from my pocket. Its color remained black.


    Which meant he wasn¡¯t my messiah, at least.


    Not that I was looking for one.


    ¡°Maem maem!¡±


    Su let out a strange noise, swinging a game cartridge and an adult toy in the air.


    Rebecca muttered that he was insane, but I didn¡¯t agree with her.


    Since that day, I¡¯ve occasionally dreamed.


    I don¡¯t remember the contents, but the color in them is always the same.


    Ash gray.

 Chapter 47

    Before the war or after it, the most critical thing to take care of is your health.


    When the body breaks down, so does the person.


    Despite my generally robust constitution, I was always cautious about managing my health during my time in the bunker.


    It wasn¡¯t anything extraordinary. I maintained the right temperature to prevent my body from getting too cold, ate proper meals, avoided alcohol and cigarettes, and most importantly, tried not to let stress consume me.


    Stress doesn¡¯t just mess with your mind¡ªit eats away at your body as well.


    I regularly took supplements and had enough stock to last another five years, even at daily consumption.


    Of course, I didn¡¯t neglect exercise either. While I avoided workouts that would leave me gasping for air, I never skipped exercises to maintain my lung capacity, strength, and flexibility.


    But no matter how well someone takes care of their health, no one can be healthy forever.


    A person who was perfectly fine working out at the gym just moments ago could suddenly die from a heart attack in an elevator. Or they could fall victim to food poisoning and hover between life and death after eating some gifted seafood.


    Even I, Park Gyu, am no exception.


    ¡°Cough! Cough!¡±


    It seems I pushed myself too hard at Jepho City.


    I caught a cold.


    No, not just any cold¡ªa terrible flu.


    The thermometer wedged under my arm read 39.5¡ãC (103.1¡ãF).


    Cold sweat dripped down my entire body, alternating waves of chills and fever wracked me.


    Despite the muggy late-autumn heat in the bunker, I had to remain motionless, buried under a thick blanket.


    Growl¡ª


    My stomach growled, empty because I hadn¡¯t eaten properly. But I didn¡¯t even have the energy to get up, let alone prepare food.


    There was instant porridge in the bunker, but it was stored on the third basement floor. To get it, I¡¯d need to climb down a ladder¡ªa task impossible with my current energy level.


    I spent the whole day lying in bed, battling fever and chills.


    I took medicine, but it didn¡¯t help.


    My head throbbed even more, and I started coughing incessantly.


    The thermometer now read 39.6¡ãC (103.3¡ãF).


    ¡°Cough! Cough...¡±


    Humans are tougher creatures than most think, but at the same time, they can die absurdly easily.


    By the second day of this cold, I was trapped in an endless cycle of torment, unable to think straight. Vague images flitted in and out of my mind, shapeless and fleeting.


    When the thought of eating crossed my mind, I crawled out from under the blanket. But dizziness kept me from going down to the basement. I settled for soaking some crackers in water on the first floor and consuming that.


    That evening, the communication device chimed, but I couldn¡¯t answer it.


    I was aware of the sound, but the combined effects of medication, fatigue, and pain blurred my consciousness to the point where I couldn¡¯t operate the device.


    In the early hours of the next day¡ªaround 2:10 a.m.¡ªI woke up.


    The hunger and thirst were unbearable.


    Feeling that I wouldn¡¯t survive without eating something, I grabbed a lantern and dragged myself toward the ladder leading to the third basement floor.


    ¡°Ugh...¡±


    The hatch wouldn¡¯t budge.


    More accurately, I didn¡¯t have the strength to open it. I couldn¡¯t muster enough force to lift the hatch that led to the second basement floor.


    Left with no other choice, I drank some water and returned to bed, stuffing my mouth full of glucose candies until I felt full.


    The agony continued, and I couldn¡¯t sleep.


    Despite the pain, my mind was unnervingly clear. This clarity was its own form of torment, combining with my ailing body to create new depths of suffering.


    I couldn¡¯t do anything productive in this state, and my sharp awareness made it impossible to rest or sleep. Trapped in limbo, I was forced to count the seconds as I waited for dawn.


    By the third day, the thermometer showed 38.6¡ãC (101.5¡ãF).


    The fever had subsided slightly, but it was still high.


    The pounding headache remained, as did the unwelcome mental clarity.


    Growl¡ª


    Now, I had to eat something.


    I forced my body to move and managed to open the hatch.


    Click¡ªcreak¡ª


    Finally, success.


    But as always, misfortune struck.


    ¡°...!¡±@@@@


    The motion detection sensor blinked red.


    It was located on the eastern perimeter of the main bunker.


    No doubt about it¡ªa trespasser.


    I barely suppressed a bitter laugh.


    Fate never waits for anyone.


    Just because I¡¯m sick or not at my best, it doesn¡¯t mean fate will take pity on me.


    My fallen comrades are proof of that.


    There was a junior of mine, Park Sun-mi¡ªa woman who talked a lot.


    That day, she said she wasn¡¯t feeling well. Although she was too embarrassed to admit it, it was likely menstrual cramps.


    I told her to rest.


    But she was ambitious. Instead of resting, she requested an easier assignment.


    She was engaged at the time. Her plan was to earn more points on the battlefield, secure a promotion, and start her married life on better footing.


    I denied her request, but she bypassed me through a higher-ranking officer and joined the operation.


    She died.


    A woman who could run 100 meters in 12 seconds¡ªa speed demon¡ªwas sluggish that day. And that cost her life.


    Now, here I am in an even worse state.


    Burning with fever, shivering with chills, barely able to hold myself together. I haven¡¯t eaten properly, and my mind is muddled from strong cold medicine.


    Yet, I have to fight.


    Click¡ª


    Unable to lift a single axe, I didn¡¯t even bother taking one out.


    I relied solely on my two rifles and three pistols.


    I didn¡¯t have the time to set up booby traps, and the entrance to my main bunker, which had been dug up during the rainy season, was still exposed.


    The assassins sent by Kim Daram would likely realize that there were two entrances to the bunker. After finding one entrance empty, they would shift their focus to the main bunker.


    The motion detection sensor continued to blink as the intruders moved from east to south.


    Upon closer inspection, it was a game. He had hooked up something salvaged from IAmJesus¡¯s house to the monitor and was playing.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say anything when you were sick?¡±


    He glanced at me, grinning nonchalantly, before turning his attention back to the screen.


    Boing~


    The pixelated character on the monitor jumped, and I shifted my gaze.


    I was lying comfortably in bed. An ice pack rested on my forehead.


    ¡°...¡±


    I froze for a moment with a blank expression.


    I honestly didn¡¯t know what to say or think.


    I wanted to express my gratitude, but somehow, the thought of saying those words felt... difficult.


    Maybe I¡¯m just strange like that.


    No, not ¡°maybe.¡± I¡¯m definitely strange.


    ¡°...¡±


    How could I not be, given the life I¡¯ve lived?


    In any case, it seemed like the food was ready.


    Da-jeong turned toward me, lightly tapping the pot with the rice paddle.


    ¡°Skelton, new. crisis. ahead!¡±


    Apparently, that¡¯s how they say, ¡°Dinner¡¯s ready¡± in Defender¡¯s household.


    A fragrant smell wafted over.


    Defender¡¯s sister, who had somehow forgotten about me until now, slipped on oven mitts and brought out a freshly cooked pot of porridge.


    The white steam rising from the bowl, along with the scent of the softened, well-cooked grains, not only awakened my appetite but also brought back long-lost memories.


    ¡°Here, eat.¡±


    ¡°...Thank you.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s with the formality?¡±


    Defender¡¯s sister smiled with her eyes as she spread the porridge into a bowl and placed it in front of me.


    ¡°Do you want me to feed you?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°I said I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Scooping up a spoonful of the hot porridge, I blew on it gently before bringing it to my mouth.


    Mild, nutty, soft, and hot¡ªthe porridge had no real flavor, yet it tasted unbelievably good for some reason.


    The siblings both watched me.


    ¡°If anything comes up, contact us. Are we still intimidating to you?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that.¡±


    Avoiding their gaze, I focused on devouring my meal, spoonful after spoonful.


    In no time, I had emptied the bowl.


    ¡°There¡¯s more in the pot. Heat it up slowly if you want seconds.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re taking the game console, okay?¡±


    Just as suddenly as they had appeared and thrown my life into chaos, Defender and his sister vanished without a trace.


    The care they showed as they gently closed the door behind them left me staring at it long after they were gone.


    ¡°...Whew.¡±


    I really should learn how to rely on others a bit more.


    A small lesson left behind by illness.


    But for now, I was curious about the response to my final internet post.


    To be honest, I thought at least a few people would be worried.


    Dragging my body, rejuvenated by Da-jeong¡¯s porridge, I made my way to the laptop to check my post.


    ¡°...Ha.¡±


    Not a single comment.


    ¡°Baek Seung-hyun, you son of a bitch!!!¡±


    *


    SKELTON: Seriously, isn¡¯t it a bit too much to ignore someone who nearly died?


    I¡¯m a person too.


    Honestly, I¡¯m deeply disappointed in the mood of our forum.


    An oldbie and internet friend was on the verge of death, and you all ignored me? How does that make sense?


    dongtanmam: Yum yum... alive, huh... yum yum...


    Finally, a comment appears, but it¡¯s the last thing I wanted to see.


    I tried to ignore it, and only then did the other members of the forum start lazily chiming in with comments.


    Anonymous848: Knew it was a lie.


    mmmmmmmmm: Bored, huh? Life feeling dull? Want to come over to my place? Every moment is dynamic here.


    unicorn18: Wow... first, you cry wolf because no one comments on your death post, and now you¡¯re whining because no one commented again. Have you abandoned the idea of human decency?


    gijayangban: ?


    ¡°...¡±


    What did this poor Skelton do so wrong?


    Should I share the crazy stories about IAmJesus to remind them of their place?


    No, that might be a bit too risky.


    Anyway, the fact that I¡¯m even debating this shows I¡¯m feeling better.


    To properly express my gratitude to the Defender siblings, I picked up the communicator.


    Coincidentally, it started ringing.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    It was Defender¡¯s sister.


    But her voice¡ªit was strangely urgent.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I immediately responded.


    ¡°It¡¯s... it¡¯s my brother!¡±


    ¡°....¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been shot!¡±

 Chapter 48

    Before the war, I once heard a story about a serial killer in India who was captured after murdering an astonishing 102 people.


    He was an uneducated man from the lower class, someone who could not comprehend the hellish reality unfolding around him but somehow figured out how to survive on his own.


    The survival method he discovered closely resembled the laws of the wild nature he so loved.


    Killing indiscriminately, looting, and then killing and looting again in an endless cycle of carnage and pillaging.


    They say his crimes included rape, torture, and desecration of corpses, though the man shouted in court that these accusations were fabricated.


    During his final statement, he reportedly said this to the judges:


    "Is it wrong for me to choose to be someone¡¯s enemy, rather than waiting to make someone my enemy?"


    *


    It has been quite some time since the war began.


    Perhaps our complacency grows like spoiled food or aging bodies, a natural consequence of time.


    Defender was shot on his way home.


    A stray bullet.


    Something I¡¯d only imagined happening in the distance suddenly became a reality close to me.


    According to Defender¡¯s sister, his life wasn¡¯t in immediate danger, but they were locked in an intense standoff with an unknown enemy, separated by a wall.


    ¡°I¡¯ll prepare and set out. Hold them off until I get there.¡±


    Rushing without preparation is as good as not going at all.


    I meticulously packed everything I might need: medical supplies, tools, weapons, and protective gear.


    I rarely wear bulletproof vests or helmets¡ªthey¡¯re heavy, uncomfortable, and not particularly effective. But in situations like this, even a little psychological comfort is worth it.


    For transportation, I chose a motorcycle.


    Vroooom¡ª


    I maneuvered down the steep northern slope, almost like a circus act, crossed a stream, and merged onto the road.


    Stopping briefly, I surveyed the scenery.


    It looked different than before.


    ¡°....¡±


    If I had to describe it, it reminded me of the sights right after the war started.


    I couldn¡¯t pinpoint when exactly the fear of stray bullets had faded. At some point, I had grown lax in my vigilance, sinking into complacency, assuming I wouldn¡¯t get hit even if gunfire broke out nearby.


    But in truth, anyone can get shot at any moment.


    Even I, Park Gyu, could absurdly take a stray bullet while walking down the road, ending up as a skeleton in a ditch or a drainage canal.


    It¡¯s unlikely, but who knows? A zombified Park Gyu might have wandered the wilderness, embarking on a journey to find new friends.


    ¡°....¡±


    In the distance, I saw pockmarked craters.


    They were remnants of artillery shelling from the Chinese military.


    I had entered Defender¡¯s territory.


    This was where things got serious.


    Vroooom¡ª


    With a roar, the motorcycle sped across the abandoned fields.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    Before long, I heard Defender¡¯s sister¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Skelton, is that you? Raise your right hand if it is.¡±


    ¡°I raised it.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s your left hand! Raise your right hand. Yes, good boy.¡±


    She must¡¯ve pinpointed my location using a drone.


    I couldn¡¯t see the drone, but it must¡¯ve been somewhere overhead. Likely a small reconnaissance drone, weighing less than a kilogram but capable of soaring up to six kilometers.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Defender?¡±


    ¡°Hold on, I¡¯ll send a sparrow your way.¡±


    Moments later, a black dot appeared in the western sky, hurtling toward me.


    When I saw the drone, I instinctively stopped the motorcycle and aimed my gun at it.


    ¡°Cease fire! It¡¯s our drone!¡±


    ¡°This is your drone?¡±


    A bitter smile crept onto my lips.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a sparrow.¡±


    A sparrow, my ass.


    It was a Chinese-made suicide drone.


    That same model had killed fanatics, and fanatics had used it to kill Chinese soldiers. I¡¯d even heard about another group that got caught in a swarm of these drones, leaving no trace of their bodies behind.


    ¡°Follow it.¡±


    The suicide drone led me toward Defender.


    On the way, Defender¡¯s sister fell silent, so I had to ask her questions directly.


    ¡°What¡¯s the enemy¡¯s number, location, and weapons?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s Defender¡¯s condition?¡±


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t Defender responding on the comms?¡±


    She answered my barrage of questions hesitantly, her psychological state visibly shaky, but there was a deeper reason for her behavior.


    ¡°Ah!¡±


    When she suddenly shouted, I asked why.


    ¡°I forgot to charge one of the batteries. I dropped it!¡±


    Apparently, she had deployed all her drones.


    Every single one, to protect her brother.


    It¡¯s a common mistake¡ªoverwhelming force projection when a loved one is in danger.


    I spoke to her calmly.


    ¡°How many did you deploy?¡±


    ¡°All of them. About 12?¡±


    ¡°...Put all but the essential ones away.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re getting in the way.¡±


    ¡°...Fine.¡±


    Reluctantly, she complied with my request. If she hadn¡¯t seen my combat skills before, she might not have listened.


    Although she tends to act scatterbrained and gets overshadowed by her brother, it¡¯s clear from her actions that Da-jeong has a sharp edge to her personality.


    In the distance, beyond fields pocked with shell craters, a red-roofed building came into view.


    It used to be a cafe?.


    The cafe? was named Lucky Day.


    The fact that it remained standing after so many shells had fallen seemed to justify its name, though now it harbored bad luck inside¡ªDefender and perhaps one or two attackers in a tense standoff.@@@@


    Defender wasn¡¯t using his comms because the enemy was so close that even a whisper could give away his position.


    But I saw hope.


    The fact that the standoff had dragged on in such a small building meant the attackers didn¡¯t have a decisive way to overpower Defender.


    A sudden ambush was probably their best tactic.


    ¡°This is Skelton. I¡¯m entering the building.¡±


    A combat drone circled above me.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing in sight,¡± Defender¡¯s sister reported.


    It¡¯s likely Defender was still alive because of her presence.


    Ultimately, even low-level Awakened are just people.


    At least those who can¡¯t cause tremors are closer to humans than monsters.


    Which means they can be hunted the same way humans hunt each other.


    ¡°Defender! Did you get a good look at them?¡±


    Shouting from behind the concrete wall, I broke my usual calm demeanor.


    There was no response.


    I shouted again.


    ¡°What do they look like? And what should we do if we catch them?¡±


    I hoped Defender would pick up on my intent.


    After a moment:


    ¡°We kill them! Tear them apart while they¡¯re still alive!¡±


    Defender met my expectations.


    This was psychological warfare.


    ¡°I¡¯m at the entrance!¡±


    ¡°Securing the second-floor hallway.¡±


    ¡°Entering the first-floor lobby. Clear.¡±


    ¡°Securing the staircase to the second floor. Wait, did you hear that? Footsteps¡ªsomeone¡¯s running upstairs.¡±


    ¡°I heard it too.¡±


    We kept speaking loudly, applying pressure through our voices.


    It was the same tactic Cho Sung-yong used.


    This wouldn¡¯t work on a veteran with extensive combat experience, but for a rookie relying on their powers, it would likely be nerve-wracking.


    Defender and I weren¡¯t just any fighters¡ªwe were seasoned, old-school hunters.


    The effect became evident quickly.


    ¡°Defender.¡±


    ¡°Skelton.¡±


    We regrouped without interference.


    I examined his thigh.


    ¡°You okay?¡±


    I asked in a low voice.


    Defender nodded, replying just as quietly.


    ¡°I stopped the bleeding.¡±


    He pointed toward the stairs leading to the roof.


    ¡°They¡¯re up there.¡±


    It seemed the Defender siblings truly were siblings.


    ¡°They¡¯re not on the roof~ probably crouched below the stairs~.¡±


    I had no idea why she¡¯d equipped a speaker to the drone, but now she was using it for psychological warfare.


    ¡°You bastard!¡±


    A sharp voice finally echoed from the stairs.


    Cornered.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to hell, you murderer!¡±


    The voice was clearly youthful.


    The speaker never got the chance to say more.


    Bang!


    The moment the words ended, a gunshot rang out.


    With a sliding sound, a rifle tumbled down the stairs, hitting the floor with a metallic clatter.


    A trail of blood followed, and then we saw the attacker.


    It was a boy.


    No older than sixteen.


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    Defender recognized him instantly.


    ¡°The kid from a year ago.¡±


    He limped closer.


    ¡°Back then, a group of scavengers attacked us. One of the groups had a father and son duo. I only killed the father.¡±


    ¡°You?¡±


    I asked with a doubtful expression. Defender grimaced, rubbing his wound.


    ¡°No, the bastard ran toward the tree where his father hung himself.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    ¡°It was a mistake.¡±


    The word ¡°mistake¡± failed to convey the gravity of the situation.


    Even so, I accepted his explanation.


    ¡°A fatal mistake.¡±


    The easiest way to avoid making enemies is to kill anyone who might become one.


    In this wretched world, that¡¯s likely the only surefire method.


    ¡°This kid isn¡¯t Justice Min, is he?¡±


    ¡°No, definitely not. Justice Min leads a group. This one¡¯s hands and age don¡¯t match.¡±


    ¡°That makes sense.¡±


    Not that I had any sympathy for the boy.


    His phone contained photos of him and other men grinning and flashing peace signs in front of a bound, naked woman whose face was beaten beyond recognition.


    As that Indian death row inmate once said, it¡¯s better to become someone¡¯s enemy than to wait for someone to make you theirs.


    In this vicious cycle, Defender had simply become this boy¡¯s enemy.


    Now then.


    ¡°This.¡±


    I gestured toward Defender¡¯s wound.


    It was on his thigh.


    Though I had surgical tools, this wasn¡¯t an area I could treat.


    ¡°Do you know any doctors?¡±


    I asked while pulling out antibiotics.


    ¡°There¡¯s one in Incheon.¡±


    Defender hesitated.


    ¡°But he¡¯s a lunatic.¡±


    ¡°Is he alive?¡±


    Defender glanced at the boy¡¯s body.


    ¡°...He¡¯s Awakened.¡±


    ¡°Awakened?¡±


    Defender sighed and nodded.


    ¡°He was my classmate.¡±


    Defender¡¯s usually steady eyes flickered with turmoil.


    Whoever this classmate was, they didn¡¯t seem like an easy opponent.

 Chapter 49

    Before the war, a journalist once requested an interview with Jang Ki-young, who was then a principal.


    Jang Ki-young readily agreed to the interview¡ªit was with a major media outlet, after all¡ªbut the content wasn¡¯t particularly meaningful.


    At the height of his power, Jang Ki-young only answered the questions he wanted to answer. When faced with sensitive or uncomfortable topics, he deflected with vague or nonsensical responses that often didn¡¯t make any sense.


    Still, one exchange stands out.


    The journalist asked about the strikingly low incidence of PTSD among the hunters at the time.


    It must have been a question Jang Ki-young liked, as he enthusiastically shared his thoughts on the matter.


    ¡°At this school, we don¡¯t accept weak students. Those with fragile minds, no matter how talented or exceptional, will always end up causing big problems in the end.¡±


    He then spent the next hour and a half talking about the mental fortitude assessment model he had developed, explaining his bizarre theories on how to measure and train mental strength.


    Well.


    I have a different opinion.


    The reason our hunters had such low rates of PTSD after their missions in China wasn¡¯t because their mental fortitude had been measured and disciplined as Jang Ki-young claimed¡ªit was simply because they were all dead.


    Even the most capable and intelligent ones didn¡¯t make it. Those with fragile minds would have died even faster.


    Jang Ki-young tried to enforce his theories during the war by forcibly discharging those who exhibited signs of anxiety and revoking their hunter licenses, but even that was a futile effort.


    His era crumbled overnight with the emergence of the Awakened.


    And thus, hunters who had endured the mental traumas of war were unleashed back into society.


    The likelihood of them causing societal issues was undeniably high, but society collapsed before they could.@@rade was one such ticking time bomb.


    *


    ¡°He was a good guy. Cheerful, talkative. But after the fanatic''s Spring Festival offensive, he stopped talking. By the time the offensive ended, he was a completely different person.¡±


    Defender¡¯s injuries don¡¯t seem severe at first glance. His mind is sharp, and the bleeding has mostly stopped. But there¡¯s a bullet lodged near his femoral artery, and that¡¯s a problem.


    I¡¯ve injected antibiotics to minimize the risk of infection, but there¡¯s no telling when that bullet might nick the artery. He needs a skilled, war-hardened doctor.


    ¡°...He just wasn¡¯t the same anymore.¡±


    We¡¯re in a 12-seater minibus. How Defender managed to find this thing, repair it, and get it running again is beyond me, but apparently, it¡¯s one of his hobbies.


    ¡°I personally don¡¯t like him,¡± his sister says from the driver¡¯s seat.


    ¡°Every time I see him, he seems more unhinged. He used to be such a decent person.¡±


    There wasn¡¯t much choice in the matter. If Justice Min decided to attack while Defender was gone, it wouldn¡¯t end well¡ªfor Defender, his sister, or me.


    At least the vehicle has some armor plating installed. Not that it¡¯ll do much against anti-tank weaponry, but it¡¯s better than nothing.


    That¡¯s not my only concern. Defender¡¯s comrade is another problem altogether.


    The Threat of the ¡°Awakened¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s an Awakened, right? What level?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Just a trash-tier Awakened,¡± Defender replies.


    Trash-tier.


    That¡¯s the derogatory term for Awakened below level 5, deemed unfit for large-scale monster combat. But judging by the skirmish this morning, even a ¡°trash-tier¡± Awakened is still a formidable opponent.


    The guy who shot Defender seems to have two abilities: perception and detection.


    With the perception ability, he can pinpoint a target¡¯s presence over an incredible distance after initially sensing them. Combined with his detection skills, which already allow him to locate things within a certain range, it makes him an almost impossible tracker to evade. His range spans dozens of kilometers.


    I also suspect he has some form of precognition. While it wasn¡¯t developed enough to dominate in battle, his occasional unnatural movements were enough to raise suspicions.


    Honestly, it¡¯s only because he was young and inexperienced that we survived. If he¡¯d been a seasoned killer, both Defender and his sister would¡¯ve been dead before I even noticed.


    ¡°What exactly is his ability?¡± I ask.


    ¡°X-ray vision,¡± Defender mutters, wincing as he massages his thigh.


    ¡°He claims he can see even capillaries when he focuses.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯d be handy for surgery.¡±


    ¡°It is. After retiring, he planned to become a doctor. The guy¡¯s got a built-in CT scanner in his eyes.¡±


    Defender suddenly pulls off his shirt, revealing a body marked with scars and impressive musculature.


    ¡°Take a look at this.¡±


    He turns, showing me his back. It¡¯s riddled with scars.


    ¡°What happened here?¡±


    ¡°Shrapnel from a suicide drone.¡±


    Dozens of scars crisscross his back, some dangerously close to his spine. These wounds could¡¯ve paralyzed or killed him before the war even ended.


    ¡°He removed every single piece of shrapnel on the spot.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s incredible.¡±


    ¡°Back then, he didn¡¯t even know he was an Awakened. He must¡¯ve activated his abilities without realizing it.¡±


    ¡°Unconscious awakening?¡±


    ¡°Da-jeong, look at this.¡±


    He held up a bloody bullet, clamped in a pair of surgical forceps, as though showing off a trophy on a stainless steel tray.


    ¡°This is the seed of death that was lodged in your brother¡¯s body.¡±


    ¡°And my brother?¡±


    Da-jeong didn¡¯t even thank him. It was a bit surprising to see someone so warm and considerate with us turn so cold and formal in front of someone else.


    ¡°He¡¯s inside.¡±


    She hurried into the medical room without another word.


    I glanced at Heo Jong-chul¡¯s face. If he was offended by her behavior, he didn¡¯t show it. Instead, he sat at his makeshift desk, crafted from planks of wood, and surreptitiously slid the comic book into a drawer. In its place, he opened a philosophy book, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, and began pretending to read it with a solemn expression.


    The Hidden Side of Heo Jong-chul


    Honestly, he didn¡¯t strike me as a madman. The way he hid the comic book and feigned intellectualism even seemed a bit endearing.


    Why, then, do Defender and his sister dislike him so much?


    Sure, his personality is a bit off-putting, but is that enough to overshadow his incredible surgical skills? If anything, with that level of proficiency, he should be a top recruitment target.


    ¡°...If I were to form a group someday...¡±


    I let the thought trail off.


    ¡°You¡¯re from the school, right?¡± Heo Jong-chul asked suddenly, looking at me.


    I nodded.


    ¡°If you¡¯re an old-school hunter, you must have at least one grudge against this country.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be a lie to say otherwise.¡±


    A knowing smile spread across his face as he closed the book.


    ¡°As a hunter, you must know why those National Crisis Committee folks moved to Jeju Island.¡±


    ¡°More or less.¡±


    ¡°Of course, you know. It¡¯s because of the population. With fewer people, the rift''s intensity is weaker, and it¡¯s easier to defend with a small force. That¡¯s why they moved to Jeju.¡±


    It was an old story. Something I¡¯d heard, discussed, and thought about hundreds of times. Honestly, it was so stale I felt like yawning.


    ¡°What happens to those of us who couldn¡¯t make it to Jeju?¡±


    Another tired question.


    ¡°We¡¯ll all die.¡±


    It¡¯s not an exaggeration. Everyone dies. The only question is how fast or slow.


    But something was nagging at me.


    Heo Jong-chul¡¯s eyes. At some point, a storm of swirling emotions had begun twisting behind them. His gaze had transformed into that of a madman.


    ¡°But what if,¡± he said, his voice low and conspiratorial, ¡°everyone in Incheon just... disappeared?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it become an even better place to live than Jeju?¡±


    At that moment, Defender emerged from the medical room, supported by his sister.


    He shook his head when he saw me talking to Heo Jong-chul. A silent warning: Don¡¯t engage.


    Defender¡¯s sister gave me a similar look, urging me to drop the conversation.


    But it was too late. The madman had already drawn me in.


    ¡°How would you kill everyone in Incheon?¡± I asked.


    ¡°How?¡± Heo Jong-chul grinned. ¡°With nukes.¡±


    ¡°And where would you get nukes?¡± I countered.


    ¡°From the Chinese, of course.¡±


    The madman smiled wider.


    *


    SKELTON: (Shocking SKELTON) Possibility of a Nuclear Explosion in Incheon?!


    They say that if there¡¯s a topic that can draw attention, internet fame-seekers will even exploit their family¡¯s misfortunes. But for someone like me, it¡¯s a little different.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON Analyzing) The Connection Between the Nuclear Arsenal of the Chinese Military Near Dangjin and a Potential Nuclear Explosion in Incheon


    This is a warning.


    It¡¯s meant to raise the awareness of my internet friends still left in Incheon and save them.


    But prophets are always lonely.


    Comments Section


    Anonymous458: Isn¡¯t this guy the one who died a while back?


    Fox_games: Guess he¡¯s alive.


    ??: Is this shepherd boy addicted to lying now?


    Anonymous848: SKELTON, stop... this is embarrassing to watch...


    roka_gg: Hm.


    ??: ¡°Analyzing¡±? Dude, wipe your ass properly first, you delusional bastard.


    unicorn18: Netkama.


    mmmmmmmmm: ?


    gijayangban: ?


    dongtanmom: Yum...?


    "..."


    Well, they do say there¡¯s a fine line between a prophet and a madman.

 Chapter 50.1

    Before the war, I briefly worked at a company. I had even shared a candid and unembellished account of my experience on our forum.


    The company had two bookkeepers¡ªone was the boss¡¯s girlfriend, and the other was the actual bookkeeper. Neither of them did much work, but at least the real bookkeeper pretended to be productive. While I hadn¡¯t mentioned this on the forum, it was obvious that the real bookkeeper had a strong attraction to me.


    ¡°Look at this, Park Gyu.¡±


    Perhaps that¡¯s why one day she showed me her favorite online community. She was likely trying to find common ground with me, but even now, I¡¯m not particularly warm toward women.


    ¡°I don¡¯t use the internet. I don¡¯t do KakaoTalk or any of those apps. I don¡¯t do group chats at all.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t just because she wasn¡¯t my type. That was part of it, sure, but not the whole reason.


    ¡°Then what¡¯s that group chat?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s for business. I¡¯d like my personal life to remain private.¡±


    Even if she¡¯d been more attractive, it wouldn¡¯t have made a difference. My focus was solely on surviving alone¡ªI had no interest in shared survival or any such indulgence.


    Still, the community she showed me left a strong impression, even on someone like me, who was mentally and emotionally drained from constant debt collection calls and the looming fear of war.


    I don¡¯t recall its exact name, but it was an anonymous forum. Despite being anonymous, it wasn¡¯t entirely private. The site had a unique feature: posts displayed the name of the poster¡¯s company. It was designed to create a space where workers could openly and honestly discuss the inner workings of their workplaces, fostering transparency and protecting employee rights.


    The intent was noble. It sounded good in theory.


    But through my eyes, that system seemed like a revival of South Korea¡¯s deep-seated societal rot.


    ¡°Ta-da~ This is how our company shows up!¡± the bookkeeper exclaimed as she posted something on the forum.


    SeafoodPancakeLv.1 (New Company): Feeling down, sigh...


    ¡°New company?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes. Usually, companies like ours...¡±


    She gestured for me to come closer.


    ¡°You can just explain from there,¡± I said, not moving.


    She pouted, turned her head away, and replied curtly, ¡°This is how it shows up for small companies like ours.¡±


    Out of curiosity, I secretly accessed the site and registered. It required a business card and company phone number. Since my company hadn¡¯t issued me a card, I had to use a 2,500-won template to create one and entered the phone number for verification. I managed to get an account.


    Once I joined, I browsed the posts to get a feel for the site. It was practical and realistic, with plenty of information that reflected the lives of office workers. But even amidst this, something familiar hit me like a punch to the throat.


    SKELTON (New Company): Work is so exhausting.


    Three seconds later, a similar post appeared:


    CorporateSlaveA (Jepho Motors Headquarters): Life is so hard (12)


    There was no difference between the two posts¡ªexcept for the number of comments. My post had none, while CorporateSlaveA¡¯s had twelve. I read through some of them:


    ?? (Cheolju Media): I feel you, sigh...


    TomorrowWillShine (Cocao): Still gotta work tomorrow...


    SatoriGeneration (CK Telecom): Let¡¯s hang in there.


    SlamDunk123 (Civil Servant): I want to take a vacation.


    I couldn¡¯t understand it. Even as someone unfamiliar with internet culture at the time, the unfairness felt glaring.


    Had I done something wrong? No, I hadn¡¯t.


    But being human, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if the problem lay in the ¡°New Company¡± label next to my name, as the bookkeeper had mentioned.


    Refreshed with a lingering sense of frustration, a new post caught my eye:


    BonobonoHamster (Doctor): Our workplace summary.txt (13)


    OverworkedLow payDealing with elderly patients all dayNo idea why I even studied medicine


    ¡°¡®Doctor¡¯ as a company name? That¡¯s odd,¡± I thought, finding it curious. Inspired, I decided to write my own post:


    SKELTON (New Company): Our workplace summary.txt


    Always told to arrive ten minutes early, but they want me to show up even earlier.Get called back during lunch break walks for no reason.If I ask questions, I¡¯m told I lack initiative; if I don¡¯t ask, I¡¯m scolded for not asking.


    The final outcome was nothing short of a spectacle:


    ?? (A18): Code-based hierarchy (Final Edition).txt


    A01¨CA10: RoyaltyA11¨CA23: Noble familiesB01¨CB18: AristocratsB19¨CB33: Yangban (Traditional elite)


    --- Line of Nobility ---


    C01¨CC14: Middle-classC15¨CC32: Commoners


    --- Line of Humanity ---


    D~: SlavesE~: ServantsF~: Zombies


    ¡°...¡±


    Failnet, once a platform where everyone could speak freely and equally under anonymous ¡°??¡± usernames, had now devolved into a hierarchy.


    ????????? (D18): This isn¡¯t right. What difference does it make between camps? I¡¯m heading to Jeju Island anyway.


    ?? (B11): Sure, beggar. Enjoy your Jeju trip in your dreams.


    ?? (A22): This hierarchy is spot-on. Our camp has tons of doctors and even celebrities. I was a fund manager in Yeouido.


    ?? (A23): Our camp gathered many survivors from Gangnam. Seems like the government really did filter and sort us.


    ?? (E22): What a load of crap. Seriously, what did you eat today? Beef? Is that why you¡¯re acting so arrogant?


    ?? (A15): E-class reeks. Disgusting.


    ?? (A02): Yum-yum... filthy beggars... Yum-yum... finally putting this board in order... Yum-yum...


    People who once laughed and chatted together were now scrutinizing each other based on the codes next to their usernames. It reminded me of the forum I once visited before the war, where company names beside usernames served as a similar status symbol.


    Witnessing this debacle, I immediately reached out to one of John Nae-non¡¯s subordinates.


    SKELTON: What¡¯s going on? Failnet is in chaos.


    After a short while, a reply came:


    171cm54kg13cm: Ah, SKELTON...


    SKELTON: (Shocked SKELTON) Wait, your username is...?!


    171cm54kg13cm: Yeah, it¡¯s basically my account now. I¡¯m not a fan of lying.


    SKELTON: (Deep breath SKELTON) I see... Anyway, what¡¯s happening?


    They explained the situation. When their equipment broke during the monsoon season, they were forced to rely on government assistance, effectively bowing to them.


    While John Nae-non¡¯s vision for the site was revolutionary, maintaining it required resources¡ªresources that had nearly been depleted during the monsoon. Left with no choice, they compromised, which led to the current pandemonium.


    171cm54kg13cm: Also...


    I could almost picture the thin, bespectacled man hesitating as he typed, his frail figure vividly forming in my mind. Then, the next message came:


    171cm54kg13cm: John Nae-non doesn¡¯t have much time left. I think this month might be the end...


    ¡°...¡±


    I closed my eyes and let out a deep sigh. It wasn¡¯t surprising. The concept of death had lingered over John Nae-non from the moment I met him.


    But knowing his time was almost up still hit me like a hammer to the head. I had hoped he¡¯d live a little longer, even if he no longer participated in the forums.


    SKELTON: I see... ????


    171cm54kg13cm: It¡¯s heartbreaking. Truly...


    SKELTON: Why?


    171cm54kg13cm: John Nae-non is tormented. Watching the site he built turn into this government-controlled nightmare... Yesterday, he didn¡¯t sleep at all. He just kept staring at the forums, gasping for breath, his eyes filled with regret.


    I could only imagine the despair of watching the utopia he traded his life for become tainted by the government¡¯s influence.


    ¡°...¡±


    Once again, I felt powerless. There was little I could do to fix this. Not everything could be solved by wielding an axe.


    Then, a thought struck me.


    ¡°Wait...¡±


    This is John Nae-non we¡¯re talking about. As a long-time admirer, I knew him well. I knew what he liked, what he wanted.


    Tap, tap, tap.


    SKELTON: (Strategist SKELTON) I¡¯ve got an idea.

 Chapter 50.2

    Human nature doesn¡¯t change.


    Take me, Park Gyu, for instance. No matter how high a position I might hold or how far from home I might go, I am still the same Park Gyu.


    The same applies to John Nae-non. He was, in the best sense of the term, an "attention seeker." While his methods could sometimes be sly and lacked moral integrity, he directed his influence toward benefitting the greatest number of people. In return, he gained fame and fortune.


    Critics of John Nae-non, who have all but disappeared now, claimed he exploited our community for financial gain. But those words come from people who don¡¯t understand him at all. From what I¡¯ve observed¡ªboth online and offline¡ªJohn Nae-non cared less about money and more about recognition.


    More precisely, he relished and craved the state of being praised and admired by a large number of people.


    When he created the masterpiece that is Failnet, he acted as if he had achieved everything. Standing in the light with his arms spread wide, he exuded the demeanor of someone who had reached the end of their journey.


    And yet, he lived on for several more months.


    I once read in a newspaper that when terminally ill patients surpass their predicted lifespan, they often feel more perplexed about why they¡¯re still alive than relieved to have survived.


    I imagine John Nae-non, who seemed on the brink of death every day, must have felt the same.


    Why haven¡¯t I died yet?


    He likely thought, How stubbornly persistent can I be?


    But this prolonged survival must have afforded him the chance to reflect. Perhaps it allowed him to rediscover what he truly desired¡ªthe self he had lost long ago.


    In other words, perhaps he began to yearn for the legendary John Nae-non once more.


    171cm54kg13cm: Do you think this will cheer up John Nae-non? I really don¡¯t understand how this would work.


    SKELTON: (Strategist SKELTON) Trust me. Just follow my instructions. He¡¯ll love it.


    Though the forum often treated me as an eccentric and a fool, back in the field, people used to call me an upgraded version of Jang Ki-young. Unlike him, who relied on crude, nonsensical strategies, I crafted plans rooted in reality and data, balancing conservatism and innovation. My creative tactics helped extend the lifespans of us Old School Hunters.


    This was one of my strategies. There was no way it wouldn¡¯t work.


    As expected, my idol, John Nae-non, responded exactly as I had anticipated.


    A Titan Appears on Failnet


    ¡ùJohn Nae-non¡ù (GOD): ?


    Reality may have been in shambles, but the Failnet forum¡ªonce a chaotic battlefield of arguments and bravado¡ªsuddenly saw the arrival of a titan.


    This user stood out from the rest in every conceivable way.


    First, there was the sheer size of their font. While most users wrote in a modest 10-point size, this mysterious figure used an overwhelming 100-point font¡ªten times larger.


    Not only that, but their username shimmered endlessly in rainbow hues, like a neon sign.


    Imagine the scene: a forum where everyone writes in uniform colors and font sizes, only for someone to appear with words ten times bigger and flashing in vibrant, dynamic colors. The impact was indescribable.


    One trembling user, likely shaking as they typed, dared to ask:


    ?? (A13): GOD...? Wh-who are you?!


    ¡ùJohn Nae-non¡ù (GOD): ?? (Hehe)


    Immediately after his chuckle, every single Failnet user received the same message, covering their entire screens:


    ¡ùJohn Nae-non¡ù (GOD):


    Hello, everyone. This is John Nae-non, the founder of Failnet. ^^@@@@


    The giant had appeared.


    *


    The return of John Nae-non threw not only Failnet but also the Korean-language board of Viva! Apocalypse! into utter turmoil.


    ??????848: John Nae-non? Didn¡¯t that guy die?


    ??????458: He must have. How is this possible?


    Foxgames: John Nae-non is the founder of Failnet? Really?


    berkut_break: That plagiarist?


    unicorn18: Wow...


    Dolsingman: This isn¡¯t someone impersonating him, is it?


    RokaGG: Who would even try to impersonate someone like that?


    Many people, still harboring bad memories of John Nae-non, refused to acknowledge his presence. I understood their perspective.


    Even as one of his most loyal supporters, I never imagined that John Nae-non might have been the mastermind behind Failnet.


    But the giant who appeared on Failnet was undoubtedly him.


    John_nenon (??? ?????): It¡¯s been a while. Hehe. Hello, Viva board.


    He personally confirmed his identity by posting on the Korean-language board. Few dared to leave comments under his post.


    They knew.


    Among the countless survivors still active on this board, there weren¡¯t many who deserved the right to comment under the words of the man who had become a beacon of light.


    We had driven him away.


    We envied him, found fault with him, and pushed him out of the community. Even after he disappeared, we failed to honor his contributions and instead consistently diminished his value.


    But there were exceptions.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON) You¡¯ve finally returned, John Nae-non!


    As his last loyal follower, I¡ªSKELTON¡ªstepped forward.


    I could almost see John Nae-non¡¯s smile.


    Sure enough, he responded to me directly:


    John_nenon (??? ?????): SKELTON...


    SKELTON: John Nae-non...


    It was a highly staged moment, of course. Much more had happened behind the scenes than most people realized. But since the beginning of the war, has there been a more moving reunion?


    I don¡¯t think so.


    The codes had disappeared.


    This marked not only the end of the hierarchical culture that had plagued Failnet but also a direct challenge from its creator to the government.


    Concerned, I messaged John Nae-non¡¯s subordinate. There was no reply.


    ¡°...¡±


    A thousand thoughts raced through my mind.


    Could it be that soldiers had already raided the site?


    Had the military seized the equipment and taken Failnet by force?


    What of John Nae-non himself, bedridden and vulnerable?


    Would soldiers in hazmat suits drag him out and discard him like trash?


    Or worse, could Failnet itself be erased entirely?


    The small ripple I had created might have inadvertently triggered a catastrophic end.


    That day, I waited, consumed by worry, refusing to eat or sleep.


    ¡°...¡±


    For a brief moment, I considered sending a message directly to John Nae-non.


    When had I started relying on his subordinate instead of communicating with him directly?


    Perhaps it was because John Nae-non had been nearing his end, unable to think clearly, that I¡¯d chosen to go through his subordinate.


    Over time, this indirect communication had solidified into a wall between us.


    Maybe this distance was intentional on my part.


    History has shown us time and again that becoming too close to an object of reverence often leads to desecration.


    But as this might be his final moment, I couldn¡¯t let my strange stubbornness hold me back.


    I placed my fingers on the keyboard, breaking my self-imposed taboo.


    SKELTON: Old Hunter, are you safe?


    This was no longer SKELTON, the faceless forum user.


    It was Park Gyu, the Hunter, reaching out.


    To my surprise, he replied almost instantly.


    John_nenon: I was just thinking about you, Hunter Park. Hehe.


    John_nenon: It seems my time has come.


    SKELTON: Old Hunter...


    John_nenon: Please take care of the world that remains, SKELTON. No¡ª


    John_nenon: Professor.


    That was the final message I received from my role model, John Nae-non.


    I sent countless messages afterward, but he never responded again.


    *


    A Story from a Distant Future


    Much later, I had the chance to learn about the truth behind the regional codes from Woo Min-hee.


    ¡°Oh, those codes?¡±


    She burst into laughter, her voice echoing as if she couldn¡¯t contain her amusement.


    ¡°They were assigned completely randomly. Totally meaningless. And yet, they started ranking themselves over it. Seriously, we¡¯re a people obsessed with hierarchy.¡±


    However, even she didn¡¯t know the full details of John Nae-non¡¯s final moments.


    And it wasn¡¯t just her.


    Even John Nae-non¡¯s loyal subordinate, 171cm, was unaware of his end.


    This meticulous man, who once updated his nickname to reflect losing a single kilogram, responded to my question like this:


    171cm53kg13cm: On the day the government officials came, John Nae-non told me that my work was done and that I could leave the server room. He said he would take full responsibility for everything.


    Even he didn¡¯t know how it ended for John Nae-non.


    A Fragment of a Legend


    A story whispered among survivors paints a hazy picture of John Nae-non¡¯s final stand.


    They say that when the government agents, clad in hazmat suits, approached his underground sanctuary, John Nae-non shouted at them:


    ¡°I am a Hunter.¡±


    When the government officials reached the lead-lined steel door to his bunker, John Nae-non activated a nuclear battery he had prepared in advance. Already saturated with lethal radiation, his sanctuary transformed into an absolute death zone.


    As the Geiger counters wailed in despair, John Nae-non opened the door to reveal a world made of blinding light.


    Standing in the irradiated glow, he smiled brighter than the light itself and declared:


    ¡°I will protect my world.¡±


    In his frail hands, he reportedly held two axes.


    The Present


    I look at Failnet now.


    ??: Where did John Nae-non go?


    ??: Is that bastard really dead?


    ??: Whatever, just leave him be. He¡¯ll show up again eventually.


    ??: ©³©¥©¥©¥©¥Collection Complete©¥©¥©¥©¥©·


    ??: Bring back the codes! I don¡¯t want to mingle with these beggars again!


    ??: ©»©¥©¥©¥©¥Orphan Collection©¥©¥©¥©¥©¿


    ??: The announcement for the second convoy departure should be soon.


    The great tree that was John Nae-non has fallen.


    In the place where the mighty tree once stood, countless weeds, wild grasses, fungi, and moss now grow.


    Each carries its own reasons, consuming and pushing one another away, rejecting each other, yet sometimes leaning on one another.


    And they thrive.

 Chapter 51.1

    Our board¡¯s renowned user, Defender, had not posted a ¡°verification¡± in quite some time.


    While I knew the backstory¡ªhow he had moved to a quieter, more isolated place and was under the constant threat of a sniper who never posted on the board¡ªhis decreased activity didn¡¯t seem strange to me. But the other users felt differently.


    Anonymous458: Why hasn¡¯t Defender posted a verification lately?


    Anonymous1131: Yeah, I¡¯ve heard about him, but I¡¯ve never seen him post since I joined.


    mmmmmmmmm: He¡¯s a dud. Who even falls for that these days? All the weaklings are already dead.


    Anonymous782: I¡¯m new here, but Defender was pretty famous on Failnet.


    Users criticized his lack of recent accomplishments, questioning whether he still deserved his status as a notable user.


    Anonymous: What is a Defender without verification? Just another nobody on the board!


    In my view, the very fact that such conversations were happening was undeniable evidence that our collective mindset had grown diseased.


    In a world overflowing with death and tragedy, emotions had dulled, and the world itself looked different to us.


    It may sound obvious, but hardly anyone among us was shocked by the sight of a corpse anymore.


    At most, it might prompt a furrowed brow.


    No one hesitated to pull the trigger when facing someone who sought to kill them.


    And it wouldn¡¯t surprise me if there were those among us who wouldn¡¯t hesitate to aim their guns at a vulnerable person, especially if that person had something valuable¡ªor was an attractive woman.


    Even I have felt those impulses more than once.


    Somewhere along the line, just like how the term ¡°raider¡± had disappeared, we too had become no different from the raiders we once despised.


    Well, even I had noticed that Defender¡¯s activity had significantly decreased lately.


    Sometimes, I found myself missing his¡ªor his sister¡¯s¡ªsarcastic remarks.


    Defender¡¯s return to posting on the board came after I¡¯d spent the day tending my small vegetable patch and had just returned home.


    Defender: Verification.


    The photo Defender posted showed a man in his early twenties.


    His thumbs were bound with cable ties, and duct tape was wrapped tightly around his eyes. He was forcibly seated on an old, worn chair.


    Unlike Defender¡¯s previous verifications, this time the man in the photo was alive.


    This was unprecedented.


    Until now, Defender had only ever posted photos of people he had killed¡ªnever of someone still breathing.


    It felt like something out of the ordinary was happening.


    As if to answer that unspoken question, Defender posted another message:


    Defender: Justice Min. Come out.


    Don¡¯t send me messages. Post on the board where everyone can see.


    Begging for your life, bargaining¡ªit¡¯s all fine. Asking me to kill you would be even better.


    You have one hour.


    If you don¡¯t respond within that hour, you¡¯ll get to see your corpse verified alongside your brother.


    ¡°...¡±


    People said Defender had changed.


    Some even speculated that he had only been able to thrive in the early days because people were weaker back then. It sounded like a plausible argument.


    But I didn¡¯t agree.


    The Defender I knew was, for lack of a better word, a fully formed individual from the start.


    Unlike others, whose perspectives and morals shifted with the times, Defender had always held steadfastly to his own principles and lived by them.


    As his username suggested, he was a Defender¡ªa protector.


    Of himself, his family, and his territory.


    And anything that threatened those was eliminated.


    He simply ¡°verified¡± his defense.


    Now, Defender had posted another verification.


    It was clear the board would be thrown into turmoil.


    But who would ultimately be swept away by that storm was something no one could predict.


    *


    Another key player in this situation, JUSTICE_MIN, was someone likely known only to Defender and me.


    He had never posted on the board before.


    A search for his account yielded nothing either.


    Though he had been a registered member since before the war, he was nothing more than a void¡ªa nonentity.


    So, when Defender mentioned him, the board¡¯s users were filled with intense curiosity and confusion.


    RKKArA: Who is Justice Min?


    Anonymous458: Exactly. Total nobody.


    Foxgames: Who could it be?


    Anonymous1131: I don¡¯t know who they are, but this is interesting.


    gijayangban: Someone with no activity history.


    Unlike the other users, I had direct contact with Defender.


    ¡°Defender.¡±


    I reached out to him first.


    ¡°Yes, Skelton.¡±


    His sister answered.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Hold on. I¡¯ll connect you to my brother.¡±@@@@


    Her voice was unusually cold and businesslike.


    I could guess why.


    They currently had a hostage, and Defender was facing off in real time against someone trying to kill them.


    She was probably operating multiple drones to support her brother¡¯s position.


    ¡°Hey, Skelton,¡± Defender said as he joined the call.


    ¡°That time I got shot¡ªit wasn¡¯t just bad luck. I¡¯d been tracking that bastard for a while. That day, I was following a lead and let my guard down, which is why I got shot.¡±


    Defender might come as a pair, but they were never three¡ªlet alone three men.


    Time was ticking.


    There were 20 minutes left until the deadline Defender had set for Justice Min to respond.


    If nothing happened, the hostage was as good as dead.


    ¡°Rebecca, are you watching?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Standing beside her, I glanced at the monitor she was staring at.


    Finding it cramped, she powered on a second monitor.


    The same screen from her laptop appeared there.


    ¡°What the hell is this?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Dual monitors,¡± Rebecca replied in her native accent.


    ¡°That¡¯s a thing?¡±


    ¡°Are you stupid, Skelton?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s rebuke aside, I focused on the secondary monitor.


    As we bickered, gunshots echoed in the distance.


    Sue came down from the rooftop with her rifle and surveillance equipment.


    ¡°The people pulled a woman out of the car and killed the man.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Then they took the woman.¡±


    To Sue, this might¡¯ve been just another observation. But for someone, somewhere, it was a tragic moment.


    And Sue relayed it without a hint of emotion.


    She¡¯d grown used to it.


    It made sense¡ªshe¡¯d seen more tragedies than I had, perched high above while I remained underground.


    ¡°Skelton, anything happening with Defender?¡±


    ¡°No, not yet.¡±


    Sue sat beside me, staring at the same monitor I was watching.


    Rebecca, meanwhile, furiously typed on her laptop, using a dictionary to look up unfamiliar Korean terms as she tried to piece together what was happening on the board.


    My thoughts drifted.


    Defender had mentioned that Justice Min wasn¡¯t working alone¡ªthey were part of a capable, mid-sized group.


    One that Defender himself seemed wary of.


    Why hadn¡¯t he asked for my help this time?


    Maybe he wanted to handle it on his own.


    After all, I¡¯d made a similar decision when fighting Kim Pil-sung¡¯s group¡ªI didn¡¯t summon Defender back then because I didn¡¯t want to endanger him.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling of regret.


    As I stood to leave, Rebecca called out.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Look.¡±


    A new post had appeared on the board.


    Defender: Additional Verification.


    Rebecca clicked on it without hesitation.


    A single photo loaded.


    ¡°Are you okay, Sue?¡±


    I didn¡¯t cover Sue¡¯s eyes.


    It wasn¡¯t my place to coddle her, and in this world, such gestures felt hollow.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said, unfazed.


    The photo showed three corpses.


    Unlike his earlier posts, where Defender had covered the victims¡¯ faces, this time, every detail was visible.


    The twisted expressions of pain and terror were on full display.


    In the background, the bound hostage still sat in the chair.


    Defender: Five minutes left.


    The board was eerily silent.


    No mocking replies, no panicked reactions¡ªjust an oppressive stillness.


    ¡°This is Defender,¡± I muttered to myself.


    The final minute approached.


    At 4:02 PM, a new post appeared.


    JUSTICE_MIN: I¡¯m sorry. I apologize.


    Justice Min had finally shown himself, with bitter words of regret.


    But just moments after his post, another appeared.


    Defender: Verification.

 Chapter 51.2

    When Defender and his sister helped with the construction work some time ago, we didn¡¯t talk much, but during downtime, we occasionally shared stories about our past or personal preferences.


    I already knew she was familiar with internet culture, but talking to her made me realize just how much depth she had¡ªfar beyond anything I could hope to match.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been using forums since elementary school.¡±


    ¡°Quite the precocious yellow sprout, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    It was during what could be called Defender¡¯s ¡°rest period.¡±


    Having met the formidable Justice Min, Defender had stopped posting frequently, let alone performing his usual ¡°verifications.¡±


    ¡°I like it better this way¡ªless verification,¡± I said honestly.


    Less verification meant fewer encounters with others, which was always a good thing.


    ¡°Verification is better left undone,¡± Da-jeong sighed with a bitter smile.


    Hanging her head and gazing off into the distance, she looked, for a fleeting moment, like a seasoned veteran.


    ¡°Users who do verifications on the board never last long¡ªthey all disappear.¡±


    ¡°Really? It¡¯s not because their verifications were subpar?¡±


    ¡°No. Back on another forum, there was even this guy who was like a rich kid straight out of a movie.¡±


    ¡°So why did he disappear?¡±


    ¡°Who knows? Maybe it was just a burnout or a sudden realization.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    ¡°Or maybe it¡¯s because they stood out. You know masquerade balls, right?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°If everyone¡¯s wearing masks and joking around, wouldn¡¯t you feel awkward being the only one with your face exposed?¡±


    Da-jeong smirked at me.


    I didn¡¯t fully understand her words then, but I thought I got a glimpse of why people who did verifications disappeared.


    But there was an exception sitting right in front of me.


    ¡°Still, you two have done plenty of verifications and lasted quite a while, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    Da-jeong let out a chuckle.


    ¡°Verification isn¡¯t all the same. There are heavy verifications and light ones. What we¡¯ve done are the light ones.¡±


    At the time, I didn¡¯t grasp the full meaning of her words.


    But now, I think I understand.


    I understand what ¡°heavy verification¡± really is.


    In the photo posted by Defender, a man hung upside down, blood dripping from his body and staining the chair beneath him red.


    ¡°...¡±


    Judging by the photo, the man was still alive.


    And sure enough, Defender had added a sentence at the end of the photo:


    Defender: He¡¯s still alive.


    At that moment, I felt a chilling sensation that froze my blood.@@@@


    It was the same familiar unease I¡¯d felt when I met the Defender siblings in person.


    What Defender was doing now was nothing more than a grim re-enactment of something I¡¯d seen countless times in China.


    In China, when the regular army couldn¡¯t handle insurgents, guerrilla warfare specialists were sent in.


    They weren¡¯t soldiers¡ªthey were butchers.


    When capturing insurgents, they often took one or two hostage and used them to lure out the rest for a massacre.


    The tactic was simple but effective: leave the hostage to bleed out slowly.


    If no one came to save them, the hostage would die; if someone came, they¡¯d all die.


    Now, that same strategy, which I¡¯d witnessed in China, was being used here in Korea by my internet friend.


    Defender: Video.


    The video showed the upside-down man sobbing and begging for his life, his voice trembling like a child¡¯s.


    The grainy footage, far from detracting from the impact, only amplified the ominous atmosphere created by the dimly lit room.


    ¡°...¡±


    I had little to say about the situation.


    This was Defender¡¯s fight¡ªa battle he had chosen and shaped.


    But why?


    Why did his methods provoke such a visceral reaction in me?


    Was it because this was what Da-jeong had referred to as a ¡°heavy verification¡±?


    Or was there another reason entirely?


    The suffocating frustration I felt was succinctly articulated by another user on the board:


    Dies_Irae69: I don¡¯t know the full story, but using our board as your murder weapon crosses a line.


    Dies_Irae69.


    The leader of the survivalist faction had neatly encapsulated the discomfort I couldn¡¯t put into words.


    Exactly.


    Defender was exploiting our board.


    Our sanctuary, our space for respite, where we found moments of joy in a dying world¡ªhe had dragged his war into it.


    Defender likely knew everything about Justice Min.


    He had probably uncovered their base, their habits, and even their weaknesses.


    He¡¯d gathered all the information and prepared a trap to destroy them.


    And the bait for that trap? Our board.


    I recalled a message from Justice Min that Defender had once shared:


    JUSTICE_MIN: So you¡¯re that crazy guy from Viva Apocalypse! The one who kills people and does verifications? Lol. Fucking lol.


    JUSTICE_MIN: Well, I¡¯ve got you now. The hero of justice knows who you are. From now on, I¡¯m hunting you down. I¡¯ll hunt you and ¡°verify¡± you. Just wait¡ªit won¡¯t take long...!!!


    The messages made it clear¡ªJustice Min was a show-off.


    But what had made him so desperate to hunt Defender?


    Da-jeong had her own theory about Justice Min¡¯s behavior.


    ¡°He¡¯s someone who craves a sense of belonging.¡±


    ¡°A sense of belonging?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s a big shot on Greater FailNet, right? But then he sees this puny, cowardly refuge of a board and, as someone from FailNet¡¯s noble lineage, he can¡¯t stand it.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Don¡¯t do it.¡±


    This was a warning.


    ¡°I said don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    The silence on the other end was thick with irritation.


    I waited, quietly, for my internet friend¡¯s response.


    After a moment, I heard a resigned sigh.


    ¡°...Fine.¡±


    ¡°Good call.¡±


    It really was the right decision.


    Defender might think he had removed a major obstacle by killing Justice Min.


    But fate¡¯s blade never comes alone.


    Sometimes it comes in pairs, or in an inescapable swarm.


    And in my view, Dies_Irae69 was a far sharper blade than Justice Min ever was.


    ¡°...Are you going to verify this?¡±


    I softened my tone, hoping they¡¯d understand.


    After a pause, Da-jeong sighed on the other end.


    ¡°This verification...¡±


    Her faint, bittersweet laughter echoed through the line.


    ¡°...It was a heavy one, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    She was a master of the internet.


    She knew the fate of herself and her brother¡ªof ¡°Defender.¡±


    *


    ??: What''s going on? Why hasn''t there been any news from Defender?


    ??????1131: Did Defender chicken out after Dies Irae called him out? Hahaha, he''s awfully quiet.


    unicorn18: Was Defender really just a water rocket all along?


    ??????848: Defender''s not dead, is he?


    ??????458: Defender, did you really back down to Dies Irae?


    RokaGG: Defender''s smarter than I thought. Knows when to recognize strength.


    mmmmmmmmm: What happened? Is this about that blocked user bait? (Seriously, I don¡¯t know.)


    The downfall of someone in a high position is always a hot topic.


    The higher they rise, the greater the fascination with their fall.


    Defender, once synonymous with terror and regarded as the most dangerous and powerful user on our board, was now being torn apart by ridicule and mockery.


    In hindsight, perhaps it was inevitable.


    Defender had risen to fame through the shock value of his verifications, but in a world where such shocks had become routine, his allure could no longer hold.


    ¡°Live by verification, die by verification,¡± Defender¡¯s sister said.


    ¡°Looking back, maybe Dies Irae was right.¡±


    The Defender siblings were currently at my shelter.


    I had invited them as a gesture of gratitude for their extraordinary patience.


    To honor their visit, I served the prized Korean beef I had carefully preserved deep in the freezer.


    ¡°...It¡¯s good,¡± Defender said, chewing the meat with a blank expression as he stared off into the distance.


    He looked drained.


    And why wouldn¡¯t he?


    After the fight of a lifetime, all he¡¯d received in return was scorn from the board.


    According to his sister, Defender wasn¡¯t planning on being active for the foreseeable future.


    The board¡¯s most iconic "named" user, Defender, was disappearing into history.


    ¡°Is it really necessary to leave the board?¡±


    Defender¡¯s sister sighed and joined me, looking up at the countless stars glittering above us¡ªa bittersweet gift from the apocalypse.


    She turned on her tablet notepad and showed me a message she¡¯d written:


    [ It¡¯s the right move to leave. The antis have grown in number, we¡¯ve made mistakes that gave them ammunition, and Dies Irae sniped us perfectly. At this point, we¡¯re just fodder for ridicule. ]


    As someone well-versed in the ways of the internet, she was probably right.


    Still, there was one way out: kill Dies Irae and verify it.


    But that wasn¡¯t going to happen anytime soon.


    ¡°Why leave the board?¡± she asked bluntly.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you weren¡¯t going to use Defender¡¯s account anymore?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got an alt account.¡±


    seamonkeyPAPA: (Defender) Yo.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll just tweak the nickname and use it. With all the new users joining, it¡¯s not a big deal.¡±


    As expected from an internet master¡ªher approach was truly unconventional.


    While she remained as spirited as ever, her brother still seemed deflated.


    Understandably so¡ªhis pride had taken a severe blow.


    He suddenly turned to me and asked, ¡°...Is he really that dangerous? Dies Irae?¡±


    He still sounded resentful.


    ¡°He¡¯s dangerous, yeah. Ambitious, smart, ruthless. But you know...¡±


    I looked up at the countless stars sparkling above us.


    Stars are often compared to the souls of the dead.


    In this apocalyptic world, the sheer number of stars shining above might symbolize the staggering number of lives lost.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll live very long.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± both siblings asked in unison.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t hide his home.¡±


    We¡¯ll all become stars someday.


    But at least, I think, we¡¯ll sparkle later than them.

 Chapter 52.1

    It had been two years and eight months since the war began.


    Before the war, I had assumed that by this point, there wouldn¡¯t be many people left alive.


    Reality, however, had proven me wrong.


    Even if it¡¯s just a shell of its former self, the government still exists, and countless people have managed to take root and survive here and there.


    But lately, I can''t help but feel that everything is nearing its limit. And I doubt I¡¯m the only one who thinks so.


    Even I, Park Gyu, who proudly considers myself the most thoroughly prepared survivalist in all of South Korea, have started to sense a creeping crisis.


    What threatens our survival isn¡¯t just the Legion faction or the monsters.


    External threats are merely one of many factors that jeopardize our survival.


    Living¡ªtrue survival¡ªencompasses the everyday struggle of life.


    And to live, we need supplies.


    If I were to put it in game terms, they¡¯re like HP.


    Just as a game character dies when their HP hits zero, we do too when our resources are depleted.


    Traditionally, there are two major ways to replenish dwindling supplies: looting and scavenging.


    Looting isn¡¯t really my style, nor is it an easy task.


    As seen during the Defender incident, everyone has leveled up.


    In other words, the gullible fools who would sit helplessly in their homes, waiting to be plundered, have all long since died out.


    The easier option is scavenging.


    Calling it ¡°scavenging¡± is a polite way to put it, but in reality, it¡¯s more like ¡°scrapping.¡±


    It involves rummaging through abandoned houses or even corpses to secure supplies.


    These two methods of survival were never options before the war.


    However, with the apocalypse dragging on and humanity¡¯s surprising resilience proving stronger than expected, I¡¯ve started to reconsider my approach.


    It was Rebecca who gave me the nudge to change my perspective.


    *


    People need various supplies to survive, but at its core, it always boils down to the traditional essentials: food, clothing, and shelter.


    For now, the food situation is relatively stable.


    I''ve managed to convert most of my frozen supplies into long-term rations, and I occasionally farm small plots in my territory to pass the time.


    One of my few joys is planting and harvesting the seedlings Kim Elder passed on to me, along with what I had already stored away.


    However, my farming isn¡¯t consistent or organized.


    Unlike DSIREA and others who excel in agriculture¡ªthose who plant crops neatly in square-shaped fields and harvest them efficiently¡ªI scatter seeds sporadically across various spots.


    This isn¡¯t because I¡¯m an idiot but because I want my fields to look nothing like traditional farms.


    My ¡°plots¡± are as small as a single shoe in some places or large enough to barely stretch out my body in others.


    It¡¯s inefficient, labor-intensive to water, vulnerable to pests, and yields far less than a proper farm. But compared to the risks of discovery, those disadvantages are trivial.


    A person like me, marked by the Legion faction, can¡¯t afford to proudly display their fields like DSIREA, posting pictures titled ¡°Skelton Farm¡± online. That¡¯s the kind of arrogance that could invite a Legion artillery barrage, wiping out an entire year¡¯s harvest in seconds.


    Still, this approach only works for now. It won¡¯t hold up in a year or two.


    At best, my reserves will last another year.


    Even with the long-term ¡°brick rations,¡± I might survive five years, but I¡¯d probably lose my mind or succumb to some other ailment long before that.


    The bigger issue than food is the aging infrastructure.


    Electricity and plumbing were top-notch when installed, and I had expert advice during construction, so they¡¯re holding up fine for now.


    The batteries, however, are a different story.


    No matter how many I stockpiled, time isn¡¯t kind to them. After three years, the charge capacity and voltage have noticeably dropped.


    But the most critical issue is the fuel.


    The quality of the fuel is deteriorating steadily¡ªsomething I¡¯d anticipated.


    Fuel isn¡¯t something that lasts forever.


    Gasoline doesn¡¯t even make it a year, and diesel, at best, lasts about a year and a half.


    I had pre-ordered diesel known for its longevity, added preservatives to prevent oxidation, and stored it in vacuum-sealed tanks, but even that couldn¡¯t stop the passage of time.


    Every time I open a valve to use the fuel, air inevitably seeps in through the gaps. Not even a major corporation could prevent that.


    Korea¡¯s infamous seasonal swings and humidity haven¡¯t helped either.


    Sure, we boast four seasons, but the reality is we get the world¡¯s harshest climates in one "gift set."


    Rebecca¡¯s predecessors froze to death en masse during the Korean War, not because they were incompetent but because they couldn¡¯t have imagined a country as hot as the Pacific islands could get that cold.


    Fuel shortages are becoming a serious problem.


    That morning, Rebecca sent me a message.


    From: COOKIEMONSTER123


    Message: Skelton, this winter will be freezing.


    Mutations are undoubtedly terrifying creatures, but their numbers aren¡¯t overwhelming.


    Their larger size makes them more noticeable, and their bigger bodies demand greater sustenance¡ªsomething that doesn¡¯t improve with increased intelligence or size.


    Even in China, where mutations are abundant, most have died due to starvation or infighting.


    Some mutations that prey on humans have been killed by the humans themselves.


    In this area, there are no villages or wildlife to sustain mutations.


    It¡¯s a barren wasteland.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t let my guard down.


    With an axe in one hand and a rifle in the other, I approached the abandoned house cautiously.


    Thud!


    I kicked open the door and stepped inside.


    The stale air was thick with dust, and the faint scent of decay lingered¡ªlikely from corpses long reduced to husks.


    Click.


    Moving slowly and carefully, I began to search the house.


    When scavenging abandoned homes, it¡¯s essential to search the entire property.


    Skipping areas like the attic or basement out of laziness could expose you to a counterattack from someone hiding there.


    This is even more critical if you plan to spend any amount of time in the house. For safety¡¯s sake, you should also inspect nearby houses.


    If someone is hiding within range and they¡¯re armed, they could pose a significant threat.


    The object of my search wasn¡¯t hard to find.


    In the boiler room, a massive wood-burning boiler stood intact, showing no signs of major damage.


    Next to it were two mummified corpses.


    Unsettling, but at least it confirmed that there were no immediate threats in the house.


    The real problem was the boiler¡¯s weight.


    Just by looking at it, I could tell it was at least 150 kilograms.


    It¡¯s not impossible for me, Skelton, to lift, but just barely.


    And a strained back equals death in this world.


    Catch a cold, you die.


    Get too cold, you die.


    That¡¯s the reality we live in.


    Should I bring in a forklift?


    The boiler was only 9 kilometers away, but using a forklift for such a distance was no trivial decision.


    I¡¯d probably have to bring it back anyway, maybe load it onto a truck.


    At least I had secured the boiler.


    Now, I needed to search the area thoroughly.


    I¡¯d have to return eventually, so I might as well scout the surroundings properly this time.


    Holding my rifle at the ready, I moved into the adjacent house.


    This one was smaller but well-built, with a quaint charm.


    Most of the first-floor windows were shattered, but the second-floor windows and others out of reach were pristine and offered a clear view of the outside.


    The moment I stepped inside, I hesitated.


    Should I turn back?


    This house... someone was living here.


    I could feel it.


    No matter how well they tried to hide it, my instincts were sharp.


    Engaging with people wasn¡¯t a good idea.


    Anyone prepared to bunker down with weapons and shoot on sight wasn¡¯t worth tangling with.


    ¡°...I¡¯ve come to the wrong place. I¡¯ll leave now. I have no intention of fighting, so please don¡¯t misunderstand.¡±


    Speaking toward the unknown resident, I slowly began to back away.


    But I hadn¡¯t taken more than a few steps when two lights flickered in the darkness.


    People.


    ¡°E-excuse me!¡±


    It was a child¡¯s voice.


    Not one, but three children.


    They were all skin and bones, looking like walking skeletons.


    ¡°Do you... have any food?¡±

 Chapter 52.2

    To be brutally honest, the chances of me taking these kids in are slim to none.


    This isn¡¯t a matter of morality¡ªit¡¯s about survival.


    Even when it came to the sniper and her daughter, with whom I share a long-standing bond, I hesitated to bring them into my circle. Taking in these pitiful children would be a betrayal of the principles that have kept me alive until now.


    ¡°Freeze.¡±


    Just because they¡¯re kids doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m about to let my guard down.


    I¡¯ve seen raiders use children as bait, and even these kids might not be as innocent as they seem.


    Click.


    I raised my rifle, and the children froze in their tracks.


    ¡°Turn around. Hands in the air.¡±


    Even a child can kill someone if they have a weapon.


    The ages of the children in front of me ranged from lower to upper elementary school.


    If they know how, taking down a careless adult is no big feat.


    The kids in my sight didn¡¯t appear to be armed.


    ¡°There.¡±


    I aimed a warning at the railing leading to the second floor.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re hiding. You¡¯ve got ten seconds.¡±


    I watched the children¡¯s reactions closely as I aimed my rifle.


    The youngest looked utterly lost, unsure of what to do.


    The two older ones exchanged glances, silently communicating.


    Bang!


    I fired a warning shot at the children¡¯s feet.


    They screamed and either crouched down or dropped flat on the floor.


    ¡°Eight.¡±


    I shifted my gaze to the railing and began counting aloud.


    ¡°Seven.¡±


    A white handkerchief fluttered out from behind the railing.


    ¡°Alright, alright! I¡¯m coming out.¡±


    An adult¡¯s voice¡ªa raspy, phlegmy tone, more middle-aged than youthful¡ªcalled out.


    The owner of the voice soon emerged from the railing.


    A man with long, disheveled hair and a dark complexion limped into view.


    ¡°Come down. Hands in the air.¡±


    The man slowly descended the spiral staircase to the first floor.


    But he wasn¡¯t alone.


    Trailing behind him, like ducklings following their mother, were several small children.


    It was immediately clear that these kids weren¡¯t his.


    ¡°Whose kids are these?¡±


    The man smirked bitterly, shaking his head.


    ¡°Picked them up. They¡¯re beggar kids.¡±


    ¡°Beggar kids?¡±


    ¡°I took them out of there.¡±


    The man spread his arms wide, his voice growing more fervent.


    ¡°I brought them out of that hell!¡±


    *


    The man didn¡¯t reveal his name, but the children called him Sergeant Jang.


    I hadn¡¯t intended to exchange words with him, but he insisted on a conversation, so we spoke briefly outside the house while the children looked on.


    He got straight to the point.


    ¡°Do you need kids?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°If you do, take your pick. A little food will do.¡±


    ¡°I said I don¡¯t need them.¡±


    When he pressed too hard, I had no choice but to aim my pistol at his stubbled chin.


    Between the wiry hairs of his beard, I noticed small, white worms wriggling.


    Lice.


    I immediately took a step back, putting distance between us, and spoke coldly.


    ¡°Is that all you wanted to say?¡±


    ¡°You need a boiler, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Sergeant Jang smirked.


    ¡°I saw you checking out the wood-burning boiler next door. You planning to take it?¡±


    I had been.


    At least until I encountered these people.


    ¡°No. I was considering it, but I didn¡¯t know you were here. I¡¯ll leave it.¡±


    Wood-burning boilers are everywhere. I could find another one elsewhere. Or I could ask Defender for help.


    ¡°We¡¯ll help you take it. You just need to load it onto that motorcycle, right?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Come on, just give us a little food. You can see the kids¡¯ condition, right? They¡¯ll starve to death like this.¡±


    I didn¡¯t look at the children.


    It was intentional.


    I didn¡¯t want to develop any unnecessary pity.


    I wasn¡¯t going to take them in or care for them anyway.


    Sergeant Jang fixed his gaze on me and continued speaking.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do anything. Just give us some food. Not much. We¡¯ll load the boiler for you. The kids aren¡¯t useless. They¡¯re not just sitting around¡ªthey can work. You¡¯d be surprised how sharp they are.¡±


    Before I could respond, Sergeant Jang turned and barked orders at the hollow-eyed children clustered behind him.


    ¡°What are you standing around for? Get ready to dismantle that boiler! Grab tools! Bring the cart!¡±


    While he groveled before me, he roared at the children like a tyrant.


    ¡°What about the ones inside?¡±


    I gestured toward the house with the muzzle of my rifle.


    At my question, Sergeant Jang¡¯s lips twisted into an awkward smile.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°There are two more inside.¡±


    ¡°...You¡¯ve got good instincts, huh?¡±


    Click.


    I raised my rifle.


    I usually prefer to resolve things through conversation, but something about this situation¡ªthe strange vibe of the abandoned neighborhood, the unsettling presence of so many unfamiliar children, and Sergeant Jang¡¯s crass, filthy demeanor¡ªput me on edge.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± I asked irritably.


    Sergeant Jang¡¯s eyes darted around nervously.


    ¡°Well, uh...¡±


    ¡°This conversation is over. Go back inside. Take the kids with you.¡±


    ¡°No, wait! Listen to me! Look, they¡¯re kids¡ªwell, not exactly kids anymore. They¡¯ve grown. They¡¯re... what do you call it? Teenagers! They¡¯re in their rebellious phase or whatever. They don¡¯t listen to me anymore!¡±


    The way he cracked open the soju bottle and downed it in gulps without so much as a bite of food made that clear.


    ¡°Ahh! This is it. This is the stuff!¡±


    Drunk or sober, his behavior and expression didn¡¯t change much.


    He remained jittery, insecure, and constantly glancing over his shoulder at the teenagers behind him.


    I¡¯d known from the beginning what haunted him.


    After a few drinks, he started to open up more candidly.


    ¡°I should never have taken in those kids. I should¡¯ve just left them behind.¡±


    The kids.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t you have abandoned them halfway?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not as simple as that.¡±


    ¡°You seem to hate them enough.¡±


    ¡°If I left them, they¡¯d all be dead. Last winter, only two of them died because I was there. If I hadn¡¯t been, they¡¯d all have frozen to death. Every single one of them!¡±


    I couldn¡¯t understand his feelings about the children.


    They seemed to be a chaotic mess of contradictions¡ªhe pitied them but despised them, they feared him but also seemed to scare him in return.


    Soon enough, I identified the source of my unease.


    There was no clear purpose behind his actions.


    What was driving him to live such a contradictory life?


    I asked, ¡°Why are you doing this?¡±


    Sergeant Jang licked the neck of the empty soju bottle and gave me a strange smile before murmuring:


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But when I came to my senses, I was stuck with this damned burden.¡±


    Then his eyes gleamed.


    ¡°No, I think I do know,¡± he said with sudden conviction.


    ¡°To avoid going to hell.¡±


    ¡°Hell?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve done so many bad things. Doesn¡¯t doing at least one good thing keep you out of hell? I know there¡¯s no such thing as hell, but I can¡¯t just die as a piece of shit, can I?¡±


    I still didn¡¯t understand.


    Was it some form of atonement?


    That was as far as my comprehension could stretch.


    Sergeant Jang¡¯s view of the world and mine must differ greatly in many ways.


    I shifted my focus to a more immediate issue.


    ¡°What about those older kids? The boy and the girl?¡±


    The ones he seemed so afraid of.


    They were dangerous.


    If left unchecked, either Sergeant Jang would die, or they would.


    ¡°You planning to kill them?¡±


    In a similar situation, I would.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Of course, Sergeant Jang wasn¡¯t like me.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t, you might be the one who gets killed.¡±


    ¡°Then so be it.¡±


    ¡°Is that part of your atonement too?¡±


    ¡°Atonement? Nah, it¡¯s not that grand. But if I kill them, the rest of the kids are as good as dead too. You can see I¡¯m not long for this world, right?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve taught those ungrateful brats how to survive, at least a little. They¡¯re shitty kids, but the others like them more than they like me, and those two care about the others more than I ever could.¡±


    Sergeant Jang, who had been grimly reflecting on his dire reality, suddenly broke into a boyish grin.


    ¡°Got a K-walkie?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°You know CQ?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    CQ is the universal call signal for open frequency communication on walkie-talkies.


    Most people skip it, but by-the-book protocol requires starting with CQ when broadcasting to random listeners.


    ¡°I told them to use ¡®C8.¡¯ When they get their hands on a walkie-talkie, they¡¯ll just go ¡®C8, C8!¡¯ over and over.¡±


    Sergeant Jang chuckled, his flushed face lit up with amusement.


    I wasn¡¯t just here to listen to his drunken ramblings or life story.


    I handed him another item I¡¯d brought along¡ªa sheet of vinyl from Woo Min-hee.


    I explained how to use it.


    ¡°If you find anything white or close to white, contact me on the walkie-talkie. I can¡¯t help everyone, but I might be able to ensure at least one of those kids has a chance at a decent life.¡±


    That concluded our conversation.


    With his flushed face and a mix of reluctance and gratitude, Sergeant Jang waved me off as I prepared to leave.


    ¡°Hey, you bastard!¡±


    He sent a farewell signal that only we survivors understood, but I didn¡¯t respond.


    *


    Sergeant Jang never contacted me again.


    To be honest, I completely forgot about him¡ªand even the wood-burning boiler.


    The summer was oppressively hot, and chaos unfolded in the north as yet another monster eruption plunged the region into turmoil. Meanwhile, in Incheon, an unprecedented disaster turned the entire city upside down.


    I only remembered Sergeant Jang when the early chill of August began to cool the ground.


    While others on the forum rejoiced over the cool, autumn-like weather, I hurried to retrieve the wood-burning boiler. I decided to test it out.


    Whoosh.


    The flames roared to life, and the boiler¡¯s performance was impressive¡ªno malfunctions, no repairs needed.


    Even then, Sergeant Jang didn¡¯t cross my mind.


    Not until my K-walkie suddenly picked up a signal on the public frequency.


    ¡°Shibal.¡±


    A young girl¡¯s voice echoed over the walkie-talkie, spewing an unexpected curse.


    Why on earth?


    As I listened, the same curse repeated over and over, ringing through the static.


    ¡°Shibal, shibal.¡±


    It was then that I remembered Sergeant Jang.


    These must be his kids¡ªthe ones who had especially hated him.


    ¡°Is anyone there? Please, someone respond.¡±


    The fact that this voice was coming through likely meant one thing: Sergeant Jang was no longer alive.


    A question crept into my mind.


    Had the kids killed him?


    Or had he succumbed to his illness?


    ¡°Hello? Is no one there? Shibal, shibal!¡±


    There was no way to know the answer.


    After all, I wasn¡¯t about to respond to that signal.


    ¡°Hello! Is anyone there?!¡±


    At least that bright, innocent voice still carried a faint glimmer of hope.

 Chapter 53

    The heat was oppressive, a sweltering summer unlike any other.


    Last year, I might¡¯ve spent such days luxuriating with the air conditioner blasting, but now I had to conserve fuel for the impending winter.


    To make matters worse, the main entrance to my bunker was blocked by sediment, making proper ventilation difficult.


    These days, my living quarters were not the main bunker but a decoy one I called Bunker 4.


    Situated on a gentle slope overlooking my territory, it was shaded by clusters of trees and sat along a wind corridor, making it the coolest spot in the area.


    When the heat became unbearable, I would go down to the stream at the edge of my territory to cool off.


    Not to brag, but the stream near my home used to be a popular summer destination, teeming with unknown merchants and vacationers.


    The depth and flow were perfect for leisurely wading, though the water quality wasn¡¯t ideal. Slime-like algae would cling to the rocks.


    But now, with humanity¡¯s presence all but eradicated, the water was astonishingly clean. Crayfish even lived under the stones.


    Sitting by the stream, with an umbrella propped up like a parasol and my feet dipped in the cool water, it was hard to believe the world was in the midst of an apocalypse.


    However, the loaded rifle by my side served as a stark reminder of the fragility of this peace.


    Occasionally, I heard gunshots in the distance, though they didn¡¯t come from the sniper mother and daughter.


    They came from the north, where the pioneers had settled.


    The Legion faction hadn¡¯t shown any signs of activity since their last incursion.


    While the effort I¡¯d put into fortifying defenses during that time might seem wasted, the truth was that their absence was the best-case scenario.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t let my guard down.


    The decision to come and kill me would likely be made far from my knowledge.


    Lately, I¡¯d been testing synthetic fuel.


    Before using it on the main generator in my second basement, I tried it out on a small diesel generator.


    According to information I gathered from Failnet, South Korea¡¯s chemical engineering prowess was unmatched, and its synthetic fuel was considered some of the best in the world.


    Though the government had made numerous blunders during the war, maintaining administrative functionality three years after the fact showed remarkable foresight. Synthetic fuel was one such example.


    The government had ordered its development to prepare for the loss of maritime trade, utilizing alternatives like coal to produce synthetic fuel. Some prototypes had even been completed before the war began.


    So far, my tests showed no noticeable drop in quality compared to regular diesel.


    However, synthetic fuel had a glaring downside: inconsistent quality.


    The performance varied wildly depending on when it was produced. Some batches rivaled premium gasoline, while others barely compared to kerosene.


    To make matters worse, the fuel¡¯s quality deteriorated over time. The later batches, in particular, were often labeled useless garbage.


    Still, certain factories continued to produce high-quality synthetic fuel, especially in the industrial complexes of the southern regions.


    If I could secure a supply of premium-grade synthetic fuel, I might extend the lifespan of both my bunker and my survival, even as the world itself seemed to grow older and wearier.


    But realistically, the tests weren¡¯t entirely about fuel. I simply needed something to do to keep my mind occupied.


    As the small generator hummed to life, it operated almost indistinguishably from when it ran on diesel.


    The real difference would likely be in how long it lasted before breaking down.


    For now, I confirmed that the generator accepted synthetic fuel.


    Testing it on the main generator would have to wait, as my supply of synthetic fuel was limited. This winter, I planned to rely on the wood-burning boiler and my stockpiled fuel.


    A full trial would likely have to wait until next year.


    At night, I worked on construction¡ªspecifically, the plumbing.


    I planned to convert Bunker 8, the closest decoy bunker to the main one, into a livable space for the sniper and her daughter.


    This marked the beginning of building a true community.


    The toilet was a major issue.


    The mother and daughter had been horrified by my toilet setup, and frankly, I wasn¡¯t keen on sharing it either.


    So I began construction.


    Since I didn¡¯t have the resources to install a bathroom inside the decoy bunker, I decided to build a separate facility nearby.


    It needed to connect to the existing plumbing, have minimal construction difficulty, and be reasonably distant.


    The biggest concern wasn¡¯t the construction itself but the water supply.


    My current water tank was optimized for a single person¡¯s survival. Adding two more people would strain the system.


    I¡¯d need to either find another water source or channel water from the stream¡ªboth options for later consideration.


    For now, I proceeded with the work.


    Construction was the ultimate feature of my bunker, planned well before the war.


    The heavy equipment, construction materials, and tools stored in my garage were all intended for this purpose.


    After completing the initial plumbing work, I informed Rebecca and her daughter.


    ¡°I finished the sewage work.¡±


    It was a small piece of good news.


    But what greeted me was a miracle I hadn¡¯t anticipated.


    ¡°Skelton! Skelton!¡±


    Rebecca was crying, her voice trembling.


    And she wasn¡¯t the only one.


    I could hear Sue¡¯s sobs beside her. Sue, who almost never cried, was weeping uncontrollably.


    A chill ran down my spine as I hurriedly asked, ¡°Wh-what¡¯s going on?¡±


    Their answer revealed a possibility I hadn¡¯t even dared to consider.


    ¡°David. David¡¯s alive!¡±


    ¡°David? Who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°My husband.¡±


    *


    Rebecca¡¯s husband, Sue¡¯s father, was alive.


    Not just alive¡ªin America.


    Here¡¯s how it happened:


    ¡°Are you sure? Is this really okay?¡±


    I laid out the situation for her plainly.


    ¡°It¡¯s better than the alternative. This winter¡¯s going to be brutal, and you said you¡¯re out of supplies.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true, but...¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not completely safe here, either.¡±


    I explained the potential threat of the Legion faction.


    ¡°I¡¯ve tried to keep this place hidden, but if they¡¯re determined, they might find their way back. You could get caught in the crossfire.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant,¡± Rebecca hesitated.


    ¡°What, then?¡±


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re both women, and...¡±


    I stifled a laugh.


    Was she worried about me?


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡ªI won¡¯t give you the usual ¡®it¡¯ll be fine¡¯ nonsense.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried. Really worried.¡±


    ¡°About what? What kind of person do you think I am?¡±


    Rebecca averted her eyes, falling silent.


    Her cautious expression struck me as oddly endearing.


    ¡°I¡¯ll set up zones,¡± I said.


    ¡°Zones?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Your area and mine. We¡¯ll keep our spaces separate and minimize contact.¡±


    It was a system I¡¯d seen work well in China.


    ¡°And I¡¯m not offering free food and shelter. You¡¯ll need to contribute.¡±


    Rebecca and Sue were skilled in combat and reconnaissance, making them valuable assets. I planned to assign them to monitor the southern perimeter, currently under Gold¡¯s watch.


    By winter, I aimed to finalize the move.


    That night, we held a small celebration for David¡¯s survival and the formation of our new community.


    The meal was modest¡ªsome frozen meat, garden vegetables, and Sue¡¯s favorite juice.


    But it didn¡¯t matter.


    Joy was the main course.


    ¡°David says he¡¯s flying here!¡± Rebecca exclaimed.


    ¡°That¡¯s absurd,¡± I said.


    ¡°It is,¡± she admitted. ¡°Everyone thinks he¡¯s crazy.¡±


    Listening to her talk, I couldn¡¯t help but think David was just as whimsical as Rebecca.


    Maybe it was true what they said¡ªlike attracts like.


    ¡°Skelton, look!¡±


    Sue showed me a photo of Gold and his pups.


    I stared at the image, a thought creeping into my mind.


    If I ever got married, who would it be?


    Looking at the people around me, it seemed like opposites didn¡¯t attract.


    But could there even be someone like me?


    ¡°Skelton, let¡¯s toast!¡± Rebecca called, clinking glasses filled with soda.


    As I drank, my eyes drifted to the untouched champagne bottle in the corner.


    Would we ever get to pop it?


    ¡°Skelton?¡±


    Sue sat beside me, studying my face.


    ¡°What are you thinking about?¡±


    ¡°Nothing much.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re thinking something bad, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Do I look like I am?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Even a kid like Sue could read me now.


    With a self-deprecating smile, I looked up at the vast, blue sky.


    ¡°I hope we get to pop that champagne someday.¡±


    *


    The troubling situation brewing in the Gyeongnam area had been quietly circulating on Failnet for three days.


    By evening, the truth came to light.


    A massive monster outbreak had occurred near the Gyeongnam Yangsan Rift. Despite the region having more military resources than most other provinces¡ªbeing second only to the Seoul metropolitan area in population¡ªan unprecedentedly large force of monsters had descended, destroying half of the kill zone.


    Though the rift itself was barely secured, that was the extent of their success.


    A photo submitted anonymously to Failnet captured the scene vividly: thousands of capsules scattered across an unnamed mountain range, standing solemnly in stark isolation.


    My gaze drifted to the champagne bottle sitting alone in the room.


    It wasn¡¯t entirely a bad thing. Even fleeting hope was better than none at all.


    The bottle was now covered in an unsightly number of black stickers¡ªstickers that filled me with revulsion. Originally, there had only been two: one for Sue and one for me.


    Sue¡¯s had remained a single sticker, but mine had continued to multiply endlessly.


    It must have started after I met "IAmJesus."


    This endless chain of black could perhaps be summed up with a single word: despair¡ªor resignation.


    Each person clings to their own hope for a miracle, but realistically, the only miracle likely to happen to me is this:


    Kang Han-min seals the rift, and I die upon hearing the news.

 Chapter 54

    Before the war, regional issues never seemed to gain much attention.


    For example, even if the countryside experienced the same level of flood damage as the metropolitan area, the former would get nothing more than a brief mention in the news, while the latter would have all three major networks and even commercial stations broadcasting 24-hour special coverage.


    I can¡¯t really blame them. After all, 30 million of South Korea¡¯s 50 million population lived in the metropolitan area.


    The more people affected, the louder the noise. Journalists also prioritize what will get more clicks or views.


    Even now, with the population reduced to a tenth of what it once was, regional issues still don¡¯t get much attention, just like before the war.


    You can tell just by looking at the responses on PaleNet.@@@@


    ??: "Yangsan? Where¡¯s that? Whatever happens there won¡¯t affect us, will it?"


    ??: "We¡¯re barely surviving ourselves."


    ??: "Shouldn¡¯t we reassign the soldiers protecting those regions to defend us instead?"


    ??: "It¡¯s all warlords out there anyway. Aren¡¯t they effectively running the place?"


    ??: "Just abandon it. Save the metro area first. No offense, but isn¡¯t it a fact that people here are generally better than those out there?"


    On our forum, the proportion of users from regional areas is pretty low.


    There are probably many reasons for this, but the biggest one, as I see it, is accessibility.


    The headquarters of Starjeon Korea, which managed the Viva! Apocalypse! satellite equipment by Melon Musk, was in Seoul. The Seoul-Gyeonggi area had seven branches, but there was only one small, understaffed branch in Busan.


    I think I read complaints about how cramped the Busan branch was, how unfriendly the staff were, and how limited the equipment was for hands-on experiences. But I don¡¯t remember the details clearly because I wasn¡¯t particularly interested myself.


    Looking back through the forums, it¡¯s clear that regional accessibility was indeed lacking.


    At least in the early stages of the war, there were quite a few regional users.


    The Gyeongsang region, in particular, had a significant number of users. The Honam region had fewer users, but their content quality was on par with or even better than that of the Gyeongsang users.


    One user from Jeollanam-do, who focused on seasonal foods made by hand, was a favorite of mine during my lurking days, along with Anonymous337.


    But like most regional users, that person gradually stopped posting and eventually disappeared.


    It wasn¡¯t just them.


    At some point, users identifiable as regional disappeared altogether.


    Maybe it was partly because I wasn¡¯t paying attention, but at least 20% of the forum¡¯s active users vanished.


    Is surviving in regional areas harder than in the metropolitan area?


    I don¡¯t think so.


    Looking at war damage, rift intensity, and civil conflict, the metro area suffered far more.


    I remember reading about cultists appearing in the southern regions, but no matter how capable they are, they couldn¡¯t possibly have wiped out entire regions in such a short time.


    So where did they all go?


    Sitting in a summer cabin I¡¯d built to beat the heat, I idly posted a question while enjoying a fan¡¯s breeze:


    SKELTON: "(Skelton Question) Where did all the regional users go? Why don¡¯t we see them anymore?"


    I thought I¡¯d risen to semi-notoriety, but no one responded.


    So I had to resort to drastic measures:


    SKELTON: "(Skelton Video) Skelton¡¯s Tank Top Zero Two Dance.msi"


    Sorry for the bait, but seriously, where did all the regional users go?


    Unlike my earlier post, this one got comments.


    unicorn18: "Tsk, tsk..."


    ??: "God, this guy..."


    Dolsingman: "This is making me swear out loud."


    mmmmmmmmm: "(Pure-blood Seoulite) Tsk, tsk."


    gijayangban: "?"


    All I got was insults, no helpful information.


    To be fair, useful people are rare on our forum these days. There seemed to be a lot more of them in the past.


    Later that afternoon, long after my post had been buried, I received a notification.


    Someone had commented on my old post.


    Busangalmaegi: "Wanna know where all the regional users went?"


    This person was from PaleNet.


    You can easily distinguish PaleNet users from forum users: if the "Send Message" button isn¡¯t active when you click their nickname, they¡¯re from PaleNet.


    From their username alone¡ªBusangalmaegi¡ªit was clear they were a proud Busanite.


    Since they¡¯d commented on my post, I decided to reply there to start a conversation.


    SKELTON: "(Skelton Positive)"


    This method of communication¡ªposting comments back and forth¡ªwas slow.


    Notifications only came to me, not them.


    But Busangalmaegi seemed to be actively watching the forum.


    Busangalmaegi: "Do you have GukminNet cash?"


    What in the world is that?


    SKELTON: "(Skelton Confused) What¡¯s GukminNet?"


    null: "(Skelton) ?"


    I shamelessly shoved myself into the conversation.


    null: "What are you doing here? This is the playground for country bumpkins."


    null (Skelton): "I came because there¡¯s barely any talk about the provinces on the board."


    null: "Honestly, there¡¯s nothing worthwhile on the Korean board anymore."


    null (Skelton): "Why?"


    null: "Sometimes I check out the popular posts, but it¡¯s all chatter that has nothing to do with our survival."


    Though all users were labeled as "null," it was clear from the conversation flow that there were multiple participants, possibly more than one.


    Sure enough, several comments flooded in soon after.


    null: "It¡¯s always something about Seoul this, Incheon that. Honestly, not helpful at all, is it?"


    null: "I joined this service for information exchange, but all they talk about are places a million light-years from my home. Why would I care?"


    null: "We still use the Korean board, but mostly for monitoring. This place is where we focus. The Korean board is just pointless chatter and irrelevant local news."


    Listening to them, I began to understand why these users had migrated from the Korean board to this forgotten language forum.


    Even a quick glance at old posts revealed the nature of this board¡ªit was dedicated solely to sharing information.


    Casual chatter or personal diary-style entries were strictly excluded. Instead, users focused on real-time updates about regions outside the Seoul metropolitan area, specifically catering to Viva! Apocalypse! players in the provinces.


    One anonymous user succinctly explained their reason for leaving.


    null: "The quality was already declining, but it got worse with the influx of PaleNet users. Honestly, I wasn¡¯t happy with it even before, but now it¡¯s just useless for what we need."


    In short, they felt the main board had become polluted.


    I couldn¡¯t help but agree.


    I remember the early days when the board was a scholarly haven for refined information exchange. Now, that era feels like a distant memory.


    null (Skelton): "(Skelton thanks) Appreciate the explanation."


    That was likely my last post on this board.


    As I fell silent, the Maya Board users returned to their usual activities as if nothing had happened.


    Unlike our board, where the scroll bar never seems to rest, this place moved at a much slower, steadier pace. Refreshing the page revealed new posts trickling in.


    null: "(Busan) Massive monster neutralized."


    null: "(Busan) Different angle."


    null: "(Busan) What happened to YangsanMan? He hasn¡¯t posted since that day."


    null: "(Daegu) Is the Gochang rift stable?"


    null: "(Gwangju) Still seems okay here, but who knows."


    null: "(Daejeon) I¡¯m planning to drive to Gwangju. Is it safe?"


    null: "(Gwangju) Don¡¯t come. The warlords and local thugs have already taken over."


    The slow but steady posts reminded me of our board¡¯s early days.


    I recall the atmosphere during the initial stages of the war: everyone constantly on edge, vigilantly watching their surroundings, yet still exchanging information in a desperate bid for survival.


    It¡¯s not that I dislike our current board.


    Despite occasional unpleasantness, it remains a sanctuary for lonely, desperate souls seeking solace.


    The problem is simply that there are now too many people seeking that solace.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    I can¡¯t deny that I¡¯m one of them.


    However, even this board¡¯s days seem numbered.


    null: "(Yangsan) It¡¯s over here. Even the soldiers are fleeing. It¡¯s every man for himself now."


    The provinces are vanishing.


    This collapse signals that the long-delayed end of this country is drawing ever closer.


    The ripple of this news reached PaleNet, but as usual, it garnered little attention.


    Another event had overshadowed the collapse of the southeastern industrial hub.


    ??: "[Celebration!] Second Jeju evacuation fleet departure imminent!"


    A fleet meant to carry a fraction of the population to safety was somehow deemed more important than the destruction of a region that had supported the nation¡¯s entire industry.


    It¡¯s a ridiculous notion, but not entirely incomprehensible.


    For those who have tasted despair so often, even a glimmer of hope is enough to seem overwhelmingly significant.


    Yet, even that hope is suspect in this age.


    ??: "The truth about the first Jeju evacuation fleet.txt"


    A user uploaded a satellite image to PaleNet.


    The image, taken from orbit, showed a harbor along China¡¯s Shandong Peninsula.


    The boundary where the blue sea met the ashen-gray world was cluttered with ships, stranded like waves frozen mid-crash.


    Zooming in revealed clear markings on the ships¡¯ decks.


    [Korea]


    If this image was genuine, it meant that not a single one of the 200,000 passengers aboard the first evacuation fleet had set foot on Jeju Island.


    They were all dead.


    Not even in their homeland, but on foreign soil.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    A storm seemed to be brewing.

 Chapter 55.1

    ¡°Regardless of what¡¯s true, all we can do is sit back and enjoy the show. Or pretend we¡¯ve got popcorn to munch on. Got any popcorn?¡±


    The controversy surrounding the satellite photo of the Jeju evacuation fleet had spiraled into a massive scandal, shaking not only the internet but the entirety of Incheon.


    However, what truly worried me wasn¡¯t the fleet¡ªit was the southern rift.


    You only needed to look at China for a cautionary tale.


    The Beijing Military District had witnessed battles so fierce they were dubbed the most intense since World War II. Yet, erosion never even reached the outskirts of Beijing.


    What brought Beijing to its knees was erosion spreading unchecked from vulnerable rear areas.


    Victory was declared on the frontlines, but the collapse of the rear triggered Beijing¡¯s fall, leaving China devastated except for its coastal zones. That desperation even led them to the disastrous choice of invading Taiwan.


    South Korea is no different.


    Its fragile rear has crumbled.


    This means the southern region will soon be swallowed by erosion.


    If Gyeongnam falls, Honam will follow, and the devastation will ripple back to the metropolitan area.


    Yet, despite the gravity of this situation, all attention remains fixated on the evacuation fleet.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Ding!


    The microwave beeped, signaling that the popcorn was ready.


    Crunch.


    Maybe focusing on the fleet is the smarter move after all.


    What could anyone possibly do about the south collapsing?


    Even if I marched in with an axe, it wouldn¡¯t stop the monsters.


    Crunch.


    As I munched on my popcorn, I scrolled through our forum. Predictably, it was chaos.


    That¡¯s exactly what I logged on to see.


    I was particularly curious about one person¡¯s reaction. Unsurprisingly, our very own m9 did not disappoint.


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°??????????¡±


    If I were m9, I¡¯d have been paralyzed with fear after seeing that photo.


    Had his residency rights not been stripped, he¡¯d have been on one of those ships.


    But m9? He didn¡¯t care.


    If something worked in his favor, it was a blessing; if not, it was treason.


    The very embodiment of opportunism, m9 strutted through both PaleNet and our board like a victorious general.


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°So the rumor is something about magnitude? More people equals more intensity? Jeju¡¯s appeal was clean air and fewer people. If it¡¯s overcrowded, what¡¯s the point? If I were the president, I wouldn¡¯t allow it~.¡±


    That much was expected. m9 had long been a vocal opponent of the Jeju evacuation fleet.


    But then, m9 decided to pick a fight with the wrong person.


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Keep munching, you bastard. Keep munching.¡±


    m9 had directed his mockery at DongtanMom¡ªbetter known as Baek Seung-hyun.


    Now, Baek Seung-hyun is a different breed of problem on the internet.


    If I¡¯m the type who constantly gets flamed, Baek Seung-hyun is the type who actively incites hatred.


    At least I¡¯m not guilty of outright provoking people.


    But Seung-hyun? He¡¯s a human weapon. Killing someone is just another day for him.


    He even tried to kill me once.


    Had he teamed up with a competent group of raiders, I might not have survived.


    m9 antagonizing someone like Baek Seung-hyun is a very dangerous move.


    As the sole resident of The Hope, m9 had already been doxxed. If Seung-hyun got angry enough, he could show up with an RPG or even just a gun, and m9¡¯s daily life of rappelling inside his building could easily end in flames or bullets.


    As expected, Seung-hyun made his displeasure very clear.


    dongtanmom: ¡°Munch munch... You wanna die, m9?¡±


    Crunch.


    This was getting dangerous.


    Seung-hyun was someone who could and would kill, with plenty of unsavory friends at his disposal.


    Yet, m9¡¯s audacity was just as infamous.


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Bring it, you bastard. Good luck even reaching my place¡ªit¡¯s climbing terrain from the entrance. ???¡±


    Even Seung-hyun¡¯s threats didn¡¯t faze him.


    I wanted to advise m9 to stop, but I knew he wouldn¡¯t listen to me.


    He already thought of me as some kind of lunatic.


    Thankfully, it seemed Seung-hyun wasn¡¯t seriously planning to kill him¡ªyet.


    dongtanmom: ¡°Munch munch... pathetic... Calling it sour grapes because you couldn¡¯t get a spot? Clinging to an unverified photo like it¡¯s gospel... Munch munch. Before trusting the picture, shouldn¡¯t you first address the government¡¯s counter-arguments? Munch munch. Using claims to refute other claims... How ignorant and shallow can you be? Munch.¡±


    Seung-hyun had a point.


    There¡¯s no guarantee the satellite photo was genuine.


    While the resolution and details made it seem credible, anyone with the right tools and skills could fake such an image in the age of deepfakes.


    I didn¡¯t believe the photo entirely either.


    It could have been a disgruntled person who didn¡¯t make it onto the fleet or even propaganda from the Legion to further their agenda.


    If anything, leaving might increase his sense of unease.


    In the city, at least some people provided protection. In that new place, he¡¯d bear the weight of protecting not only himself but also his family.


    SKELTON: "Are you certain about moving to Jeju?"


    Curiosity crept in.


    If DragonC was truly going to Jeju in this age of heated debates over whether the evacuation fleets were legitimate, it might finally put the endless arguments to rest.


    Message from DragonC:


    "Yes, absolutely. I¡¯ve received a direct message about it."


    SKELTON: "Who sent it?"


    Message from DragonC:


    "Ah, this is a secret..."


    SKELTON: "???"


    Message from DragonC:


    "? What?"


    SKELTON: "Who sent it?"


    Message from DragonC:


    "Promise me you won¡¯t tell anyone."


    SKELTON: "(Skelton Oath) I swear on everything."


    Message from DragonC:


    "It was a journalist... I know it sounds hard to believe, but they claimed to be connected to the government."


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    It seemed real.


    Hearing that left me with a mix of emotions, impossible to define with one word.


    I felt a sense of relief but also a twinge of loss.


    It would be a lie to say I held no resentment toward DragonC.


    But no one has the right to keep another person tethered forever.


    He had completed 80% of DragonC¡¯s manuscripts. That wasn¡¯t perfect, but it was substantial.


    Whether Fulcrum88 would finish the remaining 20% was up to him.


    Since the government had extended an offer to take him, it wasn¡¯t something I could stop even if I wanted to.


    The only option available to me now would be to kill him before the government agents arrived.


    But what would that achieve?


    Placing even a slim hope on Fulcrum completing the remaining manuscripts seemed like the more rational choice in a world already overflowing with death.


    SKELTON: "I¡¯ll escort you to Incheon when the time comes."


    It had been a rocky beginning, but I wanted to leave things on a better note.


    At least this ending could be respectable.


    There¡¯s a saying: ¡°A secret known to me is known to others.¡±


    Once, when I was known as Professor, this saying never seemed relevant to me. But now, as nothing more than the humble Skelton, a mere user of a single forum, I find it rings true.


    ??: (NationNet repost) "Special Selection for Living Cultural Assets.txt"


    The controversial program DragonC had mentioned¡ªthe Living Cultural Assets Special Selection¡ªwas first posted on NationNet, a state-sponsored website. Soon after, the same information appeared on PaleNet.


    The program¡¯s purpose was simple: to identify individuals with exceptional artistic talent and prioritize their evacuation to Jeju Island. The goal was to provide these individuals with safety so they could continue their artistic pursuits, spreading hope and positivity to those left behind on the Korean Peninsula.


    This wasn¡¯t limited to webtoon artists like Fulcrum88. The list included pianists, actors, musicians, trot singers, filmmakers, and others who had made significant contributions before the war.


    People scrutinized the names on the list. Some felt surprise, others a wave of nostalgia as they remembered an era now long gone.


    But, as always, good intentions are often twisted.


    ??: "If this is real, doesn¡¯t it prove the Jeju evacuation fleet is real too?"


    Jeju evacuation fleet proponents immediately seized on this program as evidence to counter skeptics.


    Even someone like me, who had consistently doubted the fleet¡¯s legitimacy, found myself questioning whether I¡¯d been mistaken.


    Of course, my skepticism wavered even more because I knew the identity of the journalist who had contacted DragonC. That made it harder not to believe.


    If I was starting to waver, how much more so for others?


    ??: "This looks legit. Hard not to believe now."


    ??: "Exactly. They can¡¯t just gather famous people and kill them¡ªit would leak immediately."


    ??: "Where are all the skeptics now?"


    ??: "These bitter losers... Every chance they get, they crawl out to spew sour grapes. Remember how they lost their minds over one fake photo? LOL."


    ??: "Honestly, if the refugees were a burden, wouldn¡¯t it be easier to sink them at sea? Why go all the way to China to abandon them?"


    The tides of Korean public opinion had turned.


    On PaleNet, it was now undeniably the era of the proponents.


    Naturally, the outspoken face of the skeptics, m9, was the one to bear the brunt of this backlash.


    And at the forefront of this assault was Baek Seung-hyun.


    dongtanmom: "Nom-nom... Hey, m9... Does your name mean you have nine M¡¯s? You said they¡¯d send the Jeju fleet to China, didn¡¯t you? Care to explain? Nom-nom..."


    dongtanmom: "Nom-nom... What¡¯s the matter, m9? Cat got your tongue? Is your head tilted because you live in a crooked house? Hurry up and refute this. If they¡¯re killing refugees in China, why are they rounding up celebrities? Nom-nom..."


    Baek Seung-hyun, as if venting years of pent-up frustration, tore into the now-broken m9 with merciless ferocity.


    Even as a third-party observer, it was brutal enough to make me uncomfortable.


    But even worms squirm when stepped on.


    mmmmmmmmm: "You little piece of shit..."


    Crunch.


    mmmmmmmmm: "Where do you live?"

 Chapter 55.2

    dongtanmom: I live behind Warehouse 31 at the pier.


    mmmmmmmmm: Let¡¯s meet tomorrow at 11 a.m. in front of Pier 7, near the gate to the evacuation fleet. No need for lengthy talk¡ªI just want to have a man-to-man conversation. Are you ready for that?


    dongtanmom: Sure, come on.


    Could this be... a meetup for a fight?


    Something feels off.


    Especially since that smug Baek Seung-hyun isn¡¯t spamming his usual ¡°yum-yum.¡± It feels ominous, as if something sinister is in the air.


    I know all too well that M9 is the kind of guy who never listens to reason, but this is the point where I absolutely have to step in.


    SKELTON: Hey, M9. What the hell are you thinking, trying to pick a fight with someone as deranged as dongtanmom? People like that are pure trash¡ªyou¡¯re better off avoiding them altogether.


    SKELTON: According to rumors, dongtanmom isn¡¯t just some internet troll. He¡¯s supposedly a terrifying man and an ex-hunter. A professional killer, they say!


    I sent two heartfelt messages.


    But, as expected, there¡¯s no response from M9.


    Did he block me again?


    One thing¡¯s certain: M9 is dead serious.


    He¡¯s genuinely planning to meet Baek Seung-hyun for a fight.


    mmmmmmmmm: What is the secret killing art of ¡°Maga Crab¡±?


    mmmmmmmmm: (12-round boxer) It¡¯s been a long time since I last boxed...


    mmmmmmmmm: 11 a.m. is when I¡¯m at my most brutal.


    Maga Crab, my ass. It feels more like he¡¯s cursed.


    But you¡¯ve got to give M9 some credit for his timing.


    The day after tomorrow at 11 a.m.


    That happens to be the day I¡¯m taking DragonC¡¯s successor to Incheon.


    I plan to leave at dawn and should arrive by morning, so by 11 a.m., I¡¯ll already be in Incheon.


    This means I might be able to prevent the forum¡¯s greatest oddball from falling victim to a toxic user like dongtanmom.


    ¡°Ah, hello?¡±


    The face of Filkrum88, whom I hadn¡¯t seen in a while, had somehow started to resemble DragonC, the bunker¡¯s previous owner.


    It seemed less due to drinking and more because of constant worry.


    ¡°Is it tough living here?¡±


    Filkrum88 responded with a bitter smile, his tone self-deprecating.


    ¡°There¡¯s no paradise at the end of a desperate escape.¡±


    Apparently, the Chinese military was the problem.


    He didn¡¯t know what they were up to, but every night, they lit lanterns along the coastline and sent out strange signals.


    Sometimes, the lights flickered like Morse code.


    ¡°There was even a submarine.¡±


    Filkrum¡¯s wife interjected. Her expression was just as grim.


    She must have been living in constant fear.


    Honestly, I couldn¡¯t blame her.


    Watching the Chinese military¡ªinfinitely more dangerous than raiders¡ªconspiring right next door would drain anyone¡¯s nerves.


    ¡°Well, at least the hardship ends today.¡±


    We didn¡¯t linger to chat; instead, we loaded the moving truck.


    Calling it a ¡°move¡± was an overstatement. This was the apocalypse¡ªjust clothes and basic necessities.


    Still, Filkrum88 had one unique cargo to load.


    It was none other than our satellite equipment.


    ¡°You¡¯re taking that with you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m planning to bring it to Jeju Island.¡±


    ¡°Did the government approve this?¡±


    ¡°Yes. They said I could bring it along.¡±


    ¡°I see. But may I ask why you¡¯re lugging that heavy thing to Jeju? Aren¡¯t they providing homes with internet access there?¡±


    At my question, Filkrum88 chuckled softly.


    ¡°I may not have the nerve to post under Dragon-hyung¡¯s name, but I¡¯ve been lurking on the boards. Of course, I¡¯m on Failnet too. I know all the rumors. People are saying the Jeju fleet was spotted by the Chinese, right? That¡¯s why.¡±


    ¡°So, as a survival check?¡±


    ¡°Yes. If I arrive safely in Jeju, I¡¯ll post on the board. But if you hear nothing... well, it¡¯s a terrible thought, but you can assume I either ended up in China or... somewhere worse.¡±


    I nodded at his explanation.


    It made sense.


    Even if the Jeju route turned out to be as dangerous as the skeptics claimed, Filkrum88 might still have chosen it. His complexion and his family¡¯s haggard faces told the story.


    With the Chinese soldiers practically in their backyard, escaping to China didn¡¯t seem like a worse option.


    ¡°Well, do as you see fit.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me...¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°If I come back, can I write posts under my original nickname?¡±


    ¡°If you make it to Jeju, I doubt anyone will mind.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯d like your permission.¡±


    Even amidst his exhaustion, Filkrum88 fixed me with a steady gaze.


    ¡°...¡±


    In that moment, I understood.


    Humans are creatures of reflection.


    His tearful eyes held emotions too complex to put into words.


    Letting out a faint sigh, I replied.


    ¡°...Go ahead.¡±


    Filkrum bowed his head.


    ¡°When I get to Jeju... I plan to write about my foolish actions and Dragon-hyung¡¯s final story as a sort of side chapter for The Remnant.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    I had nothing more to say.


    This was a story between DragonC and Filkrum88.


    I no longer had the right to interfere.


    If he intended to harm M9, I¡¯d have no choice but to teach him a lesson.


    Honestly, I wanted to punch him once, just to be sure.


    But then¡ª


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    Baek¡¯s reaction was strange.


    ¡°What the hell are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°That problem you mentioned¡ªwasn¡¯t it about that?¡±


    Realizing I might¡¯ve misunderstood, I pressed further, my tone sharp.


    Baek¡¯s expression turned aggrieved as he vehemently denied it.


    ¡°No way! Why would I bother meeting some loser like that? He¡¯s the kind of guy whose house will collapse on him eventually.¡±


    Today, Baek looked more genuine than I¡¯d ever seen him.


    ¡°...¡±


    I guess I¡¯d been meddling unnecessarily.


    Then again, hunters rarely act without purpose.


    Even Baek¡¯s ¡°yum-yum¡± had a purpose¡ªto annoy people.


    ¡°Oh, that reminds me. I was supposed to meet that guy today, wasn¡¯t I? But Junior Park, how did you know?¡±


    ¡°Someone I know asked me to intervene. Said they¡¯re close to M9.¡±


    ¡°Not happening. No way. A fight, or whatever you call it? I¡¯m not interested.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not?¡±


    ¡°Of course not! Not to brag, but I¡¯ve had plenty of fight requests from games in the past and never showed up for any of them.¡±


    Baek smiled faintly.


    ¡°They called me a coward, but so what? What else can they do besides talk trash?¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    This guy...


    Rotten to the core.


    ¡°Anyway, about my request¡ªit¡¯s about that satellite equipment. I want to bring it onboard.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t let you?¡±


    ¡°They said no. Something about security and other nitpicky stuff. But Junior Park, you know Woo Min-hee, right?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    He really knows how to annoy people.


    Meanwhile, something else was bugging me.


    That dark-skinned old man near the entrance to the hunter street.


    He¡¯d been staring in our direction for a while now.


    Baek glanced at him.


    ¡°Oh, that old geezer?¡±


    ¡°Who is he? A hunter¡¯s family member?¡±


    ¡°No, just some old guy who showed up out of nowhere. Now that the Pioneer Corps is gone, these old folks are crawling out of the woodwork again. They eat up food without contributing a thing. If I weren¡¯t going to Jeju, I¡¯d¡ª¡±


    ¡°Being old isn¡¯t a crime.¡±


    ¡°No, but that geezer keeps saying ominous crap. Stuff like, ¡®Everyone on that ship will die.¡¯ M9¡¯s nonsense is funny, but that guy¡¯s just plain annoying.¡±


    Some people get angrier as they talk.


    Baek seemed to be one of those types.


    As he spoke about the old man, his growing irritation became more evident.


    ¡°I¡¯ve wanted to throw him into the sea so many times, but I held back for my kid¡¯s sake.¡±


    I guess the old man had really gotten under his skin.


    At any rate, judging by Baek¡¯s ominous tone, I decided I needed to check out the fight location.


    This guy might still change his mind and try to kill M9, just like the others he¡¯d taken out.


    ¡°You know something?¡±


    Baek lit a cigarette as we walked to the meeting spot.


    ¡°It takes 20 hours and 30 minutes to get to Jeju.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a long trip.¡±


    I glanced at my watch.


    10:55 a.m.


    ¡°Ships aren¡¯t what they used to be.¡±


    Baek exhaled a cloud of smoke, looking up at the massive ship casting its shadow over us.


    ¡°Still, it¡¯s thanks to you, Junior Park, that I can even go.¡±


    ¡°...It¡¯s time.¡±


    The appointed hour had come.


    M9 and Dongtanmom.


    The forum¡¯s two menaces were about to have their fateful encounter.


    ¡°Damn. So, there are days even I get stood up.¡±


    Baek chuckled bitterly as he stubbed out his cigarette on the ground.


    It was now 11:30 a.m.


    Despite his claims of being a ¡°12-round boxer¡± and mastering the ¡°secret martial art of Maga Crab,¡± M9 hadn¡¯t shown up at the time he claimed he¡¯d be at his most brutal.


    ¡°...Seriously?¡±


    Baek looked incredulous.


    ¡°Hey, I didn¡¯t do anything! What do you take me for, Junior Park?¡±


    ¡°Well...¡±


    ¡°Just check the internet!¡±


    Sure enough, Baek was right.


    mmmmmmmmm: LOLOLOLOLOL


    Our beloved M9 was boldly posting nonsense on the forum, completely unbothered by shame or honor.


    One thought crossed my mind.


    M9, this bastard.


    He¡¯s probably going to outlive me.

 Chapter 55.3

    "One last favor. I know I¡¯m not in a position to ask, but just this once¡ªplease, I¡¯m begging you!"


    Baek Seung-hyun bowed his head.


    The sight of him bowing looked strangely familiar.


    It was the kind of practiced humility you often see in people who make a living out of bowing their heads.


    "This is a tough one."


    I had no desire to grant this man¡¯s request, nor did I want to deal with him on the internet ever again.


    But then, without meaning to, Filkrum88¡¯s words flashed through my mind.


    He¡¯d mentioned that bringing in satellite equipment wasn¡¯t particularly difficult.


    "Are you sure you can¡¯t bring it on board?"


    "Yeah. They said not to bring anything with signals that could give away its location because of Chinese submarines."


    Baek Seung-hyun cradled his baby, looking at me with desperate eyes.


    "Isn¡¯t there any way you can help?"


    I stared at him silently before nodding slowly.


    "I¡¯ll check with the research lab."


    "You¡¯ll really do that?!"


    I wasn¡¯t doing it out of kindness.


    I was curious.


    Why was it possible for Filkrum88 but not for Baek Seung-hyun? What was the reason behind the double standard?


    "...Yeah."


    After parting ways with him, I returned to the entrance of Hunter Street and lingered near the research lab¡¯s entrance.


    I could¡¯ve just told the guards where I was headed and gone inside, but I figured it might be easier if I ran into a researcher I knew.


    It seemed luck was on my side today.


    A female researcher I recognized was outside the lab, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee with her colleagues.


    Just as I began walking toward her, someone grabbed my arm.


    I¡¯d already noticed him earlier.


    The thin, dark-skinned old man who had been standing near the entrance to Hunter Street, watching me.


    Ignoring people is an essential survival skill in a post-apocalyptic city.


    So I had been treating him as if he didn¡¯t exist¡ªuntil now, when he suddenly grabbed my wrist.


    Slowly but firmly, I twisted my arm to break free from his grip and stared at him.


    "What is it?"


    The old man met my gaze.


    "If you board that ship, you¡¯ll die."


    "I¡¯m not boarding it."


    "I wasn¡¯t talking about you. I meant the short-haired man you were just talking to. The one with the baby. Isn¡¯t he boarding the ship too?"


    "Why don¡¯t you tell him that yourself?"


    "It doesn¡¯t feel like it¡¯s someone else¡¯s problem. My son boarded that ship. With my grandchild."


    It took less than three seconds to realize the old man wasn¡¯t mentally stable.


    His uneasy gaze, halting speech, and wandering eyes that seemed to look not at me but through me¡ªall signs were there. His mind was elsewhere, in some dimension I wanted no part of.


    "...I killed them. Even the newborn baby."


    Another rambling monologue.


    As I debated how to shake him off, a sharp yell rang out from the street.


    "Hey! You not leaving?!"


    It was Baek Seung-hyun.


    "You¡¯re not leaving, you son of a bitch?!"


    He yanked off his belt and brandished it as if he was about to strike, and only then did the old man reluctantly bow his head and shuffle away.


    After intimidating the old man, Baek turned to me with a big smile, pressed his palms together, and made a pleading gesture.


    "..."


    I didn¡¯t want to help him, but it seemed luck was on his side.


    The female researcher who had been smoking noticed me and approached first.


    *


    ¡°What brings you here? By the way, Director Woo has been talking a lot about Hunter Park Gyu recently.¡±


    The woman¡¯s name was written on the ID badge hanging around her neck, but I neither looked nor bothered to read it.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing much. I heard the ship to Jeju is leaving tomorrow, so I wanted to check something.¡±


    There were several reasons for my visit, but the biggest one was probably resentment.


    It bothered me that, in these desperate times when everyone¡ªeven graduates from my school¡ªwere reduced to misery, there were still people who carried the same carefree cleanliness and vivacity of pre-war days.


    I wasn¡¯t about to bring up the dead to make my point.


    I simply didn¡¯t like it.


    Seeing someone who had made no preparations but was living well, simply because they had good connections, was hard to stomach.


    ¡°I see. By the way, do you have a moment? I think Director Woo might be able to see you once their meeting is over.¡±


    ¡°Yes, please. I¡¯d appreciate it.¡±


    Regardless of my personal grudge, things were going smoothly.


    When was the last time my plans went this well?


    Never, as far as I could remember.


    Perhaps it was Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s luck rubbing off on me.


    After all, he was at least three times as lucky as I was. Unlike me, he had a wife and child.


    ¡°Senior, long time no see.¡±


    I came face-to-face with Woo Min-hee.


    She hadn¡¯t changed a bit.


    As always, she sat calmly at a compact black steel table, her expressionless face adorned with a faint, mocking smile, as if she were laughing at the world.


    This time, I paid particular attention to her prosthetic arm.


    It had three hook-like fingers. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder how she managed to draw those intricate wave patterns with it.


    Still, she wouldn¡¯t appreciate me staring, so I quickly moved on to the point before she noticed my gaze.


    ¡°It¡¯s about Baek Seung-hyun.¡±


    ¡°That guy?¡±


    The moment I mentioned his name, the smile vanished from her lips.


    ¡°...He¡¯s a father now. Did you know he¡¯s raising a baby?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±


    ¡°He says he wants to take something onboard for his child...¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°The Jeju fleet. It¡¯s his project.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Director Yang Sang-gil. You know he¡¯s a nobody, right? But now it¡¯s been three years since the war started. People are starting to wonder why he¡¯s even in that position. He has no notable record, isn¡¯t an Awakened, and his only qualification is passing the civil service exam.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s Yang Sang-gil up to?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±


    She stared into the air with a chilling grin.


    ¡°...¡±


    Then she looked at me.


    ¡°Tell Dongtanmom he can bring the equipment.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s Dongtanmom?¡±


    ¡°Wow, Senior, you¡¯re good at playing dumb. A true professor.¡±


    Nice try.


    If there¡¯s anything left in this world besides my body, it¡¯s my unshakable determination.


    Still, the way she smiled made me wonder if she was 100% sure I was Skelton.


    Did she base it on the Chairman Je Pung-ho rumors?


    That wouldn¡¯t be enough to confirm it.


    Maybe she was just guessing, based on similarities between my nickname and identification code.


    But then, she dropped something I couldn¡¯t ignore.


    I looked at her seriously and asked, ¡°Is there a problem with the Jeju fleet?¡±


    ¡°Probably? But no one expected it to end up in China.¡±


    So it really had gone to China.


    ¡°Was it an accident?¡±


    Just as the conversation was getting interesting, my borrowed luck from Baek Seung-hyun ran out.


    The landline phone on her desk started ringing loudly.


    With a wave of her hooked hand, she motioned for me to leave.


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk next time. Looks like a lot of interesting things are about to happen.¡±


    For a brief moment, I thought I saw her prosthetic arm move as if it were alive.


    *


    "Aw, come here~! Kiyaa~! That¡¯s it. Good job, good job."


    Soothing the baby was always Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s responsibility.


    Meanwhile, his young wife was at the computer, typing away.


    Tap, tap, tap.


    I watched her typing intently, like a hawk.


    dongtanmom: Yum yum... You losers who can¡¯t make it to Jeju... Guess I won¡¯t have to see you anymore after tomorrow... Yum yum...


    "?"


    For a moment, I felt one of the walls I had built inside me crumble.


    Could it be? Was the true identity of dongtanmom not Baek Seung-hyun but actually his wife?


    For a fleeting moment, I felt something akin to guilt toward Baek Seung-hyun.


    No matter how vile he was, accusing him of being dongtanmom had clearly been a grave injustice.


    "Hey, look at this. M9 is at it again, whining," his wife said, turning to Baek with a laugh. Baek, holding the baby in his arms, sat in front of the laptop and began typing at an impressive speed.


    dongtanmom: Yum yum... From Jeju... I¡¯ll be watching you all suffer and die slowly while eating popcorn... Yum yum...


    "..."


    Was this the infamous saying about couples mirroring each other?


    Or perhaps a case of birds of a feather flocking together?


    In an era where the generational gap wasn¡¯t as wide as it used to be, maybe their marriage was simply destiny.


    Either way, I had news to share with this irredeemable newlywed couple.


    "Really?! We can bring it onboard?"


    "Yes."


    "Of course! Professor! Even if you''re past your prime, you¡¯re still on another level compared to a low-tier hunter like me. Amazing!"


    Baek was genuinely delighted. His wife seemed pleased as well.


    Only the baby in his arms, who looked just like him, stared at me with innocent, wide eyes.


    Suddenly, the baby spoke.


    "...Je-je-ju."


    Was that babbling?


    It was my first time witnessing it in person.


    Apparently, I wasn¡¯t the only one seeing it for the first time.


    "He spoke!"


    "It¡¯s his first word!"


    The same people who spewed such venom online were now bursting with pure joy, embracing and cherishing the fruit of their union.


    Watching them, I tried to suppress any thoughts, but perhaps even I couldn¡¯t help being a regular human in moments like this.


    "Excuse me," I said, breaking the mood.


    I told him the truth¡ªthat going to Jeju could be dangerous.


    But, as people basking in happiness often do, Baek brushed off my words without much concern.


    "What? So they¡¯ll save the artsy types and kill us?"


    "It¡¯s just a rumor, but better to be cautious."


    "Come on, Park, are you really listening to those crooks?"


    "Better safe than sorry, don¡¯t you think?"


    The Day of Departure.


    At the docks, I watched alongside a crowd of people as they prepared to board the promised paradise, Jeju.


    The first person I sought was Filkrum.


    He wasn¡¯t hard to find. He was standing in line with other notable figures receiving flashes of cameras, all boarding the same ship.


    The vessel he boarded was the Hope, a converted oil tanker and the flagship of the second fleet.


    Next, I searched for Baek Seung-hyun.


    He was at the back, away from the spotlight. Holding his baby, he quietly boarded the same ship.


    Both Baek and Filkrum were on the Hope.


    "...Hm?"


    The unexpected overlap threw me off.


    Just as I was about to turn and leave, a scream rang out behind me.


    Down an alley, an old man was being beaten by a group of boys.

 Chapter 55.4

    People walked past the old man being beaten by the boys, ignoring him entirely.


    I intended to do the same.


    It wasn¡¯t worth intervening to save an old man, especially when the perpetrators were aggressive teenage boys. There was no profit in stepping in.


    But then I recognized the old man.


    It was the same one who had been rambling nonsense outside Hunter Street earlier.


    The boys didn¡¯t seem intent on killing him. After a few kicks to the old man, who was curled up like a shrimp, they ran off down the street.


    "I¡¯ve never lied," the old man muttered to himself like a mantra.


    I checked the time.


    I planned to stay here for the day. Specifically, for 20 hours and 30 minutes¡ªuntil the ship reached Jeju.


    I wanted to see how it all played out.


    Right here, from the departure point of the ships.


    "That ship isn¡¯t going to Jeju. It¡¯s not. It¡¯ll sink halfway."


    The old man, still crouched on the ground, kept muttering.


    "Why do you think that?" I asked.


    Just an hour ago, I wouldn¡¯t have imagined speaking to this man first.


    "The fleet. It¡¯ll sink. Didn¡¯t I say that?"


    The old man, groaning in pain and humiliation, looked up at me when I responded.


    "I was one of the captains of the first Jeju evacuation fleet," he said.


    "Excuse me?"


    He held something out to me.


    It was a waterlogged, crumpled, and shriveled item that might have once been an ID card. Having been soaked, dried, and damaged repeatedly, its surface had deteriorated to the point where it was unrecognizable.


    "I was the one who sent the first fleet to China."


    *


    "I used to pilot container ships before the war."


    The old man¡¯s name, inscribed on his ID, was illegible due to wear and tear, but with some effort, I could make out that his last name was likely Kang.


    "Are you saying you were part of the first evacuation fleet?" I asked skeptically, fully expecting it to be a lie. But Captain Kang nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.


    If it were Baek Seung-hyun standing here, he would¡¯ve thrown a punch by now¡ªor perhaps grabbed the man by the collar and tossed him into the sea.


    "The captain and essential crew members quietly transferred to another ship during the night and returned to Incheon," Kang continued.


    "Is that even possible?"


    "To people on land, the sea is as alien as it is to a newborn child. A slight rocking of the ship has them turning pale and vomiting, and if the ship tilts just a little, they cry out as if the world¡¯s ending. We can manipulate the ship to make it rock on calm waters or tilt at precarious angles."


    "Really?"


    "It¡¯s called zigzagging. Sailing in that pattern at high speed makes even the largest ships sway as though they¡¯ve encountered massive waves. No matter how many passengers are onboard, we can herd them like sheep. Unlike a car, where inertia is instantly felt, the motion builds gradually, rolling through the body like waves. Even when we pull such tricks, passengers rarely realize it¡¯s deliberate."


    At this point, I sat down beside the old man. Not because I was particularly convinced, but because I found his explanation surprisingly coherent.


    I had expected the usual incoherent rambling but was met with a story that, at least, had some structure. Even if it was nonsense, I figured I could spare some time for conversation¡ªI had 20 hours and 30 minutes to kill, after all.


    "Our orders were to scuttle the fleet. Make it look like the fleet was sunk by a Chinese submarine," Kang said.


    By sheer coincidence, we had ended up in a bad part of town. Women and young girls approached, propositioning me with veiled language and trying to negotiate. I waved them off and moved to a different location, which turned out to be near Hunter Street, behind the research lab.


    Several hunters and their families, whom I barely recognized, shot disapproving looks at the old man. However, since they knew who I was, they refrained from starting anything.


    "Do you have any proof?" I asked.


    Captain Kang shook his head.


    "There¡¯s no contract or anything like that. Everything was verbal. We even had to pass through those airport-like scanners to ensure we weren¡¯t recording anything."


    He gestured toward the research lab.


    "We signed the deal there, me and the other captains."


    "With whom?"


    "They didn¡¯t tell us."


    "A woman, maybe?"


    "I couldn¡¯t say. The person in charge never showed up. But their surname was..."


    "Yes?"


    "Kang said it was something like Yang."


    If he had randomly picked that surname, he was incredibly lucky.


    "I see. So you¡¯re saying you made a secret deal with the government, signed up as a captain for the first evacuation fleet, sent the ships to China, and then returned here?"


    "Yes, that¡¯s correct."


    "And you have no proof?"


    "None. There was nothing we could¡¯ve kept as evidence."


    "What about the other captains?"


    "They went back to Incheon with their first mates. That was part of the deal."


    "Why send the fleet to China?"


    There was an edge to my voice now. It wasn¡¯t just my imagination. I had started this conversation out of curiosity, but his consistent lies and testimonies were beginning to irritate me.


    There are certain topics you don¡¯t make up stories about. The senseless deaths of innocent people fall into that category.


    "Explain yourself."


    I wasn¡¯t planning to go as far as Baek Seung-hyun might, but I had already decided that I needed to get this old man off Hunter Street.


    "There¡¯s a story behind it," Kang said, casting a shadowed look toward Hunter Street.


    "I deserved what I got from those boys," he sighed deeply, his gaze shifting upward.


    "What was it again... DARAM?"


    "..."


    I couldn¡¯t help but laugh under my breath.


    So this is how it¡¯s come full circle.


    The radio my junior once held had ended up in Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s hands, only to pass back down to my junior¡¯s junior.


    I don¡¯t believe in superstition, but I couldn¡¯t help feeling a sense of fate as I told him, "SKELTON."


    "Skelping?"


    "Skelton."


    Cheon Young-jae smirked confidently, like he was making a prophecy.


    "I heard you live out on the edge of Pyeongtaek. I¡¯ll bring a bottle of booze over one day."


    "No booze. Bring cola."


    "Cola works too."


    There wasn¡¯t much else worth noting about the exchange.


    Anyway, amidst the peace, boredom, and mild irritation, the 20 hours and 30 minutes passed.


    In the plaza where the crowds had gathered, fireworks painted the night sky, celebrating the safe arrival of Hope.


    The gathered people imbued their prayers and wishes into the scattering sparks, their hopes glowing as brightly as the fireworks.


    Amidst those countless wishes, a single corpse floated to the surface by the docks. But in a world where corpses were more common than hopes, no one paid it any mind.


    *


    DragonC¡¯s Message:


    "Thank you. I¡¯ve made it this far because of you! I¡¯ll keep my promise, Skelton. I swear on my pen name, Filkrum88."


    When I got home and turned on the internet, I was convinced the old man¡¯s predictions had been wrong.


    The ship arrived safely, and Filkrum seemed alive and well.


    The forum reflected the same upbeat mood.


    DONGTANMOM:


    "Nyam nyam! m9, m9, nyam nyam!"


    Baek Seung-hyun was clearly overjoyed.


    mmmmmmmmm:


    "What should I eat tonight?"


    m9 was desperately pretending not to notice.


    DONGTANMOM:


    "Nyam nyam! I can see it! Jeju Island! Nyam nyam!"


    DongtanMom relentlessly taunted m9 until the very end.


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    But wait. Wasn¡¯t Hope already supposed to have arrived?


    Filkrum¡¯s message had come exactly 20 hours and 30 minutes after the ship set sail.


    DONGTANMOM:


    "(DongtanMom¡¯s Photo Time) Let¡¯s see Jeju Island together~"


    DongtanMom proudly uploaded a photo.


    The image showed a churning sea and a faint silhouette of land through the mist.


    mmmmmmmmm:


    "What¡¯s that?"


    The ever-aloof m9, who had been grinding his teeth to ignore DongtanMom, was the first to comment.


    mmmmmmmmm:


    "Isn¡¯t that a Chinese signboard...?"


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    It really was.


    Zooming in on the photo, the signboards were clearly written in simplified Chinese.


    And that skyline in the mist¡ªit was unmistakably the Shanghai skyline.


    Anonymous848:


    "It¡¯s real. It¡¯s really China."


    Anonymous458:


    "Hey, DongtanMom, that¡¯s China...."


    Foxgames:


    "Holy."


    SKELTON:


    "(Skelton shocked)"


    gijayangban:


    "LOL."


    unicorn18:


    "?"


    ...


    After a brief silence, DongtanMom wrote again.


    DONGTANMOM:


    "Nyam..."


    mmmmmmmmm:


    "Yom nom nom~"


    Whether Hope arrived in Jeju Island or in China, there was no way to tell.


    Perhaps there were two ships named Hope, or maybe, as Captain Kang suggested, only the chosen ones had transferred to another vessel.


    One thing was certain: this story was far from over.


    DONGTANMOM:


    "Proof."


    Baek Seung-hyun revealed himself, his wife, and even his baby in a photo.


    DONGTANMOM:


    "We will survive."


    There are two entities bearing the name Hope: one a building, the other a ship.


    Though their locations and purposes differ vastly, within both lie people struggling for survival in this era where survival is the ultimate goal.


    DONGTANMOM:


    "We will return alive."


    This is yet another story of hope.

 Chapter 56

    People believe what they want to believe.


    The truth is rarely important.


    To them, the truth is only valid if it aligns with their preconceived notions. Anything else is a lie, unworthy of discussion.


    The reason Dongtanmom''s "awakening" failed to stir as much impact as expected might be because she didn¡¯t follow up with more posts. But the primary reason was likely that too many people couldn¡¯t bear to lose Jeju Island, their last beacon of hope.


    ??: So, who the hell is Dongtanmom anyway?


    ??: Why should we listen to her? What¡¯s with that blurry photo she posted? What does it even prove? If it¡¯s China, what difference does it make?


    ??: Dongtanmom says she went to China, but how do you explain celebrities like Park Joo-hyuk, Jung Seol-woo, and Lee Min-hye making it to Jeju?


    ??: People who can fake satellite images can¡¯t fake one measly boat photo? Give me a break.


    ??: Filkrum, who we thought was dead, supposedly arrived on Jeju too.


    ??: You lot could tell me the entire Korean Peninsula has sunk into the ocean, and I still wouldn¡¯t believe you. Nope. Not gonna happen.


    These responses encapsulate the dominant sentiment on PaleNet.


    Even when faced with destruction, they deny it.


    Like ostriches burying their heads in the sand when confronted by predators baring their fangs.


    Not everyone chose the ostrich''s life.


    Some chose the life of stray dogs.


    These were the ones who fled the government-run pens, seeking a new existence in the wilderness.


    Reports of ¡°new refugees¡± began surfacing across the forums.


    Anonymous883: This feels... familiar, doesn¡¯t it?@@@@


    RKKArA: Yeah, it really does.


    Keystone: Fuck, just when things were finally quiet for a few months.


    Lone_wolf: Is this Season 2 or what?


    The upheaval caused by Baek Seung-hyun did not simply end as a tempest in a teacup.


    It¡¯s beginning to shape our lives in broader, more tangible ways.


    In truth, this disaster had been foretold.


    The only reason it didn¡¯t come sooner was because the death of the giant had been artificially delayed.


    Click.


    The brief peace is over.


    Now begins the true era where humans will devour one another.


    Ironically, as I stand at this crossroads of a new era, the person who comes to mind is my internet friend: Defender.


    *


    If John Nae-non had lived just a little longer, could this have been avoided?


    ??: Results from the Viva! Apocalypse! forum search¡ªhere¡¯s a map of possible bunker locations.


    ??: How to tie restraining knots even a monkey can learn.


    ??: How to use a Judge Killer.


    ??: A list of people I want to kill on Viva!


    ??: U.S. Army manual¡ªBunker Suppression Tactics (1).


    ??: How to beat people (especially women) into submission.


    ??: Viva users are just a bunch of Aspie loners. If there are two or more people, just find the entrance, and the bunker¡¯s yours.


    ??: Human anatomy.jpg.


    The light of his influence had been tainted with malice.


    There had always been people with blind hostility toward us, those who exchanged inhumane information.


    But in the past, they lingered in the shadows, buried at the bottom of the forum rankings, quietly sharing their depraved interests amongst themselves.


    Baek Seung-hyun''s madness, however, quickly consumed PaleNet, dragging those shadow-dwellers into the daylight.


    The catalyst wasn¡¯t the nauseating pro-Jeju fleet defense posts or the Viva board wars. It was a new kind of post altogether.


    Anonymous Post: How to Steal a Bunker¡ªStep-by-Step Guide Even a Monkey Can Follow


    Materials Needed: At least five people and firearms.Identify all exits.Use tear gas on the ventilation system to incapacitate occupants.Follow the stench of excrement.Look for satellite equipment¡ªsmall protrusions that stick out of the ground like bamboo shoots.They might blow themselves up, so bait them into conversation with a fake promise to spare them.Use Viva! Apocalypse! posts to reverse-engineer their location.


    It wasn¡¯t a well-written post.


    The content was sloppy and poorly detailed.


    But in life, timing is everything.


    Just as people grew tired of the endless Jeju fleet debates, this post shot up the forum rankings, amassing thousands of comments and becoming a top post overnight.


    From the start, it was inevitable that we were unwelcome guests on PaleNet.


    Yet the uneasy cohabitation persisted because there was still hope.


    Now, as that hope begins to crumble, it¡¯s only natural that the fallout would reach us.


    Gijayangban: It¡¯s true that a large group of people left Incheon. It¡¯s never a bad idea to be cautious. Just like we¡¯ve leveled up, so have they.


    Gijayangban''s words struck at the heart of the matter.


    We¡¯ve leveled up, and so have they.


    Becoming desensitized to cruelty, accepting murder as a necessity, prioritizing oneself over others, embracing selfishness.


    It¡¯s a given that the second wave of refugees will be harder to handle than the first.


    Just as we shared survival tips on the forums, they exchanged looting strategies and left the cities.


    That afternoon, Gijayangban uploaded another photo.


    It depicted a wide array of vehicles leaving Incheon.


    Bang! Bang-bang!


    Gunfire echoed from the far north in the early hours of dawn.


    The sounds came from the area controlled by a pioneer who had been forcibly driven out some time ago.


    The gunfire seemed to subside, only to erupt violently again in three separate locations by morning.


    Perhaps the pioneer launched a flanking attack, or maybe the refugees employed a similar strategy.


    Bang!


    The first gunshot from the Sniper¡¯s territory in a long time rang out around noon.


    ¡°A vehicle tried to rush in,¡± Rebecca explained over the radio.


    ¡°A gasoline car? A small one. It ran off after being fired upon. No other vehicles. At least two passengers. Couldn¡¯t see the backseat.¡±


    ¡°I already looked, and it¡¯s not there!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m tired, Mom. Do we have to sleep in the car again? Can¡¯t we just go to a shelter?¡±


    ¡°No, we can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°But I miss my friends. Why do I have the black sticker?¡±


    I was tempted to reveal myself and tell them to return to Incheon.


    Tell them there¡¯s only death waiting for them there.


    That they wouldn¡¯t last a week in this harsh wilderness.


    Maybe they¡¯d survive if they teamed up with a survival expert in Incheon.


    But I couldn¡¯t intervene. My existence being revealed meant my death.


    I am someone who would sacrifice others to save myself.


    They lingered around the decoy bunker, providing me with valuable ideas.


    ¡°This bunker¡¯s strange. Why doesn¡¯t it have a ventilation shaft? All the manuals say bunkers need at least one vent.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it got removed when it was abandoned.¡±


    ¡°There should at least be a hole or something. I don¡¯t see anything.¡±


    A plan to add a dummy ventilation shaft to the decoy bunker was instantly formulated.


    It wouldn¡¯t be hard: just bury a PVC pipe and attach a broken duct.


    The noisy van eventually left, spewing black smoke as it drove away.


    I briefly debated whether to erase their tire tracks.


    Better to erase them.


    Camouflage works only a few times before it becomes useless under relentless traffic.


    The vehicle headed west¡ªtoward Defender¡¯s territory.


    I turned on the radio and contacted Defender.


    ¡°Hey, Defender. A vehicle is headed your way.¡±


    There was no response from him or his sister.


    A chilling sense of foreboding crept up my spine, but I pushed it aside.


    Erasing the tire tracks they left behind was a more urgent task.


    As I swept away the tracks with a brush, a cheap candy wrapper caught my eye.


    [ Provided by the Government of the Republic of Korea ]


    Was this the candy the child had left behind?


    I considered returning it, but I doubted I¡¯d ever see them again.


    So I popped it into my mouth for a quick energy boost.


    "..."


    Cheap.


    To summarize, the family that gave me insight into the decoy bunker¡¯s effectiveness and areas for improvement, disrupted my peace, and left me with tasteless candy, turned into cold corpses just a few hours later.


    *


    Defender: Verification


    Seeing someone you just met reduced to a lifeless form, and worse, becoming fodder for internet gossip, is far from pleasant.


    Defender: Say whatever you want.


    Defender: The reason I¡¯ve been quiet lately is because I was moving. As for Justice_Min? That bastard is a piece of work.


    Defender: Anyway, since intruders showed up in my territory, my verifications will continue. Hate me all you want. The people who despise me will keep doing so anyway, right?


    Defender was back.


    And uncharacteristically, he included a lengthy explanation.


    It seems that timing truly is everything when it comes to popular posts.


    His return post quickly racked up invisible upvotes, skyrocketing to the top of the forum¡¯s trending list.


    Now that I think about it, the period when Defender became a notable figure coincided with the height of the refugee crisis.


    Back then, after being shamed and driven off the forums, he clawed his way back using the same tactics that turned him into a renowned name. And now, in a similar context, he was reclaiming his place once again.


    "..."


    Even witnessing my internet friend¡¯s grand comeback, I couldn¡¯t shake the uneasy feeling in my chest.


    ¡°Hey, Skelton.¡±


    Defender¡¯s voice crackled through the radio.


    ¡°What was that earlier? We were a bit busy.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Skelton, are you online? Did you see our post? Did you see how the others are reacting?¡±


    I didn¡¯t know what to say.


    ¡°Yeah. Congrats,¡± I replied half-heartedly, tossing him an insincere congratulatory remark before hastily ending the call.


    The candy wrapper, stamped with the branding ¡°Provided by the Government of the Republic of Korea,¡± still sat on my desk.


    Whether I¡¯ll throw it away or burn it, I¡¯ll decide tomorrow.


    For now, I just want to close my eyes and get some rest.

 Chapter 57.1

    I first encountered the collective known as judges during my time as a multi-debtor.


    What I remember is that they wore clothes distinct from others, sat on an elevated platform, and everyone had to stand when they entered the room.


    Most people stood.


    Only those stubbornly clinging to baseless defiance remained seated. Even they, however, would stand during the appeal hearing, as I recall.


    According to what I found online, standing for the judge¡¯s entrance isn¡¯t about respecting the judge personally but rather showing reverence and respect for the judicial system of the Republic of Korea as a whole.


    I¡¯m not sure about that.


    Most people seemed to stand simply because others were doing it or out of fear that defying the judge would lead to disadvantages.


    What might a judge think as they look down from their lofty podium, watching people stand reflexively the moment someone else does?


    Would they vow to ensure not even a single innocent person is wronged?


    Would they imagine the scales of justice often depicted outside courtrooms and see themselves as one of those scales?


    Or would they instead be fixated on recalling the case number of the person who dared to remain seated?


    Regardless, it¡¯s undoubtedly a difficult job.


    Not just because of the sheer workload but because making judgments is inherently a heavy burden.


    Maybe that¡¯s why the selection process is so rigorous.


    To sit in such a position demands more responsibility than most can bear.


    After the war, the image of judges in robes was erased from my memory.


    I no longer had dealings with them, nor did I hear any news about them.


    Yet, by chance, an opportunity arose that brought me back to a courtroom where I once stood.


    *


    The second wave of refugees is an entirely different breed from the first.


    Unlike the naive first wave, who blindly believed they might find a chance to survive outside, the second wave knows all too well that the outside world is a living hell. They are prepared to do anything¡ªanything¡ªto survive.


    Chhh--


    "Buying bullets~! Will trade for fuel. Offering a generous deal! The fuel is good quality, starting with lot number 4."


    Recently, the K-walkie has been buzzing with activity, spitting out more messages than usual.


    Not all the second-wave refugees are murderous maniacs bent on hunting down Viva! Apocalypse! Korean forum users.


    Just as we are a minority, so too are those who want to kill us.


    Most of them are just people trying to find a new place to settle.


    Of course, if they happen to stumble upon a bunker along the way, they''d happily strip us clean.


    But it¡¯s not just pure refugees flooding out these days.


    True to the reputation of being a nation of merchants, some are trying to do business with the refugees.


    "Ah, we have women too! Lonely gentlemen, come by for some company and unwind for a bit. If you know Geapo Full House, we¡¯ll give you a special discount~!"


    One of these mysterious traders has set up shop just within the range of my domain¡¯s frequencies.


    Their primary commodity is synthetic fuel, but they also offer tire patching, minor repairs, and even prostitution¡ªa full-scale enterprise.


    I can¡¯t determine the full extent of their numbers or operation.


    While I can pick up their radio signals, they¡¯re stationed somewhere just beyond what I can observe from my domain.


    The K-walkie allows for a limited range of public frequency reception, and I¡¯ve set mine to a maximum radius of 15 kilometers.


    So they¡¯re within roughly that range.


    ¡°Ah, the noisy guy who¡¯s been yammering lately? Yeah, I saw him.¡±


    Defender, whose voice has regained its vitality recently, seems to have personally spotted the trader in question, true to his wide-reaching connections.


    ¡°They¡¯re set up at the old highway rest stop. Pretty big operation. Four buses, one freight truck. Didn¡¯t count the cars. From the looks of it, they¡¯re probably a gang.¡±


    The fact that gangs are active in the city isn¡¯t news to anyone.


    The so-called ¡°kings of the night¡± are like mosquitoes or flies¡ªno matter how many you kill, more just keep showing up.


    This noisy trader operation seems to be a gang making their way out of a dying city to explore new opportunities for profit.


    As much as I¡¯d rather not deal with such people...


    "Offering a drum of fuel for every 30-round magazine of 5.56mm."


    The terms are too good to pass up.


    While ammunition is undeniably valuable, I have more than I could ever need.


    When the U.S. forces withdrew, I was among the first to raid their ammo depots.


    Fuel, on the other hand, is scarce for me.


    Especially synthetic fuel, which I¡¯ve been eyeing as a potential new lifeline.


    It¡¯s to replace the ancient diesel, long past its expiration date, that barely powers my magnificent generator¡ªthe Skelton Heart.


    If trade originated from the surplus of resources, this transaction is exactly what I need right now.


    I can make it through this winter with the fuel and firewood I have, but beyond that, fuel is indispensable for anything resembling a human life.


    Even knowing the risk, I find myself drawn to the offer, unable to ignore it.


    ¡°Hmm...¡±


    To be honest, Defender hasn¡¯t been sitting well with me lately.


    Maybe it¡¯s that we¡¯ve grown more aware of our differences.


    Understanding that someone is different is one thing, but feeling that difference is another, more emotional matter.


    Even if they were intruders, I can¡¯t understand slaughtering a defenseless family like livestock and then flaunting it online as a way to make a grand return.


    If someone had invaded my domain, I would¡¯ve killed them too¡ªbut I wouldn¡¯t have broadcasted it to anyone.


    Still, what choice do I have?


    Defender is the only one I can rely on.


    ¡°What? You¡¯re thinking of trading with those guys?¡±


    After about a second of consideration, Defender responded casually.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll go with you.¡±


    "..."


    There¡¯s no such thing as a 100% perfect person in this world.


    ¡°Oh, a customer?¡±


    An over-the-top, exaggerated voice came through the K-walkie.


    ¡°Come on in! It¡¯s Geapo Full House!!!¡±


    *


    "Oh, you can leave your walkie-talkie on while you come over. If we pull any funny business, just broadcast it at maximum power. Everyone within a 20-kilometer radius will hear it, and then we won¡¯t be able to run our shop."


    This was my first impression of the man called Geapo Full House.


    Just a regular guy.


    Average height, unremarkable features, and a face worn by time.


    He wore loose black slacks and a short-sleeved dress shirt that must¡¯ve been white once but had long since faded.


    Gangsters aren¡¯t always the hulking figures covered in tattoos that movies make them out to be.


    A gangster is simply someone willing to inscribe indelible marks on their soul.


    But the normalcy of Geapo Full House didn¡¯t last long.


    The moment I stepped inside the shop, surrounded by walls made of stacked shipping containers, it was clear this man was a devil to his core.


    Inside the containers were women, all bearing obvious signs of abuse.


    Beside the displays of various goods, stereotypical tattooed thugs with scowling faces were playing cards.


    What stood out most was an elderly man, chained like a dog, holding up a crude sign that read, ¡°Manseok Shop.¡±


    "..."


    He was naked.


    His emaciated body was covered in scars and bruises from years of abuse. A chain was wrapped tightly around his neck.


    Even a brief glance was enough to tell me that this man had endured unimaginable torment under Manseok.


    ¡°Hey, you bastard! Hold that sign straight!¡±


    Sure enough, as Manseok walked toward a desk, he barked orders at the naked man.


    Just his shouting made the poor man tremble uncontrollably.


    But when Manseok turned to me, he wore a grin as wide and artificial as a theater mask. His voice became smooth and polite.


    ¡°You¡¯re selling bullets?¡±


    ¡°Yes. About half a crate.¡±


    ¡°Half a crate, so around 800 rounds?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Wow. That¡¯s quite a lot, especially these days.¡±


    Manseok glanced at me while typing on a laptop.


    ¡°What do you do?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a refugee.¡±


    ¡°800 rounds... That¡¯s a lot of barrels. It¡¯ll be heavy to carry.¡±


    ¡°I plan to bring a truck.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I see.¡±


    ¡°Can I inspect the goods?¡±


    Despite the oppressive atmosphere inside the shop, the transaction itself proceeded smoothly.


    It became clear from little details here and there: Manseok had set up this shop not just as a front for nefarious activities, but with the genuine intention of conducting business.


    ¡°This is what we¡¯ve got for now. Come back tomorrow; I¡¯ll replenish whatever¡¯s missing. Oh, the synthetic fuel comes from Changwon, so you can trust its quality. If it¡¯s not good, feel free to come back at night and burn the place down.¡±


    We¡¯ll see about that.


    Time would tell if these gangsters were serious about trading or not.


    ¡°But, sir~ Don¡¯t you need a woman?¡±


    As I was about to leave, Manseok smiled slyly and gestured toward the container where the women were kept.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you a good deal. Can¡¯t guarantee they¡¯re disease-free, though.¡±


    ¡°No, thank you.¡±


    ¡°Why not? Are they not to your liking? Or do you not trust us?¡±


    ¡°No, I just don¡¯t engage in those kinds of things.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I guess you don¡¯t know who Geapo Full House is. I¡¯ve been in this business for a long time, you know. Since right after the war. I¡¯ve built my reputation on trust.¡±


    He persistently tried to pitch the women to me.


    I refused outright, not wanting to even look at them or acknowledge such a grim reality.


    Instead, I brought up something that had been bothering me since earlier: the naked man holding the sign.


    ¡°What about that man holding the sign? Is he one of your employees?¡±


    I threw in a lighthearted tone to avoid provoking him.


    Manseok burst out laughing, his eyes glinting with malice.


    ¡°I sell judges.¡±


    ¡°Pardon?¡±


    For a moment, I didn¡¯t understand what he meant.


    It was a word I hadn¡¯t heard in a long time.


    ¡°Judges. You know, those assholes who used to strut around on their high platforms before the war.¡±


    Manseok sneered, unable to hide his disdain.


    ¡°I¡¯m different from the rest of you. I¡¯m up in the clouds. I love repentance letters.¡±


    I wondered for a moment if his hatred was directed at judges as a group or at this particular individual.


    Maybe it was both.


    There was a depth to his resentment, far too vast to be contained by a single target.

 Chapter 57.2

    Thud.


    I took out a cartridge case, split its contents in half, and handed it to Defender.


    ¡°What¡¯s this? You¡¯re giving it to me?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t properly thanked you for everything.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do it expecting a reward.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got plenty of bullets. And I do appreciate everything you¡¯ve done.¡±


    Despite his protests, I gave him half the bullets from the cartridge case as a token of gratitude.


    It was the least I could do.


    He had accompanied me to deal with dangerous people, brought his truck along, and even helped load the cargo. My late father used to say that no matter how close you are to someone, you must always show gratitude when asking for help. Otherwise, even the strongest bonds can crumble under neglect.


    ¡°You know a guy named Manseok from Gaepo-dong?¡±


    Defender was sitting in the passenger seat, resting his rifle on the window frame while scanning the surroundings. He threw the question at me.


    ¡°Yeah, I know him.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s he like?¡±


    ¡°Just your run-of-the-mill scumbag. Deals with the military, smuggles surplus equipment onto the black market, runs a prostitution ring on the side, and will do anything for profit. Typical gang boss, but word is he¡¯s well-educated and resourceful. Apparently, the military loves him.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    I noticed a gaunt man standing ahead, holding a sign. His face flashed briefly before my eyes.


    ¡°He¡¯s using some odd advertising models, though.¡±


    ¡°Probably a competitor. He likes making examples of people.¡±


    ¡°I heard he used to be a judge.¡±


    ¡°A judge? Oh, yeah, a judge. Haven¡¯t heard that one in a while.¡±


    Tat-tat-tat!


    Gunshots echoed from a short distance away.


    Defender, however, didn¡¯t stop the car.


    When I looked at him, he spoke first, his expression unreadable.


    ¡°They¡¯re not shooting at us. It¡¯s far enough away. No need to react. If we get mistaken for being involved, we¡¯ll just get shot at too.¡±


    I had to admit, the man had nerves of steel.


    If it were me, I¡¯d have stopped the vehicle, carefully scouted the area where the shots came from, and ensured it was safe before moving again.


    Maybe it¡¯s just a difference in style.


    I, Park Gyu, can be recklessly bold when necessary, but in situations like these, I lean toward caution, even to the point of being overly hesitant. There¡¯s a reason for it. Dying when it¡¯s unavoidable is one thing. But dying in a situation where you don¡¯t have to? That would make it hard to rest in peace.


    Later, there was another minor incident.


    Several motorcycles roared past us on the opposite road, engines deafening.


    Defender, seeing them, stopped the car and prepared for battle, but the group ignored us and sped southward. After that, things remained quiet.


    Soon, an old highway rest area came into view, along with a fortress constructed out of stacked shipping containers.


    I contacted them via radio before entering.


    ¡°This is the person who agreed to trade bullets for fuel yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Yesterday¡¯s guest!¡±


    Manseok¡¯s voice came through with a sudden sigh.


    ¡°But we¡¯ve got a bit of a problem.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the issue?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s definitely an issue. Just come in first. Honk three times at the gate.¡±


    I exchanged a glance with Defender before switching seats. He got out of the truck, and I took the wheel.


    Dealing with gangsters often follows a predictable pattern: agree to a trade, then ambush the unsuspecting buyer.


    If we were attacked, I¡¯d likely be killed on the spot. But the vehicle was rigged with explosives. Defender would make sure to avenge me. That was the plan.


    The ultimate insurance policy in the apocalypse.


    With everything set, I adjusted the position of the ballistic shield mounted inside the door and prepared my handgun.


    Clack.


    One in the passenger seat, one behind the gear stick, and one inside the door. I felt the tension lubricating my body as I slowly drove toward the shop.


    Beep-beep-beep.


    Three honks.


    The gangsters soon appeared.


    ¡°All right, all right, come on in.¡±


    I drove the truck into the container-enclosed compound.


    The place was a hodgepodge of items: fuel, melee weapons, food supplies, spare parts, and even prostitutes. Naked women and a stripped-down judge caught my eye in succession.


    But something was different from before.


    Bloodstains covered one of the containers, as if someone had poured a bucket of paint over it.


    ¡°Ah, you¡¯re here! Mr. Park!¡±


    Manseok greeted me with open arms.


    He didn¡¯t seem hostile. Behind him, several drums of fuel were neatly stacked.


    Hiding my pistol, I stepped out of the vehicle.


    ¡°Did something happen?¡±


    Manseok grimaced.


    ¡°Ugh, hell. Yeah, something happened.¡±


    He turned his head toward the bloodstained container.


    ¡°A mutation attacked us last night. Killed one of my boys.¡±


    ¡°A mutation? What kind?¡±


    I could guess what had happened.


    Manseok glanced at the naked man tied nearby.


    ¡°But that bastard said he was a professional. Claimed he was in a respectable line of work, with no flight risk. Wrote some apology letters too. So, the police let him go. And then he raped and killed my daughter. Wrote those apology letters by day and, at night, bashed someone else¡¯s daughter with a hammer until she was unconscious, raped her, and strangled her to death.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s why you tied him up?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the only reason.¡±


    Manseok let out a grim smile.


    ¡°Later, I went to confront him. Told him that because of his negligence, my daughter was dead. Asked him to admit his mistake and apologize to her, so she might find some peace in the afterlife. Do you know what that bastard did? He looked at me like I was a bug. Then he called court security¡ªor whatever lackeys judges have¡ªand told them to throw me out. Said I wasn¡¯t even a citizen. Called me an outsider.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Not long after, I saw him presiding over a civil case. Some old lady had been scammed and lost everything. She didn¡¯t know much and was pleading her case, asking for justice. And that bastard, sitting high and mighty, scolded her instead. Told her to learn the basics before coming to court. I saw it all in his eyes and heard it in his tone. That¡¯s when I understood what kind of person he was, how he saw the world.¡±


    Manseok stood up.


    ¡°He thinks he¡¯s above everyone. Just a piece of shit who¡¯s deluded into thinking he¡¯s something greater.¡±


    He picked up his gun and approached the naked man, who started trembling uncontrollably at the sight of the weapon.


    ¡°This worm...¡±


    Manseok let out a derisive laugh, then turned to me.


    ¡°But even I know I¡¯m not in the right. I know I¡¯m a piece of shit too. That¡¯s why I give him a chance every day.¡±


    ¡°A chance?¡±


    Manseok suddenly did something incomprehensible.


    He cocked the gun, turned off the safety, and thrust it into the hands of the naked man, forcing his fingers around it.


    Then, pressing the barrel against his own forehead, he barked at the man.


    ¡°Here¡¯s the guy who killed your family and ruined your life. Go on. Pass judgment.¡±


    The naked man¡¯s hands trembled violently, but he couldn¡¯t pull the trigger.


    Manseok snorted, yanked the gun out of his hands, and slapped him so hard the sound echoed. Then he calmly turned back to me, adjusting his coat as if nothing had happened.


    ¡°As you can see, innocent.¡±


    I had nothing to say about the tangled grudges of pre-war days. It wasn¡¯t my business to know.


    But at least one question was answered.


    That was enough.


    My gaze shifted to another item in the shop.


    ¡°This battery¡ªmind if I take a look?¡±


    Manseok, acting as though nothing had happened, perked up with his usual exaggerated enthusiasm.


    ¡°Ah, this one. It¡¯s Chinese, but the performance is solid. Don¡¯t think of it like old Chinese products¡ªit¡¯s better than domestic ones. Back when I worked in the industry, Korean engineers sold off all their tech in China.¡±


    ¡°Do you take firearms as well? I¡¯ve got a few brand-new American rifles.¡±


    ¡°Really? You raided a U.S. base, didn¡¯t you? Gutsy. I¡¯ll give you a generous deal.¡±


    I figured I¡¯d need to return to this shop again.


    Whatever kind of man Manseok was, the goods he had could significantly extend the lifespan of my territory.


    On top of that¡ª


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°Oh, this.¡±


    Manseok picked up what looked like a combat gadget, a pouch bristling with blades.


    ¡°Hunter equipment.¡±


    Even hunter gear.


    Blades, a large-caliber rifle, a 128mm rocket pistol, and even a Harpoonizer¡ªthe mid-range weapon I used to favor. This place was practically a department store.


    ¡°How do you get all this?¡±


    ¡°I used to have connections with soldiers. Most of them have joined the Legion faction now, so that¡¯s over.¡±


    As someone skilled at dealing with people and manipulating their emotions, Manseok was quick to pick up on my interest.


    He glanced at me and asked, ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to be a hunter, would you?¡±


    ¡°...I used to be, briefly.¡±


    ¡°Knew it. You had that aura about you the moment I saw you.¡±


    While we were talking, the synthetic fuel had been loaded.


    The truck bed was packed tightly with so much fuel that the one-ton vehicle wobbled under the weight.


    This trade couldn¡¯t have gone better.


    Looking at the situation, it seemed like this was the end of it.


    Since he¡¯d figured out I was a hunter and we¡¯d likely have more dealings in the future, I decided to offer him some professional advice.


    ¡°Be careful.¡±


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°Mutations.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that.¡±


    ¡°Mutations that target a place once tend to come back. They¡¯ll keep coming until they think it¡¯s no longer worth the risk. Those creatures combine human intelligence with animal persistence. You said you were attacked yesterday, right?¡±


    Manseok waved off my words as if they didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it.¡±


    Sure you will.


    I just hope nothing happens. After all, I¡¯ll probably need to deal with this guy again.


    ¡°How was it?¡± Defender asked as I returned.


    I pointed at the fully loaded fuel in the back and gave him a thumbs-up.


    And then, ¡°As you can see.¡±


    At least for now, I hoped no judgment would be passed on Manseok before our next trade.

 Chapter 57.3

    Even in the apocalypse, Sundays feel different.


    When I was in China, no matter how bad the situation got, I always made a point to rest on Sundays.


    Still, I never let go of my daily routines.


    At dawn, I tend to the vegetable garden.


    By midday, the sunlight becomes too harsh, so I take the opportunity to care for the crops as a form of light exercise and distraction. I harvest what¡¯s ripe or needed, ensuring nothing goes to waste.


    Currently, I¡¯m growing five types of crops: lettuce, cucumbers, radishes, napa cabbage, and melons.


    I don¡¯t grow green onions because I¡¯m not much of a cook.


    Cooking involves fire, and fire not only consumes fuel but also spreads a lot of smell. That¡¯s something I¡¯d rather avoid.


    I placed a few ripe melons into a basket, trimmed some rotting stems with scissors, inspected the leaves for signs of disease, and took a break.


    My resting spot is the stream that flows beneath the house.


    The water in the valley has become remarkably clear lately. Sitting by the stream, washing lightly, and soaking my feet feels so refreshing that I start to believe I could get through the day without an air conditioner.


    Of course, by nightfall, I always end up turning it on.


    As I stared absentmindedly at the flowing water, something caught my eye.


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    Something big moved under the water.


    It wasn¡¯t a fish¡ªit looked more like a shrimp.


    But it was far too large to be a normal shrimp.


    A sense of unease crept over me. I grabbed the rifle I had placed nearby and cautiously waded into the stream, stepping slowly with each splash of water.


    Before I could investigate further, my K-walkie-talkie suddenly crackled to life behind me.


    ¡°Hunter from the last trade! Hunter from the last trade! Are you there? If you recognize my voice, please respond! This is really urgent! I¡¯ll make it worth your while!¡±


    Hearing that voice, I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle quietly to myself.


    ¡°I knew it.¡±


    The voice belonged to none other than Manseok.


    *


    Given the urgency of the matter, I headed to Manseok¡¯s shop alone, without Defender this time.


    ¡°Ah, Hunter!¡±


    Manseok stood outside the shop, waiting for me from a distance.


    Together, we walked into the container fortress.


    ¡°Looks like you had a real battle here.¡±


    The scene inside resembled a war zone. Smoke curled up from various places, stalls were smashed to pieces, and bloodstains marked the ground where bodies lay haphazardly covered with cloth.


    ¡°Twelve of us were defending, but six got taken out. We used hundreds of rounds of ammunition and even hunter equipment, but we couldn¡¯t even scratch the thing.¡±


    Manseok, who had been an over-the-top salesman just a day ago, now seemed entirely different. He spoke calmly and methodically about the damage.


    This must¡¯ve been the version of him that existed when he worked in a corporate office. As he recounted the events of the previous night¡¯s battle, I imagined the scene unfolding.


    There was no need to state the obvious: it had been a devastating loss for Manseok.


    Despite being a powerful gang boss in the city, he had no experience surviving beyond its walls. Sure, he must¡¯ve seen monsters from afar and occasionally encountered mutations. He had probably even dealt with hunters at some point.


    But he must¡¯ve underestimated the threat, believing hunters to be no different from regular soldiers. Overconfidence had set in.


    He likely thought, ¡°If it¡¯s just a mutation and not a monster, we can handle it.¡±


    The result? A crushing defeat.


    This wasn¡¯t an ordinary mutation.


    Mutations vary in type and capability. Some freshly mutated creatures are just larger and stronger versions of their previous selves¡ªeasy enough to shoot down like game on an African safari. But those that survive repeated battles, gain experience, and learn to hunt humans? They become the hunters, turning humans into their trophies.


    Even the South Korean government, back when it still functioned, failed to eradicate the Gold Pack for this very reason.


    ¡°What should we do?¡± Manseok asked, his face stiff.


    ¡°Now that you¡¯ve been targeted, it¡¯s best to relocate. This area has become its hunting ground.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not an option,¡± Manseok replied, shaking his head.


    Before I could ask why, he explained.


    ¡°...As people left, the refugee camp we managed disbanded. The other camps nearby are already under the control of guys like me. Fighting them won¡¯t gain us anything. Their camps are barely holding together as it is. And the safe camps? They¡¯re locked down by people with connections.¡±


    It seemed his venture into the wilderness wasn¡¯t about finding new opportunities but rather a lack of alternatives.


    Like many others who had been forced out here, Manseok had no choice.


    Still, it seemed he had some kind of vision for this place.


    ¡°I need to secure this shop no matter what. I plan to make it a central hub for all the people settling around here.¡±


    ¡°A hub?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s say more people start establishing themselves in the area. They¡¯re not going to keep pointing guns at each other forever, right? We¡¯re all Koreans, not foreigners who can¡¯t even communicate. Eventually, people will need a place to gather¡ªfor trade, entertainment, and everything else.¡±


    Manseok¡¯s deep eyes glimmered with an intensity not typical of a gangster.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to turn this place into the Las Vegas of Korea.¡±@@@@


    Whatever his dreams, it was clear he wasn¡¯t giving up on this location.


    ¡°...Please, help us.¡±


    Seeing someone like Manseok bowing to me at a 90-degree angle was surprising, to say the least.


    Not that I had come here out of pure goodwill myself.


    ¡°These are all the people you have left?¡±


    That mutation, Hoot, had to be eliminated.


    A good tool is worth its weight in gold. One machine could easily do the work of dozens of people.


    Using the gathered wood and tools, we crafted sharp, spiked barricades to defend against Hoot.


    ¡°We¡¯ll position these at each defense point. When the bastard lunges at us, it¡¯ll impale itself on these spikes.¡±


    The gangsters looked at me with expressions of awe as I explained my plan, murmuring words of admiration.


    ¡°Ohhh!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re truly a professional, Hunter.¡±


    ¡°Amazing, Hunter hyungnim!¡±


    The title shifted from Hunter-nim to Hunter hyungnim.


    Now that I was their "hyungnim," my words carried far more weight.


    Manseok quickly barked orders after hearing my suggestion.


    ¡°Let the women out! Put them to work too!¡±


    Vrrrmmm.


    As spiked barricades were being constructed across the area, I wandered around, revisiting the spots where people had been attacked and killed. I reviewed the methods the creature used to strike.


    Its preferred method was an ambush, but it also reportedly attacked people by walking up to them and splitting their skulls open with its beak. It could even incapacitate attackers from behind with a mere flap of its wings.


    Preventing ambushes wasn¡¯t enough.


    This creature was strong enough to tear through one or two people with ease, even on the ground. It was, essentially, a walking dinosaur.


    The more I thought about it, the tougher this opponent seemed.


    It wasn¡¯t just a monster dominant in the air¡ªit was equally dangerous on the ground.


    ¡°...¡±


    These hastily constructed spiked barricades weren¡¯t going to stop a creature that had already killed hundreds of people.


    Spiked barricades are one-time use. If we failed to seriously injure it on the first attempt, they¡¯d be as good as useless.


    We couldn¡¯t rely on floodlights and random gunfire, like something out of World War II, to fight it in the dark. Not only did we lack floodlights, but spraying bullets indiscriminately would drain my ammo reserves overnight.


    There was only one real solution.


    ¡°Blader.¡±


    The Blader.


    This hunter weapon unleashed 18 sharp titanium blades like a rainstorm upon firing.


    It wasn¡¯t widely adopted against monsters due to its relatively low stopping power, but for a fight like this, it would be invaluable.


    The Blader was essentially a giant shotgun that used blades instead of bullets. A well-aimed shot could shred a mutation like this into pieces.


    The only real issue with the Blader was its ricochet problem¡ªstray blades could bounce back and hit our own side.


    Still, with the Blader in hand, survival was almost guaranteed. As long as I spotted the creature first and got it within range, I¡¯d have a winning card to play.


    But I¡¯d underestimated Manseok.


    ¡°Oh, this? The Blader? Yeah, I know what it is. Of course, I do,¡± Manseok said with a smug grin.


    ¡°I¡¯m keeping it for myself.¡±


    It seemed he¡¯d come to the same conclusion as me.


    Not wanting him to read my intentions, I quickly abandoned the idea and walked away.


    Three hours remained until sundown.


    The gangsters were still hammering spikes into place all around the containers.


    I climbed onto an empty container to rest for a moment.


    ¡°...¡±


    There he was again¡ªthe naked judge.


    He stared at me with those sharp, unwavering eyes.


    I turned away, intending to climb back down, but then he spoke.


    ¡°I had no choice.¡±


    The voice was calm and clear, almost melodious, which made it all the more jarring coming from someone in such a wretched state.


    ¡°I had no choice but to release the man accused of killing his daughter.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    I knew I shouldn¡¯t engage, but my curiosity got the better of me.


    The naked man nodded firmly, his gaze filled with conviction.


    ¡°It is our role to ensure that no innocent person is imprisoned, even if it means letting ten criminals go free.¡±


    ¡°Bullshit!!!¡±


    A furious roar erupted from below the container¡ªit was Manseok.


    ¡°Hey! String that bastard up! We¡¯ll use him as bait!¡±


    The naked judge didn¡¯t flinch.


    ¡°Even if I could go back to that day, I would release him again. That was the judgment I made as a judge of the Republic of Korea. If we begin imprisoning people based on mere suspicion, without sufficient evidence, then this world¡ª¡±


    His words were cut short as the gangsters bound him tightly and hoisted him high onto a pole.


    Manseok placed LED lights around the base of the pole and turned to me with a wicked smile.


    ¡°The moment that damned owl bastard swoops in to snatch this guy, we¡¯ll hit it with the Blader.¡±


    He held the Blader out toward me.


    ¡°...Will you do it?¡±


    His eyes were wild with madness.

 Chapter 57.4

    ¡°No, I refuse.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why should I waste time staring at that unpleasant man, not knowing when the creature might arrive silently?¡±


    Manseok seemed about to say something, but I cut him off, glancing around to avoid confrontation.


    ¡°Let someone else handle it.¡±


    Manseok¡¯s lips curled into a thin smile. He didn¡¯t respond but brushed past me, deliberately bumping my shoulder¡ªa subtle warning, perhaps, that he wasn¡¯t pleased.


    Not that it mattered. He couldn¡¯t do anything to me. If he wanted to face the grim reaper lurking nearby¡ªwhether tonight or tomorrow¡ªhe needed my help.


    While he locked himself in the container serving as his office, I inspected the gangsters¡¯ firearms and equipment. Nothing remarkable.


    No flares, no night vision goggles. Just a few crude LED lights, most of which were focused on illuminating the naked man tied to the pole.


    Manseok¡¯s plan¡ªto wait for the owl mutation to snatch the judge and then fire the Blader to kill both the creature and the judge, reducing them to mincemeat¡ªseemed sound on the surface.


    After all, humanity¡¯s earliest traps for birds likely worked on similar principles: baiting the prey and ensnaring it the moment it took the bait.


    But we were dealing with a creature more similar to us than we¡¯d like to admit.


    I¡¯d warned Manseok of this fact more than once, but the gangster seemed incapable of grasping its implications.


    The moonless night arrived, cloaked in pitch-black darkness. Clouds veiled the sky, smothering even the faintest light.


    Our battlefield was no different. When Manseok gestured, the LED lights blinked on, flooding the scene with harsh brightness and spotlighting the naked man tied to the pole as if he were some grotesque prize.


    Manseok chuckled, gazing at the bound man.


    ¡°Hey, Judge! Feeling good up there? You like high places, don¡¯t you? Eh? From up there, does everyone look small to you?¡±


    Manseok crouched in a personal trench lined with spiked stakes, gripping the Blader.


    ¡°I wanted to toy with you longer, but, well, life¡¯s hard right now. You know how people abandon their pets when they can¡¯t take care of them anymore? Same thing. Don¡¯t take it too personally, yeah? Life¡¯s tough for me too.¡±


    The judge said nothing. Perhaps he didn¡¯t have the strength to. I hadn¡¯t seen him eat all day.


    Manseok¡¯s grudge burned unabated.


    ¡°Hey, Judge. Let¡¯s say we still had cops and prosecutors in this world, and I got caught and brought to trial. Now that you¡¯re up there, what verdict would you hand down? Death penalty? Life imprisonment?¡±


    His taunts were ceaseless and venomous.


    As a hunter, I found Manseok¡¯s ranting unwise.


    When I was a boy, my mentor, Jang Ki-young, once gave us an unusual assignment: identify the animals that would be most difficult to deal with as mutations, explain why, and write a report.


    Unsurprisingly, I aced the task.


    Jang Ki-young called my name with a grin that felt almost paternal. ¡°Park Gyu, you¡¯re like Fabre!¡±


    That offhand compliment shattered my illusion of him. Fabre? Not Seton? It was then I realized he was a little odd.


    My chosen animal, which earned me that praise, was the Eurasian eagle-owl¡ªa predator born for the hunt.


    Its eyes may be its most prominent feature, but its asymmetrical ears are what make it truly deadly. The difference in ear height allows the owl to locate prey in pitch darkness by sound alone.


    Shouting, as Manseok was doing, seemed less like setting bait and more like inviting the predator to dinner.


    ¡°Fool.¡±


    The unexpected voice cut through the night.


    It was the judge. Bound to the pole, he had spoken.


    ¡°You pathetic, ignorant creature.¡±


    He squirmed and struggled, his entire body trembling as if reborn with purpose.


    ¡°Do you think a judge in this country is some kind of feudal magistrate? Do you think I could just throw away laws and regulations and do whatever I wanted? Do you have any idea how much I agonized over that decision? The evidence wasn¡¯t there! You didn¡¯t know that man would kill your daughter. If you did, why didn¡¯t you protect her yourself? Huh? Why?¡±


    It was astonishing.


    This man, who seemed utterly broken after enduring endless humiliation and abuse, still possessed the strength to defend his actions.


    Even stripped of dignity and mocked by gangsters, he had maintained his humanity.


    Faced with imminent death, he shed his mask of endurance and bared his soul to the merciless Manseok¡ªfrom his high perch, no less.


    ¡°You son of a¡ª!¡±


    Manseok¡¯s face twisted into a monstrous visage under the harsh LED glare.


    He climbed out of his trench, the Blader in hand, aiming it at the judge.


    ¡°You bastard! You¡¯ve been silent this whole time, and now that you¡¯re about to die, you decide to run your mouth?¡±


    Thunk.


    The Blader clattered to the ground. A grim smile crept across Manseok¡¯s face.


    ¡°Forget it.¡±


    He waved his hand dismissively.


    ¡°No hunting tonight. Fine. Forget the plan. I¡¯ll just make sure you never open that mouth again. Hey! Bring me a gun. I¡¯ll blow a hole in his skull myself.¡±


    It was a chilling threat.


    But the judge, perhaps knowing he had nothing left to lose, continued speaking without pause.


    ¡°Laws and systems exist because of beasts like you! Animals that scream for execution and demand death for every offense¡ªthat¡¯s why we have the presumption of innocence and a three-tiered court system!¡±


    ¡°You bastard!¡±


    Manseok¡¯s face turned crimson with rage.


    He climbed the ladder toward the judge, a pistol in one hand.


    Everyone watched, unease growing, as he ascended.


    A breeze stirred, east to west. My gaze flicked to the horizon.


    ¡°?¡±


    There was something¡ªa shape darker than the night.


    ¡°Mutation!¡±


    The word burst from my mouth before I even thought it.


    ¡°MUTATION!!!¡±


    Tat-tat-tat-tat!


    I fired at the shadow, but it veered sharply and disappeared into the darkness.


    ¡°What the hell?!¡±


    Manseok, halfway up the ladder, looked back at me, his expression incredulous.


    ¡°It¡¯s a mutation!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see shit!¡±


    He scanned the area, then sneered as if he¡¯d figured it out.


    Thud!


    A sudden, earth-shaking crash sounded from beyond the containers.


    The ground trembled, and a bone-chilling cracking noise followed.


    "Argh!"


    "The¡ªThe owl!"


    "There''s another one!"


    Before anyone could react, a massive, pitch-black figure soared into the sky.


    In the faint light cast by the LEDs, the creature¡¯s outstretched wings revealed its identity.


    "..."


    I had overlooked one crucial possibility.


    Owls pair for life.


    The creature descended, landing with another deafening crash.


    "Ahhhh!"


    "Yonggi¡¯s dead! Yonggi¡¯s down!"


    "Kyahhhh!"


    "Run! Run for your lives!"


    Manseok and I raised our guns, but the creature didn¡¯t take flight again.


    Instead, it stalked forward on two legs, its talons and beak mercilessly tearing through the humans responsible for killing its mate.


    Beyond the container walls, a horrifying symphony unfolded.


    The furious flapping of wings, the sickening sounds of flesh ripping and bones snapping, the panicked screams of the living, and the final gasps of the dying melded into a nightmarish cacophony.


    Manseok met my gaze.


    He picked up the fallen Blader and handed it to me.


    I nodded, gesturing for him to take cover.


    And then, the shadow emerged from beyond the containers.


    A split-second aim.


    A pull of the trigger.


    One of the few lessons from school that had proven useful in the field.


    I had used countless weapons, but none was as unpredictable as this titanium-blade shotgun.


    Still, survival demanded I fire.


    The moment the beast lunged over the containers, eighteen titanium blades burst forth from the Blader.


    The blades tore through its feathers, wings, body, massive eyes, and beak, eviscerating the creature in one devastating strike.


    But not all the blades found their mark.


    One severed the pole the judge was tied to, sending it crashing down.


    Another ricocheted off a container wall, scattering shards everywhere.


    One of those shards struck Manseok squarely in the temple.


    "!!!"


    Without so much as a scream, Manseok collapsed, the pole falling on top of him.


    *


    "The store was pretty decent. I even had something I wanted to buy," Defender remarked, uncharacteristically expressing regret over the shop.


    He doesn¡¯t know what became of it. I didn¡¯t tell him.


    "By the way, that judge¡ªwhat do you think happened to him? Is he still being dragged around like a dog by that gangster?"


    Who knows?


    I could say otherwise.


    But from my perspective, it¡¯s safe to assume the judge ultimately succumbed to the gangster¡¯s control.


    I think back to their final moments.


    Manseok, pinned beneath the pole, unable to move. The judge, miraculously spared as the pole landed on the opposite container edge, surviving by sheer luck. The shock even loosened his restraints.


    The tables had turned.


    The judge was free, and Manseok lay helpless under the pole¡ªlikely with both legs broken.


    Up to that point, it was a perfect victory for the judge.


    A testament to his superhuman endurance, earning the favor of the fickle gods.


    But the situation flipped once again.


    The judge picked up a pistol that had fallen to the ground and approached the immobilized Manseok.


    His face was chilling, eerily resembling Manseok''s.


    There was no mistaking it.


    It was the face Manseok had wanted to see¡ªthe one hiding behind the judge''s lofty mask.


    A face consumed by hatred and revenge.


    Manseok¡¯s eyes widened slightly as he stared at the judge¡¯s expression.


    Then, as if a thought had struck him, he turned his head to look at me.


    Silently, he mouthed the words:


    "Don¡¯t. Interfere."


    His face wasn¡¯t much different from the judge''s.


    Both were steeped in the same madness, drenched in the same hatred.


    ¡°...¡±


    Manseok looked up at the judge and smiled gently.


    "Finally delivering your verdict?" he asked softly.


    The judge burst into laughter.


    "Death penalty!"


    Manseok laughed too, louder and more carefree than the judge.


    When the gunshot silenced the laughter, I couldn¡¯t immediately tell who had judged whom.


    The faces of the killer and the killed were as indistinguishable as twins.

 Chapter 58

    As dragonflies soared and cosmos bloomed, and the sporadically grown rice fields turned golden with ripeness, a particular memory came to mind.


    It must have been early during my deployment to China.


    A time when the world was a little brighter, more hopeful, and still filled with greed for the Otherworld.


    I had sustained a minor injury during a mission.


    It wasn¡¯t anything severe¡ªjust a few abrasions and a small fracture.


    But back then, the world was still livable, with moments of respite. Even someone like me, with only a minor injury, was transported to the rear lines and given excellent care.


    For some reason, the Chinese government treated us well.


    The Chinese soldiers I fought alongside were treated in noisy, filthy, and chaotic field hospitals, while we were taken to state-of-the-art medical facilities overlooking a nameless Chinese palace and a beautiful garden.


    The season then must have also been autumn.


    True to their love of splendor, the Chinese had planted all sorts of flowers in the garden, drawing attention with their vibrant colors. But what caught my eye was not the garden itself, but the patch of cosmos blooming sparsely at the edge of the construction debris and gravel.


    Their simple yet unpretentious beauty resonated with me.


    Perhaps I was drawn to them because I was weary of excessive grandeur.


    It wasn¡¯t long before I discovered why China had sent us there.


    A Chinese handler who spoke fluent Korean discreetly tried to persuade me to defect several times.


    He offered me a lifetime of wealth, a beautiful wife, guaranteed status, and even honors that money couldn¡¯t buy.


    I can¡¯t say how many fell for the temptation, but I did see a few familiar faces¡ªclassmates and juniors I knew by name¡ªswitch allegiances. They pinned the Chinese flag to their chests and joined us on operations.


    At the time, China was at the height of its power.


    Even the United States struggled to deal with internal fractures, floundering aimlessly. Their excessive prioritization of their citizens had wearied their allies, leading to mass defections.


    Europe¡¯s split with the United States signaled the end of the Pax Americana.


    Still, more people resisted the temptation than succumbed to it¡ªthat¡¯s an undeniable truth.


    On a certain day, as I completed a medical check hoping for an early return to the front lines, I headed to the garden as usual to gaze at the cosmos beyond its boundaries.


    There, I saw a woman I knew but had never spoken to personally, staring straight at the cosmos I¡¯d been watching.


    I knew her name: Na Hye-in.


    She often came right after me or Lee Sang-hoon in name recognition.


    Rather than being beautiful, her features carried an aura of inaccessibility, and she always seemed to gaze into the distance.


    Even now, I couldn¡¯t tell where her thoughts were, but she was undoubtedly skilled.


    Had she been a man, she might have posed a threat even to me, given her talents and instincts.


    In fact, during a competitive team trial where abilities were pitted against each other, she nearly eliminated me.


    But her luck was poor.


    She had been a disciple of Ko Jong-beom, who defected to China and sold all his techniques and knowledge after losing a power game to my mentor, Jang Ki-young.


    Jang Ki-young¡¯s vendetta against Ko Jong-beom was so severe that he sought to eradicate even his lineage, illustrating the extent of his disdain.


    Ko Jong-beom¡¯s disciples, including Na Hye-in, were often forced into the dirtiest and most brutal battles.


    I¡¯d heard rumors before her hospitalization¡ªher entire team had been wiped out, and she was the sole survivor.


    Unlike me, her body was wrapped in bandages, some parts stained with hues reminiscent of the cosmos.


    Seeing her, I turned to leave.


    It wasn¡¯t a calculated decision but a habitual act of avoidance.


    ¡°Do you like cosmos flowers?¡±


    An unfamiliar voice stopped me in my tracks.


    ¡°Not particularly.¡±


    I remember my posture at the time being awkward¡ªneither fully leaving nor staying.


    ¡°How¡¯s it over there?¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°Where you were stationed. Are there a lot of monsters there too?¡±


    ¡°Not as many as here.¡±


    I straightened up and turned to face her.


    Her side profile was obscured by bandages, but her gaze was unmistakably fixed on the cosmos.


    ¡°There are a lot here.¡±


    I turned toward her because she mentioned monsters.


    When I looked back at her, she was staring at the ground.


    ¡°What if,¡± she said hesitantly¡ªa rare sight for her, as hesitation and Na Hye-in didn¡¯t coexist in my mind¡ª¡°our fates were predetermined to bring us closer? What if we were meant to live as ordinary people, in an ordinary place, just like everyone else?¡±


    ¡°...That¡¯s not a fate I could ever have.¡±


    I dismissed her firmly.


    Her expression, a mix of shock and disappointment, was easy to read, but I showed no reaction.


    ¡°Thanks to you, I¡¯ll probably get back to the front lines sooner.¡±


    I was that kind of person back then¡ªsomeone who could knowingly hurt others and not care if it furthered my goals.


    I bowed politely to her.


    ¡°I switched teams. They said a new one¡¯s being formed.¡±


    ¡°...I see.¡±


    The gaze that had been fixed on me turned once more to the distant horizon.


    For a moment, I noticed her scent, which I had briefly forgotten. I ignored it.


    Still, it seemed I had some lingering feelings.


    ¡°...Are you going to quit?¡±


    It was an uncharacteristic question for someone like me to ask.


    Facing away from me, possibly gazing at the cosmos, she gave a faint nod.


    I thought that would be our final encounter.


    Afterward, her existence faded completely from my mind.


    Her battlefield had become a site of intense combat, where a single day could reduce an entire Chinese regiment to the size of a company.


    Then one day, I happened to see a blooming cosmos and was briefly reminded of Na Hye-in. I heard news that she hadn¡¯t quit after all.


    For a moment, I considered contacting her out of a sense of relief. But in the end, I didn¡¯t.


    Time passed. When she reappeared before me as part of my team, we greeted each other with professional detachment, as though nothing had happened.


    It was as if no time had passed, as if the past didn¡¯t matter.


    I suspect she felt the same. Yet, at that moment, the Na Hye-in standing before me seemed like a completely different person from the one I had once seen staring at cosmos flowers under a rare blue sky, dragonflies darting over a gravel patch.


    Even now, I firmly believe that the sense of dissonance was not only due to her gaze, which seemed to stretch further beyond me.


    A side note: I knew, during those moments when Na Hye-in and I shared the sight of cosmos flowers, that Kang Han-min had been watching us from a distance. He was wearing a cast and leaning on crutches.


    Now, both of them have awakened. They¡¯ve become humanity¡¯s saviors.


    My negative feelings toward her weren¡¯t because she had been the one to suggest abandoning me after I¡¯d been critically injured and gone missing inside the Rift, struck down by a General-type monster.


    The cosmos flower¡¯s symbolic meaning is said to be ¡°order.¡±


    For different people, the image of order varies. For those who believe in God, it might signify divine providence.


    Predestination, as it¡¯s often called.


    Na Hye-in once said that human fate was determined at birth.


    According to her logic, she had been destined to be a savior from the start, while I, Park Gyu, had been assigned the fate of a reclusive observer.


    ¡°...¡±


    This is not an idea I can accept, nor should I.


    Tack, tack.


    I posted my musings on the forum.


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s Thoughts) Is human destiny predetermined at birth?


    Of course, I left out Na Hye-in¡¯s name and the fact that I was a Hunter.


    Unlike in the past, the quality of discussions on the forum had declined. Unsurprisingly, my philosophical question received no responses.


    But the next day, I noticed a single comment.


    gijayangban: What kind of nonsense is this?


    Quietly, I hit the backspace key and got up from my seat.


    For some reason, I felt oddly refreshed.


    Whether fate is predetermined or not, the sense that everything is utterly screwed is something you can feel so vividly.


    ¡°...¡±


    Staring at the cosmos blooming in the fields, I felt the rapidly cooling air.


    Winter was approaching.

 Chapter 59

    Recently, Woo Min-hee has been harboring suspicions about this pure and innocent Park Gyu. There¡¯s no denying it.


    gijayangban: ¡°A pervert?¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°You¡¯re a pervert, right?¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°Pervert...?¡±


    This cunning woman has taken to trolling my posts, waiting a day after I publish something with zero comments before leaving such remarks.


    Cleverly, she seems to know that I check my comment alerts religiously. Within an hour of posting, she deletes her comments, ensuring that I see them but leaving no evidence behind.


    I¡¯m still convinced she doesn¡¯t actually know my identity.


    Well, she might have her suspicions.


    There are a few clues she might latch onto:


    The correlation between my forum nickname and my unique identifier.The fact that whenever I visit Incheon, Skelton seems to vanish from the forum entirely.A handful of instances that might lead someone to deduce that Skelton could be Park Gyu.Her sharp and youthful wit, even if she does come across as an amateur.


    But this is me we¡¯re talking about. Once I deny something, I deny it to the bitter end.


    And I know exactly what kind of person Woo Min-hee is.


    She¡¯s someone who lives 10% in logic and 90% in impulse.


    I¡¯ve never had a personal relationship with her, but based on the accounts of men who have, they all seem to agree: her baseless suspicions and relentless persistence are enough to drive anyone insane.


    Her obsession with calling me a pervert is likely a lingering vestige of my more glamorous days.


    Most importantly, if Woo Min-hee were 100% sure that I was a pervert, she¡¯d come find me.


    This isn¡¯t speculation¡ªit¡¯s a certainty.


    Like punching numbers into a calculator, she¡¯d immediately seek me out, no questions asked.


    The best course of action here is to ignore her. However, ignoring her antics entirely might only deepen her suspicions.


    So, when she left another comment on my ¡°zero-comment post¡± yesterday, I quickly responded with a reply.


    gijayangban: ¡°Per...¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°?¡±


    Is there any response shorter and more meaningful than a simple question mark?


    Apparently, Woo Min-hee thought the same, as she replied in kind.


    gijayangban: ¡°Per...¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°?¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    What do I do now?


    I¡¯ve risked my life making decisions before, like wielding an axe, but this might be the first time I¡¯ve felt this way over a keyboard.


    Another question mark wouldn¡¯t do.


    An exclamation mark? That¡¯s C-MonkeyPapa¡¯s signature.


    Wavy lines? That¡¯d just provoke her wrath.


    And wait¡ªdon¡¯t question marks require the shift key too? Whatever.


    At this point, I had no choice but to type whatever came to mind.


    SKELTON: ¡°Baekho.¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°?¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°Um Baekho, the Virtuous King of Eastern Wu.¡±


    gijayangban: ¡°You¡¯re spouting nonsense again.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    What nonsense? What¡¯s so strange about the virtuous King Um Baekho of Eastern Wu?


    In any case, whether due to Um Baekho¡¯s virtue or sheer coincidence, Woo Min-hee didn¡¯t leave any more comments after that.


    She probably got busy or wandered off to read other posts.


    Setting her aside for the moment, I¡¯ve been busy preparing something else.


    Clink. I split logs and stacked them neatly.


    Knead, knead. I prepared winter provisions to last through the season.


    Whirr. I inspected the boiler and heating systems.


    That¡¯s right. I¡¯m preparing for winter.


    Some might think I¡¯m crazy.


    "Why prepare for winter in late summer, when temperatures still climb to 30¡ãC?"


    But the cold will come.


    Even the American forums have warned of a harsher winter than last year.


    Even if no extreme cold comes, winter still demands preparation.


    With monsters, if you¡¯re unprepared, you can avoid them or flee.


    But with the cold? If you¡¯re unprepared, you die.


    The corpses scattered across the golf course near my domain, frozen to death, serve as a stark reminder of that.


    This year, my secret weapon for winter is a wood-burning boiler.


    Installing it, however, isn¡¯t as straightforward as I¡¯d hoped.


    It¡¯s too big to fit inside the bunker.


    The main entrance¡ªour largest opening¡ªwas sealed off due to threats from the Corps faction.


    I tried bringing it in through the garage, but the doorway connecting the garage to the main bunker was too small.


    I briefly considered installing the boiler in the garage, but if a fire broke out, it could spread to the vehicles and heavy equipment stored there, wiping out any hope for the future.


    After pondering this problem for quite a while, I came up with a solution.


    If I can¡¯t bring the boiler into the house, why not build a house for the boiler?


    The idea came from none other than Rebecca.


    ¡°When winter came, my family used to build little cabins.¡±


    The thought of a warm wooden cabin amidst falling snow certainly has a romantic allure.


    But in these apocalyptic times, isn¡¯t that a bit of a luxury?


    I already have a container house.


    Why not modify that instead? It¡¯d be far more efficient and practical than building an unnecessary cabin.


    Sure, the container is rusty, grimy, and ugly, but as long as it keeps the wind and rain out, isn¡¯t that enough?


    When I showed the container to Rebecca, she immediately dismissed it.


    ¡°I can build a cabin.¡±


    She didn¡¯t even bother addressing the container, as if it wasn¡¯t worth discussing.


    ¡°I¡¯m good at building cabins. I used to help my dad with a hammer.¡±


    It was the same crude triangular house I had initially shown Rebecca and Sue.


    As we continued our work, I noticed that the tension that had initially existed between us was gradually dissolving.


    Rebecca, who I once thought was an incompetent soldier, turned out to be a surprisingly effective project leader. Sue, despite her age, was an observant and disciplined lookout, fully capable of staying calm even when gunshots rang out.


    ¡°Nom nom. Northeast, 3 kilometers out. No need to worry. Nom nom,¡± Sue reported casually over the comms.


    Hearing this, I turned to Rebecca.


    ¡°For the love of God, teach your kid proper radio etiquette.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say your husband¡¯s coming here eventually? He¡¯ll hear this too, right?¡±


    ¡°Alright, fine.¡±


    As we methodically prepared for winter¡ªa season that is brutally impartial to all living things¡ªI found myself reflecting on the chaotic but oddly comforting familiarity of the online forums I frequented.


    Preparing for winter, at its core, is about ensuring that I and those I care about survive the biting cold and live to see the warmth of spring.


    But a thought struck me:


    If only I survive¡ªor only we survive¡ªwill the coming spring truly feel warm?


    Sure, it¡¯s inevitable that some PaleNet friends might freeze to death.


    But what if the people who have prepared, those who joined our forum to learn and share survival tips, don¡¯t make it through the winter?


    What if, next spring, the forum is sparse and empty?


    How would that feel?


    ¡°Rebecca,¡± I said, ¡°I want to do something productive for the forum.¡±


    ¡°You? Productive?¡±


    ¡°Yes, something meaningful. Maybe like DragonSee or Anonymous337, something that warms hearts and spreads positive energy.¡±


    Rebecca stared at me. ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Can you post something on the Korean forum? Maybe a series about how we¡¯re preparing for winter, documenting the process step by step.¡±


    ¡°Me? You have an account, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Well... yeah, but I can¡¯t post this with my account.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s... complicated.¡±


    The next day, a post appeared on the Korean apocalypse forum:


    COOKIEMONSTER123


    Title: Goddamn! Surviving a Korean Winter (1)


    Rebecca had written a simple, serialized post about our winter preparations.


    Her writing, though slightly awkward, displayed excellent pacing and wit. As a true internet addict, she even edited out all identifying background details in the photos, leaving the cabin¡¯s surroundings blank white.


    The response was lukewarm¡ªtwo or three comments at most.


    ??: ¡°Why are you preparing for winter so early?¡±


    Anonymous921: ¡°A cabin? Isn¡¯t that risky? What if it gets spotted?¡±


    unicorn18: ¡°Hmm.¡±


    The comments weren¡¯t exactly encouraging, but that wasn¡¯t the point.


    Even if one person read our post, took the advice to heart, and survived the winter, it would make this effort worthwhile.


    As we juggled our online and offline projects, the temperature dropped. Finally, on a day when the afternoon heat no longer felt oppressive, we completed the cabin.


    ¡°Sue, look at this!¡±


    Being American, Rebecca loved theatrics.


    For the grand reveal, she covered the cabin in industrial-grade plastic I¡¯d saved from my factory days. When Sue arrived, Rebecca dramatically pulled off the covering with a flourish.


    ¡°Ta-da! Our secret house!¡±


    ¡°Is this our new home?¡± Sue¡¯s eyes sparkled with curiosity.


    Rebecca smiled warmly, rubbing her cheek against her daughter¡¯s. Sue, slightly uncomfortable, looked around.


    ¡°Skelton said he¡¯d stay next to us through winter. Where¡¯s your house, Skelton?¡±


    I pointed to the triangular Gold House I¡¯d set up beside their cabin.


    ¡°That¡¯s your place?¡± Sue asked, wide-eyed.


    ¡°It¡¯s a doghouse.¡±


    *


    COOKIEMONSTER123: Goddamn! Surviving a Korean Winter (FINAL)


    Despite my good intentions, Rebecca''s posts didn¡¯t receive the widespread attention I¡¯d hoped for.


    Initially, the posts garnered three comments, then one or two for subsequent updates. By the latest two entries, there were no comments at all.


    Seeing that, I started questioning everything.


    Perhaps our attempt was just an empty echo, a meaningless effort.


    But sometimes, good intentions are rewarded.


    On the day the final installment was posted, a flood of twenty comments appeared all at once.


    ??: "Persistent fellow, aren¡¯t you?"


    Anonymous931: "SS (Superb)."


    berkut_break: "Haven¡¯t seen a proper post like this on the forum in ages."


    SKELTON: "(Skelton moved) Who built this? It¡¯s gorgeous!"


    Dies_irae69: "Looks inconspicuous even to drones. Shows some real experience."


    gijayangban: "Scholar?"


    ...


    Even with a few snarky remarks, most of the responses were positive.


    It seemed that people had been quietly observing all along.


    They had been watching the progress of this collaborative project by me, Rebecca, and Sue to survive the winter¡ªperhaps with some anticipation.


    None of them explicitly said they¡¯d start preparing for winter.


    But I¡¯m certain we planted the seed of ¡°winter¡± in their minds.


    For that alone, our efforts feel validated.


    ¡°By the way, Skelton, why didn¡¯t you post under your own username?¡± Sue asked over the comms.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s because...¡±


    I paused, organizing my thoughts before answering honestly.


    ¡°There¡¯s someone who can¡¯t find out that I¡¯m Skelton.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why, you ask... Let¡¯s just say I have my reasons.¡±


    ¡°Are you embarrassed to be Skelton?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Lately, I¡¯ve started to think Sue might actually be a bigger challenge than Rebecca.

 Chapter 60.1

    Dies_Irea69: "The Combat Strength of a Collective Survivalist.jpg"


    Dies_Irea, one of the board''s most well-known collective survivalists, might have been the first to defect from the recruitment campaign for IAmJesus, but he''s been incredibly active in other ways.


    According to a post he shared, the apocalyptic group he leads, consisting of Viva! Apocalypse! Korean board members, recently clashed with a contingent of soldiers suspected to be remnants of the Legion faction.


    The outcome? A flawless victory.


    Remarkably, they eradicated every single soldier who attacked their community without suffering a single casualty or even an injury.


    The photos he uploaded depicted the aftermath of a fierce battle, with scattered corpses littering the area.


    Each of those corpses bore distinctive military insignias on their uniforms¡ªsoldiers of the Legion faction.


    Dies_Irea69: "As individual survivalists often say, we''re at a disadvantage when it comes to stealth against large-scale forces. But what are the chances those big factions will focus their full attention on a small group like us? Even if they do, let them come. Even in death, we''ll stab a sashimi knife into their sides."


    The next photo he uploaded showed men holding firearms, their faces obscured by sunglasses or masks, each striking a confident pose.


    In the background, rugged mountain ridges stretched far and wide.


    ¡°...Hmm.¡±


    Impressive confidence, no doubt.


    But perhaps a bit too much?


    Our board was no longer the exclusive domain of apocalyptic survivalists like us. Groups far more powerful, including our counterparts on PaleNet, were constantly lurking, watching us with predatory interest.


    Dies_Irea had to know this. A figure of his stature couldn¡¯t possibly be unaware. So why throw down such a blatant challenge?


    Upon reflection, his motivations weren¡¯t entirely without reason.


    He seemed intent on crafting a new world¡ªa realm shaped not by the internet alone, but by the harsh reality beyond it.


    In pursuit of this, he''d even gone head-to-head with Defender. Their conflict fizzled out, with Defender appearing to withdraw.


    But Defender had recently re-emerged.


    Fueled, it seemed, by sacrificing a family.


    Whether it was the sting of online backlash or a longing to reclaim his status as a "name" on the board, Defender''s recent uploads had a polish that suggested careful effort.


    Defender: "Drone Kill.avi"


    The short video released by the sibling duo showcased a spectacle they''d once described to me.


    A man armed with a rifle dashed frantically across a grassy plain while glancing skyward with panicked eyes. Something was chasing him from above.


    Desperate, he sprinted harder, but the screen''s upper portion was suddenly obscured by a massive object descending rapidly.


    A brick.


    The brick struck the running man square on the crown of his head. He stiffened like a marionette with its strings cut and collapsed in a heap.


    Color photos bring more life than black-and-white ones, and videos draw even more attention than photos.


    Defender''s drone kill certification effortlessly trampled over Dies_Irea''s "proof," soaring to the top of the board.


    Perhaps the upbeat new-wave trot track Defender had added to the video contributed to its appeal.


    Dies_Irea, true to his nature, remained silent, offering no reaction.@@@@


    For someone who claimed to be indifferent to the board''s popularity contests, but who clearly cared deeply about its opinions, this was classic Dies_Irea behavior.


    The unspoken rivalry between the two seemed, fortunately, to fizzle out into mutual disinterest.


    Defender uploaded yet another post.


    Though he was my internet friend, I tried my best to avoid his ¡°proofs.¡±


    Despite my personal connection to the siblings, I could never come to terms with their penchant for using other people''s deaths as fodder for internet content.


    Still, this post had racked up an unprecedented 200 comments.


    That number surpassed the total active user base of our board. Either PaleNet members had infiltrated, or a keyboard war had erupted¡ªbut the latter seemed unlikely.


    I couldn¡¯t resist the pull of curiosity any longer. Succumbing to the zeitgeist, I clicked on Defender''s trending post.


    "That¡¯s satisfying. Feels great to see a cockroach dead.""Why are they still alive and walking around?""Where is this? I want to kill a few myself.""Didn¡¯t their main base collapse? How are they still around?""If it weren¡¯t for those bastards, we wouldn¡¯t be living like this.""It makes my skin crawl. They¡¯ve never been of any use to Korea in its history."


    Beyond it, though, there was something different.


    Down by the stream at the base of the hill, a man lay collapsed.


    Usually, when I spot someone near my territory, my mind races through questions: Are they alive? If so, are they armed? If they¡¯re armed, what are their intentions? Do they have allies?


    But this time was different.


    The moment I saw him, I clicked my tongue involuntarily.


    How could I not? The man¡¯s clothing was identical to the uniforms worn by the corpses in Defender¡¯s photos.


    He was Chinese military.


    I cautiously scouted the surroundings with my rifle at the ready. No other Chinese soldiers were in sight.


    Even so, I decided to wait for a day to be safe.


    The man barely moved, remaining still where he lay.


    Dead, perhaps?


    No, not dead. His chest rose and fell faintly with shallow breaths.


    A decoy?


    When the war with China was imminent, the media demonized the Chinese, portraying them as monsters.


    But I¡¯d worked in China long enough to know their blood ran as warm as ours¡ªsometimes even hotter.


    Still, using a comrade as bait was a rarity.


    Even if he were bait, surviving under the blazing sun by day and the biting cold by night in nothing but a thin uniform would be nearly impossible.


    Hunters like me aren¡¯t trained for endurance like soldiers are. If we need to endure, we rely on sheer willpower.


    "..."


    I approached the fallen soldier slowly, my rifle trained on him.


    He wasn¡¯t armed. At most, he might have a concealed handgun.


    From the moment I revealed myself, my rifle stayed aimed at him. Even as I got close enough to touch him, I didn¡¯t lower my guard.


    I nudged him with my foot, rolling him over.


    ¡°Ugh... ugh...¡±


    Clicking my tongue again, I sighed.


    In that moment, I wished he had been dead.


    Click.


    If he wasn¡¯t dead, I would have to kill him.


    Not out of hatred for the Chinese, but because there was no reason to let him live.


    What use is sparing a soldier from an enemy nation at war? He could only bring harm.


    ¡°Please... spare me,¡± he croaked.


    His Korean was surprisingly fluent.


    The only mercy I could offer was a quick death.


    I aimed the rifle between his eyes and began to squeeze the trigger when he shouted hoarsely:


    ¡°Seoul is in danger! A nuclear bomb¡ªthey¡¯re going to detonate a nuclear bomb!¡±


    He gasped for air as though trying to force the words out.


    ¡°This country... it¡¯s going to end...¡±


    I didn¡¯t spare him out of compassion.


    It was morbid curiosity¡ªan affliction I can¡¯t seem to shake, even with age¡ªthat stayed my hand.

 Chapter 60.2

    The soldier''s condition was better than I had expected.


    His body was covered in dirt, seeds, and vines from wherever he had crawled, but he had no major injuries or illnesses. Nor did he show any signs of the typical afflictions of alcoholism.


    I waited for him to recover before beginning the interrogation.


    Since I didn¡¯t want my location to be exposed, I conducted the questioning by the stream where I had captured him.


    "State your rank and name."


    I had no formal training in interrogation.


    We¡¯re survivalists dealing with monsters, not soldiers. If the day comes when monsters are subjected to interrogations, maybe I¡¯ll be more prepared.


    Still, I¡¯d seen Chinese soldiers and mercenaries interrogate civilians during my time observing them. Drawing on those memories, I tried my best.


    His name was impossible for me to pronounce, thick with tones unfamiliar to me. So, I decided to call him Ma.


    Ma¡¯s rank was "Xiaojiao"¡ªequivalent to a major in Korea. He looked no older than his late twenties, but ranks in a fallen country hold as much value as the currency of a collapsing economy.


    He confirmed my suspicions: he belonged to a Chinese landing force stationed near Dangjin.


    He mentioned the complex chain of command within the "Liberation Army" of some obscure province, but I let it go in one ear and out the other. It wasn¡¯t important.@@@@


    What I cared about was what he had told me earlier¡ªSeoul and a nuclear explosion.


    "Seoul is gone," I said. "Some people may have survived, but there¡¯s no one living there now."


    Ma corrected himself.


    "Not Seoul. Near it. A big port city where many people live."


    "Incheon?"


    He nodded emphatically.


    "They¡¯re planning to destroy it. Kill everyone there."


    "And how exactly can we stop that?"


    If a nuclear missile were launched now, what could we possibly do?


    During the war, the U.S.-provided missile defense systems had worked well. But China had countered with an overwhelming number of ballistic missiles, some of which had hit Seoul and devastated the surrounding areas.


    It¡¯s been three years since the war began. Even if some defense systems remain, are they operational? Especially given the civil war with the Legion faction?


    "We only have one left," Ma said. "If it¡¯s intercepted, it¡¯s over for us. That¡¯s why we¡¯ve planned this operation carefully."


    Ma¡¯s Korean, initially clumsy, became increasingly fluent as he spoke. By the end, he sounded almost indistinguishable from a native speaker.


    "There isn¡¯t much time. The contact in Incheon is already preparing to receive the nuclear warhead."


    "A contact in Incheon?"


    A collaborator. A traitor.


    This was the moment when Ma¡¯s story began to gain credibility.


    "The contact holds a position that allows them to transport large cargo into Incheon without suspicion. They¡¯ll receive the warhead, separated from the missile on a submarine, and detonate it in the city center."


    I looked him straight in the eye and asked evenly: "Why is a soldier from the Chinese military telling me this? You must have a motive."


    Spreading false information is a common tactic. Even on PaleNet, government operatives often try to twist narratives, like turning Dongtanmom¡¯s demise into a conspiracy.


    "What¡¯s your reason?"


    Noticing the coldness in my gaze, Ma lowered his eyes and sighed.


    "It may not mean much, coming from a soldier of the nation that started this war, but I hate seeing people die. It¡¯s all over¡ªthis war, my country. Everything is finished. Why should we wipe out the people of this land too?"


    Anyone can say something like that.


    I could easily spout the same sentiment to a Chinese person.


    Time to change the subject.


    "Are you by any chance Korean-Chinese?"


    His fluent Korean made it seem almost certain.


    He shook his head. "I¡¯m Han Chinese."


    "You speak Korean well."


    "I went to school here."


    "Which school?"


    "One of those ¡®third-rate universities¡¯ Koreans often mock. It was in Gyeongsangbuk-do. But I liked it. In spring, the cherry blossoms were beautiful, and people were kind. I made a lot of friends."


    "How long were you there?"


    "Five, maybe six years. I remember arguing with my father about coming home after six years."


    If what he said was true, he had studied diligently.


    I¡¯d spent a similar amount of time in China, yet I couldn¡¯t string together a proper sentence in Chinese.


    "There¡¯s no time! The advance team is about to meet the contact."


    "What do you expect me to do?"


    "Connect me to someone in the Korean military¡ªsomeone with decision-making authority."


    I could make introductions.


    But would they believe him?


    Even I found his story hard to swallow.


    He had no proof. His overly fluent Korean and convincing backstory might persuade some, but to me, it felt rehearsed¡ªlike a textbook case of espionage.


    "By the way, where did you come from?"


    Ma pointed southwest.


    "Did you encounter anything on your way here?"


    If he had come from the Chinese forces in that direction, he couldn¡¯t have missed Gold, the ruler of those lands.


    "No."


    "I see."


    I nodded and began to turn away when Ma blurted out:


    "I avoided the dogs¡¯ territory."


    "A detour?"


    I turned back to face him.


    "Yes, I took a detour. That¡¯s why my body is in such bad shape. I went through places no one would call a path, and it exhausted me."


    He looked at me with a despondent expression, his voice tinged with sorrow.


    "The friends who deserted with me were foolish. They went straight into the dogs¡¯ territory. The noise was deafening. I doubt anyone survived."


    "Are you transporting the warhead over land?"


    Ma nodded.


    "It has to be. The submarine can¡¯t get close. Every time it tries, depth charges rain down on it as if they knew exactly where it was."


    "But what about the mutations on land?"


    Transporting a nuclear warhead would require at least a 2.5-ton truck. Getting to Incheon from their base would mean crossing Gold¡¯s territory.


    The mutated dogs were likely to attack anyone entering their domain.


    It may have been sidelined by motorcycles, but in situations like this, a bike could be more useful.


    Luckily, the sky was filled with countless stars, and a bright moon nearing full illuminated the dark earth.


    Using the stars as a guide, I headed north for about 30 minutes before I found Ma.


    He was groaning, his body battered and bruised.


    His face was swollen beyond recognition. I helped him up to check if he was conscious.


    ¡°You... you¡¯re...¡±


    Thankfully, he recognized me.


    I didn¡¯t ask who had done this to him.


    He should consider himself lucky to have been left alive.


    ¡°Do you know the contact¡¯s name?¡±


    ¡°The contact? I know the location, but... oh, wait...¡±


    Ma opened his badly swollen eyes as wide as he could.


    ¡°Heo. The contact¡¯s name was Heo.¡±


    ¡°Heo?¡±


    Defender¡¯s earlier curses flashed in my mind, along with someone I¡¯d met before¡ªsomeone connected to Defender.


    ¡°Heo Jong-chul?¡±


    Ma nodded.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s him!¡±


    Heo Jong-chul.


    A former hunter and minor Awakened.


    He hated this country and its people.


    It was easy to imagine him conspiring with the Chinese to annihilate the citizens of Incheon with a nuclear bomb.


    This man had allied himself with the Chinese¡ªthose in possession of a nuke.


    Defender¡¯s communicator buzzed faintly.


    ¡°Confirmed three mutated dog corpses.¡±


    For a brief moment, my pupils trembled.


    But the unease didn¡¯t last long.


    ¡°Among the corpses, was Gold one of them?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t tell. It¡¯s night, and I observed from high altitude.¡±


    That sealed it.


    Ma¡¯s story was true.


    The Chinese had joined forces with Koreans, cleared a path through Gold¡¯s territory with the help of a hunter, and were transporting a nuclear bomb to Incheon.


    I took a moment to think.


    I¡¯m no savior.


    I have no right to step onto a battlefield.


    I¡¯m just an old-school hunter who chose a life of isolation.


    But I¡¯m not so irresponsible as to ignore an impending catastrophe right in front of me.


    Not one or two lives.


    Not even a thousand or ten thousand.


    Three million people.


    Maybe fewer, maybe more.


    Their lives were now in my hands.


    ¡°Can you help?¡±


    A heavy sigh came through the communicator.


    ¡°...If I go, I might end up siding with him.¡±


    His words didn¡¯t shock or disappoint me.


    Instead, I asked a question.


    ¡°Were you on the same team?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    I nodded.


    If they¡¯d been teammates, I could understand his hesitation.


    Even if you dislike a teammate, instinct often overrides thought when they¡¯re under attack.


    That¡¯s the way of us old-school hunters.


    ¡°Got it. Then I¡¯ll go alone...¡±


    Just as I resolved myself to act alone, Defender¡¯s sister Da-jeong¡¯s voice burst through the communicator.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    Her cheerful tone was entirely out of place for the situation.


    While I fumbled for words, she scolded me:


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you using the summoning ticket?¡±


    ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°The ticket my dumb brother gave you¡ªthe one who¡¯s never had a proper romance in his life.¡±


    Ah, right.


    Defender had once given me a crudely drawn ¡°Defender Summoning Ticket.¡±


    I¡¯d completely forgotten about it.


    The memory brought a faint smile to my lips as I spoke into the communicator:


    ¡°Summoning ticket. Call.¡±


    A resigned chuckle came through the line.


    Moments later, Defender appeared before me, hauling a truck.


    ¡°Defender, reporting for duty.¡±


    I stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. Then I blurted:


    ¡°...Are you a kid?¡±


    ¡°Better than trying to beatbox, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    He held out his fist.


    Reluctantly, I bumped it with mine.


    The reluctance shattered, replaced by determination.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

 Chapter 60.3

    After the war began, the Chinese military stationed in the region refrained from taking significant action.


    Their resources were insufficient to march into Seoul and raise their five-star flag, and their military strength wasn''t formidable enough to warrant South Korea sending forces to eliminate them.


    However, it seemed that if South Korea truly committed to it, the Chinese forces could be destroyed with air power or artillery alone.


    There was, however, a reason for this stalemate.


    ¡°They put nuclear weapons on the table. They essentially said, ¡®We¡¯ll stay quiet and look for a way to return to our homeland. Until then, pretend we¡¯re not here.¡¯ And that¡¯s how our landing forces managed to barely survive on the southern tip of the peninsula. When we heard our homeland had fallen, it was both dizzying and, in a strange way, relieving.¡±


    Since losing contact with their homeland, the Chinese forces had done nothing. Nor did they need to.


    Their freedom was unlimited¡ªas long as they didn¡¯t leave the area permitted by the Korean government.


    Not that leaving would have done much good. Monsters, zombies, and mutations surrounded them on all sides.


    Their numbers weren¡¯t impressive either. Around 500 soldiers initially, which soon dwindled to 300.


    Some insisted on returning to China, boarding submarines to cross the sea. Others couldn¡¯t adapt to the foreign land and deserted or took their own lives.


    Those who remained were, for the most part, moderate individuals.


    Even those harboring resentment against South Korea gradually calmed as they lived a slow life, watching the waves peacefully lap against the shore.


    It seemed they would live and die in this so-called ¡°Shangri-La,¡± their name for the land they occupied, as though the world outside had ceased to exist.


    Their days were slow and tranquil.


    Until a single transmission shattered their peaceful routine.


    ¡°Deploy the remaining strategic weapons in Incheon.¡±


    The transmission¡¯s content was alarming, but what was more suspicious was its origin.


    The cryptic message had been sent using an encrypted signal, the same type once used by the homeland¡¯s military high command.


    The camp erupted in chaos.


    The troops were divided.


    Some argued that orders from the top must be obeyed without question, while others insisted on verifying the transmission¡¯s authenticity.


    In the end, the faction in favor of launching the attack prevailed.


    Not because they had more supporters, but because they were louder, more willing to fight, and ruthless enough to suppress their fellow soldiers.


    A request for support was sent to Hainan.


    During the process, gunfire broke out within the camp. The moderates were defeated.


    Dozens were killed, and even more fled.


    Ma¡¯s expression remained skeptical. With his furrowed brow and tilted head, he questioned the situation.


    ¡°Who could have sent that transmission?¡±


    Ma was convinced of one thing¡ªit hadn¡¯t come from China.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably that bastard, Jong-chul.¡±


    Defender sighed from the driver¡¯s seat.


    ¡°He¡¯s been muttering nonsense for a while now. I ignored it, but...¡±


    ¡°The liaison officer? How could he manage that?¡± Ma asked incredulously.


    ¡°He said he found something at sea. Some Chinese naval communication device or something. He was thrilled, saying he¡¯d cause a stir with it.¡±


    ¡°...Are you still in contact with him?¡±


    Defender nodded.


    ¡°We¡¯ve kept in touch via long-range communication¡ªnot cheap stuff like K-walkie-talkies, but real long-range radios that connect globally.¡±


    As we spoke, darkness fell.


    We arrived at the outskirts of the city, where Heo Jong-chul¡¯s base was located.


    Outside a junkyard filled with scrap metal and trash, I glanced at Defender.


    ¡°Can we talk to him first?¡±


    It seemed he still didn¡¯t want his teammate to die.


    ¡°He¡¯s strange, but he¡¯s a decent doctor. You¡¯ve seen that, right?¡±


    Given Defender¡¯s defense of Heo Jong-chul even now, I had to assume there was something worthwhile about the man.


    ¡°If a conversation is possible.¡±


    We drove slowly toward the fortress of container boxes we¡¯d visited before.


    At the entrance, a mutation dog was chained up.


    When it saw us, it bared its teeth.


    Ma recoiled in fear, but my thoughts went to Gold.


    Was it safe?


    That was a question to address later.


    The car stopped.


    We grabbed our firearms and exited the vehicle.


    Inside, there was no response.


    Defender and I pushed through the door and entered.


    It was empty.


    But then¡ª


    ¡°Jung-ho.¡±


    The voice came from outside the container, not within.


    ¡°Why are you here? No call, and armed, no less.¡±


    The voice belonged to none other than Heo Jong-chul.


    Defender and I exchanged glances.


    ¡°Jong-chul.¡±


    Defender called out to him as I assessed his location.


    Outside, likely observing us through the container walls with his clairvoyant ability.


    ¡°Put your guns down,¡± Heo Jong-chul said in a cold voice.@@@@


    ¡°Put them down, turn around, and spread your legs. We¡¯ll talk after that. You too¡ªthe one who came last time. Do the same.¡±


    I leaned into the mic and said with perfect nonchalance:


    ¡°Ding hao~.¡±


    The silence was palpable.


    Undeterred, I continued:


    ¡°Sweet and sour pork, lion¡¯s head meatballs¡ªNi xi paluoma~.¡±


    The responses became frantic, confused.


    Seizing the moment, I added a beatbox flourish:


    ¡°Bukchigi bakchigi, chigi-chigi bakchigi, amylase China people, come on~.¡±


    Chaos erupted on the other end.


    Dropping the mic, I shrugged.


    ¡°They¡¯re not coming now, right?¡±


    ¡°What the¡ª?!¡±


    Turning to Ma, I asked, ¡°There¡¯s only one nuke, right?¡±


    ¡°Y-Yes!¡±


    Defender finally grasped it, slapping his forehead.


    ¡°Skelton, are you a genius?¡±


    ¡°...Not quite.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t a genius¡ªjust someone terrified of that truck.


    Hoping they¡¯d retreat, I reached out to Woo Min-hee again.


    Unsurprisingly, there was no response.


    *


    We spent the night in uneasy anticipation.


    Heo Jong-chul didn¡¯t return, and neither did the truck.


    I tried contacting the Chinese soldiers again.


    They chattered incomprehensibly before abruptly cutting the line.


    When I asked Ma about it, he gave a wry smile and replied, ¡°They¡¯re cursing us.¡±


    He laughed, and I couldn¡¯t help but laugh too.


    It seemed the Skelton Strategy had worked.


    Thud.


    The encrypted communication device had done its job.


    I threw it outside and smashed it with a hammer, granting it a belated discharge.


    Defender, watching the broken equipment, asked me, ¡°What do you think turned Jong-chul into such a person?¡±


    ¡°...I don¡¯t know.¡±


    I knew the answer but didn¡¯t voice it.


    Every country has people who hate it.


    Just as there¡¯s no dish that pleases everyone¡¯s palate, no country can make all its citizens happy.


    Heo Jong-chul was one of those people.


    Although he was Korean, he despised his fellow Koreans more than anyone else.


    That¡¯s why he could so easily conceive the idea of killing three million of them.


    But whether his hatred was vague and unfocused or blind and zealous, I couldn¡¯t tell.


    I suspected the former.


    If his hatred were blind, he would have taken a more aggressive and definitive approach to destroy the country.


    To me, he was a traitor¡ªa man who hated his own people for reasons that were nebulous at best.


    But it seemed he wasn¡¯t the only traitor.


    ¡°Earlier, you asked me why I betrayed my unit, right?¡±


    Ma approached me.


    Having discarded his Chinese military uniform, he was now dressed in a suit pulled from Heo Jong-chul¡¯s wardrobe.


    ¡°I can answer you honestly now.¡±


    Looking every bit like a Korean man, Ma took a deep breath as he gazed at the junkyard, the sea beyond it, and the distant city.


    Exhaling slowly, he finally revealed his true feelings.


    ¡°I hate my own country too.¡±


    Waving goodbye, he started walking toward the city.


    I didn¡¯t know what this foreigner planned to do in a Korean city, but inwardly, I quietly wished him well.


    Still, his swollen, battered face betrayed no trace of hope.


    ¡°...Two traitors.¡±


    I murmured to myself, watching him leave.


    I wouldn¡¯t judge who was right or wrong.


    *


    ¡°I just sent it. Color photos.¡±


    Da-jeong had sent me newly taken pictures of the mutation carcasses.


    Thankfully, neither Gold nor its offspring were among them.


    However, the sight of the female that had been by Gold¡¯s side lying belly-up like a dead rat stuck in my mind.


    Another photo Da-jeong sent showed what appeared to be members of Gold¡¯s pack, mutation dogs, leaving the wasteland and heading south.


    I brewed fresh coffee and poured it into a mug. Climbing to the top of a hill, I sipped the coffee, savoring its warmth while surveying my surroundings.


    The land around me had begun to turn shades of brown and gold.


    ¡°...Hah.¡±


    Slowly but surely, the world around me was changing too.


    The wind had grown noticeably colder.

 Chapter 61.1

    For the first time in a while, the president sent out a message.


    In a video barely a minute long, a visibly gaunt president expressed his deep regret and announced his decision to step down.


    Whether he resigned or not made little difference to me. However, it was noteworthy that he planned to send a proxy to represent him in Incheon.


    For the first time since the post-war chaos began, someone responsible was being assigned to restore order.


    The interim president was expected to stabilize both the temporary capital in Incheon and the remaining regions until a new presidential election could be held next spring.


    But that so-called proxy...


    I knew him.


    gijayangban: "Yang Sang-gil has been appointed as the government¡¯s interim president."


    Random User: "Who¡¯s Yang Sang-gil? Lol."


    gijayangban: "He used to be the head of Gukwiwon. Lol. I guess he¡¯ll do fine? Lol."


    I knew Woo Min-hee hated Yang Sang-gil, but the sheer number of "lol"s tacked onto her comments revealed that her loathing for him ran deeper than the ocean.


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder how Eom Chang-yi would react.


    It was a curiosity I¡¯d have to take to the grave.


    With the government in disarray, Woo Min-hee¡¯s stalking naturally ceased.


    Hoping she¡¯d stay busy, I turned my attention back to the forum, which I had neglected recently.


    To be honest, I hadn¡¯t been active on the forum lately.


    There was too much going on¡ªpreparing for winter, helping Rebecca move, and so many other tasks that left me no time to breathe.


    But now that winter preparations were almost complete, and I had some breathing room, I found myself returning to the forum and even browsing PaleNet again.


    Lately, PaleNet had been filled with conspicuous posts:


    Hesitation: "The Chinese government¡¯s suppression of the Many Returning to the Source Sect."


    Paradise Nirvana: (Power of Dialogue) "The Many Returning to the Source Sect seeks harmony with the beings humans call monsters."


    Foolishness (ÓÞ³Õ): "Master Ma Won-gap sipping tea alongside monsters."


    Happy Fool: "Erosion? NO! Harmony? YES!"


    It was a cult.


    While I had been away, these fanatics had polluted John Nae-non¡¯s sacred PaleNet with their garbage.


    Their actions were blatantly organized.@@@@


    They swarmed popular forums, posting advertisements as mindlessly as machines rather than humans.


    I¡¯d heard that many of these zealots were North Korean survivors.


    These ¡°pacifists¡± had allegedly lived alongside monsters in completely eroded North Korea. When the frontlines collapsed, they migrated en masse to South Korea¡¯s surviving cities, spreading their fanaticism.


    There were even reports that the Legion faction had aligned itself with this cult.


    Thankfully, PaleNet¡¯s response was underwhelming:


    ??: "Get lost. Out of all the things to believe in, you choose Chinese nonsense?"


    ??: "Believe what you want, but leave us out of it."


    ??: "Your mom¡¯s a monster."


    That was the normal response.


    A sane person would react that way.


    I added my own comment:


    SKELTON: "Kyaaa~! Monster!"


    Lately, I¡¯d found that writing absurd comments was surprisingly therapeutic.


    It was like the thrill a child feels playing with fire.


    I remembered Kang Han-min, now revered as a savior, had a similar hobby.


    Back in China, when I once sat at the cafeteria¡¯s communal computer to watch beatbox videos, I noticed someone had left an internet browser open.


    There was a post typed out:


    Kang Han-min: "Big bro~ That¡¯s a urinal, not a drinking fountain!"


    (A cartoon of an elephant sticking its trunk into a toilet accompanied the post.)


    This bizarre post turned out to be Kang Han-min¡¯s work.


    When he returned to the computer, his face flushed red as he hurriedly explained himself.


    ¡°It¡¯s... it¡¯s for PTSD prevention, okay? When people get too stressed, they break. This is a way to vent.¡±


    I recalled how he had smiled sadly, staring into the distance as he added:


    ¡°Whether it¡¯s people or machines, once something breaks, it¡¯s hard to return it to how it was.¡±


    At the time, I hated Jang Ki-young. But I had already been indoctrinated with his philosophy: ¡°If it breaks, it was weak. If a machine fails, it was poorly made.¡±


    So I dismissed Kang Han-min¡¯s words back then.


    The memory resurfaced, likely because of a minor incident that occurred just before winter.


    Anonymous848: "Skelton, can you help me? It¡¯s important."


    The message from Anonymous848 was the start of all the trouble.


    *


    Anonymous848 was a long-time regular on the forum.


    Back in the day, he used to hang out with Kyle Dos and Anonymous458, forming a lively trio that brought some energy to our otherwise quiet space. Even after Kyle Dos disappeared, Anonymous848 remained active, adding his unique flair to discussions.


    I had actually met him once before.


    During the second Sunbi incident, when Dies_Irae and I went to scold some teenagers, Anonymous848 had joined us.


    At the time, he¡¯d covered his face with sunglasses and a mask, but it was clear he was over 40.


    Regardless of his age, he had left a positive impression on me as a cheerful and decent person.


    And now, he was asking for my help.


    SKELTON: What¡¯s going on? Where are you? Right now?


    I remembered he had once mentioned living in Pyeongtaek.


    Sure enough, that¡¯s where he was¡ªspecifically near the Anseongcheon River, which flows into Asan Bay.


    It wasn¡¯t far, and there didn¡¯t seem to be any major threats in the south, so getting there wouldn¡¯t be a problem.


    ¡°What about Coke or Sprite?¡±


    ¡°Nope. Early in the war, I raided a warehouse, and that¡¯s all that was left.¡±


    ¡°Fine, bring the Tejava. No ice, I assume?¡±


    ¡°Luxury like that? Not likely. It¡¯s only September.¡±


    I followed him as he went to grab the drink.


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t follow me. Stay here. Stay!¡±


    ¡°Why? I just want to check out your bunker.¡±


    ¡°Uh, well... my bunker¡¯s kind of...¡±


    He avoided eye contact.


    ¡°What? Is there something weird in there?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yeah! There¡¯s stuff I don¡¯t want anyone to see.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I don¡¯t care if it¡¯s sex dolls, corpses, or women. I¡¯m just curious about what your bunker looks like.¡±


    ¡°Can we just do it another time? Please?¡±


    That¡¯s when I realized it.


    This man, who was apologetic yet adamantly refusing to show me his bunker, was hiding something.


    Women? Corpses?


    Whatever it was, I decided it didn¡¯t matter.


    In times like these, anything could happen.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wait here.¡±


    ¡°Thank you! I¡¯m really sorry, Skelton. I keep asking for favors and making demands.¡±


    ¡°Take your time.¡±


    While waiting for him to return, I thought about the capsule.


    It was a troublesome and dangerous task.


    The fact that capsules had appeared even this far back suggested a grim future.


    But maybe... it could be useful.


    If I placed the capsule in a path the Legion faction might take, it could distract them from targeting me.


    With the southern regions already destroyed, adding another monster lair wouldn¡¯t make much difference.


    As I mulled over the possibilities, I noticed something.


    Ten minutes had passed, and Anonymous848 hadn¡¯t returned.


    What was taking him so long?


    A rustling sound came from the dense forest, but it wasn¡¯t in the direction he had gone.


    Taking cover, I quietly drew my pistol and focused on the source of the noise.


    Soon, a person emerged from the trees.


    It wasn¡¯t Anonymous848.


    It was a woman.


    She appeared to be in her mid-20s, unarmed, and in decent physical condition. Her clothes were clean, and she seemed to be desperately looking for someone.


    ¡°Skelton? Skelton?¡± she called out in a dry, anxious voice, scanning her surroundings.


    Was she looking for me?


    I slowly stepped out of hiding.


    Her eyes locked onto me.


    ¡°Skelton?¡±


    I nodded, and her face lit up with relief.


    ¡°Are you really Skelton?¡±


    Staring at her cautiously, I asked, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    She seemed sharp. Her initial smile vanished, replaced by a look of desperation and fear as she clung to me.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say this, but I was kidnapped by Anonymous848!¡±


    ¡°...Kidnapped?¡±


    ¡°Yes! He¡¯s been holding me for over two years. Every day, he forces himself on me. I can¡¯t live like this anymore. Please, I beg you¡ªget me out of here! I¡¯ll do anything, just get me away from him!¡±


    She broke down, tears spilling as she continued.


    ¡°Every day is hell. He demands things constantly, and when I refuse, he makes the entire day a nightmare. I don¡¯t think I can take it anymore. I might... I might kill myself.¡±


    Her voice faltered as her gaze shifted behind me.


    Someone else had appeared.


    ¡°Yejin.¡±


    It was Anonymous848.


    His face was pale as he alternated glances between us, finally fixing his gaze on the woman¡ªYejin. His voice was a mix of sorrow and anger.


    ¡°What are you doing there?¡±


    Yejin clung to me desperately.


    ¡°Skelton, please! Help me! I¡¯m begging you!¡±


    ¡°What the hell are you doing!?¡±


    With both of them shouting, I found myself rubbing the back of my neck in exasperation.


    ¡°Hah.¡±


    For the first time today, I wondered if the capsule might actually be the least of my problems.

 Chapter 61.2

    I thought about the man known as Anonymous848.


    He had always been a cheerful presence on the forum. Alongside Kyle Dos and Anonymous458, he was one of those lively personalities who livened up discussions.


    But I was not blind to the possibility that behind the cheerful online persona might lurk a murderer, a rapist, or a looter.


    Now, this uncomfortable reality was staring me in the face.


    Mediation and counseling were not my strong suits.


    However, since I was already entangled in this unexpected mess, it seemed I would have to wear the ill-fitting role of a mediator.


    ¡°It was right after the war. Nukes were falling on Seoul, and missiles intercepted in orbit lit up the sky like lightning during the day. That¡¯s when I found her.¡±


    Anonymous848 had his talents.


    Growing and rolling tobacco was one of them.


    The leaf-rolled cigarettes he offered were surprisingly decent.


    Exhaling a puff of smoke, he spoke bitterly.


    ¡°She was someone I knew. Not closely, just a girl from a nearby college¡ªnot a great one. She lived alone. I think she was a freshman. There was only one convenience store in the area, so I ran into her often. But back then, a young college girl like her wouldn¡¯t give a middle-aged guy like me a second glance. She was pretty, polite, and had a good figure, so I¡¯d steal glances, that¡¯s all. Then, on the day Seoul was nuked, she was just standing at the bus stop in front of my bunker, lost and doing nothing. I thought, ¡®This is my chance.¡¯¡±


    To Anonymous848, their meeting was an extension of their tenuous connection.


    The war twisted their fates together like tangled thread.


    ¡°She told me her house was gone, probably destroyed completely. No place to go. Who would she even turn to? Her friends weren¡¯t responding, and she wasn¡¯t even from Seoul. If she stayed, all she¡¯d have to sell was her body. So, I took her in. That¡¯s how we started living together.¡±


    For several years, it seemed they got along well.@@@@


    Despite minor discomfort and awkwardness, mutual understanding and compromise brought them closer, forming a bond reminiscent of an uncle and niece.


    They farmed together, worked together.


    Yet perhaps their downfall was inevitable from the moment Anonymous848 first saw her at the convenience store.


    ¡°One night, I got drunk, and... I touched her. We slept together. She didn¡¯t resist much, so I thought she¡¯d finally accepted me. But... fuck, that¡¯s when everything between us fell apart.¡±


    Anonymous848 lit another cigarette.


    Leaving him for a moment, I stepped into the bunker.


    The woman¡¯s name was Kim Yejin.


    Unlike Anonymous848, she stated her name clearly and deliberately.


    His bunker was impressive¡ªnot a mass-produced prefab structure, but a concrete and steel shelter built by a construction company. It was spacious, though it felt smaller because it was divided in two by a partition.


    One half was Anonymous848¡¯s domain, and the other was Kim Yejin¡¯s.


    Seeing how two spaces in the same shelter could feel so distinctly different based on the person inhabiting them was a fresh revelation for someone like me, who had always lived alone.


    Kim Yejin sat curled up on a mattress adorned with dolls, her expression hollow.


    In a low, raspy voice, she asked, ¡°Are you on his side too?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s with the ¡®mister¡¯? I¡¯m 31.¡±


    ¡°Definitely a mister.¡±


    ¡°...Fine.¡±


    Looking around the bunker, I confirmed something.


    Despite her claims, Kim Yejin had been treated well here.


    Anonymous848 had given up half of his shelter for her¡ªa significant concession.


    For me, the idea of sharing my bunker was unthinkable. Like a king unwilling to share his throne, I wouldn¡¯t divide my domain with anyone.


    ¡°Just tell me the truth. I can¡¯t promise I¡¯ll fix anything, but I can at least listen.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a gun, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    She pointed at my rifle.


    ¡°What, you planning to shoot him?¡±


    ¡°I wish I could.¡±


    ¡°Could you survive on your own?¡±


    ¡°I think I could manage.¡±


    ¡°No raiders around here, then?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve come before. Ah...¡±


    Suddenly, she sighed, tears welling up.


    ¡°We weren¡¯t always like this.¡±


    ¡°One of you has to leave this place.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°You or Kim Yejin. One of you has to go.¡±


    ¡°This is my bunker! I built it! Why should I leave?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re done. Both of you.¡±


    Turning toward the bunker, I raised my voice for Kim Yejin to hear.


    ¡°It¡¯s over. One of you has to leave.¡±


    She emerged, calm and composed, and asked, ¡°You¡¯re not taking me with you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Why? Don¡¯t you like me?¡±


    ¡°No food, no resources to share. I live alone.¡±


    Her gaze turned cold as she turned back into the bunker.


    Anonymous848 tried to plead with her, but she only raised a fist without looking back¡ªa gesture that seemed to pacify him.


    He returned moments later, offering me tobacco and corn.


    Taking it, I gave him one last warning.


    ¡°Can you be cruel to her?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°If you can¡¯t, she¡¯ll kill you.¡±


    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t hurt a fly!¡±


    ¡°She knows you called me. Figure it out.¡±


    As I left, his broken voice trailed behind me.


    ¡°I just... wanted her to like me as much as I liked her...¡±


    I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll ever ¡°go back to how it was.¡±


    Some wounds don¡¯t heal. They only scar.


    For them, there¡¯s no return.


    Perhaps their fate had been sealed the moment they first crossed paths.


    This was my experience in Anonymous848¡¯s territory.


    I posted about it on the forum much later, when there were barely any users left to upvote.


    *


    From that day onward, every time I posted something, I consistently received a recommendation.


    For example:


    SKELTON: (Skelton Rising) Got up.SKELTON: (Skelton Beauty) Trimmed my nails!SKELTON: (Skelton Groove) Reggae party.SKELTON: (Skelton Memorial) Remembering the hearty broth and plentiful meat of Sammi Gukbap restaurant.SKELTON: (Skelton Yawn) Haaaah-aaahhh~


    Even posts like these, which were completely devoid of meaningful content, would receive one recommendation.


    While some might consider it trivial, I didn¡¯t dislike the thought that someone was acknowledging my posts, even in such a small way.


    However, not everyone felt the same.


    A twisted individual on the forum decided to make an issue out of the recommendations I was receiving.


    keystone: Ha, this bastard Skelton. He¡¯s really lost it lately, now resorting to self-recommending his own posts.


    "Self-recommending?"


    Sure, I occasionally recommended my own posts, but I wasn¡¯t some lunatic who compulsively upvoted every single one.


    But as the saying goes, to a warped mind, everything appears warped. To such eyes, Anonymous848¡¯s blind support must have looked like I was inflating my own numbers.


    In South Korea, living under false accusations only leads to losses, so I decided to break my own rule and start genuinely self-recommending.


    As a result, every post I made began to show exactly two recommendations.


    One day, as the mercury hovered around freezing, I noticed something peculiar: one of my posts had reached exactly 10,000 recommendations.


    I searched for Anonymous848.


    Not a single post from him over the past four days.


    This was a man who hadn¡¯t missed a single day of posting or at least leaving a comment since the war began. Yet now, all activity had ceased.


    I leaned back in my chair, tilted my head upward, and stared blankly at the ceiling.


    A friend who once recommended my posts was now gone.


    Strangely, I didn¡¯t feel sadness or regret.


    Like leaves falling in autumn, it was an inevitable conclusion, one long foreshadowed.

 Chapter 62.1

    At some point, after the school transitioned to an Awakened system, I heard about its restructuring.


    The narrator here is Gong Gyeong-min, one of my peers.


    He¡¯s not on the level of high-tier Awakened individuals like Kang Han-min, Na Hye-in, or Woo Min-hee.


    Instead, he¡¯s what¡¯s colloquially known as a "low-level Awakened," unable to generate Wave Energy.


    Despite this, his early awakening granted him more opportunities than others, one of which was a position as an instructor at the new school.


    According to him, the new school¡¯s student body is about 300¡ªone-third of what it was during our time¡ªbut all of them possess Awakened aptitude.


    Naturally, rankings in this new system are not determined by intelligence or fighting skills but purely by the Awakened Level. The distribution of these levels is approximately as follows:


    Levels 2¨C3: 39%Level 4: 45%Levels 5¨C10: 15%Level 11 and above: 1%


    This is an average and varies slightly by year, with no post-war data included.


    What stands out in the chart is that, while other levels are grouped, Level 4 has a disproportionately large percentage. This distinction is intentional.


    According to Gong Gyeong-min, Level 4 students are the primary focus of discipline and training. Whether or not these young individuals can produce Wave Energy significantly impacts the average combat capability of the school¡¯s graduates.


    While levels 5¨C10 may seem broadly distributed, from an Awakened perspective, the potential difference is minimal and can be refined through further effort and training.


    Level 11 and above, however, is an entirely different tier¡ªtranscendent powerhouses. These individuals are destined for greatness from the moment they enter the school.


    At the other end, levels 2¨C3 are essentially "servants" from the start. These students weren¡¯t enrolled to achieve anything extraordinary through training. Instead, their purpose is to serve as a psychological boost, fostering confidence and superiority among the Level 4 students, who are the school¡¯s primary focus.


    It¡¯s a brutally calculated approach. Yet, after these "fillers" were introduced, dropout rates decreased, and the proportion of graduates at Level 5 or above saw a meaningful increase.


    As expected, the fate of these fillers wasn¡¯t a bright one.@@@@


    ¡°Always be grateful to your parents¡ªfor giving birth to you early,¡± Gong Gyeong-min remarked, implying the grim reality of being a low-level Awakened.


    From the National Crisis Management Committee¡¯s perspective, low-level Awakened individuals were no different from the "old-school" humans like us. Only those who awakened early, like Gong Gyeong-min, or those who were exceptionally talented and intelligent, were granted the honor of being sent to Jeju Island.


    The rest were thoroughly used up in China.


    The government recognized that while their abilities were useless against large monsters, they were incredibly dangerous when used against humans and prone to causing significant social unrest.


    Since relations with China turned hostile, the fate of these fillers has remained unclear. Some say they were sent to Jeju Island, while others claim they were stripped of their positions and reintegrated into society. A darker theory suggests they were deliberately executed.


    Reality, however, often veers away from such predictions.


    Among those fillers, there was someone who chose a path unlike any of these theories.


    He is one of my juniors.


    *


    Foxgames: The New Game


    Foxgames finally unveiled their new project.


    Curious, I clicked on it and was greeted by nothing but a string of text:


    <Monster Park - Lobby>


    This is the lobby of Monster Park.


    The space is vast, with a grand chandelier sparkling in the center, seemingly embedded with thousands of jewels.


    You can go:


    (East) (West) (South) (North) (Break Room)


    And that was it.


    I left a comment, perplexed.


    SKELTON: (Skelton confused) What is this?


    Almost immediately, others chimed in with their comments.


    ??: Is this a MUD game? Haven¡¯t seen one of these in forever.


    tntn_Orthopedics: Wow, this reminds me of something I played back in high school.


    Anonymous848: This is like the grandpa of online games.


    Anonymous458: Doesn¡¯t look fun.


    unicorn18: Does it have cute girls?


    The older users, like Anonymous848, seemed to recognize what kind of game this was. They explained that it was an old-school, text-based online game that people used to play before the flashy graphics of modern games.


    Foxgames: Hey, I¡¯m developing this solo. Can¡¯t exactly handle art or pixel design on my own, and I¡¯m not very good at it. I¡¯ll improve things over time, but for now, I¡¯ve made a multiplayer game where everyone can gather online, just like in the old days.


    Foxgames: Graphics will improve later, hopefully with help from talented folks in this forum or on FailNet.


    Once Foxgames explained themselves, the forum lit up with activity.


    ??: An online game? Even if it¡¯s a text-based fossil, who cares? It¡¯s an online game in this messed-up world.


    ??: Exactly! In a world going to hell, an online game? I can¡¯t resist!


    tntn_Orthopedics: It¡¯s fun, trust me. I was so hooked in my senior year I nearly had to retake classes.


    Anonymous1001: Multiplayer is always more fun than single-player.


    keystone: Forget games, can someone deal with the refugees camping in front of my house?


    But honestly, I wasn¡¯t impressed.


    Maybe it¡¯s because I¡¯m not into games, but can you even call a string of text a ¡°game¡±?


    Would it even be fun?


    Compared to this, the classic games that Defender took from IAmJesus and hasn¡¯t returned yet seem like they¡¯d be a hundred times more entertaining.


    ¡°...¡±


    I¡¯m known for being straightforward and outspoken online. I typed a response.


    SKELTON: Hmm... Is it really that good?


    You have to speak your mind.


    But this time, the backlash was immediate.


    ??: This unfunny guy is being contrarian again.


    Anonymous781: He¡¯s so consistent in being a buzzkill.


    roka3218: Bro.


    mmmmmmmmm: This guy and DongtanMom should¡¯ve been on the same boat.


    kimcic: Nah-nah nah-nah nah-nah nah-nah.


    gijayangban: ?


    And that wasn¡¯t the end of it.


    Foxgames: Skelton, you¡¯re not invited to play.


    ¡°...?¡±


    Great. Even before the game launches, I¡¯m on the blacklist.


    I was about to hurriedly type out an explanation when my K-Walkie-Talkie suddenly beeped.


    ¡°Hello~? Am I close? Anyone there? If you¡¯re listening, say something.¡±


    The voice was familiar¡ªa man¡¯s voice¡ªbut not someone I was particularly close to.


    I checked the frequency displayed on the walkie-talkie. It was a public channel.


    The voice came through again.


    ¡°Hey! Senior Park! It¡¯s me, Young-jae! Don¡¯t you remember?¡±


    Hearing that, a face popped into my mind.


    At my question, Cheon Young-jae smirked, zipping up his pants.


    ¡°I¡¯m Awakened.¡±


    After a pause, he added with a self-deprecating laugh.


    ¡°...though I¡¯m just a low-level one.¡±


    *


    "Is This Really Your Bunker, Senior Park?"


    ¡°Wow, so this is Senior Park¡¯s bunker? Damn, this is insane. Seriously. What the hell? It¡¯s like you¡¯ve built an underground palace, professor.¡±


    Letting Cheon Young-jae into my bunker was something I hadn¡¯t thought I¡¯d ever do.


    ¡°Amazing. Truly a baby¡¯s room, huh?¡±


    ¡°What the hell are you talking about, a baby¡¯s room?¡±


    ¡°Oh, my bad. I meant ¡®Ah-bang-gung¡¯¡ªa royal palace. But seriously, why is the toilet over there?¡±


    He plopped down on my sofa, acting way too comfortable. I gestured for him to move, pointing at the bathroom stool nearby.


    After he reluctantly sat on the stool, I took his spot on the sofa and asked him directly.


    ¡°How did you find me?¡±


    Though I asked casually, it was a critical question¡ªone that touched on the essence of survival itself.


    Cheon Young-jae glanced at my rifle and smiled faintly.


    ¡°You¡¯re carrying U.S. military-grade weapons. They¡¯re in great condition too. So, I figured, this guy must¡¯ve gotten them from a U.S. military base. Next was your location¡ªyou mentioned being southwest of Seoul. There¡¯s a military base in that exact region.¡±


    It didn¡¯t sound like a hastily concocted excuse.


    Sipping my barley tea, I nodded for him to continue.


    ¡°I pulled out a pre-war map and assumed your bunker was near the military base. Then I narrowed it down to places where a private individual could live¡ªland with easy access to water and good concealment. That left three potential spots. Among those, the only one on high ground was here.¡±


    He grinned smugly.


    ¡°Where else could it be? And sure enough, the closer I got, the more I felt a response.¡±


    ¡°...Smart,¡± I admitted grudgingly.


    ¡°Of course. I was the top student when I got in, you know. Studied quite a bit¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why are you here?¡± I interrupted.


    ¡°I told you I¡¯d come.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°Well... uh...¡±


    ¡°Let me make this clear: if you came here thinking you¡¯d freeload in my bunker, that¡¯s not happening.¡±


    ¡°What? I can¡¯t stay?¡±


    His face turned pale¡ªso pale it made me feel guilty.


    ¡°Absolutely not.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t let pretty young women in here. Why the hell would I let you in?¡±


    ¡°...Wow. It¡¯s so spacious, though.¡±


    ¡°Are you trying to say I¡¯m being petty?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae blinked at me, then nodded slightly.


    ¡°Sorry, but I¡¯m a delicate person. Sensitive. If you¡¯ve heard stories about me, you should know what kind of guy I am.¡±


    ¡°Oh, now that you mention it...¡±


    He tilted his head, a sly smile creeping across his face.


    ¡°What¡¯s on your mind?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. Just remembered some... colorful rumors about you, Senior Park.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Like you intentionally put teammates you didn¡¯t like in danger to get rid of them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s slander.¡±


    ¡°Or how you used Chinese civilians as bait to escape a bad situation.¡±


    ¡°That was a tactical decision. The area blurred the lines between civilians and combatants.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae straightened up.


    The grin disappeared, replaced by a serious expression. It was clear we were about to get to the real reason he¡¯d come.


    Before that, I had a question of my own.


    ¡°You said you¡¯re Awakened?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you report it to the school? You were part of the 18th cohort, right? That¡¯s one year above the new system¡¯s first batch, the 19th cohort. They¡¯d have treated you well.¡±


    He chuckled.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a knack for sensing things. Not Awakened powers¡ªjust a good sense for how the world works.¡±


    ¡°From that lofty vantage point of yours, what did you see?¡±


    At my question, his smile twisted into a chilling, icy smirk.


    ¡°Garbage.¡±


    Author¡¯s Note:


    Awakened abilities may elevate someone¡¯s power, but even among them, not everyone can escape the rot of human nature.

 Chapter 62.2

    "Food waste, huh."@@@@


    It had been a long time since I last heard that term.


    Back before the war, I produced my fair share of food waste. The garbage disposal attached to the kitchen sink was a relic of a more abundant era.


    These days, we¡¯re in a time when even unpalatable food is forced down rather than wasted.


    I had a hunch where Cheon Young-jae was going with this.


    "You buy food intending to eat it, but when it turns out it¡¯s not good, it gets thrown out. The thing is, food waste is hard to deal with, right? You need special bags for it. In apartment complexes, you¡¯ve got machines that make it easier, but here? Wouldn¡¯t it be tough for someone like you to handle food waste properly?¡±


    "I used a disposer."


    "A disposer? Isn¡¯t that illegal?"


    "What nonsense."


    "Anyway, I got this eerie feeling, like I was going to be... disposed of. There aren¡¯t many good spots left in the world, you know? And those always get snapped up by vultures. What could I do? If I were one of your peers or a year below, maybe I¡¯d have stood a chance. But between me and you, there are dozens of low-level Awakened. You get the picture."


    "You seem to know what happened to the low-level ones."


    At my question, his smirk turned bitter, his words trailing off.


    "I don¡¯t know. I wasn¡¯t there. But I heard about a girl I used to know. She died¡ªnot on the battlefield, but here in Korea."


    "That¡¯s unfortunate, but it could be a coincidence."


    "I liked a lot of girls. Left a mark on all the halfway decent-looking juniors. They¡¯re all dead. Or missing."


    "How many?"


    "Thirty-two. Maybe thirty-three."


    "..."


    "Turns out, I was right."


    This guy definitely had foresight. His convictions were unshakable.


    But with such sharp instincts, why didn¡¯t he become a doomsday prepper? Maybe money was the biggest factor. Still, I couldn¡¯t help but think he had the resourcefulness to set up a bunker on a budget.


    "So, what did you do next? Build a bunker or something?"


    "Nope, I miscalculated. I figured there¡¯d still be demand for old-school hunters. With so few people capable of generating Wave Energy, I thought I could scrape by in a support role. That was my prediction. But... there ended up being way more than I expected."


    Cheon Young-jae suddenly sprawled out on the floor of my bunker in a dramatic "´ó" pose.


    "It was a total failure."


    Still lying there, he turned his head toward me.


    "I did think about building a bunker. But that felt way too defeatist, like giving up. You know those people? The ones who pray for the country to collapse? Those... ¡®Shorties¡¯ or whatever?"


    "Get out of my house."


    I began looking around for a broom to chase him out when his expression suddenly turned serious.


    "You heard about Baek-ga, right? He¡¯s dead."


    "He didn¡¯t die."


    "He¡¯s as good as dead. Do you think anyone could survive that?"


    "There are people living in tilted apartments."


    "Oh, the guy who lives in The Hope? That nutjob?"


    Cheon Young-jae sat up, chuckling.


    "Yeah, what about him?"


    "The Hope - Cliffhanger."


    "That name sounds way too fancy for what it is..."


    "Nobody doesn¡¯t know him. Even the Legion faction leaves him alone. I heard they¡¯re even taking bets on when that apartment will finally collapse."


    Cheon Young-jae glanced at his watch before standing up.


    "Anyway, whether Baek-ga¡¯s alive or dead, this whole situation made me realize something."


    "And what exactly did it make you realize?"


    "That even though he was a wreck toward the end, he wasn¡¯t such a bad guy when he was active. Fought hard, did his part. But seeing someone like that go out in such a pathetic way... it pissed me off."


    He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it.


    It was a group photo, taken in front of Woo Min-hee¡¯s research lab.


    There were faces I recognized: people I¡¯d hunted mutations with, folks I¡¯d passed by on Hunter Street, and some I vaguely remembered from China¡¯s battlefields¡ªfleeting figures from a dream-like past.


    "What¡¯s this?"


    I didn¡¯t need to ask to know.


    In the front row, people knelt, holding a crudely made banner.


    <Exclusive Military Training Institute "Guard" Alumni Association>


    "An alumni gathering?"


    The text looked oddly fake, like a poor Photoshop job. The print quality was so low it was hard to tell.


    "Yeah."


    Cheon Young-jae stared at the photo with a bittersweet smile.


    "If Baek-ga were here, the symmetry would¡¯ve been perfect."


    "Don¡¯t tell me... you actually liked Baek-ga?"


    "I liked his wife. But she gave me the cold shoulder. Seriously, what did she even see in that guy?"


    "You¡¯re a real piece of work."


    "Just kidding. Anyway, don¡¯t you think we¡¯ve been treated unfairly for all we¡¯ve sacrificed?"


    I paused, considering his words and the look in his eyes.


    He wasn¡¯t wrong.


    "Well, what can you do? The government thinks we¡¯re useless."


    "If they won¡¯t support us, then we should support each other. Legion faction, National Assembly faction, doesn¡¯t matter¡ªwe¡¯re all from the same school. We all joined with the same pure intention: to fight monsters."


    He handed me another piece of paper.


    <Guard Alumni Association Membership Application>


    "What¡¯s this?"


    Cheon Young-jae winked, pressing the form into my hands.


    "Senior Park, you¡¯re the most legendary among us. Kind of a big deal, you know? Even if you¡¯ve turned into a doomsday hermit praying for the country¡¯s downfall."


    "..."


    "Anyway, I¡¯m asking you to lend us a hand. Every alumni group needs at least one famous name to give it some credibility, right?"


    "...Hmm."


    ¡°Awakened?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Cheon tapped his temple with his finger.


    ¡°Similar abilities to mine. Anyway, if The Butcher Yang Sang-gil is in Incheon, it¡¯s obvious, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°To finish off what¡¯s left of the survivors?¡±


    ¡°Maybe he¡¯s including himself in that. Heard he brought his family along.¡±


    At the exit, Cheon paused.


    ¡°I might end up relying on this area for support.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Not your bunker, don¡¯t worry. Just planning to set up nearby. Better to have an alumnus watching your back than some random idiot, right?¡±


    ¡°Thinking of starting a village?¡±


    ¡°A village? Not a bad idea.¡±


    Cheon¡¯s eyes sparkled with mischief as he grinned, then left my territory with the same carefree steps he came with.


    Before he disappeared entirely, I called out to him.


    ¡°Do you know who¡¯s in charge now?¡±


    ¡°In charge?¡±


    ¡°Jeju.¡±


    Cheon stopped, his gaze flickering thoughtfully before he locked eyes with me.


    ¡°Your peer, Senior Park.¡±


    ¡°Kang Han-min?¡±


    ¡°That guy? People say he¡¯s surprisingly scatterbrained.¡±


    ¡°He always was.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, I just heard it in passing, so it could be a rumor. And since he¡¯s your peer, I¡¯ll refrain from saying anything bad about him. You probably know best, right? You all went through it together.¡±


    With a wave, Cheon turned and walked off toward the west.


    I stood on the hill, watching him disappear into the distance, deep in thought.


    So, one of my peers is now a big shot.


    Who could it be? Kang Han-min? Na Hye-in?


    Na Hye-in seems more fitting¡ªshe has a natural leadership aura that Kang Han-min lacks.


    But those two aren¡¯t the only ones from Jeju.


    There¡¯s also Gong Gyeong-min, someone I once considered a close friend.


    Gong Gyeong-min is no longer part of my life.


    He¡¯s still alive, but we¡¯re no longer connected.


    Our relationship ended, and it was entirely my fault.


    He was the one who opposed me leaving the Hunters the most.


    ¡°You¡¯re the kind of person who needs to stay. Who else would represent the Hunters if not you? Lee Sang-hoon? Kim Daram? They¡¯re not qualified.¡±


    To convince me to stay, Gong Gyeong-min offered me all sorts of positions¡ªHunter Weapon Quality Inspector, some department head whose name I can¡¯t even remember.


    At one point, he even made me an instructor.


    Unfortunately, it was during my weakest moment, and my stint as Instructor Park lasted a mere fifteen days.


    After countless attempts to sway me, Gong Gyeong-min finally issued an ultimatum.


    If I quit the Hunters, he¡¯d sever all ties with me.


    Looking back, it was a terrible decision on his part, but back then, I still had my edge.


    The next day, I left the Hunters.


    As expected, we never contacted each other again.


    I didn¡¯t think about him, and even when we crossed paths at the National Crisis Management Committee, we ignored each other.


    It was seamless, as if we were strangers from the start.


    Yet here I am, thinking about him.


    The first person to bring up the idea of an alumni association was none other than Gong Gyeong-min.


    He¡¯s in Jeju now.


    Incidentally, I also remember him giving a wedding gift of 50,000 won for Kim Daram¡¯s wedding without attending.


    I only know the amount because I delivered the envelope on his behalf and opened it out of curiosity.


    *


    Nothing really changes just because an alumni association was formed.


    The world remains the same, steadily and inexorably heading toward destruction.


    Recently, I¡¯ve noticed something surprising: Erosion is slower than expected, and monsters don¡¯t seem to appear as frequently.


    On the Viva! Apocalypse! American board, someone posted an analysis about this phenomenon.


    Apparently, in countries that remain relatively intact¡ªlike the U.S., Japan, and Australia¡ªthe frequency of monster surges has increased fivefold compared to pre-war levels.


    It¡¯s hard to believe, but it¡¯s as if the monsters are focusing their efforts on stronger, more resilient nations rather than wasting energy on what¡¯s already broken.


    But does it really matter if other countries fall apart?


    It might be important to someone like Rebecca, but my recent focus has been elsewhere.


    A new user popped up on the board.


    Anonymous1523: ¡°LOL, is this the site where all the dirt-poor losers hang out?¡±


    He wasn¡¯t an established user and had no posting history¡ªa total newbie.


    But something about this guy was... off.


    Anonymous1523: ¡°Driving through the beggar¡¯s town¡ªproof video.¡±


    He uploaded a video.


    In it, a man, clearly filmed recently, was driving through a crumbling city. His thin wrist sported a flashy luxury watch, and the car¡¯s emblem¡ªa high-end model¡ªgleamed prominently.


    ¡°Hey, you bunch of losers!¡±


    The man¡¯s thin, mocking voice echoed as he shouted at people in the video, laughing with a faceless woman sitting next to him.


    The identity of this peculiar figure didn¡¯t remain a mystery for long.


    A well-known forum user quickly connected the dots, calling him out directly.


    gijayangban: ¡°You¡¯re Yang Sang-gil¡¯s son, aren¡¯t you? LOL.¡±

 Chapter 63.1

    The saying that ¡°today¡¯s youth aren¡¯t what they used to be¡± dates back to ancient Greek graffiti.


    Anonymous1523: ¡°Yeah, my dad is Yang, Sang, Gil. So what? Huh? What are you gonna do about it?¡±


    Anonymous1523: ¡°Being born to the right parents is a skill, isn¡¯t it? What¡¯s the point of busting your ass studying if all you¡¯re gonna be is a doctor, a prosecutor, or a judge? Even if you become a doctor, can you beat someone like my dad, who had a billion won pre-war?¡±


    Anonymous1523: ¡°Jealous? You¡¯re jealous, aren¡¯t you? Admit it.¡±


    In this sense, Mr. Yang Sang-gil¡¯s son is truly ¡°Greek.¡±


    The name of Yang Sang-gil¡¯s son, as revealed by Gija Yangban, is Beom-hyo. He¡¯s barely twenty years old.


    Anonymous1523: ¡°Hey, Gija Yangban, who the hell are you? You seem like you¡¯re with the National Committee since you know who I am. Should I raid your office? Ever been slapped in public? No? I can show you how it feels, LOL.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t hard to confirm that this guy was indeed Yang Sang-gil¡¯s son.


    He flaunted it endlessly: luxurious accommodations, extravagant food, designer items, and photos deliberately capturing a woman¡¯s arm in the frame.


    The most memorable photo was of a lavishly lit living room, with the bleak, pitch-black ruins of a city in the background.


    The response from the Viva! Apocalypse! board was absolute silence.


    To be honest, ignoring him was the only thing we could do.


    Even our dullest members knew exactly what Anonymous1523 wanted:


    He wanted to provoke us, to anger and frustrate us, just so he could laugh and feel entertained.


    People like him existed even before the war. Dongtanmom, before being replaced by Baek Seung-hyun, was probably the same way.


    But here¡¯s what I find puzzling:


    What is his endgame?


    Does he even know how to deal with the fallout?


    And what about Yang Sang-gil?


    I knew he was cowardly and incompetent, but was he really so useless that he couldn¡¯t even keep his son in check?


    Now that I think about it, I¡¯ve never heard Yang Sang-gil talk about his children.


    Our board has really hit rock bottom.


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Wow...¡±


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Looks delicious...¡±


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Wait, is that a V8 engine?! Unbelievable! Can I take it for a spin?¡±


    ¡°...Seriously?¡±


    M9, that bastard.


    He¡¯s outright sucking up to Anonymous1523, groveling in full view of everyone.


    I tilted my head, arms crossed.


    Is M9 struggling these days?


    Then again, when hasn¡¯t he been?


    Living in a precarious place makes your spirit naturally unsteady, I suppose.


    Yesterday, I accidentally hunted a wild boar.


    It was a juvenile female, separated from its herd, wandering lost until it ran into me.


    I didn¡¯t mean to kill it, but it happened.


    I¡¯m not short on food, but fresh protein is always welcome, especially with the long winter ahead.


    I decided to prioritize butchering it properly.


    From past experience with Gold¡ªwhen he brought me some prey to process¡ªI learned it¡¯s best to do this sort of thing outdoors.


    The smell, fur, filth, and the effort to keep the place clean make it too much trouble to handle inside the bunker.


    I laid the boar on a flat wooden platform I¡¯d taken from the lower village when Rebecca¡¯s group was building their place.


    Skinning the fresh carcass, the hide came off smoothly.


    As morbid as it sounds, it was oddly satisfying.


    Once the hide was removed, it looked just like the slabs of meat you¡¯d see hanging in a butcher¡¯s shop¡ªapart from the head.


    Thud!


    I had just lopped off the head when the radio buzzed.


    ¡°Oh, yeah. When are you moving in?¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s preparations for relocating were almost complete.


    The area was cleaned up, the wiring was properly fixed, and the boiler had passed its tests.


    They just needed to make the move.


    ¡°Maybe later. I still need to think about it.¡±


    Rebecca, however, seemed reluctant to commit.


    I understood why¡ªprobably because of Sue.


    Even with our long-standing trust, it must be daunting for a mother to share living space with an unrelated man.


    Not that I minded; the later they moved, the better for me.


    To be honest, if they could manage to stay where they were, it¡¯d probably be better for everyone. Or maybe they could just stay through the winter.@@@@


    ¡°Got it. Let me know if you change your mind. Oh, by the way, I caught a boar. Need some meat? Okay, later.¡±


    As I ended the call and contemplated where to dispose of the boar¡¯s head, I heard a faint rustling.


    I immediately dropped the head, grabbed my rifle, and aimed it toward the thicket.


    ¡°Come out.¡±


    Click.


    ¡°Hurry!¡±


    At my sharp command, the intruder emerged hesitantly from the tall grass.


    He must¡¯ve seen my post and decided to stir the pot.


    Naturally, the board villain didn¡¯t get much engagement¡ªwell, not entirely true.


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°Wow... (drooling)¡±


    M9 doesn¡¯t really count as a person anymore, so it¡¯s effectively zero comments. Not a single meaningful response.


    I closed the irritating window but couldn¡¯t shake the irritation.


    What gave this brat the right to behave like such a tyrant?


    It¡¯s almost funny, in a bitter way, how Yang Sang-gil, who sent other families to their doom, can¡¯t even discipline his own delinquent son.


    The sun was setting.


    The daytime temperature had reached 28¡ãC, but by nightfall, it would drop to 8¡ãC.


    I donned a thick jacket, prepared for the cold, and stepped out of the bunker.


    The silver giant pup was waiting quietly by the entrance.


    ¡°Silver.¡±


    I¡¯d given him a name. His father was Gold, and his silver fur made it fitting.


    He seemed to like it, barking softly.


    ¡°Woof!¡±


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go. Lead the way.¡±


    But after a few steps, Silver suddenly lowered his tail and looked at me.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Did you forget? Can¡¯t you sniff it out? You¡¯re a dog, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    There¡¯s a saying: ¡°Like father, like son.¡±


    In Silver¡¯s case, I wasn¡¯t sure what to call it.


    Realizing Silver was hopelessly incompetent, I decided to rely on the basics: backtracking.


    I returned to the site where the Chinese hunters had slaughtered the mutated dogs.


    The area was relatively well-preserved; there hadn¡¯t been any heavy rain.


    Rotting canine corpses lay scattered, some reduced to bare bones.


    Silver whimpered, trembling nervously.


    ¡°Shh.¡±


    I silenced him and scanned the area.


    It was the work of a first-rate hunter¡ªsomeone capable of taking down four dogs alone, without backup.


    The weapon used was a chu-ko-nu, a type of advanced hunter technology unfamiliar to me. Its destructive power was evident.


    One of the dogs had been torn in half at the spine.


    Chinese hunter weaponry was impressive, a result of their nation¡¯s decision to invest in pure human technological advancements rather than relying on Awakened individuals.


    Why China chose to reject the Awakened remains a mystery.


    There are reports suggesting high-level Awakened individuals become more unstable after awakening, but I¡¯ve never personally encountered such cases.


    Director Woo, for example, was already odd before awakening and actually became more composed afterward.


    Nearby, another pup had been killed.


    Its tiny body was impaled on a pole, rotting as flies buzzed around.


    Judging by its posture, it hadn¡¯t been dead when it was skewered.


    It likely died crying out for its parents.


    ¡°....¡±


    The Chinese hunter¡¯s target had clearly been Gold.


    A seasoned and ruthless predator, like Defender.


    Leaving the corpses behind, I followed the trail of Gold¡¯s pack.


    Tracking large animals like these wasn¡¯t too difficult, even in the dark.


    Soon, Silver began leading the way, seemingly remembering something.


    ¡°What now? Did it finally come back to you?¡±


    His behavior suggested he was guiding me. He¡¯d walk ahead, then stop and glance back as if checking on me.


    That resemblance to Sue sparked a glimmer of hope¡ªmaybe Gold wasn¡¯t dead after all.


    The trail wasn¡¯t far; Silver was still a pup, after all.


    But as we moved deeper into unfamiliar territory, unease crept in.


    I rarely ventured south, let alone this far.


    The desolation ahead was twice as barren as my own territory.


    Wrecked tanks stood as silent monuments, their silhouettes stark under the moonlight.


    Silver trotted through the wasteland, his steps full of puppy-like energy.


    Where he stopped wasn¡¯t a forest, a mountain, or a cave, but an abandoned, decrepit house.


    Already, I could smell death.


    Buzzing.


    Flies swarmed, filling my ears and eyes with their irritation.


    Pushing through the crumbling wall, I saw him.


    A massive dog lay injured, dying.


    ¡°Gold.¡±


    I shone my light on him, inspecting his wounds.


    It wasn¡¯t human weapons that had injured him.


    Other dogs had torn him apart.

 Chapter 63.2

    I examined the wound.


    It was teeming with maggots, filling every crevice.


    Using gloved hands, I swept them away and inspected further.


    It was too late.


    The injury was far too severe to salvage. Surviving this long was already a miracle.


    Gold lay there, unable to even lift his head, staring at me with eyes full of resignation.


    ¡°Gold...¡±


    Slowly, I shook my head.


    Gold closed his eyes and lowered his head.


    He had never done anything particularly noteworthy for me.


    And I was no different.


    Yet, for some reason, this creature stirred something special within me.


    Maybe it was because there were no expectations between us from the beginning.


    I wanted to do something for him.


    But what could I do for someone who was clearly about to die?


    No¡ªthere was one thing.


    ¡°Gold.¡±


    I called out to him.


    He turned his weary eyes toward me without lifting his head.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go home.¡±


    He struggled to raise his head.


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to die, you should at least die at home.¡±


    Gold let out a faint wheezing sound. He couldn¡¯t even manage a proper bark.


    As he lifted his head, dried blood and maggots mingled with pus fell from beneath his fur.


    But we didn¡¯t need words to communicate.


    Gold slowly nodded and stuck out his tongue.


    ¡°...Wait here. I¡¯ll bring the truck.¡±


    He lowered himself back down.


    ¡°Can you walk?¡±


    Gold tried to push himself up but quickly faltered.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. Don¡¯t waste your strength. I¡¯ll be right back. Don¡¯t you dare die on me.¡±


    Gold replied with another faint, wheezing sound.


    As I mounted the motorcycle, Silver wagged his tail, looking at me curiously.


    ¡°You stay here.¡±


    Silver tilted his head, wagging his tail in confusion.


    I pointed toward Gold.


    ¡°Over there. Stay with your dad.¡±


    He wandered off in the wrong direction.


    I turned to see what he was doing and found him squatting to relieve himself.


    Turning on the motorcycle¡¯s headlight, I sped off.


    The distance between Gold¡¯s hiding spot and my territory felt endless on foot but was only moments by vehicle.


    Of course, nothing in the apocalypse ever goes smoothly.


    With a rustle, I removed the camouflaged tarp of dirt and gravel covering the garage entrance.


    Whirrr¡ª


    The hydraulics groaned as the sloped entrance¡ªslow but sturdy¡ªbegan to open.


    Clang! Clang!


    I quickly checked the electric truck for any issues.


    After pulling out the vehicle, I had to reverse the entire process to ensure my garage remained secure. Without it, I risked losing everything.


    Today, however, luck was not on my side.


    The truck¡¯s battery was acting up.


    I hadn¡¯t used it much, yet the voltage was erratic.


    The batteries I used daily for 365 days a year were perfectly fine, yet this rarely used truck¡¯s battery decided to fail.


    Perhaps those small South Korean manufacturers weren¡¯t wrong about durability. I muttered to myself as I begrudgingly swapped out the battery.


    Underneath the truck, I replaced the main battery and double-checked the voltage.


    Normal.


    Though the night was cold, the remnants of summer¡¯s humidity left my forehead and back drenched in sweat.


    I drank some water and used the restroom.


    No matter how urgent the situation, preparation was critical.


    After ensuring my weapons and emergency supplies were in order, I started the truck.


    Since I was uncertain about the vehicle¡¯s condition, I avoided steep slopes, taking a gentler route past the old home of Kim Elder and onto the road.


    I left the headlights off.


    My eyes were already adjusted to the dark, and I knew this area like the back of my hand.


    To the north, a few lights were visible, but the south was almost entirely dark.


    The southern region had been a battlefield, strategically evacuated by the government.


    Most of the population from smaller administrative districts had been absorbed into nearby cities.


    Though this created population pressure, it had been a necessary decision at the time to combat scattered crises.


    Amid World War III-scale conflict, zombies, monsters, and mutations emerged, rendering small military and police units ineffective against the chaos.


    What else could they have done as entire cities turned into zombie dens?


    In the distance, a roar echoed.


    Was it a mutated dog?


    No, something else¡ªsomething unknown.


    Not only dogs mutated.


    The Maya Language Board occasionally reported sightings of mutated boars, deer, crows, and even wildcats in the southern regions.


    Particularly concerning were reports of mutated wildcats, confirmed through bounty notices posted on local boards.


    This was uncharted territory for me. Strange creatures were to be expected.


    But the sound I heard as I neared Gold¡¯s location truly worried me.


    Bark! Bark! Bark!@@@@


    The growls of mutated dogs¡ªseveral of them.


    The sound pattern was familiar.


    It was the noise they made while establishing hierarchy among themselves.


    Could it be that the ones who had attacked Gold had returned?


    It was possible.


    For the briefest moment, I felt as though I heard a faint whisper of thanks.


    And then, I quietly watched him close his eyes for the last time.


    ¡°...¡±


    Strangely enough, I didn¡¯t feel the same drowsiness I had back then.


    It was odd.


    In the heat of battlefields where thousands died every day, I often felt sleepy.


    Yet here, in this quiet, serene place, not a trace of that fatigue emerged.


    Silver raised his head high and let out a mournful howl.


    As if bidding farewell to his departed father, he howled a few more times before approaching me.


    I inspected Silver¡¯s bloodied wounds, stroking his head, all the while gazing at my dog, who would never open his eyes again.


    ¡°...Your father was as brave and fearless as you.¡±


    I didn¡¯t plan to bury Gold.


    He would remain here, in the house where he was born and raised, to decompose, turn to bones, and eventually disappear, following the old ways of his kin, the wolves.


    *


    I brought Silver back to the bunker.


    There, I treated his wounds, gave him a light wash, and even provided a meal.


    But this little guy turned out to be surprisingly picky.


    He wouldn¡¯t even touch frozen meat.


    Sniffing at it, he pushed the entire bowl away with his paw.


    Instead, he devoured the fresh meat I¡¯d caught the day before with gusto.


    Typical of a creature born and raised in the wild, I thought.


    What should I do? Should I start hunting?


    Judging by how Gold¡¯s pack had survived, there must have been plenty of game in their territory.


    To raise a creature this large, I¡¯d have to hunt daily. But could I really adapt to such a lifestyle?


    Then again, learning to hunt might not be a bad skill to have for long-term survival.


    If I was going to care for him, hunting was non-negotiable.


    But all of this turned out to be unnecessary.


    The next day, Silver vanished like the wind.


    All he left behind were a few tufts of fur, a different shade than his father¡¯s. He chose freedom over human companionship.


    It was the Defender siblings who unexpectedly brought news of him.


    ¡°Skelton, did you see the photo I sent? Even mutation dogs have puppies! Isn¡¯t it adorable?¡±


    The aerial photo she sent showed the mutation dog pack I¡¯d encountered that night. Among them, a small silver-furred figure stood proudly.


    Recalling the slightly dimwitted yet brave and proud pup, much like his father, I found myself smiling involuntarily.


    ¡°...Yeah, it¡¯s cute.¡±


    Even if humanity¡¯s era came to an end, these creatures¡¯ time wouldn¡¯t.


    For a moment, I imagined the lineage started by Gold eventually ruling over this peninsula.


    Anonymous1532:


    You should thank your dad. I feel like shooting you mutts on sight every day, but seeing your dad¡¯s face keeps me from doing it.


    To be honest, Gold¡¯s offspring seemed more deserving of survival than most humans on our forum.


    ¡°...¡±


    Tap, tap, tap.


    SKELTON:


    Worse than a dog.


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    I had lost my composure.


    The emotions Gold and Silver had stirred in me had led to an uncharacteristic outburst.


    The reaction was instant.


    Anonymous1532:


    What? You little¡ª? Did this mutt just insult me? Who the hell are you? Where do you live? Skelton? Skelton? You insect! Show your face, name, and location right now!


    ¡°...¡±


    Well, I¡¯d already started this. Might as well finish it.


    SKELTON:


    Your mom.


    Anonymous1532:


    You¡¯re done! I¡¯m sending soldiers and hackers to track you down and crush you!


    SKELTON:


    ????


    I¡¯d added two more retorts.


    A rare mistake for someone like me.


    But the response was overwhelming. A flood of compliments poured in.


    Foxgames:


    Skelton! I unblocked you! Open your DMs, and I¡¯ll give you a royal account!


    rokagg:


    Skelton, you legend!


    Defender:


    Suh-seobang!


    Anonymous458:


    LOL, legend!


    mmmmmmmmm:


    Oh, this guy knows how to play!


    gijayangban:


    Hmm... interesting.


    Perhaps the courage to engage in these insults was Gold¡¯s parting gift to me.


    But good fortune never lasts.


    The K-walkie emitted an unusual sound.


    Sensing trouble, I checked the device.


    It was Woo Min-hee.


    ¡°...¡±


    I¡¯m someone who thrives under pressure.


    No matter the situation, I pride myself on remaining calm and making rational decisions.


    Right now, that meant answering the call.


    I took a deep breath, masking any tension, and responded casually.


    ¡°Hey, Min-hee! What¡¯s up? Great weather we¡¯re having, huh?¡±


    ¡°Senior, you¡¯ve been online, right?¡±


    ¡°Nope, not at all.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Really. I haven¡¯t been online.¡±


    ¡°Can I come visit your bunker?¡±


    For a moment, I covered my mouth to stop myself from saying, ¡°Why would you come when you¡¯re not well?¡±


    ¡°Can I? Right? I can come, right?¡±


    ¡°There are... things at my place I¡¯d rather not show anyone.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. It¡¯s fine. I just want to confirm something.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    This was bad. Very bad.

 Chapter 64.1

    Woo Min-hee decided to visit my home.


    When I asked why, she simply said she was curious.


    I didn¡¯t press further. Asking too many questions would only lead to her accusing me of hiding something.


    Fortunately, I had some time before her arrival.


    She planned to come around noon tomorrow, leaving me 16 hours.


    A considerable amount of time, yet alarmingly short if you think about it.


    There were two key things I needed to hide: the laptop and the satellite equipment.


    The laptop was relatively easy to conceal.


    Its small size and light weight meant I could stash it almost anywhere with a bit of effort. I planned to wrap it tightly in waterproof plastic and hide it in an inconspicuous spot.


    The satellite equipment, however, was a problem.


    Currently, it was cleverly hidden on the steep slope leading to the hill above my bunker, nestled between rocks.


    Imagine a bamboo shoot just peeking out of the ground¡ªthat¡¯s roughly the size of it.


    Melon Musk, that genius entrepreneur, had developed the obelisk-style satellite receiver after realizing that traditional dish-shaped receivers had become death traps in a world rife with drones and raiders.


    Though people generally referred to it as ¡°satellite equipment,¡± its official name was the Obelisk.


    It weighed 8.9 kg, stood 1.2 meters tall, and had a width of 32 cm.


    Despite its compact size and excellent performance, it didn¡¯t consume much electricity and could run for over two hours on its internal battery, provided there wasn¡¯t excessive data traffic.


    Truly, one of Melon Musk¡¯s miracles.


    The rental fee alone was about $110 per month, though the actual value of the device exceeded $2,000.


    The problem, of course, was its distinctive appearance.


    Even at a distance, anyone familiar with Viva! Apocalypse! would instantly recognize it.


    How was I supposed to hide this thing?


    Woo Min-hee is a tenacious woman.


    When she suspected me of being Eomchang, her relentless pursuit was enough to prove her doggedness.


    To understand the kind of person she is, let me recount an incident from the time I was on assignment in China and she was under probation.


    She went missing for three days. When they found her, she was in her boyfriend¡¯s trunk.


    Her boyfriend hadn¡¯t kidnapped her. No, she had suspected him of cheating, somehow unlocked the trunk, and locked herself inside to investigate for three days.


    The boyfriend turned out to be innocent, but it didn¡¯t matter¡ªthey broke up soon after.


    To deceive someone like her required resolve and skill.


    ¡°...¡±


    I could already foresee her thoroughly searching my entire property, especially places where satellite equipment might be hidden.


    She might even bring an expert.


    So, I sought advice from an expert of my own on our forum.


    SKELTON:


    (Skelton in trouble) Quick question: Is it possible to locate satellite equipment using some kind of detection tool, like a gas leak detector that beeps when nearby?


    I reached out to Foxgames, the game developer and the most tech-savvy person on our forum.


    Foxgames:


    I¡¯ve never heard of a way to locate satellite equipment like that.


    SKELTON:


    (Skelton relieved) That¡¯s what I thought.


    Foxgames:


    Well, never say never. If someone close to Melon Musk¡¯s company wanted to, they might build something like what you described.


    SKELTON:


    So, the chances are slim, right?


    Foxgames:


    Yeah, slim. Oh, by the way, I¡¯m about to launch Monster Park. I¡¯ll send you a link code. As promised, it¡¯s a royal account just for you.


    Foxgames sent me a message with a link to a website. It seemed like I could log in with a special account he had made for me.


    SKELTON:


    (Skelton bows respectfully) Thanks.


    Thanks to Foxgames, I confirmed that the worst-case scenario was unlikely.


    In other words, I didn¡¯t need to move the satellite equipment.


    Relocating it would have been a monumental task. I¡¯d have to dismantle the elaborate camouflage I¡¯d set up, dig deep into the ground, and risk leaving traces behind.


    Freshly dug soil has a distinctive smell and color.


    With the two most critical items¡ªthe laptop and the satellite equipment¡ªtaken care of, I still had more work to do.


    To fool someone as suspicious as Woo Min-hee, I needed more than just hiding my equipment.


    It had to look natural.


    What do I do in my spare time?


    What hobbies do I have?


    Do I use a computer?


    I had to prepare smooth answers for every possible question.


    In short, I needed to exude ¡°natural human charm.¡±


    I had already devised a basic scenario.


    For example, I replaced the laptop with a barely-used desktop computer, placing it where the laptop had been.


    The contents of the desktop were carefully curated for this occasion.


    I tidied up the house, even hanging a portrait of Jang Ki-young¡ªa person Min-hee despises¡ªthat he had forced on me.


    My bunker had transformed into an experimental stage showcasing ¡°human Park Gyu.¡±


    ¡°Phew.¡±


    The cleaning was done.


    Now, all that remained was to wait.


    I¡¯d have to rely on my quick thinking and adaptability.


    After all, the person I was dealing with was closer to a monster than a human.


    *


    ¡°Senior, we¡¯re almost there.¡±


    From afar, the roar of helicopter blades grew louder.


    Humming a little tune, Min-hee wandered further into the space.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the bunker itself?¡±


    ¡°Here.¡±


    I led the two into my carefully curated sanctuary.


    ¡°This is...¡±


    I refrained from mentioning the actual name of my bunker, Skelton Royal House.


    ¡°This is my bunker.¡±


    Plain and unremarkable.


    That was the stance I had decided on to handle Min-hee today.


    ¡°This is my bed, my armory, and all my ammunition. I clean and maintain everything at least once a week.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. What¡¯s that? A toilet?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Ah, and the ventilation system¡¯s over there? Very you.¡±


    She wandered around, making idle comments before zeroing in on my computer.


    Of course, she turned it on without asking.


    ¡°Min-hee?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Checking your computer.¡±


    ¡°What? Why are you¡ªwait, hold on...¡±


    ¡°Oh my.¡±


    Her expression shifted as she spotted the desktop wallpaper: a scantily clad Western model in a bikini, set against a tropical backdrop.


    Not my taste, but carefully chosen to project ¡°natural human charm.¡±


    ¡°Senior, is this your type?¡±


    ¡°Ah, come on. What¡¯s with suddenly turning on someone else¡¯s computer? It¡¯s embarrassing. Haha.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And what¡¯s this?¡±


    She had found something else.


    ¡°Oh my.¡±


    I didn¡¯t need to look to know what it was: a folder labeled ¡°Rare Birds,¡± filled with bikini-clad Western women.


    A calculated move, carefully prepared to show a believable level of casual humanity.


    The contents weren¡¯t too explicit, just enough to strike a balance and avoid backlash.


    ¡°Interesting collection, senior.¡±


    Her fingers scrolled the mouse wheel with increasing irritation, her expression growing more annoyed.


    Victory felt close.


    Then she called out.


    ¡°Yujin.¡±


    The young Awakened hunter froze as Min-hee summoned her.


    ¡°Y-yes, Director?¡±


    ¡°Take a look around. Use your Awakened ability.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am!¡±


    Yujin¡¯s face turned pale as she nervously circled the room.


    In that moment, I noticed it¡ªa faint glow in her eyes.


    Min-hee¡¯s smirk widened.


    ¡°Yujin¡¯s a clairvoyant.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Yujin, don¡¯t look at the walls. Check above us. I bet the satellite equipment is up there. You remember what it looks like, right? I showed you earlier.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Calm.


    Min-hee enjoyed toying with people, and her snake-like gaze was fixed on my face, looking for any cracks.


    ¡°Senior, you¡¯re not hiding anything, are you?¡±


    ¡°Nope. What would I hide?¡±


    I was Professor for a reason.


    There were countless reasons for the title, but Jang Ki-young¡¯s greatest admiration for me was for my unshakable composure in any situation.


    ¡°What satellite equipment?¡±


    Of course, that composure came not from ignorance but from sharp observation.


    Two things gave me confidence:


    First, Yujin¡¯s gaze wasn¡¯t quite directed at the right spot. My equipment was further back.


    Second, her tone and delivery were unnaturally stiff, like reading from a textbook.


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    Min-hee¡¯s smile faded.


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    She sighed, running her hand through her hair, revealing scars hidden beneath.


    She must¡¯ve taken shrapnel to the head at close range. Surviving without losing her sight was nothing short of miraculous.


    After exhaling deeply, she stared vacantly at the far side of the bunker.


    ¡°Senior, what do you think of Yang Sang-gil?¡±


    Her tone carried a weight that suggested this was her real reason for coming.

 Chapter 64.2

    "Yang Sang-gil?"


    I know who he is, but I''ve never had personal dealings with him.


    He''s an office worker, and I''m a field operative.


    "I don''t have much of an opinion about him," I replied.


    I''ve neither suffered because of him nor had any disputes with him.


    The most I''ve ever seen of him was a fleeting glimpse in passing.


    We¡¯ve exchanged words a few times, but nothing beyond superficial pleasantries. Honestly, I even question whether those conversations really happened.


    After my lukewarm response, I glanced at Woo Min-hee¡¯s expression.


    Her lips curled into a faint smile.


    "Yang Sang-gil is scheduled to die this winter."


    "Scheduled? As in, it''s already decided?"


    "Yup. During the recent refugee fleet incident, a small problem arose."


    "A small problem?"


    "Yes. Someone carrying satellite internet equipment was aboard that fleet."


    Woo Min-hee¡¯s smile widened.


    She was talking about Dongtanmom and Baek Seung-hyun.


    "Sharp people figured out that the so-called ''refugee fleet'' was actually a ''banishment fleet.''"


    "Banishment fleet?"


    "The media portrayed it as a random lottery, but in truth, they prioritized boarding people without children or those whose children failed certain evaluations. It''s unfortunate for them, but they were deemed expendable."


    She stared quietly at her prosthetic hand.


    The hook-like device flexed and curled as smoothly as living fingers before returning to its original position.


    "Someone has to take responsibility."


    "Is that why Yang Sang-gil is here?"


    "Yes. He doesn''t realize it, but he came here to die. With his family."


    Woo Min-hee stood and strolled leisurely before climbing onto the central podium. She closed the toilet lid, sat on it, and crossed her legs.


    "Hey, that¡¯s my toilet...¡±


    "I¡¯m just sitting for a moment."


    "Isn''t it dirty?"


    "When I was in China, I sat on weirder things. Once, I thought I was sitting on a charred piece of wood, only to find out it was a human corpse burned by napalm. That was quite a shock."


    She gazed dreamily around my bunker.


    "So, this is the view from your place, huh, Senior?"


    With a sly smile, she pulled out her e-cigarette and took a puff.


    Whatever thoughts she had about my bunker, I didn''t want to know.


    She turned her gaze back to me.


    "Sometimes, Senior."


    "Yeah?"


    "You look like someone who''s more heartbroken than me."


    "Me?" I replied with a hint of defensiveness.


    But Woo Min-hee wasn''t looking at me.


    Her eyes were fixed on the black vinyl sheet on the wall, where my name and Sue''s were printed.


    "Why is it, I wonder, that someone like you never became Awakened?"


    "Why, you ask...?"


    "Apparently, there''s a higher likelihood of mentally unstable people becoming Awakened. It seems to hold true."


    "Maybe it''s because I''m normal."


    Woo Min-hee stood.


    "Becoming Awakened isn¡¯t necessarily a good thing."


    "Why do you think that?"


    I couldn¡¯t let a statement like that slide. To me, it felt like a form of deceit¡ªthose who¡¯ve achieved something dismissing it as no big deal.


    Yet her hollow expression bore not a shred of malice.


    She glanced at a younger woman nearby, who had been quietly watching us.


    "For someone low-level like Yu-jin here, it¡¯s not something to worry about."


    "Ah, haha..." Yu-jin forced an awkward laugh.


    "But among those on my level, there are stories about people turning into monsters."


    Woo Min-hee flexed her hooked prosthetic fingers as she spoke, folding and unfolding them meticulously.


    "Monsters? Surely you don¡¯t mean literal monsters?"


    "Sharp as always, Senior. You¡¯re close."


    "...Is it true?"


    "There are stories, but no one knows the truth."


    Suddenly, the world around her seemed to invert as light and darkness exploded outward, sending a wave of pressure that could crush every cell in my body.


    Thud!


    In that twisted world, she turned to me with a dazzling white smile.


    "The way we wield our power isn¡¯t so different from monsters, is it?"


    "..."


    The oppressive force was suffocating. Even just standing across from her, I felt crushed at a cellular level.


    This was the power of a Level 12 Awakened.


    It rivaled that of large-scale monsters.


    "With just a whim, one of us could become a monster¡ªor maybe the monster devours us. It''s all just hindsight in the end."


    The inverted colors surrounding her body suddenly collapsed inward, vanishing entirely.


    At the same time, the pressure that had filled my bunker disappeared without a trace.


    "...Anyway, let¡¯s get back to why I¡¯m here."


    She had revealed her power, perhaps as a natural part of the conversation, but there was a clear intent behind it.


    Her request was not an easy one to fulfill.


    "I¡¯m planning to build a zoo. Over at the Air Force base."


    "Yeah."


    "No wonder her husband calls you Mr. One Million. That¡¯s your title now."


    "..."


    For a moment, I felt my composure slip. Still, I don¡¯t think I made any significant mistake.


    But Kim Daram... could it be her fault?


    Was she the reason Woo Min-hee had been so fixated on the theory that I was Eomchang?


    And if Kim Daram recognized the cable, does that mean she was on the same forum as me?


    Who could she be?


    No clue.


    She might be one of those lurkers who only leave the occasional comment.


    As I mulled over these thoughts, Woo Min-hee began preparing to leave.


    "Anyway, I had fun today. I¡¯ll head out now."


    "How about a coffee before you go?"


    "Oh, you have a roasting machine. But the lab has better ones."


    "Ah, I see. Well, I¡¯ll give you a ride. Let¡¯s head to the garage."


    "No, I¡¯ll walk. I feel like getting some exercise."


    With that leg?!


    Her expression, however, showed no concern.


    "Alright."


    With her metallic prosthetic leg, Woo Min-hee strode elegantly as always, leading the unfamiliar woman out of my territory.


    I escorted them to the bunker entrance.


    Outside, she suddenly turned to me.


    "Senior, you¡¯re such a cruel person."


    Her smile faded as she glanced at the unfamiliar woman beside her.


    Somehow, I felt her remark about my cruelty was tied to this woman.


    And sure enough, Woo Min-hee lightly patted the woman¡¯s shoulder with her prosthetic hand and said, "Don¡¯t you recognize your dear student?"


    "Student?"


    "You had a student, didn¡¯t you?"


    "What student? If we¡¯re talking about my teaching days¡ªoh."


    There was one.


    A student.


    But could she really be called that? I wasn¡¯t even a proper instructor, just a temporary one who quit after two weeks.


    I stared at the woman Woo Min-hee had been calling Yu-jin.


    Her name tag read Song Yu-jin.


    A name so common I must have heard it more than once.


    Her face didn¡¯t ring any bells, either.


    "Uh?"


    Wait a second.


    I did know someone like her¡ªa much younger, teenage version.


    A bratty middle schooler.


    "Teacher, you¡¯re a Hunter but have no powers? Why are you even an instructor? Huh?"


    She used to pester the weak and downtrodden version of myself back then.


    "Teacher! You wore the same underwear as yesterday, didn¡¯t you? I can see everything! Change them, will you? That¡¯s why you¡¯re powerless!"


    It was probably her way of trying to catch the attention of the popular, handsome young instructor. But back then, I was so fragile I couldn¡¯t even retort. I ended up resigning.


    Could it really be her?


    "...Are you the kid who used to follow me around and harass me?"


    The once mischievous girl was now a thoroughly worn-down corporate worker.


    "I¡¯m so sorry! So, so sorry!"


    Seeing her bow repeatedly with a pale, terrified face, I felt the full weight of time¡¯s relentless passage.


    "Yu-jin, you can head off first," Woo Min-hee told her.


    Left alone with her in the barren expanse, Woo Min-hee gazed silently at my domain from the high ground.


    Was she deep in thought?


    I stood by her side, waiting for her to speak.


    Eventually, she turned to me.


    "Say, hypothetically."


    Her usually impassive face began to curl into her characteristic cruel, twisted smile, spreading slowly but unmistakably.


    "Yeah?"


    "This is just a wild scenario, but¡ª"


    She let out a brief, self-deprecating laugh before facing me squarely.


    "If I were to turn into a monster... would you kill me?"


    Her tone wasn¡¯t flippant. There was a sliver of sincerity, even a faint hint of fear¡ªan emotion I never thought I¡¯d associate with Woo Min-hee.


    I suppressed a wry smile and nodded firmly.


    "..."


    In the distance, I saw Woo Min-hee and Song Yu-jin walking across my territory, heading toward the golf course.


    They wouldn¡¯t leave just yet.


    But for now, our conversation was over.


    As I turned back to my bunker, the first thing that caught my eye was an old photograph.


    Wrapped in a black bag, it was a memento from the early days in China, pulled out for Woo Min-hee¡¯s visit.


    It was a group photo from when we were all younger, filled with dreams and hope.


    In the photo, the living, the dead, and the departed stood side by side, gazing in the same direction.


    All except me.


    I was the only one looking elsewhere.


    I don¡¯t even remember what I was looking at back then.

 Chapter 65

    Collective survivalism.


    I¡¯ve always thought it was an inefficient way to live, but it¡¯s one I¡¯m likely to adopt soon.


    ?? : Anyone interested in banding together? I¡¯m planning to leave the city. For reference, I¡¯m ex-military.


    Hyuk¡¯s Dad: I¡¯m with my family. Looking to group up with similar families. We¡¯ve got firearms, food, fuel, and a vehicle.


    ?? : I used to be a department manager at Daejin Group. Any other Daejin employees out there?


    SurvivalGuy: Any women interested in joining? I¡¯m in my mid-30s and have everything¡ªfood, fuel, weapons, and a cozy home. Neat appearance is a given. Feel free to reach out if you¡¯re interested.


    ?? : Looking for engineers, doctors, or nurses. Our group has seven people, all graduates from Seoul¡¯s top universities.


    ?? : Searching for someone skilled in car repairs. Our group¡¯s average age is in the 20s to 30s. Similar age groups welcome.


    ?? : Anyone up for home-sharing in Michuhol? The air¡¯s getting harsher around here. Women preferred.


    Team Thunder: Any doctors out there? Farmers also welcome.


    Posts like these are becoming more frequent on PaleNet. As the pace of activity slows down, there¡¯s a growing trend to form groups.


    With trust in the government eroding and rumors spreading about Mutation Meat being served as rations, people are banding together to find their own ways to survive.


    The ¡°Let¡¯s Survive Together¡± board on PaleNet is where these people gather.


    Initially, it wasn¡¯t a popular section, but after our very own NyamNyamMan vaguely exposed the truth about the refugee fleet, its popularity surged. Nowadays, it consistently ranks in the top ten.


    A quick glance at the posts reveals a common theme.


    ?? : (URGENT) Looking for a doctor!


    Doctors, engineers, and other skilled professionals are in high demand.


    It¡¯s consistent across the board: groups are adamant about only recruiting people with specific abilities.


    It¡¯s rare to find posts seeking ordinary people, and even those often come with special qualifications, like shared alumni connections or hometown ties.


    It¡¯s likely that established groups are searching for specialists to enhance their collective chances.


    A grim reality: if you lack skills, it¡¯s hard to even form a group.


    However, our board also has a collective survivalist.


    Not just any survivalist, but someone who could be considered a philosopher of survivalism¡ªa man who preached collective survivalism even before the war.


    That person is Dies Irae.


    Recently, he posted on both PaleNet and our board:


    Dies_Irae69: Recruiting team members.


    There was a time when tomorrow was better than today, but now we all know tomorrow will be worse than today.


    Let¡¯s cut to the chase. I¡¯m looking for brave individuals willing to survive with us.


    However, the following will not be accepted:


    Drug addictsAlcoholics or substance abusersDisabled individualsHomosexualsPatients with severe illnessesSingle women (only couples will be considered)Pessimists


    If you¡¯re not in these categories and are ready to join us, write a brief, honest account of your pre- and post-war life. I¡¯ll review and respond.


    One thing¡¯s certain: if you¡¯re with us, you¡¯ll survive.


    Attached to the post was a group photo of armed men wearing sunglasses and masks, posing against a rugged mountain backdrop.


    I sipped my coffee while reading through Dies Irae¡¯s post.


    It stood out from the typical PaleNet posts.


    Unlike others, he didn¡¯t demand doctors or engineers.


    And unlike those scoundrels still obsessed with finding women even in a crumbling world, he openly rejected single women.


    Instead, he targeted ordinary people¡ªespecially men¡ªoverlooked by PaleNet.


    Of course, PaleNet¡¯s edgelords didn¡¯t miss the opportunity to troll him:


    ?? : What¡¯s the big deal? Looks like a bunch of nobodies got together.


    ?? : At least they have enough decency not to ask for doctors.


    ?? : Why no women? Are they gay? But wait, they hate gays too. What¡¯s their deal?


    Dies Irae doesn¡¯t exactly have a stellar reputation.


    During the Defender incident, I got a rough sense of the kind of person he is.


    He¡¯s no ordinary man.


    Cold and ruthless.


    That¡¯s the abstract image I have of him.


    More importantly, he¡¯s a philosopher of survivalism who has actively practiced it since the war began.


    His words aren¡¯t guaranteed to be correct, but they¡¯re certainly more persuasive than the anonymous noise on PaleNet.


    I took another sip of coffee, pondering Dies Irae¡¯s thought process when drafting his recruitment criteria.


    Having once been part of a team myself, I could see what he valued and what kind of group he was trying to build.


    Above all, Dies Irae prioritizes group stability.


    His rejection of individuals with personal issues or disruptive tendencies shows his commitment to eliminating potential fractures in the group.


    He aims to assemble a cohesive majority that can serve as a foundation for achieving larger goals.


    Sure enough, his next post confirmed my suspicions:


    Dies_Irae69: People are calling me a bigot and a misogynist, but I don¡¯t harbor such feelings. The issue is that they cause conflict.


    In a world where monsters, mutations, deserters, and bullets are constant threats, dying over some petty love triangle is ridiculous.


    I don¡¯t accept beautiful women¡ªnot because I dislike them. Who wouldn¡¯t want beauty around? But they¡¯re a source of conflict. Think they won¡¯t be? Wait long enough, and problems will naturally arise. Time spares no one.


    That¡¯s how it felt to me, at least.


    But I¡¯ve seen him in person.


    I know how he interacts with others and how easily he can take a life.


    No matter how excited or overconfident he might seem, he¡¯s not the kind of man to mindlessly destroy himself.


    ¡°...¡±


    Something smelled off.


    It reminded me of the countless foul odors I¡¯d encountered in China¡ªscents that heralded tragedy.


    With that thought, I silently typed on my keyboard.


    SKELTON: Dies Irae, what¡¯s your intention?


    Dies_Irae69: What do you mean? I¡¯ve already explained.


    Anger flared up within me.


    Tatatatak.


    SKELTON: Are you planning to use those recruits as cannon fodder?


    It wasn¡¯t like me to be so blunt.


    This time, Dies Irae didn¡¯t reply immediately.


    The silence stretched long enough for me to feel it in my skin.


    Finally, his response came.


    Dies_Irae69: Skelton! What¡¯s gotten into you? Did I do something wrong?


    The time it took for him to reply didn¡¯t cool my anger. If anything, it made my loathing for him simmer further.


    SKELTON: You said you want to see how far you can go. Are you planning to test that with the recruits? To see how the Legion faction reacts?


    It was a plausible scenario¡ªfor someone with a heart of steel.


    After another pause, shorter this time, Dies Irae responded.


    Dies_Irae69: Do you have a personal identification number?


    I didn¡¯t reply.


    It wasn¡¯t just the sense of malice I felt through the monitor.


    A certainty had taken root within me: I shouldn¡¯t get involved with this man.


    *


    Armeegruppe_B: Achtung!


    A user presumed to hold a significant position in the Legion faction posted something.


    It wasn¡¯t a detailed post, just a single photograph.


    The picture showed a towering mountain against the backdrop of a crisp autumn sky.


    The mountain was cloaked in vibrant red foliage, yet it was hard to distinguish the red leaves from the flames consuming them.


    I¡¯m no expert on mountains, but board users quickly identified it as Yongmunsan.


    ?? : That Dies_69 guy? Acting all high and mighty, but in the end, the Legion brothers gave him a lesson.


    ?? : They didn¡¯t even send people. Just bombarded him like a dog.


    ?? : That Dies bastard¡¯s team? Bet all the fools who joined are dead too.


    Users on our board didn¡¯t explicitly comment on the photo, but I could sense their thoughts weren¡¯t too different from those on PaleNet.


    He overstepped.


    He went up against a force thousands of times stronger than him.


    But as always, the truth is far uglier than what meets the eye.


    Message from Anonymous1524: Hi there, Skelton!


    A user I didn¡¯t recognize messaged me.


    Figuring out who it was didn¡¯t take much effort.


    Message from Anonymous1524: You¡¯re sharp. You immediately understood my intentions. Are you a Hunter? You must be. It¡¯s obvious. There¡¯s a certain aura about people who¡¯ve fought monsters.


    It was Dies Irae.


    The same man who recruited innocent volunteers only to use them as cannon fodder for his experiments was now shamelessly extending his filthy hand to me under a new alias.


    Message from Anonymous1524: As you can see, even the Legion faction couldn¡¯t take us down. Want to know why?


    Because I was part of the unit that became the foundation of the Legion faction. I know exactly how those bastards think. They¡¯re playing right into my hands.


    He attached a photo of a military cap he had worn during his active service.


    The insignia, a black skull pierced by a dagger at its crown, was chilling.


    I recognized that symbol.


    It belonged to the infamous Annihilation Unit, a division accused of countless massacres during the collapse of North Korea, especially in Pyongyang.


    Message from Anonymous1524: So, what do you think? Interested in joining us?


    "..."


    [ Would you like to block Dies_Irae69 (Anonymous1524)? ]


    I once relied heavily on the block function.


    Most of those blocks were later lifted¡ªeither by me or because the individuals in question didn¡¯t survive the war.


    But I was certain of one thing:


    I would never unblock Dies Irae.

 Chapter 66.1

    Foxgames: ¡°The wait is over. We¡¯re finally open!¡±


    The long-awaited online game Monster Park by Foxgames was finally launching.


    Though they called it a game, it was more like a text-based simulation, and I didn¡¯t expect something so rudimentary to thrive.


    Frankly, I thought it¡¯d be more worthwhile to read a book or learn new farming techniques or construction methods on AntWiki.


    A phrase from a pre-war psychiatrist came to mind:


    "Thinking that the world dislikes something just because you do is a common delusion among people who feel out of sync with society."


    [Queue: 53,231 players]


    "..."


    That¡¯s the message that greeted me when I leisurely logged in after finishing my daily chores.


    Over 50,000 people were waiting, endlessly refreshing their screens in an act of sheer patience, desperate to access a chunk of text.


    Foxgames: ¡°So sorry! We honestly didn¡¯t expect this many players. Luckily, a board user who wants to remain anonymous offered to help with the servers. Just give us one day, and we¡¯ll open the gates wide!¡±


    The obsession with the lost joy of online gaming was intense.


    It seemed people longed for any game, any medium that allowed them to "hunt together," level up, and experience camaraderie again.


    "Just a form of escapism," I muttered.


    I was chatting with Da-jeong over the comms.


    "No matter how bleak reality is, seeing yourself level up and grow stronger in an online game makes you feel good, doesn¡¯t it? And if that strength in the game can translate to real-world benefits, even better."


    "Hm..."


    "Skelton, I¡¯m guessing you¡¯ve never played online games before, right?"


    "Correct."


    "Kinda figured. What did you do for fun before the war?"


    "Not sure."


    Looking back, the concept of "fun" barely existed for me.


    I understood the need for rest, but it was always framed as preparation for the next battle. Pure recreation, as others might define it, was almost nonexistent in my life.


    "Beatboxing?"


    "There it is again, the beatboxing."


    Despite being friends, Da-jeong and I didn¡¯t talk much.


    Our conversations were rare, brief, and often focused on one topic before ending quickly.


    Usually, this would¡¯ve been the point where the conversation stopped.


    But today, Da-jeong seemed to want to talk more.


    "Hah..."


    Her sigh came through the speaker, soft but heavy.


    It seemed like she wanted me to ask something. Still, according to our unspoken rules, I stayed silent.


    "Skelton."


    "Yeah?"


    "You don¡¯t have a girlfriend, do you?"


    "Should I?"


    "No, let me rephrase that. You¡¯ve never had a girlfriend, right?"


    "Correct."


    "Never felt anything for me?"


    "What answer are you looking for?"


    "Sometimes, I think..."


    Her voice wavered, as if she were unnerved.@@@@


    "Skelton, you¡¯re kind of... different from normal people."


    "I don¡¯t think you¡¯re in a position to say that."


    "Fair point. But don¡¯t you ever want to meet someone and live happily ever after?"


    "I guess everyone has that desire deep down."


    "Then why don¡¯t you have anyone you like?"


    Someone I like.


    For a fleeting moment, Na Hye-in¡¯s face crossed my mind.


    "No one."


    "What about me?"


    "Is something going on over there?"


    When someone starts acting out of character, it¡¯s usually a sign of unfavorable changes in their environment.


    "Sigh. You really are sharp, aren¡¯t you?"


    Da-jeong sighed again.


    "My brother brought in Heo Jong-chul¡ªthat perverted freak."


    "Heo Jong-chul? That walking nuke?"


    "Even though I told him I hated the guy, he insisted. Now he¡¯s here, babbling nonsense like, ¡®Universal education ruined this country. The world¡¯s broken because everyone gets educated!¡¯ He¡¯s unbearable."


    "Sounds rough."


    "Skelton, forget what I said earlier. Want to play a game together later?"


    "A game?"


    "The one by Foxgames."


    "I¡¯ll think about it."


    As it happens, I¡¯d been gifted a special account by Foxgames.


    Although I hadn¡¯t logged in yet due to server issues, the account was supposedly "unique," offering special perks unavailable to others.


    A pearl necklace on a pig, perhaps.


    The irony of someone like me, who didn¡¯t even like games, receiving such an account wasn¡¯t lost on me.


    Meanwhile, the person who arranged for this account was wreaking havoc on the boards.


    Anonymous1523: ¡°Hey, you filthy beggars. In Jeju, we¡¯re living like it¡¯s pre-war. Servers run smoothly, there¡¯s fewer people, and everyone¡¯s civilized. It¡¯s great. But you mainland scum? Flocking to some text-based excuse for a game, 50,000 of you? Pathetic. Makes me sick.¡±


    <Main Building ¨C Western Wing>


    Overgrown vines covered the iron mesh surrounding crumbling ruins.


    Below, a mutated cat, Street Angel, glared at me.


    From here, I could move:


    (East) (West) (South) (North)


    Tatatatak.


    Attack the mutated cat.


    <You attacked Street Angel!>


    You inflicted 10 damage with your military rifle!Ammo -3! (27 remaining)Street Angel retaliated with sharp claws, dealing 4 damage!Additional 1 damage from Super Toxoplasma infection!


    Tatatatak.


    Check status.


    <Status: Jonnae-non''s Apprentice (30cm)>


    Level: 8


    Class: Rookie Hunter


    Strength: 5


    Agility: 8


    Intelligence: 1


    Charisma: 30


    "..."


    I wasn¡¯t enjoying it.


    To be fair, I had never played or enjoyed online games before.


    And I¡¯m not the type to jump on the bandwagon just because others are doing something.


    As I stared blankly at the game screen, Da-jeong contacted me.


    "Skelton, are you playing Monster Park? Send me your account name so I can friend you."


    "I tried it for a bit, but it doesn¡¯t seem fun."


    "Really?"


    "Yeah. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll keep playing."


    "Then can I borrow your account? I¡¯ll use it as a storage character."


    "..."


    "Skelton? Why aren¡¯t you saying anything?"


    "Uh, I don¡¯t think so."


    "Skelton..."


    Da-jeong seemed upset, but my late parents always told me never to lend out accounts or financial details¡ªnot even to family.


    And so, that marked the end of my brief adventure in Monster Park.


    Despite receiving an overpowered account, I quit the game in less than a day.


    That decision was entirely mine, and it was a predictable outcome.


    What I hadn¡¯t foreseen, however, was the problem that followed.


    By not playing the hottest game of the moment, I naturally became alienated from the board¡¯s main conversations.


    I was no different from Anonymous1532.


    It was inevitable.


    An unstoppable current had formed.


    Everyone was playing the game. Everyone was talking about the game.


    Gone were the personal stories, serialized posts, and unique content that had provided comfort and joy on the board for three years.


    Perhaps the board would return to its former state once the game¡¯s popularity waned.


    But judging by its current momentum, it was impossible to predict when that might happen.


    "..."


    Call it a sense of detachment or loneliness¡ªI wasn¡¯t sure what I was feeling as I reached out to Rebecca.


    "Hey, Rebecca. Are you coming or not? Winter¡¯s almost here."


    The reply came not from Rebecca, but from Sue.


    "Skelton, Mom¡¯s gaming."


    "What? What game?"


    Feeling a bad premonition, I asked.


    Sue sighed deeply, then replied bitterly.


    "Monster Park."


    "..."


    "It¡¯ll take a while. She¡¯s really into it."


    "Got it. Sue, let me know if anything comes up."


    "Okay, Skelton. Next time, something juicy."


    "Sure thing."


    After ending the call with Sue, I returned my gaze to the board.


    ?? : "Lol, got a rare item!"


    Anonymous423: "Looking for party members¡ªanyone but thieves!"


    Defender: "Who stole my last hit? I¡¯m coming for you!"


    ?? : "How do you beat the mid-boss on the 3rd floor of the Crystal Tomb?"


    Berkut_Break: "This game¡¯s like a MUD with a polished surface. Could pass for AAA quality."


    ?? : "Raid boss on the 4th floor depths! Let¡¯s go!"


    The endless flood of posts, none of which interested me, continued.


    Whirr¡ª


    Scrolling through the screen, I searched for something worth reading, but found nothing.


    "..."


    For the first time, I felt truly alienated on this board.


    Fate, however, has a strange sense of humor.


    Just as I was about to stop scrolling, I stumbled upon a kindred spirit¡ªa user whose situation mirrored mine.


    Anonymous1532: "Tonight¡¯s dinner (feat. duck barbecue)."


    Without thinking, I bookmarked Anonymous1532 as a favorite user.


    Why?


    Maybe because he was the only one not talking about the game.


    I set it so I¡¯d receive an alert whenever he posted.


    Soon enough, the alerts came¡ªnot just one, but several.


    Anonymous1532: "This is so boring... Is your life really that fun?"


    Anonymous1532: "What¡¯s so great about this? What¡¯s so fun about it?"


    Anonymous1532: "Damn it... I want to go back to Jeju... ??"


    As I read those posts, I pictured the man behind the monitor.


    His face was probably pale, his health good, his skin unwrinkled.


    His expression would be smug or arrogant.


    But perhaps, like me, he stared at the board with soulless eyes, scrolling aimlessly, craving attention to fill the void.

 Chapter 66.2

    Anonymous1523: Stop talking about games!


    Anonymous1523: Anyone want to come hang out at my place?


    Anonymous1523: Just shot someone. Yep.


    Anonymous1523: Where¡¯s the game server? I¡¯ll go destroy it right now. Yep.


    Anonymous1523: My dad says he¡¯s shutting down the server. Enjoy it while you can.


    Anonymous1523: Photos I took back when I was in Jeju. Memory.


    Anonymous1523 hasn¡¯t changed.


    Still yelling, screaming, and pouring out his negative emotions at everyone around him.


    But there¡¯s a saying: even the toughest fighter has no chance against the unbeatable.


    No matter how much he yells, provokes, or lashes out, the consistent lack of response is clearly starting to wear him down.


    Maybe that¡¯s why?


    The post he titled ¡°Photos from Jeju¡± contained something utterly unexpected.


    Jeju Island.


    The so-called paradise¡ªits true nature was suddenly revealed amidst the sea of garbage posts that flooded the forum.


    ¡°...¡±


    I might have been the only one to see those photos.


    When I clicked the post, its view count was still zero, and by the time I refreshed the page, the post had been deleted.


    In other words, Anonymous1523 impulsively uploaded those photos from his time on Jeju, and before he could regret it and delete them, I, Park Gyu, was the sole person who saw them.


    There was a good reason for his haste in erasing them.


    The images showed a Jeju Island entirely unlike the one we knew¡ªor the one the government had so proudly promoted.


    Gone were the lush natural landscapes, the exotic volcanic terrain, the sunlit sea, and the towering Hallasan Mountain that encapsulated the word paradise.


    Also missing were the large-scale romantic residential communities by the sea that the government had advertised.


    The island had turned into a gray wasteland.


    The forests were burned to ash, the volcanic terrain buried under concrete fortresses, and a colossal wall hundreds of meters high divided the island into sections like a pie chart.


    The lone mountain rising behind that wall was the only faint reminder that this place was Jeju Island.


    Could those photos be the true face of Jeju?


    A far cry from paradise¡ªa desolate warzone.


    And yet, for Anonymous1523 to long for that island... Perhaps it was not the place itself but the company of peers he missed.


    Most of the photos he uploaded featured boys and girls who looked like high schoolers¡ªyouthful, carefree, their smallest gestures radiating dreams, like sunlight in the summer.


    The desolate reality of Jeju¡¯s true appearance was visible only in the background of one landscape photo.


    ¡°...¡±


    I glanced at the group photo I had hung on the wall, reserved for my occasional dealings with Woo Min-hee.


    The faces I once avoided looking at directly, I could now meet with open eyes.


    Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in.


    What are they witnessing on Jeju Island, and what battles are they fighting?


    Transforming the entire island into a massive military base¡ªwhat kind of war could warrant such measures? As an outdated hunter, I couldn¡¯t comprehend it.


    But now, I feel like I understand why Woo Min-hee is risking everything to maintain the Awakened supply while holding together a fractured nation on the verge of collapse.


    They¡¯re fighting a battle for survival, just as we are.


    Not just for Korea, but for humanity¡¯s existence.


    A notification popped up.


    One of my bookmarked users had posted again.


    Currently, I have only one user in my bookmarks: Anonymous1523.


    Anonymous1523: Monster Park is bullshit. Dumbasses. You haven¡¯t been to Jeju, have you? As if you losers could ever set foot there. Yep?


    Anonymous1523, again.


    I still feel a resistance toward him.


    But after seeing his photos, that resistance now seems no more than childish.


    Taptaptap.


    I sent a message.


    SKELTON: What¡¯s Jeju like now?


    Even if he ignores me, it doesn¡¯t matter.


    But deep down, I was certain he would respond.


    Message from Anonymous1523: Who are you?


    Exactly as I expected.


    He must be bored.


    He must be lonely.


    Even the photos with people, I crudely Photoshopped to erase the figures and save just the scenery.


    But the more I looked, the more I found myself drawn to the people.


    Six of them appeared in the photos: three boys and three girls.


    All of them wore uniforms, resembling those of a new school.


    Which one was Anonymous1523?


    One boy stood out¡ªtall, curly-haired, with gentle eyes so kind and warm that even I, were I a woman, might fall for him.


    The girls¡¯ gazes all seemed to gravitate toward him.


    He couldn¡¯t be Anonymous1523.


    If he were, his posts would¡¯ve been far kinder.


    Another boy was shorter, with a buzz cut and an energetic, confident air that practically radiated from the photos.


    I didn¡¯t think he was Anonymous1523 either.


    His online persona was nothing like this guy.


    That left one option.


    The thin, slightly awkward boy always standing off to the side, with an unremarkable appearance and a timid stance.


    He must be Anonymous1523.


    His gaze, in the photos, was directed at one of the three girls.


    Not the stunningly beautiful one who caught everyone¡¯s eye, but the one beside her¡ªa modestly dressed, ordinary girl who seemed to take pride in her appearance.


    However, her gaze never once turned to him.


    Not even once.


    ¡°...¡±


    Beep-beep-beep.


    The K-walkie broke the silence in my dark bunker.


    It was Woo Min-hee.


    ¡°Senior, I think it¡¯s almost done. Just hold on a bit longer. We might be able to deal with Yang Sang-gil before winter.¡±


    The brief transmission ended.


    I stared at the face of the boy in the corner of the photo.


    The shy boy, glancing at the modest girl, rather than the prettiest one.


    His expression felt oddly out of place.


    *


    I once came across something called Hyman Minsky''s model.


    It¡¯s often cited to explain market crashes or the sudden collapse of values, like stocks or similar assets. It¡¯s so well-known that anyone who spends even a little time online or watching the news has probably heard the name.


    Roughly, it goes like this: enthusiasm ¡ú greed ¡ú emergence of a new logic ¡ú denial of reality ¡ú fear ¡ú despair ¡ú compromise.


    The villains who pop up on our forum tend to follow a similar trajectory.


    When they first appear, they go wild, wreaking havoc without limits. But as the users of the forum respond with indifference, they begin to deny reality, gradually reducing their toxic behavior. Eventually, they settle down and return to being just another ordinary user.


    Take M9, for example. He¡¯s a regular contributor now, but he went through a similar phase. Even DongtanMom, who is no longer with us, followed a comparable pattern before being killed by raiders.


    Given that Anonymous1523 has no real strengths other than being Yang Sang-gil¡¯s son, it¡¯s only natural that his behavior aligns with this standard model. It¡¯s as predictable as the basic curses he spews out.


    Anonymous1523: Anyone want to game with me? Yep?


    Anonymous1523: I¡¯ve leveled up to 15, now what do I do? Yep yep.


    Anonymous1523: Finally killed that damn Angel of the Path! LOL.


    He¡¯s starting to feel lonely, reaching out for interaction.


    And since the forum¡¯s purpose is to ease loneliness, it makes sense that he¡¯s trying to connect.


    In fact, posts of his that previously had no comments or even views have started to get a few replies.


    ??: Build a Heavy. In the current patch, Heavy¡¯s better than Awakened.


    ??: Congrats. But Angel of the Path is just a gatekeeper. The next boss, King Dulgok, is 100 times harder. It¡¯s got flight abilities.


    The replies probably came from FailNet users who don¡¯t know much about Anonymous1523.


    But if he keeps reaching out like this, maybe even that slightly pitiable guy will find his place in the forum before he¡¯s gone for good.


    I don¡¯t feel particularly fond of him, but knowing what lies ahead for him, I decided to extend a hand.


    SKELTON: Hey. Wanna game together?


    Message from Anonymous1523: Why the hell would I play with someone like you? Yep?


    SKELTON: (SKELTON Proud) Because I own a super special luxury account, that¡¯s why.


    I showed him the perks of my account.


    Message from Anonymous1523: Fine. Log in. Yep yep.


    The reply came quickly.

 Chapter 66.3

    Does something boring alone become fun when done together?


    Me and Anonymous1523.


    Neither of us found any real enjoyment in the game. We played it for reasons entirely unrelated to the game itself.


    The only reason I stuck around with Anonymous1523 was to extract information from him.


    King Dulgok attacks you with its sharp beak, dealing 22 damage!You swing your baseball bat, dealing 15 damage to King Dulgok!King Dulgok lands a critical hit with its sharp beak, dealing 56 damage!You have died.


    ¡°...¡±


    This game... is not easy.


    Icarus: Wow, you really suck at this game.


    Icarus was Anonymous1523¡¯s in-game nickname.


    Icarus: Just stick to healing me, okay? Yep. I¡¯ll take care of everything else!


    He started the game wanting to make friends, and perhaps because of his young age, he seemed to find more interest in the game than I did, with my stiff, outdated reflexes.


    Icarus: Make sure you have enough potions and keep your mana up. This next boss is tough.


    Icarus: Fuck, that was a rough fight. Yep. Good job.


    Icarus: Hey, what are you doing? Hurry up! We can¡¯t move forward without you.


    We played together for about three days.


    We didn¡¯t really get close.


    He focused solely on the game, and I just supported him as a healer.


    We hardly talked about anything personal.


    Whenever I tried to create an opening for conversation, he¡¯d suddenly log off, claiming he had to meet his ¡°fuck buddy.¡±


    Then one day, it happened.


    I woke up, washed my face, turned on my computer, and found dozens of messages waiting for me.


    Message from Anonymous1523: Hey! Hey! Wake up! Wake up now! We¡¯re screwed!!!


    Message from Anonymous1523: Hey! Are you dead? If you see this, reply immediately. Yep.


    Message from Anonymous1523: Reply fast. It¡¯s urgent.


    What on earth happened?


    I replied, uneasily recalling Woo Min-hee¡¯s ominous words.


    SKELTON: What¡¯s going on?


    Message from Anonymous1523: Are you in Incheon? If you are, turn off your phone and go dark immediately.


    SKELTON: Why? What¡¯s happening?


    Message from Anonymous1523: My dad¡¯s marked a refugee camp. He plans to send everyone there to Seoul.


    SKELTON: What? To Seoul?


    Message from Anonymous1523: Yep. Something about ¡°Comeback Home¡± or whatever. Anyway, he¡¯s going to round them all up and force them to move. He¡¯s relocating the entire camp.


    From what I know, a single refugee camp houses anywhere from 5,000 to 30,000 people.


    Relocating an entire camp to Seoul is tantamount to killing everyone there.


    ¡°...Classic Yang Sang-gil.¡±


    Exiled to Incheon after failing elsewhere, and yet he knows only one thing¡ªsolving problems by dumping the burden onto others.


    That¡¯s the kind of person Yang Sang-gil is. His method of survival is to deal with people he doesn¡¯t know by making them someone else¡¯s responsibility.


    But why is Anonymous1523 telling me this?


    Is it because he doesn¡¯t want people to die? Out of a sense of justice?


    No, it¡¯s neither of those.


    What he really wants is communication¡ªa conversation where he feels slightly superior to the person he¡¯s speaking to.


    He thought the information he possessed would grant him that advantage, but not knowing how to act, he spammed me with over 30 messages.


    SKELTON: Hold on a second.


    Message from Anonymous1523: Seriously? Do you have a plan? Yep?


    The forum was no help at the moment.


    Even if we posted about this, the flood of game-related posts, amplified by FailNet users, would bury it in endless scrolling.


    We could try spamming the forum ourselves, but that wouldn¡¯t be easy.


    I¡¯m fast and precise, almost machine-like when it comes to spamming, but someone like Anonymous1523 doesn¡¯t have the persistence or patience for it.


    Spamming is a last resort. There¡¯s another option to try first.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON Pleading) This is serious. Can we talk for a moment?


    The place with the most people right now was Monster Park.


    We could spread the word there.


    Luckily, I had a connection with the game¡¯s creator, Foxgames.


    SKELTON: If you¡¯re there, please respond. This isn¡¯t a game-related request. It¡¯s about saving lives¡ªour forum friends and your game players.


    A reply came soon after.


    Message from Foxgames: What¡¯s up, SKELTON? Why the sudden urgency this morning?


    SKELTON: You know Anonymous1523, right? Yang Sang-gil¡¯s son?


    Message from Foxgames: Of course. Didn¡¯t I give you a special account because of him?


    SKELTON: I heard something from him.


    I told him about Yang Sang-gil¡¯s horrifying plan as relayed by Anonymous1523.


    Message from Foxgames: What? Moving an entire camp to Seoul without supplies? That¡¯s murder! Are you sure about this? Got any proof?


    It was only natural for him to be skeptical.


    SKELTON: Did you block Anonymous1523? I told him to send you a detailed message.


    Message from Foxgames: I got a message from him just now. But this is all so sudden... Wait, how did you two even become friends? You¡¯re not in on this together, are you?


    SKELTON: No. If you don¡¯t believe me, feel free to revoke my special account or ban me permanently. But could you trust me this one time?


    Message from Foxgames: Why should I trust you? Or someone like Anonymous1523?


    Now, things were different.


    ??: You piece of shit~ Off to prison with your dad.


    ??: How about we build a mini Jeju refugee fleet and dump you both in the ocean?


    ??????435: LOL, bye-bye!


    mmmmmmmmm: Hey, Anonymous1523! You know why I sucked up to you? So I could stab you in the back the moment you trusted me! And now you¡¯ve gone and screwed yourself. Give me my build-up back!


    RokaGG: Looks like you¡¯ll be executed. Isn¡¯t everything under martial law now?


    ??: You and your dad are both done for.


    Everyone was tearing into him.


    It was hard to believe this was the same forum where, at one time, merely insulting him could make you a hero.


    Amid this relentless storm of hate, Anonymous1523 lashed out like a wounded animal.


    Anonymous1523: Hey! You bastards! What? Yep? I¡¯m innocent! And guess what? My dad¡¯s the acting president! The real president personally appointed him! What are you gonna do about it, huh?


    Anonymous1523: mmmmmmm, I¡¯ll find you and kill you. Yep.


    I could have just watched.


    After all, his downfall had been inevitable since he was exiled from Jeju.


    But for a brief time, I had shared some moments with him.


    He was a bastard, but it would be unfair to say he had no redeeming qualities.


    Without him, 15,000 people would have been quietly sent to Seoul, and his father¡¯s swift downfall wouldn¡¯t have happened.


    So, as a veteran of the forum, I decided to offer him some advice.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON¡¯s Advice) Hyun-soo.


    Message from Anonymous1523: ?


    SKELTON: (SKELTON¡¯s Advice) Now¡¯s the time to keep your head down. If you¡¯re truly innocent, shouldn¡¯t you prove it in court? Trust me, stay quiet here. Don¡¯t respond to them¡ªit¡¯ll only make things worse for you. Just plead your case. Say you¡¯re innocent. You get what I mean? Yep?


    I don¡¯t usually use phrases like "Yep," but I added it to make him feel a sense of connection.


    His reply came quickly.


    Message from Anonymous1523: What? Hyun-soo? Ha, you piece of shit. Who do you think you are, calling me by my name? Just because I played with you, you think we¡¯re equals? Yep?


    SKELTON: Your mom.


    Message from Anonymous1523: You¡¯re blocked. Get lost.


    That was the last interaction we ever had online.


    *


    Screech¡ª


    A truck came to a halt on the desolate golf course.


    From it emerged a middle-aged man, a woman, and two younger individuals, a man and a woman, one by one.


    The middle-aged woman took one look at the barren landscape of the golf course and collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.


    ¡°Senior, I¡¯ll leave this to you.¡±


    I turned off the walkie-talkie and approached them.


    Their eyes, filled with fear, fixed on me as I walked closer.


    I focused on the young man¡¯s face.


    I was right.


    The boy from the corner of the photograph had grown up. His once youthful face was now marred by indulgence, his unkempt beard doing nothing to hide the fear etched into his expression.


    ¡°...Excuse me,¡± he called out desperately.


    I didn¡¯t reply.


    I turned away and returned to the bunker.


    Once inside, I logged onto the forum.


    Perhaps it was on a whim, but I launched Monster Park.


    I wandered through the hunting grounds I used to frequent.


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    Something was different.


    <West Wing of the Main Building>


    A crumbling ruin covered in vines stretched over a rusted metal fence.


    Beneath it, the mutated cat ¡°Angel of the Path¡± glared at me with piercing eyes.


    And there it was¡ªa solitary grave marked with the name ¡°Icarus.¡±


    You are...


    (East) (West) (South) (North)


    ¡°Icarus?¡±


    Icarus was the in-game nickname of Anonymous1523.


    He had long since left the game, and with his imminent fate, why would there be a grave bearing his name here?


    I reached out to Foxgames for an explanation.


    Message from Foxgames: You finally found it? Bittersweet, huh? It¡¯s one of the game¡¯s mechanics.


    If you manually log out of the game, your character disappears completely.


    But if you leave the game running without any input for a week, your character transforms into a grave marked with your nickname.


    Message from Foxgames: If someone leaves the game idle for a week, they¡¯re essentially dead, right? And let¡¯s be real¡ªwho¡¯s going to bother with a funeral for people like us? So we leave a little grave here instead. It¡¯s part of the design philosophy. Monster Park is a reflection of the world we live in, after all.


    ¡°...¡±


    I know that Icarus is still alive.


    But I also know that he won¡¯t be for much longer.

 Chapter 67.1

    The people of the camp who resisted together, forming a human chain to stop the soldiers from advancing, were the ones who truly prevented Yang Sang-gil¡¯s last-ditch effort.


    There were men, women, and even small children, all of whom voluntarily joined the chain, and with their collective effort, they managed to repel the soldiers who couldn¡¯t bring themselves to be as ruthless as they should have been.


    Also, we can¡¯t ignore the timing when people from another camp appeared behind the soldiers, blocking their retreat and shouting at them.


    If they hadn¡¯t gathered people at the right moment and blocked the soldiers, the resistance by the human chain could have been in vain.


    There¡¯s also a rumor that men, who had never been seen before, approached the soldiers and gave them orders, causing the soldiers to hesitate, but it remains nothing more than a rumor.


    Regardless of what is true, I didn¡¯t do anything during that process.


    I only heard the facts from a friend who knew the plan and informed Fox Game. That was all.


    I don¡¯t think I deserve to be called a hero.


    Yet, somehow, I became one.


    ??: Who is SKELTON?


    ??: Is he from Viva?


    ??: Yeah. There was a strange guy wandering around in Viva. Always cracking some weird jokes.


    ??: He must be at least in his 40s, right?


    ??: Anyway, thanks to that guy, our camp survived.


    ...


    ...


    Now, there isn¡¯t anyone on Failnet who doesn¡¯t know the name of SKELTON.@@@@


    In the blink of an eye, SKELTON went from being an unheard-of nobody to a nationally recognized figure.


    SKELTON: (The man himself) I just did what needed to be done.


    If I said I didn¡¯t feel good about this sudden shift, that would be a lie.


    SKELTON: (The man himself) Lunch of the day.jpg


    SKELTON: (The man himself) A day in the life of an alpha male.


    SKELTON: (The man himself) Predicted collapse of The Hope. Science.


    SKELTON: (The man himself) SKELTON¡¯s beatboxing concept.txt


    ...


    ...


    I relished it, just a bit.


    The daily life of being named.


    The life of an unknown user who couldn¡¯t even get a single comment on anything they wrote felt like a dream from the past.


    The reason SKELTON, once an unpopular user, became a "name" overnight was because he saved fifteen thousand lives.


    But, am I truly a hero?


    "Here¡¯s today¡¯s rations."


    A family, doomed to die, looks at me with desperate faces.


    "Is... is this it? What about firewood?"


    Ignoring them with a mask of indifference, I turned away.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    The true hero who deserves praise is in the makeshift tent.


    *


    "Really? What about that family¡¯s daughter? Is her throat still sore? Oh my. She kept saying she would hang herself if she was kicked out, but it seems she never had the courage to do it, huh?"


    For a moment, I mistook this person, Woo Min-hee, for someone else.


    She seemed a little softened, but she remained as cruel and merciless to others as ever.


    "Do you need some stimulation? Don¡¯t you know any nearby raiders? I want them to feel the pain that ordinary people went through, just like that family did. Oh, you don¡¯t? Hm. Well, there¡¯s plenty of time."


    Every morning, she would order me to report the daily activities of the Yang Sang-gil family.


    Communicating with her daily is a positive sign in terms of survival, but I¡¯m not so sure.


    Is the heart of someone who reports others¡¯ downfall really at peace?


    At least one thing is fortunate: Yang Sang-gil didn¡¯t recognize my face.


    "Y-You?"


    He vaguely remembered me, but he didn¡¯t think I was important enough to remember my name or details.


    He saw me as a mere watcher sent by Woo Min-hee.


    The only thing he was curious about was one thing.


    "When can I leave this place?"


    Yang Sang-gil firmly believed he would leave this place.


    "I¡¯m very close to Supreme Leader Gong Gyeong-min in Jeju. I can contact him. If he knows about this, he will definitely release me. A mere Colonel Gu Min-cheol cannot send me, the Acting President, to this kind of exile! Please contact him, any way you can. I will personally make sure you and your family, everyone, gets sent to Jeju!"


    He didn¡¯t even know who had sent him here.


    Well, there¡¯s plenty I could ask him.


    About the past, about the present, about my comrades.


    But I shouldn¡¯t waste words on him.


    Yang Sang-gil is a man who¡¯s spent his entire life securing his position and promotions by betraying others and stabbing them in the back.


    As is the case with people who¡¯ve lived so despicably, Yang Sang-gil never realized that he was a betrayer, and that he was doing something wrong.


    No matter what he did, he convinced himself he was doing the right thing, thinking of himself as a moral person.


    Crucially, Yang Sang-gil also had a radio.


    Which means he could easily report everything I said to Woo Min-hee.


    I gave him just enough food for a family to scrape by, and enough fuel to warm their bodies for about 10 minutes.


    Aside from that, there was no further interference, conversation, or contact.


    I simply watched them, monitoring whether they would leave the golf course or not. But I knew they would never escape the confines of the narrow world of the golf course.


    Even if the external threats weren¡¯t a concern, the fact that I was the one providing them with the tiniest morsel of food and fuel meant their survival depended entirely on the nutrients stored in their bodies.


    That doesn¡¯t mean Yang Sang-gil wasn¡¯t trying to survive.


    Beeeep--!


    "CQCQ! This is Acting President Yang Sang-gil of the Republic of Korea. Yes, it¡¯s me!"


    Here we go again.


    His futile struggles.


    "I, Yang Sang-gil, have been kidnapped by unidentified terrorists and trapped in a remote place! I¡¯ve been caught up in the coup of anti-government forces! I was arrested without trial, explanation, and exiled here! Please! Please save me and my family! I¡¯ll pay generously! I¡¯ll do everything I can for you..."


    He¡¯s been sending out distress signals to random channels every day since he was exiled here, except for the day he arrived.


    But the radio signals sent to random channels only called for raiders, not rescuers.


    A car approached the golf course.


    An unfamiliar car.


    In the current world, any unfamiliar car could be considered a raider.


    I immediately contacted Woo Min-hee.


    Normally, she wouldn¡¯t respond right away, but now was different.


    "Yeah. Senior. What¡¯s up?"


    She picked up the call immediately.


    "Raiders are heading to Yang Sang-gil. What should we do? They might kill him."


    "Well, that could be an ending. Ah, wait. Can you just handle it?"


    "Me?"


    "Senior, you gave me the oil and food as advance payment, right? Do you need anything else?"


    "No, it¡¯s enough."


    "Always quick to understand, you know."


    This bastard, Keystone, who refuses to die, saw my rise to fame and immediately started impersonating me by buying the SKELTON nickname.


    "This bastard...?"


    Now that I think about it, when I was playing Monster Park, I wasn¡¯t able to use the SKELTON nickname.


    Because my account was a Super account, Foxgame prohibited it to avoid creating a sense of discomfort among others.


    I had completely forgotten about that, but now Keystone has gone and done something so disgusting.


    But it seems that my new fame really ate him up.


    There are more like him.


    More who are impersonating SKELTON!


    mmmmmmmmm: (Real SKELTON) I¡¯m SKELTON.


    skelton: Status window


    Level: 45


    Class: Heavy Jumper


    Strength: 44 Agility: 18 Intelligence: 13 Charm: 2


    ...


    ...


    unicorn18: Actually, I¡¯m... [SKELTON], though...?


    SKE1TON: Status window


    Level: 18


    Class: Battlefield Idol


    Strength: 14 Agility: 8 Intelligence: 6 Charm: 32


    ...


    ...


    Even m9 and unicorn18 were impersonating me.


    They made up fake nicknames in broken English.


    I immediately reported this to Foxgame.


    SKELTON: Damn, there are so many scammers! These bastards. Seriously.


    Not long after I sent the complaint, I received a response.


    Message from Foxgames: Sorry! Looks like I caused confusion by saying I was SKELTON in the game. I¡¯ll post a correction notice right away!


    Of course, a correction was the right thing to do.


    After all, I saved 15,000 people with my godly typing skills in just 700 keystrokes.


    But still, why did I feel so hesitant?


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    I replied to Foxgame.


    SKELTON: No, just leave it for now.


    Message from Foxgames: Why? You don¡¯t mind them impersonating you?


    SKELTON: Well, there¡¯s something about it. I¡¯ll think about it for a bit.


    Message from Foxgames: Are you... Netmajo?


    SKELTON: What¡¯s Netmajo?


    Message from Foxgames: It¡¯s that thing on the internet... where people feel pleasure from getting cursed out...


    SKELTON: (Strong denial) NO!


    I, Park Gyu, haven¡¯t fallen to the point where I get pleasure from being insulted on the internet.


    It¡¯s just that something doesn¡¯t feel right.


    Being treated like a hero and gaining followers overnight is nice, but being treated like a hero with no buildup or great actions, without earning it... it feels out of order.


    The real hero at the center of all this is still Yang Hyun-soo, who is waiting for death at that golf course.


    Moreover...


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Huh."


    Wasn¡¯t this whole incident just a well-planned play?


    It might be a stretch, but when I see Yang Sang-gil, who was left there without trial or process, it makes me think of this.


    -Static-


    The radio buzzed.


    Public frequency.


    Very close distance.


    Is it Yang Sang-gil?


    "CQ! CQ!"


    It was indeed Yang Sang-gil.


    What kind of pointless attempt is he making now?


    "Park Gyu Hunter. It¡¯s you, right? The one they called ¡®the Professor.¡¯"


    He remembers quickly, doesn¡¯t he?


    "I definitely remember talking to you before the war, so why are you pretending not to know me? I was too overwhelmed back then, so I couldn¡¯t remember, but now I do! Could you come here for a moment?"


    And here he is.


    So consistent in trying to worm his way into people¡¯s hearts with his deceitful tongue, looking for any crack to save himself.


    "I was going to send you to Jeju Island! You¡¯re old-school, but with such a high criminal record and knowledge, how could I leave someone like you, who survived for over two weeks in the Rift Zone, here?"


    I sighed and was about to turn off the radio when he said:


    "But Han Min-gi strongly opposed it!"


    This bastard.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Hah."


    It wasn¡¯t for no reason that I stayed in Jeju for so long.


    <67. Hero (1)> End


    c Road Warrior #dp8g


    Major Comments


    (JeYe*) - Recommend 101 -


    I think Han Min-gi really did block the trip to Jeju... but based on the past depictions, it doesn¡¯t seem like it was out of malice. With Jeju not being the paradise it was thought to be...


    (Dreamer*) - Recommend 83 -


    The impersonators gathering up and making fun of SKELTON is so funny???? They probably know everything.


    (Unicorn*) - Recommend 68 -


    Park Gyu is such a monster fighter that if he came in without being Awakened, he¡¯d definitely die fighting, so he wasn¡¯t brought to Jeju. Jeju isn¡¯t a paradise... it¡¯s more like a battlefield.


    (Korang*) - Recommend 49 -


    Han Min-gi probably wanted to bring him, but Yang Sang-gil strongly opposed it.


    (OneTwo*) - Recommend 27 -


    When asked, ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    Viva! users responded, ¡°We are SKELTON.¡±


    (S-Snowman*) - Recommend 24 -


    They probably didn¡¯t bring him because they told him to rest already.


    (n695*) - Recommend 24 -


    Is it Yang Sang-gil or Yang Gil-sang? Or Yang Lettuce?


    (Metro*) - Recommend 11 -


    (Skeleton Zerg) I am the swarm.

 Chapter 67.2

    I¡¯ve been listening to a radio broadcast recently.


    It¡¯s not from Incheon.


    It¡¯s a broadcast coming from the east, the territory controlled by the Legion faction.


    "The sky is high, and the horses are getting fat, a season of Cheongomabi (fall).


    Are you all filling your hearts with nourishment?


    According to satellite observations, the Siberian high-pressure system has developed even stronger than usual, and it is expected to bring an early cold wave compared to previous years.


    Please prepare in advance and be ready for the coming cold wave.


    Today''s requested song is Rachmaninoff''s Piano Concerto No. 2, requested by Lee Ho-young from Sokcho.


    Rachmaninoff. I also really like him."


    The voice of the female announcer in the broadcast was so pleasant, she reminded me of the radio broadcasters I used to hear on the bus or in taxis before the war.


    No matter what the Legion faction¡¯s intentions were, this broadcast actually provided comfort to many people.


    The broadcast came from a radio I took from a raider¡¯s corpse.


    It seems the radio was one that was tuned into this broadcast regularly.


    The reason I¡¯m listening to this radio is not just out of nostalgia.


    At the end of the broadcast, the female caster mentioned some dangerous information that the Legion faction likely acquired.@@@@


    "In the area around East Seoul, many mutations have been spotted. The exact species has not been determined, but please be cautious if you''re planning to head to East Seoul, and prepare for any situation."


    "A large amount of capsules found in Wonju have been removed thanks to the efforts of the South Korean military, but there is still information suggesting that monsters are active in the area, so please avoid going outside."


    "Nothing significant has been detected in the Rift area. The weather today will be cloudy, clearing up later. The highest temperature is expected to be 12 degrees Celsius, and the lowest will drop to 2 degrees above zero."


    "The current time is 7:02 AM. This has been the South Korean military general broadcast."


    It¡¯s currently 7 AM.


    While this would have been an early hour before the war, it¡¯s the time when everyone is awake in the present day.


    Since we can no longer chase away the darkness with lights like we did in the past, our daily rhythms have naturally shifted to match the sunrise and sunset.


    I washed my face briefly.


    Is there anything that makes you feel the change of seasons more than the temperature of the water touching your fingertips when you turn the cold water valve?


    It feels like just yesterday the water came out lukewarm, but now it¡¯s cold enough to make my body flinch when it touches my skin. I checked the mercury.


    6¡ãC.


    It¡¯s chilly.


    I observed the golf course through the periscope.


    Nothing unusual.


    Today is the day I¡¯m going to meet Yang Sang-gil.


    I gathered a few supplies.


    Enough food to avoid starving, properly purified water, and just enough fuel to warm up my body for a little while.


    I measured everything out according to the portion set by Woo Min-hee beforehand.


    What matters most is making sure Yang Sang-gil¡¯s family doesn¡¯t have enough resources to stockpile.


    When Woo Min-hee set the daily rations, she said something.


    "You know, the last government... it was surprisingly competent, right? Probably the best prepared in the world. If the president hadn¡¯t run away at the end, he could¡¯ve been a hero praised for generations. Why am I telling you this? It¡¯s about food. Honestly, there was so much left. But why was it rationed so little back then?"


    The answer to that is probably something Yang Sang-gil knows best.


    "Is this all?"


    Seeing the amount of supplies I brought, Yang Sang-gil couldn¡¯t hide his disappointment.


    "I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m also lacking."


    "Excuse me."


    Yang Sang-gil looked around nervously.


    "I¡¯m terribly sorry, but did you hear my transmission yesterday?"


    "Yes."


    I asked, maintaining a neutral expression.


    "Was there something bothering you?"


    "Using the radio recklessly is what bothers me.


    How many refugees are in the area around here? Didn¡¯t you see the flashing lights here and there at night?


    Those people could turn into raiders, just like those who came here yesterday."


    I turned my gaze to the pit below.


    The bodies of those who died yesterday were carelessly dumped in the area that used to be called the golf course bunker, with only a thin layer of dirt thrown over them.


    They weren¡¯t buried properly, nor moved far away; it was just that they were thrown right next to the house in front of us.


    Maybe this half-assed carelessness is the kind of identity this family shares, I thought.


    "...I¡¯ll stop by next time."


    As I mounted my motorcycle, I saw Yang Sang-gil following me.


    He seemed like he wanted to say something, but I revved the engine and drove off.


    There¡¯s no need to talk to him.


    I shouldn¡¯t.


    It¡¯s not just because he¡¯s deceitful, but...


    How much truth is there in the words coming from a person who would do anything to survive?


    *


    "You¡¯re all going to die."


    "Why are we dying?"


    Yang Sang-gil asked boldly, still trying to assess the situation.


    "Don¡¯t you have a radio?"


    "No, I... I didn¡¯t get one."


    "The Legion faction heard your transmission."


    "The Legion...?"


    "You know Kim Daram, right?"


    "Kim Daram?"


    I could feel clearly from his expression that he didn¡¯t remember Kim Daram at all.


    It wasn¡¯t contempt, anger, or fear.


    He simply didn¡¯t remember Kim Daram at all.


    "You don¡¯t remember the woman who stopped you from going to Jeju Island?"


    "Ah."


    Yang Sang-gil opened his mouth.


    "Kim Daram."


    Yang Sang-gil had given 100,000 won as a gift for Kim Daram¡¯s wedding and had attended the ceremony, though he hadn¡¯t eaten the meal.


    Even so, he didn¡¯t remember her.


    It wasn¡¯t about the amount of money.


    For him, who attended numerous ceremonies every weekend, Kim Daram was just one of many small events.


    "That person... she¡¯s going to kill me?"


    Yang Sang-gil looked confused.


    "Someone who isn¡¯t Awakened?"


    I shifted my gaze to Yang Hyun-soo, who had peeked his head out from the tent, looking at me.


    Yang Hyun-soo had said something to me online before.


    Did he think I was on the same level as him because I entertained him?


    That remark really irritated me.


    But it seemed that the one who needed to be reminded of their place was his father.


    Still, it was clear that Yang Hyun-soo still thought of himself as the same level as an Awakened.


    "You nearly died at the hands of three thugs, remember?"


    "...But she¡¯s a woman, isn¡¯t she?"


    "She¡¯s a woman who runs a 100-meter dash in 11 seconds. A woman who climbs up the side of a three-story building without stairs. A woman who hits all 25 shots on a 125-meter target."


    "She was called a monster, even before the Awakened showed up."


    "Was she really that kind of person, Kim Daram?"


    "Whether she comes or not, I don¡¯t know."


    I glared at the radio.


    "But if she comes, you better be ready to die."


    For a moment, I reconfirmed that Yang Sang-gil wasn¡¯t someone to be taken lightly.


    He had shrunk back for a moment, but now he was looking at me with a calm face as if nothing had happened.


    "Whether Kim Daram comes or not, the result will be the same, right?"


    Yang Sang-gil grinned and tilted his head, whispering low.


    "Our family is going to die..."


    He knew his fate.


    He stepped closer to me, glancing nervously at his family.


    "I¡¯m the one who deserves to die. I know I can¡¯t survive. I shouldn¡¯t survive. But in the 21st century, even if the world has fallen apart, isn¡¯t there still such a thing as collective punishment? I know my family isn¡¯t great. They¡¯re below average. My wife spends too much, my son¡¯s a troublemaker, and my daughter... well, it¡¯s too embarrassing to even talk about. Sometimes, I¡¯m disgusted by them. But the one who decided all those deaths was Yang Sang-gil, not my family, right?"


    "Can you at least save my family?"


    Now I understand why Yang Sang-gil kept trying to send out those useless transmissions.


    He was just trying to save his family.


    At noon that day, an armored vehicle appeared at the golf course.


    It was reinforcements sent by Woo Min-hee.


    The armored vehicle had five soldiers and one acquaintance.


    "Sam!"


    A much taller, unfamiliar student came to find me.


    "Sam! Please open the door!"


    But why was the atmosphere so different from when I was with Woo Min-hee?


    "Are you reporting to Woo Min-hee?"


    As I opened the door, a young woman with a ponytail, pale and trembling, kept bowing.


    "I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m sorry!"


    Was her name Song Yu-jin?


    It¡¯s welcome that an Awakened has arrived, but with this level of strength, can they really stop Kim Daram¡¯s revenge? Time will tell.


    Woo Min-hee set the game, and Yang Sang-gil piled up the fuel for the fire. We¡¯ll see how it plays out.

 Chapter 67.3

    I tried to recall what I was like during my time as an instructor.


    "Today, we''re going to talk about the mutation of zombies, human corpses. As you know, zombies are a type of mutation that occurs when the mutation factors cause a change just before the individual cells of the newly dead begin to decay. These mutated beings, once medically considered dead, turn into living corpses that tend to move in groups..."


    The lecture desk, the materials laid out before me, and the blurry figures of students beyond it.


    I could clearly remember the helpless feeling of my voice, weakly reading through the prepared materials, spreading throughout the silent classroom.


    The clock on the wall that I constantly watched ¨C how slow the minute hand moved.


    At least, it was certain that my heart was not present in that classroom.


    Yet, no matter what, there was always a group that followed me after class.


    I didn¡¯t pay them much attention.


    I hadn¡¯t even tried to properly look at their faces.


    Back then, Kim Daram described me like this.


    ¡°You had a shrimp-like back, shoulders sagging, hair tangled like a scrubbing sponge, dark circles so heavy it was hard to tell you apart from a panda, and an expression as though you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, sighing as if your lungs were about to collapse.¡±


    Looking back now, I think Kim Daram probably enjoyed visiting that site I used to frequent with the ¡°company name¡± that would pop up next to the nickname.


    "Even though you were like that, you were still more popular than me."


    That was typical of someone who liked to constantly compare themselves and others, always classifying people.


    One of my former students, Song Yu-jin, came to visit me again.


    Seeing the playful expression on her face, it didn¡¯t seem like she was here for any good reason.


    And sure enough.


    "Can I stay here?"


    She went straight for the heavy pitch.


    "Chief said I could stay here for a while. As you know, all the soldiers who came with me are men, right?"


    "I¡¯m a man too."


    "Aye. You¡¯re fine... um, Sir...? Why are you suddenly unzipping?"


    "Huh?"


    "Ah, no! Please don¡¯t do anything weird! Just like Sir Woo said, you¡¯ve really gone strange."


    "Me?"


    I zipped up and looked down at my taller student.


    Though she had grown taller, she was still quite small.


    Would she even make it past 160 cm?


    She was clearly shorter than Kim Daram, who had been in the late 170s, and even Woo Min-hee, who was in the late 160s.


    She looked up at me with a serious expression and protested.


    ¡°Sir! Do you know I defended you before?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Over there!¡±


    Song Yu-jin pointed at the corner of the ceiling.


    ¡°Internet equipment!¡±


    That was an accurate point.


    ¡°I pretended not to know...¡±


    ¡°I betrayed my most respected senior, like a junior¡ªWoo Min-hee.¡±


    ¡°...Sir?¡±


    ¡°Should I report it?¡±


    As I picked up the radio, she hurriedly approached me and bowed deeply.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m really sorry!¡±


    I lowered the radio and silently watched my student, who was now apologizing in an almost pitiful manner.


    Her condition was good.


    Her nutrition seemed fine, and there was no sign of stress.


    If it were just three years ago, she would¡¯ve looked just like one of those women from the streets, living a life no different.


    The "Awakened Hunter" uniform she was wearing prompted me to ask quietly.


    "...How long are you staying?"


    Song Yu-jin, who had been bowing respectfully, lifted her head.


    "Sir?"


    "How long are you staying?"


    ¡°A week? I¡¯ve heard that should be enough. Maybe I¡¯ll leave in three days.¡±


    "Did Woo Min-hee say that?"


    "Yes. Sir Woo."


    "Really?"


    A week to three days.


    Why was there a time limit?


    I controlled my expression and stepped outside the bunker.


    "Follow me."


    "Huh? Where are you going?"


    ¡°There¡¯s an annex.¡±


    "Annex?"


    ¡°I can¡¯t stand having others live in my house.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re so tidy. But why do you always wear the same underwear...?¡±@@@@


    ¡°What should I tell my most respected junior, Woo Min-hee?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡±


    I showed her the cabin I had built for Rebecca and her daughter while firmly reinforcing the idea of hierarchy with my student, who often crawled over me.


    As I watched Song Yu-jin¡¯s face brighten when she saw my bunker with an indifferent expression, her excitement became clear.


    ¡°Wow! This looks like something I saw on YouTube. Is this a boiler? Are you burning wood?¡±


    "Something like that. If you¡¯re staying, stay here. There¡¯s a bathroom over there. You¡¯ll have to shower on my side, but it¡¯s cold, so you probably don¡¯t need a shower, right?"


    "I sweat a lot, so I have to wash twice a day."


    "Did you wash that often when you were in Jeju?"


    "Yes."


    "What about Incheon?"


    "Once every three days?"


    "Here, it''s once every two weeks."


    "Then, so... fan...?"


    My mischievous student, despite being a bit of a troublemaker, seemed to have learned to be cautious, likely from the many beatings she had received while living in society.


    When she looked away, I could tell she was aware of her mistake just from the way her eyes shifted.


    "If you like washing that much, you can go bathe in the valley down there, or do whatever you want."


    I glanced at Song Yu-jin from top to bottom.


    "Sir? Are you scanning me or something?"


    "Why do you think so?"


    "With a medium-sized drone in the air, it¡¯s a natural outcome to expect an attack."


    "Why?"


    "Why? If someone like Yang Sang-gil is captured and used for propaganda, it could shake public sentiment in Incheon."


    Kim Min-ho smiled faintly.


    "Thanks for your input."


    Then he turned his gaze away.


    "But the orders I¡¯ve received from above are to keep Yang Sang-gil under protection here."


    "With just a tent in this weather?"


    Kim Min-ho glared at me sharply.


    That was probably the first emotional expression he had shown.


    I was satisfied with that, and chose not to respond further.


    Instead, I left and began thinking about this situation from the beginning.


    Why was Yang Sang-gil even here?


    There were plenty of ways to make him suffer and pay for his sins within the city.


    Why, then, was he given a radio?


    Had I overlooked something during the search of his belongings?


    It didn¡¯t seem like it.


    Kim Min-ho, who was so meticulous, didn¡¯t seem to have any issues with it.


    Anyway, it was clear that Woo Min-hee was at the center of things, but the situation wasn¡¯t easily simplified.


    Much like the fragmented military, the truth seemed shattered into so many pieces that it was difficult to see its true form.


    As I looked up at the stars gradually becoming visible in the darkening sky, I felt a presence behind me.


    It was Yang Sang-gil.


    Normally, I wouldn¡¯t have allowed him to stand by my side, but the chaotic situation had given me more patience.


    "It¡¯s getting colder, isn¡¯t it?"


    Yang Sang-gil adjusted his parka and exhaled.


    "Did you have trouble?"


    He glanced toward the military men still deep in discussion.


    "A drone appeared."


    Yang Sang-gil sighed.


    "Must be tough, huh? Because of someone like me."


    He brought his hands together and blew into them, looking up at the sky with furrowed brows.


    Strangely enough, as he looked at the sky, his face didn¡¯t resemble a butcher who had sent millions to their deaths, but rather an ordinary man you might see anywhere.


    "...I didn¡¯t want to do such things either."


    "...."


    "I should¡¯ve stopped back then. When people like me, from administrative backgrounds, were throwing off their uniforms, I should have done the same."


    "Why didn¡¯t you?"


    "Well, it didn¡¯t quite work out like that."


    "Why?"


    "Forgive me, but you don¡¯t have a family, do you?"


    I nodded.


    Yang Sang-gil sighed again, blowing into his hands.


    "...If I had taken off my uniform, my wife would no longer be able to get valet parking at the department store, and she wouldn¡¯t be able to enter the lounge either. To maintain privileges, you have to spend at least two thousand at the department store every year, and that¡¯s not possible anymore."


    "Is that really the important issue?"


    "Yes. It is. You wouldn¡¯t understand. You wouldn¡¯t know how big of a wound it is when someone who was always in the playground for the rich suddenly isn¡¯t there anymore."


    "I don¡¯t understand."


    "You might think it¡¯s a luxury, but it¡¯s surprisingly cheaper to buy good things at the department store than it is outside. Plus, that small luxury is the only comfort for my wife, who has worked hard for me and our children. I¡¯m not asking for much. The top tier is five thousand, and above that, there¡¯s even a tier above one hundred million. Two thousand isn¡¯t a huge amount, right?"


    "..."


    "It¡¯s not just my wife. My daughter, who nearly went through hell, went to study in the U.S. Even though she inherited some of her father¡¯s wealth, it was still a struggle. If I had taken off my uniform, the obvious thing would¡¯ve happened¡ªshe would¡¯ve had to return. She would¡¯ve had to sit in a cramped economy seat, surrounded by strangers, going back to Korea, leaving her friends behind, who she had laughed and joked with."


    "..."


    "My son... ha... I won¡¯t say anything about him."


    "What kind of person was he?"


    "What kind? He just left nasty comments online and got called into the police."


    "Aha."


    Yang Sang-gil took out his phone.


    It no longer worked as a communication device, but at least it served as a photo album.


    His phone¡¯s lock screen showed a family photo of the Yang Sang-gil family in a park.


    A single drop of dew glistened on the wrinkles around his eyes.


    "If I had taken off my uniform back then..."


    Yang Sang-gil slumped his shoulders, holding his phone.


    "...This family wouldn¡¯t have stayed intact."


    Suddenly, his face aged as he looked back at me.


    "Is it Woo Min-hee, the commanding officer?"


    In a world where the elderly are often disregarded, age is something that cannot be ignored.


    The way he suddenly hit the mark seemed like he could see straight through me.


    But his sudden strike didn¡¯t provoke any reaction from me.


    Not even the usual surprise.


    It seemed like it had been his secret weapon.


    When he didn¡¯t get any reaction, his expression quickly broke down.


    With his shoulders slumped, the man who had once stood at the highest position in South Korea now whined like a child.


    "...Isn¡¯t it because you¡¯re friends with Kim Daram that you¡¯re trying to throw me to that woman?"


    "Really? But I don¡¯t know Kim Daram that well, do I?"


    "Did it seem like that?"


    "Didn¡¯t you say yourself that you don¡¯t know her?"


    Yang Sang-gil grinned.


    "Why wouldn¡¯t I know?"


    For a moment, his face seemed to change completely.


    From the simple neighbor uncle to the demon who carelessly cast aside the lives of hundreds of thousands.


    "I¡¯m the one who was constantly humiliated and pushed out of my place... "


    The next day, multiple drones appeared in the sky.


    A voice from an unfamiliar man echoed from one of the drones.


    Their demands were simple.


    "Send Yang Sang-gil and his family east."

 Chapter 67.4

    The enemy wasn¡¯t a soldier, but a marauder.


    They had a number of vehicles, but no heavy artillery, and their combat capabilities seemed questionable.


    There weren¡¯t that many of them either.


    There were over 50 of them, but on our side, we had 30 fully armed soldiers with armored vehicles. When it came to a real fight, they wouldn¡¯t stand a chance.


    "They must have something they¡¯re relying on," Captain Kim Min-ho said.


    I agreed with him.


    Even if they were marauders, by now, no one would be considered weak.


    They had drawn up a plan, brought people along, and even dared to threaten us to hand over Yang Sang-gil.


    "Artillery support seems to be the expected card," he continued.


    The difference in opinions between Ha Min-gi and Kim Min-ho didn¡¯t seem to be just a matter of command structure.


    "Our reconnaissance resources are keeping an eye on them. If the Legion faction takes out artillery from the caves, we¡¯ll be informed right away. Honestly, if we¡¯re scared of a handful of civilians, then what are we? A bunch of unorganized rabble?"


    Ha Min-gi looked at me.


    After hesitating for a moment, he turned to Captain Kim Min-ho.


    "By the way, who is this? I¡¯ve noticed he¡¯s been in every meeting, as if he belongs there."


    "He¡¯s a freelance hunter," Song Yu-jin answered in place of Kim Min-ho.


    She seemed a little unsure, but her tone was much more serious and professional than when she was speaking to me, making me think that my student had truly become a competent part of society.


    "He¡¯s in charge of protecting and monitoring Yang Sang-gil."


    "Is that so?"


    Ha Min-gi looked at Song Yu-jin¡¯s uniform and badge with a disapproving glance, pretending to accept her explanation.


    "But, now that the stakes are so high, shouldn''t the military take responsibility for Yang Sang-gil¡¯s protection?"


    "I agree," I responded without hesitation.


    I didn¡¯t want to get involved in this fight.


    And now, fighting right outside my front door.


    Half of this mess was of my own making, but it was undeniable that my front yard was now noisier than the one over at Keystone.


    "I¡¯ll step out. This doesn¡¯t seem like a fight I need to be a part of."


    "Sir, Sir!"


    Song Yu-jin followed me as I tried to leave.


    She must have called me "Sir" only when others were around.


    "Are you sure this is okay?" she asked, her face filled with concern.


    "What¡¯s wrong?"


    "I mean, it doesn¡¯t seem right for someone like you to be treated this way."


    "What¡¯s that? Are you worried about me?"


    "Isn¡¯t it obvious?"


    Song Yu-jin looked at me seriously.


    "I¡¯m your student, Sir."


    "I haven¡¯t even taught you much."


    "True, but I don¡¯t have much else to show for myself... I¡¯m only level 2."


    Song Yu-jin lowered her head with a downcast look.


    "I was treated like a nobody in school, and even after going out, I wasn¡¯t anything special. I ended up being a level 2 after all. But once I said I was your student, people started seeing me differently. Like... even Sir Woo Min-hee started looking at me differently."


    "So that¡¯s how it was."


    Now I understood a little of the over-the-top kindness.


    It seemed that my connection to her had been beneficial.


    Just as I was about to turn away with a familiar feeling of disappointment, her voice followed me like a shadow.


    "But still, I studied hard on your record! The more I learn, the more impressive you seem! You hunted medium and even large-sized monsters without an Awakened ability, just using conventional weapons! Isn¡¯t it true that people over level 10 have to risk their lives just to hunt medium-sized monsters, but you did it without even disabling their reflective force fields?"


    "...I didn¡¯t do it alone."


    It seemed that her studying wasn¡¯t empty words after all.


    She knew a bit about my past.


    "I could do it because I had comrades who could take my place if I died."


    I thought about the faces of my comrades who had passed and mounted my motorcycle.@@@@


    "Sir!"


    Song Yu-jin called me again.


    "Are you going to make dinner for us?"


    "Maybe. We¡¯ll see how things go."


    I didn¡¯t think the battle would last long.


    In this desolate world of Park Gyu, there was no one but me who would want to stick around for long.


    But since I promised, I should get ready.


    Inside my empty bunker, I prepared a meal using boiled potatoes and started preparing for dinner.


    I was planning to make curry.


    "Skeleton. What¡¯s going on?"


    Just as I was preparing the curry ingredients, I received a message from Defender and Rebecca.


    "Yang Sang-gil? Did you hear the radio too?"


    I avoided answering and quickly ended the transmission.


    Once I finished preparing the ingredients and took a short breath, gunshots rang out.


    Was the battle starting?


    I left the bunker and climbed up the hill to observe the golf course.


    The soldiers and the marauders were in a standoff.


    Boldly, the marauders, seemingly unfazed by bullets, sent a few men to stand right in front of the soldiers.


    Four, no, five of them.


    Though I couldn¡¯t hear the sounds from this distance, it seemed the soldiers had warned them not to come any closer, and a single shot was fired as a warning.


    "Hm?"


    The marauders were advancing.


    Whether or not the soldiers aimed their guns, they slowly moved toward the soldiers'' position.


    The soldiers looked back at Ha Min-gi.


    Ha Min-gi raised his hand.


    The next moment.


    Boom!


    The sound came from the marauder¡¯s side.


    I knew that eerie sound and the rhythm of it very well.


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    Like the rhythm of a beating heart.


    And in the center of it all, there was something humanoid standing.


    "Awakened."


    It might be better to leave with just the essentials and return once things quiet down.


    As I started to leave, I was interrupted.


    "Park Hunter."


    It was Yang Sang-gil.


    "Where are you going?"


    "Where else? I¡¯m disappearing."


    "You live around here, don¡¯t you?"


    He smiled slyly, as if he knew exactly where I was headed.


    Without batting an eye, I responded.


    "Yes."


    "I¡¯ll tell them where you live."


    "Go ahead."


    "I saw where you and Song Yu-jin went, too."


    "Say it."


    "Really? Are you sure that¡¯s okay?"


    Yang Sang-gil grinned as he tried to probe me with his eyes.


    What should I do with this man?


    Boom!


    A sudden loud explosion came from the west.


    The direction the armored vehicle had gone.


    As expected, the armored vehicle had crashed into the bunker, sending black smoke into the sky.


    "..."


    Fatigue and a sense of indifference, like a long-standing illness, washed over me.


    "Suicide drone! Suicide drone!"


    A soldier shouted frantically as they reported the situation.


    Fortunately, the casualties were minimal.


    The hatch of the armored vehicle opened, and soldiers, coughing and scrambling, rushed out.


    "Cough! Cough! Damn!"


    One of my students was among them.


    As soon as I saw her, the drowsiness that had been slowly creeping over me disappeared.


    I looked around.


    The marauders, or rather the armed group disguised as marauders, had formed a slow encirclement, closing in on us.


    In the front, the main force, including the Awakened, advanced, while troops of lesser capability were scattered along the road. Above us, the drones had control of the airspace and visibility.


    "Bring Yang Sang-gil here! We leave now!"


    And Ha Min-gi continued to make the same mistakes.


    "Get him on the truck immediately!"


    The sharp sound of air being cut by the drone was heard again.


    Suicide drones.


    Three were left.


    "Jammer!"


    A soldier in charge of anti-air monitoring aimed a bazooka-like jammer at the incoming drones.


    When he pulled the heavy trigger, one of the drones fell helplessly to the ground, crashing into the dirt.


    But there was still one left.


    It was heading straight for the command table where Ha Min-gi had been shouting orders.


    Boom! Boom!


    Dirt, smoke, and a little blood splattered everywhere.


    "Colonel!"


    "Shit! The Colonel¡¯s down!"


    The command post had been hit.


    At the same time, the enemies began their assault.


    Gunfire broke out all around as the Awakened, leisurely but with purpose, strolled toward us, admiring the view of the golf course as if taking a walk.


    The soldiers from the armored vehicle joined Ha Min-gi¡¯s forces.


    "Damn it."


    Kim Min-ho, his head wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage, cursed under his breath, self-loathing evident in his eyes.


    "The jammer isn¡¯t working. The active defense system isn¡¯t responding. Why is it that electronics always fail when you need them the most?"


    Despite his loss of composure, he was still the highest-ranking officer here.


    I approached him.


    "Sir..."


    Song Yu-jin, who had been tending to the wounded soldiers, glanced at me but pretended not to notice.


    Kim Min-ho looked at me.


    "You''re that hunter from earlier?"


    "Should I kill the Awakened?"


    "What?"


    "I¡¯m asking if killing the Awakened will let us deal with the rest of these bastards?"


    "Are you out of your mind? You saw it too, right? A monster that deflects bullets?"


    Kim Min-ho¡¯s gaze shifted to Song Yu-jin, filled with disappointment.


    She avoided his eyes.


    "...I¡¯ve fought monsters like that my whole life."


    Her eyes were now on me.


    "Give me two people. I¡¯ll take the head of the Awakened and return."


    She pointed at Kim Min-ho.


    "One is this friend. The other can be anyone who¡¯s not a coward."


    Kim Min-ho looked at me with suspicion.


    "Why would I give you troops to help you? You¡¯re not even a soldier."


    Kim Min-ho sighed and surveyed the soldiers.


    "Well, let¡¯s ask. Who wants to risk their life for this guy?"


    A heavy silence fell over the room.


    The soldiers were all too aware of the power the Awakened held.


    Who in their right mind would want to die?


    "I¡¯ll do it! I¡¯ll go!"


    And there was one who was ready to die.


    "I¡¯ll do it."


    Yang Sang-gil.

 Chapter 67.5

    The results of our Hunter''s battles are all recorded.


    There are countless records, but the most significant record is, of course, the kill score ¡ª the number of kills.


    The value of a single kill can vastly outweigh others, so kill records aren¡¯t just about writing down numbers. They break down the type of monster or mutation you killed and the specifics of it.


    Otherwise, a Hunter who just casually used a machine gun in a zombie-controlled area would be evaluated far more highly than a Hunter who, while losing comrades, took down a medium-sized monster in a war zone.


    The details of the kill count are broken down into 62 categories, if I recall correctly.


    Mutations by species, their variations, interdimensional creatures, and monsters.


    Though not an official term, people call it the "kill encyclopedia."


    It''s not something I''m proud of, but I have recorded a kill for nearly every entry in that encyclopedia.


    From small species to large ones.


    There''s not a single one I haven''t killed.


    Of course, new species are continually being discovered, so at present, Park Gyu''s encyclopedia hasn''t reached 100%.


    For example, I haven''t even killed the general-type monster I discovered.


    By now, that would probably be added to the list too.


    However, humans are not included in that kill count.


    Ethically, it''s an issue, and we, as Hunters, face monsters and their mutations, not humans.


    But Awakened are a different matter.


    They were categorized under the vague "unclassified" category.


    According to records, our team has eliminated 36 unclassified monster types.


    All of those 36 were Awakened.


    "I¡¯m also a former Army sergeant. I served at the front for 33 months," Yang Sang-gil emphasized repeatedly that he could fight.


    I had no intention of giving him a gun.


    He asked Kim Min-ho for supplies.


    "I''m not sure about Yang Sang-gil, but Song Yu-jin was personally sent by Colonel Woo Min-hee. We can''t afford to lose her."


    "Her direct superior, huh..."@@@@


    "Military security."


    "Just a moment. Give me the requested items. We¡¯re all going to die anyway if we can''t deal with the Awakened."


    As Kim Min-ho hesitated, Song Yu-jin stepped forward.


    "Park Hunter may be retired now, but he was considered the best among the old-school Hunters."


    Kim Min-ho glared at me through half-squinted eyes over Song Yu-jin¡¯s shoulder.


    "Have you ever killed an Awakened?"


    I silently nodded.


    "Ha, I see?"


    Kim Min-ho stopped questioning further.


    He quickly reorganized the soldiers, set up defensive positions, and provided the supplies I requested.


    What I asked for were three grenades.


    I handed them to Yang Sang-gil.


    "You know how to use these, right?"


    "Of course. What do I do next?"


    "Let¡¯s talk as we move."


    The golf course isn¡¯t flat.


    Although the fresh grass with a neatly trimmed look gives an impression of smoothness, the terrain actually has many bumps and undulations, which create the course.


    These undulations, which were hardly noticeable during the golf course days, became prominent as the grass withered and weeds and shrubs grew.


    There were places to hide and ambush zones scattered around.


    The Awakened, however, was slowly advancing toward the easiest path, where visibility was good.


    There was no need to hurry from their side either.


    A Chinese-made medium-sized drone, like an eagle hunting for prey, slowly circled the sky, surveying the battlefield. It succeeded in surrounding us and began tightening the encirclement, eventually trapping us.


    "Hide here. When I give the signal, throw the grenade. You don''t need to show yourself. Don¡¯t aim, just make it seem threatening. Do you understand?"


    I explained the mission to Yang Sang-gil, watching his face.


    The most unstable factor wasn¡¯t the enemies or allies.


    It was the inner thoughts of this man, Yang Sang-gil.


    The reason I didn''t give him a gun was because of the possibility of betrayal.


    The grenade was also risky, but it was quicker to act with than a gun.


    "Only those three are with the Awakened, right?"


    As Yang Sang-gil fiddled with the grenade, trying to recall how to use it, I instructed Song Yu-jin to scout.


    "Yes! There are three, that¡¯s all."


    Song Yu-jin, with her soft glowing eyes, answered while staring into the air.


    She is said to have the ability to see through and detect weak auras.


    Her detection range, when focused, is about 30 meters.


    It¡¯s not very wide.


    So, she¡¯s considered level 2.


    "Are there any other hidden ambushes?"


    "No!"


    "Good. Return."


    "Already?"


    Song Yu-jin gave me a slightly disgruntled look.


    "You said you weren¡¯t a combat specialist."


    "But..."


    "You¡¯ve done your part. Go help the soldiers. There¡¯s a firefight going on behind."


    "Understood! Sam!"


    After Song Yu-jin left, I turned back to Yang Sang-gil.


    He had been raising his hand as if he had something to say.


    "What¡¯s up? Did you forget how to use it?"


    "No."


    Yang Sang-gil shook his head and looked up at me.


    "What I¡¯m being asked to do... Is it bait?"


    His cold gaze demanded an answer.


    There was no need to lie to a person like him.


    I nodded.


    "Yes."


    "Do you think you¡¯re going to die?"


    "The chances are high."


    "If you quit now..."


    "If you don¡¯t want to, you can leave. We¡¯re not going to fail just because you¡¯re not here."


    Upon hearing my words, Yang Sang-gil suddenly burst into laughter.


    "You¡¯re going to kill an Awakened? You? An Awakened?"


    I calmly stared at him.


    "Do you know how many monsters I¡¯ve killed?"


    "What¡¯s that got to do with anything¡ªAh!"


    Yang Sang-gil looked at me with a surprised face.


    "...Professor!"


    "..."


    "I¡¯ll do it!"


    Yang Sang-gil, putting the grenade in his pocket, opened his mouth.


    "...I¡¯ve had nightmares. The world chasing after me, trying to kill me."


    He stood up and climbed up the slope, peeking his head over.


    Bang!


    What kind of person he was, and what crimes he had committed, didn¡¯t matter much in this brief moment.


    ...28, ...29, 30!


    It was time.


    Yang Sang-gil suddenly jumped up, pulled the pin of the grenade.


    The next moment...


    Wheeeee--!


    A black object was diving rapidly from the sky.


    It was a suicide drone.


    Tat-tat-tat!


    I shot directly at it.


    The drone, struck by the bullets, wobbled like a drunk person, passed over us, and crashed into the tent set up by Yang Sang-gil¡¯s family, causing a small explosion.


    "Professor!"


    Yang Sang-gil shouted brightly, smiling.


    Bang!


    Gunshots came from an unexpected direction.


    "Huh?"


    Yang Sang-gil¡¯s head tilted slowly, like a puppet on strings.


    A soldier, who had been confirmed by Song Yu-jin, popped out and shot at Yang Sang-gil.


    The bullet struck his torso squarely.


    But Yang Sang-gil didn¡¯t fall.


    It might have been better if he had just collapsed.


    Boom!


    The grenade he had already pulled the pin from exploded in his hand.


    His torn hand and the fragments flew through the air as I dashed back up the slope.


    Tat-tat-tat!


    The soldier who killed Yang Sang-gil fired again.


    The distance, cover, and luck protected me from the bullets.


    When I crested the ridge, four soldiers staring straight ahead appeared.


    I charged downhill and rushed at them.


    The soldiers, realizing too late, looked toward the Awakened, but it couldn¡¯t protect them.


    Tat-tat-tat!


    It was too close to use a reflective shield.


    I wiped them out in one move and approached the Awakened.


    The small-framed Awakened glared at me with horrified eyes.


    "You... son of a¡ª"


    His eyes flashed.


    He was likely preparing another power.


    My axe was closer than his power.


    Crack!


    The axe cleaved into his skull.


    Checkmate.


    The king was captured.


    Next, it was the soldiers'' turn.


    "The Awakened is dead!"


    "Attack!"


    Led by Kim Min-ho, the soldiers from South Korea, who had been waiting quietly, launched a fierce counterattack.


    The raiders, losing their leader, scattered like chaff.


    The soldiers pursued them for quite a distance, setting all vehicles on fire and slaughtering the raiders.


    The massacre continued until evening.


    *


    ¡°I''m terribly sorry for being rude. I don¡¯t know how to apologize for this.¡±


    Kim Min-ho privately apologized to me.


    I told him it was fine.


    This wasn¡¯t a battlefield where we had time to care about minor rudeness.


    The situation was urgent, and many soldiers had died.


    The soldiers loaded the bodies of their fallen comrades, relatives, and subordinates onto trucks.


    ¡°Instructor.¡±


    Before Song Yu-jin left, she came to say goodbye.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I wanted to have dinner with you.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re sorry, don¡¯t come next time.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not it.¡±


    I gave her a lonely smile, hinting at her.


    ¡°Look behind you. They¡¯re all waiting.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll come next time.¡±


    She bowed with a smile on her face.


    I think this might have been the first time.


    The most respectful greeting I¡¯d ever received from my half-hearted student.


    Song Yu-jin got into the truck.


    Of course, she was in the passenger seat.


    In the back, soldiers, each with their own stories, were quietly savoring the aftertaste of their victory.


    One of the two trucks was loaded with corpses.


    There were no soldiers in it, but instead, Yang Sang-gil¡¯s family had filled the empty seats.


    It seemed they had decided to return to Incheon.


    ¡°Our hero, Park Gyu Hunter, salute!¡±


    Before Kim Min-ho left, all the soldiers saluted me.


    Saluting isn¡¯t a Hunter¡¯s custom, but I understood their feelings, so I accepted the salute military-style.


    After a brief exchange of eyes filled with many emotions, the trucks departed.


    The familiar silence returned to the old golf course grounds.


    Yang Sang-gil¡¯s body was not loaded onto the truck.


    His body, along with the raiders'' corpses, was carelessly abandoned inside the bunker.


    Like the raider I had killed before, his body was barely covered with a bit of dirt, never properly buried.


    No common condolences, not even a single flower.


    This was the miserable and pitiful end of a man who once held such power in South Korea.


    At least, to his family, Yang Sang-gil was a hero.


    He had to have been a hero.


    In the way he clung to the idea of family, even after becoming a demon.


    Yet none of his family bothered to take care of or even recover the body of their head of the family.


    Perhaps that¡¯s why.


    Yang Sang-gil rose again.


    With his face, now unrecognizable and destroyed, the zombie stumbled toward the wilderness.


    It was just a feeling, but it seemed like the zombie followed the path the trucks had taken as they departed.


    Bang!


    ¡°...¡±


    It was the clumsy end of a clumsy family.


    In the dim light, things gently descended from the sky.


    It was snow.

 Chapter 68

    The survival methods of our doomsday enthusiasts are black and white.


    There''s no definitive answer as to what''s right.


    Each person''s circumstances and situations are different.


    Still, when you step back and look at it, surviving as a person is generally the same.


    Amidst countless differences, there''s always something to learn.


    Take my neighbor Rebecca, for instance. She¡¯s surprisingly skilled in gathering and hunting.


    She spends the whole day watching for Koreans from the top of the building, but once the sun sets, she and her daughter wander around for gathering activities.


    Sometimes, she uses batteries to send electricity through a creek to catch a large number of fish.


    She says she learned these skills while living in Canada¡¯s forests when she was young, and though she tries to downplay it, there¡¯s no denying that these skills have contributed to her and her daughter¡¯s survival.


    But relying on luck to hunt each time won¡¯t get you all the food you need every day.


    Their move is probably imminent.


    Meanwhile, my other neighbor, Defender, has made a name for himself on the internet as a killer, but I actually want to give him more credit for his skills as a scavenger.


    He really gets around.@@@@


    Not just within the metropolitan area, but all the way to the Chungcheong and Gangwon regions, he¡¯s been all over the place.


    ¡°I¡¯ve even been to the border of Hwanghaedo,¡± he said once while drinking coffee when I met him in person.


    ¡°Hwanghaedo? North Korea? Isn''t that an erosion zone?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Parts of it have been eroded, but some areas are still fine. The erosion around Paju is pretty severe, so I thought it would be the same up north, but if you move away from the gates, it''s fine. Not that there are no monsters or mutations, but it¡¯s still doable.¡±


    I asked him if it wasn¡¯t dangerous to be out there so often.


    ¡°It¡¯s dangerous,¡± Defender replied.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    His younger sibling, who was working on the computer, also glanced over.


    ¡°But,¡± they both said simultaneously.


    Defender¡¯s younger sibling gave a look, urging Defender to speak first, and then he turned to me and continued.


    ¡°In the long run, that might actually be safer. You can always move to another shelter if things get risky, and there are resource issues to consider. We¡¯re living here because we¡¯ve been wandering around to secure these connections.¡±


    At the time, Defender¡¯s words seemed plausible.


    It was similar to my original idea of keeping ties with Seoul when I first built the bunker: taking small risks to prepare for larger ones and securing connections.


    What Defender said stuck with me recently.


    ¡°There¡¯s surprisingly a lot of supplies in the outskirts. The government gave rapid evacuation orders, so they pushed people into the big cities. The areas with good access have already been cleared by scavengers, but there are places that are harder to reach. If you can find those spots, you can make a decent profit.¡±


    The life of a scavenger.


    It¡¯s a lifestyle I never considered before the war.


    But given how the collapse of the world has been delayed, and the people I need to take care of are slowly growing, securing more resources has become essential.


    ¡°I like winter,¡± Defender said.


    ¡°Why? Do you like it? Because it¡¯s cold here? It¡¯s cold for the people who might target us, too. And when it gets cold, most people will light fires. If they don¡¯t, they¡¯ll freeze to death. You can tell where people are just by the smoke. That¡¯s why I prefer winter.¡±


    I decided to adopt Defender¡¯s advice.


    I wasn¡¯t going to become a full-fledged scavenger, but I wanted to at least scout the areas around me, those I didn¡¯t know well.


    The weather was just right.


    Minus two degrees.


    With a few hand warmers, some basic fuel, and winter gear I had jointly ordered from the U.S. with John Nae-non, I was set for a spring-like temperature.


    I donned a white poncho and relied on a bicycle to leave the bunker.


    The area I intended to explore was uncharted territory: the south.


    It hadn¡¯t seemed necessary to explore the Gold Pack¡¯s territory when they were around, but now that they had moved on, I needed to familiarize myself with the terrain.


    Breathing out white mist, I headed south, wearing a white outfit in the white landscape.


    The southern region wasn¡¯t a place I often visited even before the war.


    There was no real need to go.


    I¡¯d been a few times, riding a truck to try the delicious tofu stew at a famous place, but that was it.


    It wasn¡¯t a city, the roads weren¡¯t good, and the scenery wasn¡¯t even remotely attractive.


    It was a typical area mixing rural farmlands with small factories.


    As expected, not long after, a feed factory appeared, half-collapsed and rusting.


    I carefully checked inside with a firearm.


    Nothing.


    It had already been scavenged by people, and the animals had followed after, but now, there was only scrap metal, no more usable goods¡ªjust the remains of a fish left behind.


    It wouldn¡¯t even make a good shelter.


    It was the only noticeable building within several kilometers, on flat ground, with no living facilities.


    Beyond the factory were snow-covered fields and a few scattered homes.


    I searched through each of them.


    ¡°...¡±


    This was quite late to be searching.


    It wasn¡¯t right after the war, but almost three years later, I was still digging through places like this.


    There might have been something useful, but it was no good now.


    I found a few cans and some ramen, but they had all gone bad.


    The cans were swollen like dead cows, and the ramen had been eaten by mold in its package.


    There were no bodies.


    It looked like everyone had evacuated.


    There was a large jar of liquor with mountain roots, but it seemed someone had already opened the lid and taken all the contents.


    Sitting on the veranda, I drank some sweet coffee mix from a thermos, replenishing my energy and stamina.


    Ding ding¡ª


    The wind chimes tied on the veranda made a pleasant sound.


    ¡°Wind chimes.¡±


    I thought about taking them with me, but what use would they be in the bunker?


    I decided to just enjoy the sound for a moment.


    After a short rest, I headed toward the town along the road.


    The southern town was more run-down and devoid of people than the eastern town where the Gold Pack had lived.


    Luckily, there was a famous temple nearby, and a few large restaurants still catered to people who had visited the temple.


    The tofu stew shop I had visited a few times was one of those businesses.


    The shop, which had always been crowded, was now collapsing with half its roof gone.


    I squeezed through the entrance, filled with trash and weeds, and turned on my lantern to examine the inside.


    ¡°Her friend died?¡±


    ¡°She turned into a tomb or something.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    It seems she was still playing Monster Park. I had heard that the cold snap had come earlier to the U.S. and Europe. Perhaps that was one of the victims.


    The severe cold hadn¡¯t yet reached Korea, but it would soon.


    ¡°Ske-llton!¡±


    Rebecca appeared at the stairs, her eyes bloodshot, looking worn out.


    ¡°What should I do? My friend Bob is dead...¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Ske-llton?¡±


    ¡°When are you coming?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s...¡± Rebecca averted her gaze, clearly avoiding the question.


    I understood her intention. She still wasn¡¯t ready to leave.


    People change their minds frequently, but sometimes it¡¯s for the better.


    ¡°Next time.¡±


    ¡°There might not be a next time.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because I might take someone else in.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Are things okay over there?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I guess.¡±


    As Rebecca turned her gaze away, Sue walked over to her and pinched her thigh.


    ¡°Sue! What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Say the truth!¡±


    Sue looked her mother straight in the eye and spoke sharply.


    Rebecca slumped her shoulders, sighed, and looked at me.


    ¡°Actually, two weeks ago, we got some supplies.¡±


    ¡°Supplies?¡±


    Rebecca nodded and directed Sue to fetch something.


    Sue soon returned with a pile of cans in her arms.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°There was a trailer that had fallen on the outskirts of the village. It had been there for a while, but this time, Sue and I used a wrench and welding tools to open the door. And then...¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying you hit the lotto, right?¡±


    ¡°Lotto? Yeah!¡±


    I couldn¡¯t tell how much of her story was true.


    She might have found more supplies than I had, or perhaps just enough to survive a few weeks.


    One thing was certain: unless she decided otherwise, she wasn¡¯t leaving.


    The real reason became clear soon after.


    ¡°...We got to know some U.S. soldiers,¡± Rebecca said, avoiding my gaze, speaking in a low voice.


    ¡°U.S. soldiers?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. While I was active on Viva! Apocalypse!, I found out there were U.S. soldiers here in Korea too. They¡¯re camped out, and recently I made contact with them. When the weather clears, they¡¯ll send some people this way.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡±


    Rebecca carefully nodded, glancing at me before looking at Sue, who was now sucking on something in a worried manner.


    ¡°...I heard there are kids over there.¡±


    ¡°Kids.¡±


    ¡°I want to find some friends for Sue.¡±


    Rebecca seemed apologetic.


    As I looked at her, I quietly asked, ¡°Fuel is running low, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s blue eyes flickered slightly. She then gently gripped the fabric of her pants and lowered her head.


    ¡°...Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll send some fuel tomorrow. Just don¡¯t shoot anything.¡±


    It would be a lie to say I wasn¡¯t feeling a bit disappointed.


    Though the feeling of inconvenience was stronger, there had been some hope in living with an old neighbor again. But she had made her decision.


    Objectively speaking, this might be the ideal outcome.


    If the sniper mother-daughter duo could leave safely, without burdening my mind, maybe that would be the real lottery win.


    Just as I was turning to leave, Rebecca suddenly leaned her forehead against my shoulder.


    The weight on my shoulder felt lighter than I expected.


    It wasn¡¯t just her weight I felt, though.


    I could sense her trembling, the heartbeat of her life, an indescribable sensation that flowed through her forehead and reached my body.


    ¡°...Meeting you, Skelton, has been a blessing. This kindness... I don¡¯t know how to repay it.¡±


    Her voice broke with emotion.


    It was a bit surprising.


    I never expected her to convey this much sincerity after all the hostility she had shown me.


    ¡°...¡±


    For a brief moment, I felt something empty inside me fill up.


    But it was fleeting.


    ¡°...Mom?¡±


    Sue was staring at us! She was staring hard!


    ¡°What, are you saying you¡¯re leaving already? She might misunderstand, so get your head off her and look away.¡±


    I pushed Rebecca away and gave Sue a thumbs-up.


    Sue smirked and gave me a thumbs-up in return.


    As they were leaving, Sue said,


    ¡°Skelton, I hope you win that lottery.¡±


    ¡°I hope so too.¡±


    The place where the lotto ticket was stuck was, of course, right next to Sue and my black sheet.


    That means, the lottery I was talking about... I haven¡¯t scratched it yet.

 Chapter 69.1

    Even people with little interest in current affairs have probably heard the name Melon Musk at least once.


    By his early twenties, he had already made billions by creating an online payment system. From cutting-edge electric cars to artificial intelligence and space exploration, he turned one advanced technology project after another into massive successes, becoming a global celebrity.


    He¡¯s also the creator of our forum.


    There¡¯s debate over whether his Obelisk System is based on quantum communication or not, but it¡¯s undeniable that it far surpasses traditional satellite communication systems in performance. The same goes for Viva! Apocalypse!, the community paired with it. Both were passion projects funded by Melon Musk, not for profit, but purely for his own interests.


    It¡¯s no secret that Musk had an obsession with ¡°community.¡±


    How much so? He once spent several trillion won to acquire the underperforming social media platform TweetBook simply because he wanted to use it as he pleased.


    This showy entrepreneur, who wanted to be seen as a pioneer of cutting-edge technology, is presumed dead following the outbreak of war.


    Why? Because someone who loved attention as much as Musk would surely take charge of Viva! Apocalypse! if he were alive¡ªbut he hasn¡¯t.


    Some speculate that he was vaporized by one of the 72 nuclear missiles that hit California. Others say his private jet was caught in a blast''s shockwave and crashed.


    Then there¡¯s the more outlandish theory that he traveled to another world through a mysterious portal in the Bermuda Triangle.


    Rebecca is a staunch believer in the third theory.


    ¡°Melon Musk went to another world!¡± she insists.


    The most grounded explanation is that someone close to Musk¡ªperhaps a disgruntled family member or bodyguard¡ªkilled him during the chaos of war and took over his assets. However, on the English forums, which could be considered Musk¡¯s home turf, the prevailing theory is that he¡¯s alive and in space.


    Rumors of Musk building a space refuge circulated even before the war, and there were credible references to support them. It was confirmed that several massive rockets were launched in quick succession from Musk¡¯s space center shortly before the war began.


    The theory is that Melon Musk is currently living comfortably in a self-sufficient, cutting-edge space bunker.


    Rebecca once showed me some ¡°concept art¡± of Musk¡¯s space colony, and it looked straight out of science fiction.


    Still, even for someone like Musk, isn¡¯t that too far-fetched?


    A space bunker?@@@@


    Even the President of the United States is said to be living in an underground bunker.


    Well, my bunker might be smaller and less costly than theirs, but I, Park Gyu, am content with it.


    Vrrrr¡ª


    The boiler hums as it efficiently burns old diesel fuel.


    Hiss¡ª


    The steam radiator releases faint vapor, driving away the cold seeping into the room.


    Even the unprecedented Arctic cold snap had no effect on Skelton House.


    In this stable comfort, I¡¯ve recently been engrossed in a new project.


    I¡¯m planning to convert the mini Skelton House, located next to the hut where Rebecca and her daughter were supposed to live, into a sauna.


    The inspiration came from a survivalist DVD series I had stashed before the war.


    I was deeply impressed by scenes of Finns building saunas to endure Arctic winters.


    The work isn¡¯t particularly challenging. I just need to remodel the somewhat shabby mini Skelton House into something more presentable. Using industrial-grade plastic sheeting I ¡°appropriated¡± from my old company, I can create a sauna tent, lay down fragrant wood like cypress or cedar, and build seating.


    There aren¡¯t any cypress or birch trees nearby, but I¡¯ve seen junipers planted near the family graves on a sunny slope of the mountain across the way.


    I drove my truck there, cut down some trees without hesitation, and got to work.


    Winter may be cold, but it¡¯s actually convenient for this kind of labor. The colder it gets, the less active humans and animals become, and the whitened landscape makes it easier to spot any approaching threats.


    I spent an entire day cutting and shaping the juniper wood with a handsaw to create the interior materials for the Skelton sauna.


    It was physically demanding and energy-draining work, but it felt good.


    There¡¯s something therapeutic about it, I suppose.


    To be honest, Rebecca¡¯s decision to leave shook me a little.


    It seems I¡¯ve grown attached to them.


    To clear my mind, I figured it was better to do something physically engaging and productive rather than dwell on the internet.


    After all, browsing the forums in this day and age rarely brings good news.


    No food, no fuel, cries for help.


    Those are the kinds of posts that have been flooding the board lately.


    One user even uploaded a photo of themselves lying in their bunker, begging for donations like a homeless person.


    If they were nearby, I might have considered helping, but they were far out of my reach.


    It¡¯s been nearly three years since the war began.


    Even the survivalists on our forum, who had meticulously prepared for doomsday, are reaching their limits.


    ¡°Hello, everyone!¡±


    The real-time translated text appeared above a gaunt, unkempt man with disheveled hair, a scruffy beard, and hollow eyes. He raised a skeletal hand and waved at the camera.


    It was unmistakably him.


    Though he had become thin, his piercing eyes and facial contours left no doubt¡ªthis was the legendary genius entrepreneur, Melon Musk.


    ¡°I got in touch with headquarters, and thankfully, it¡¯s still operational. So before my time runs out, I¡¯ve prepared a surprise gift for all you doomsday enthusiasts!¡±


    Musk displayed a message on the screen:


    <Viva! Apocalypse! Surprise Event>


    Apply now to participate in Live! Apocalypse! and be featured in the first-ever broadcast!


    ¡°...¡±


    Thump.


    My heart raced.


    The same razor-sharp instincts that had killed countless monsters and mutations quickly noticed the change on the forum.


    There it was.


    A new tab in the top left corner of the screen: Live! Apocalypse!


    I clicked on it.


    <Live! Apocalypse!>


    Enter your broadcast topic in the chat below. Real-time translation is provided, so feel free to use your native language!


    Taptaptap.


    SKELTON: Beatboxing.


    ¡°...¡±


    I didn¡¯t care if Woo Min-hee found out.


    If I could go down in history as the first to participate in this monumental event, showcasing an ideal vision of humanity¡¯s final chapter, I would have no regrets.


    And if I could introduce beatboxing¡ªmy specialty¡ªas a cultural artifact, all the better.


    A reply came swiftly.


    VIVA_BOT014: Beatboxing? Submit a short demo by clicking the Live button.


    I hit the button and unleashed my practiced skills with all my might.


    ¡°Boom-tss-ka-tss-boom-ka...¡±


    Suddenly, an English message popped up.


    You have been banned!


    ¡°?¡±


    The message translated into Korean in real time:


    You have been forcibly removed!


    ¡°What?!¡±


    I rushed to my laptop and furiously typed out complaints in the chat, but it seemed I had been permanently banned. My messages wouldn¡¯t send.


    As I took deep breaths to calm myself, I noticed the Live! indicator flashing in the corner of the screen.


    Could it be? Had someone else gained broadcasting rights?


    ¡°...Hoo.¡±


    Suppressing my anger, I clicked the Live! button.


    Suddenly, the screen displayed a pale gray background.


    There was breathing¡ªharsh, gurgling, but full of life.


    In the background, faint rustling noises and what sounded like a baby murmuring could be heard.


    The clarity of the video and audio was staggering, reminiscent of pre-war high-definition broadcasts.


    The camera shifted, revealing another scene.


    It was a desolate city, shrouded in ash-gray mist. Between the spectral high-rises, dim, ghostly white lights flickered ominously.


    ¡°...¡±


    There was no doubt about it.


    It was an erosion zone.


    And not just any erosion zone¡ªit had once been a massive metropolis.


    Where could it be? India? China?


    As I tried to deduce its location from the hazy skyline, an unsettlingly familiar, yet deeply unwelcome sound emanated from the speakers.


    ¡°...Nom.¡±

 Chapter 69.2

    It was unmistakable.


    The voice, the tone¡ªthis was Baek Seung-hyun, my senior, who had disappeared into China.


    But how was he still alive?


    Most of China had long fallen to the monsters, leaving only a few isolated regions untouched. Especially the ruins shown in the live broadcast¡ªthey were nothing short of an alien landscape.


    Yet, there he was.


    coral8108: "What the hell is that?"


    XDs_Grrrrr: "That¡¯s Shanghai! Shanghai for sure!"


    Anonymous 13: "I thought all of China was completely overrun?"


    L-V-R-M: "It is. This streamer is broadcasting from within an erosion zone!"


    Anonymous 100: "I applied for a live stream and got banned. Now I think I know why."


    Rupert Gauser: "Unbelievable."


    gijayangban: "?"


    Suddenly, a new feature appeared at the top of the screen: real-time chat from Viva! Apocalypse! users watching the broadcast.


    And, of course, our world¡¯s creator, Melon Musk, chimed in with a larger, more colorful font than anyone else¡¯s.


    MELON_MASK: "The current streamer is a Korean account holder with the nickname Dongtanmom! Hello, Dongtanmom!"


    Instead of responding verbally, Dongtanmom¡ªor perhaps his wife¡ªheld up a sketchbook to the camera. Scrawled across it in large, childlike crayon letters was one word:


    "YES."


    The reaction from the viewers was explosive.


    Anonymous 13: "Haha! This person is hilarious!"


    L-V-R-M: "To keep a sense of humor in such dire circumstances¡ªimpressive."


    demolition''86: "How are they even alive?"


    yamasakiem: "How did they get to China?"


    I_HATE_NY: "Show me your face, my love."


    unicorn18: "Hee hee."


    Ohio9: "Hey! Who¡¯s that woman next to you?"


    mmmmmmmmm: "Cheers to the house! Pour me a drink!"@@@@


    Meanwhile, Melon Musk naturally took the lead in hosting the broadcast.


    MELON_MASK: "Hey, Dongtanmom! Your footage of Shanghai is impressive, but is that all? There are others waiting to stream, so should I cut the connection soon?"


    In response, the screen suddenly swayed left and right. Clearly, Dongtanmom was shaking their head.


    A sketchbook appeared again, with hastily scrawled letters:


    "SHOW TIME."


    Showtime? What could that mean?


    As everyone pondered the mystery, a deep, resonant foghorn sound rumbled through the speakers.


    Bwooooooooom¡ª


    Dongtanmom¡¯s "showtime" had begun.


    Suddenly, the camera view lifted into the air, as though they were flying like Superman.


    But the truth was far less mystical¡ªa crane.


    The close-up showed a bearded man atop a towering crane, giving a thumbs-up as he operated it. The camera panned downward to reveal a massive container ship below.


    This wasn¡¯t just any ship¡ªit was likely the Hope, the flagship of a refugee fleet.


    Once teeming with desperate survivors, its deck now lay eerily empty, as though everyone had been swept away by waves.


    Dongtanmom¡¯s view moved past the desolate deck and toward the gray ruins of the city. As the camera descended sharply, the sound of a heavy thud echoed, followed by the chaotic moans of zombies rising in the background.


    Dongtanmom¡¯s sprint began.


    Their destination: a half-destroyed warehouse beyond the docks.


    Inside, red eyes gleamed in the darkness, filling the screen as the zombies awakened.


    Dongtanmom held a grenade up to the camera, pulled the pin, and hurled it at the horde.


    Boom!


    The explosion momentarily obscured the screen with dust and debris. When the smoke cleared, stacks of what appeared to be Chinese military combat rations were revealed.


    Dongtanmom hoisted the boxes high and declared triumphantly:


    "Nom!"


    The screen then shifted upward, showing hundreds of zombies and unidentified grayish creatures chasing after them. As Dongtanmom ascended, leaving the chaos behind, the camera turned toward the ship''s deck.


    A few people stood on the deck, waving at the approaching figure.


    Dongtanmom landed with a dramatic flourish, covering the camera with their hand before delivering the final line:


    "Nom nom."


    It was... honestly, impressive.


    A man living in a hot air balloon.A survivalist thriving primitively in the Canadian wilderness.A radiation-poisoned individual documenting their solitary life in a dead city.A resilient animator presenting a self-made short film.


    MELON_MASK: "...Though I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll last another week."


    The chat erupted with questions.


    X¡¯De_Grrrrr: "Why?"


    Jekyll: "Why?"


    Hashire V4: "Why?"


    Defender: "Why?"


    siao_Xin: "Why?"


    Anonymous 101: "Why?"


    Rupert_Gauser: "Why?"


    gijayangban: "Why?"


    Thisaki: "Why?"


    SKELTON: "Whaaa?"


    I contributed my own reaction, but moments later, a warning window popped up:


    <Administrator account "VIVA BOT014" has suspended your chat privileges for 24 hours due to ¡®malicious trolling.¡¯>


    - For early reinstatement, please contact the help center.


    "What?!"


    What had I done wrong?


    Did I somehow end up on their radar? By VIVABOT014 of all people¡ªa mere underling?


    Still, there wasn¡¯t much time to dwell on my frustration. Before I could submit an appeal, Melon Musk shared a grim update on his condition.


    MELON_MASK: "Sorry to say, but I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll make it another week. I¡¯m out of food and water. To survive, I¡¯d need to reclaim the other modules, but in my current state, restoring Plus Ultra is impossible."


    His death seemed imminent.


    The image he had shown earlier¡ªa man wasted away from prolonged malnutrition¡ªwas a haunting reflection of his reality.


    MELON_MASK: "But even if I¡¯m gone, Live! Apocalypse! will continue. Dongtanmom, as a token of appreciation, our HQ will send you a solar-powered long-range drone with a small gift. Now, let¡¯s hear Dongtanmom¡¯s message."


    Melon Musk granted Dongtanmom special chat privileges.


    Unlike the standard chat displayed at the top of the screen, Dongtanmom¡¯s golden-highlighted message appeared prominently in the center.


    What would they say?


    I half-expected their usual catchphrase, ¡°Nom nom.¡±


    But the actual message shattered my expectations.


    dongtanmom: "Why are you giving up?"


    "...?"


    dongtanmom: "Why give up? My family was abandoned in China, yet we¡¯re still alive. And you still have the strength to send us these messages. If you have doubts, ask for our help. Isn¡¯t that what Viva! Apocalypse! is for?"


    Coming from someone who scavenged equipment from the dead without paying a dime to Melon Musk, the words carried a surprising weight.


    Even after their stunning broadcast, Dongtanmom¡¯s message struck a deeper chord, resonating with everyone watching.


    MELON_MASK: "Dongtanmom... ?????"


    dongtanmom: "Tell us exactly what you¡¯re facing. There are hunters among us who might be able to help."


    The moment I saw that message, I rushed to change my username.


    [Change SKELTON to professor?]


    Click.


    [Sorry! This username already exists!]


    "Damn it..."


    While I momentarily veered off course, Live! Apocalypse! transitioned into its next chapter.


    The screen revealed the dark, weightless void of space.


    Droplets of blood, now blackened, floated in the zero-gravity environment.


    Melon Musk, guided by advice from Dongtanmom and other users, began devising survival strategies with the limited resources at his disposal.


    MELON_MASK: "I don¡¯t have firearms. There¡¯s a blunt weapon, but I don¡¯t have the strength to use it. I¡¯ve got a few drones, but they¡¯re useless in zero gravity and can¡¯t even kill a zombie with their current 16V power supply."


    MELON_MASK: "Some assembly is possible, though."


    MELON_MASK: "Compressed air? I think I had something like that lying around."


    MELON_MASK: "I¡¯ll give it a try."


    The cosmic-scale drama unfolding before us could only be titled:


    "Saving Melon Musk."

 Chapter 69.3

    The Melon Musk Space Bunker Plus Ultra consisted of five main modules and one empty reserve module. Its layout was roughly as follows:


    Living - Hydroponics - Control (Tunnel) Empty (Tunnel) Power - Reserve - Workshop


    As shown, the modules formed a ring around an empty central area, resembling a donut.


    Melon Musk was currently stationed in the Living Module, where fortunately, he retained system control over the other modules. This control extended to regulating temperature, ventilation, water supply, power distribution, and shutter operations.


    However, the Workshop Module, where the escape rocket was located, could not be accessed or controlled from the other modules unless:


    The Master Authentication Key was used.Approval actions were executed at the system terminals in all four other modules.


    This restriction existed to prevent someone from impulsively using the rocket to escape back to Earth, driven by a sudden bout of homesickness.


    The Living Module and the Hydroponics Module were exceptions, but all other modules were filled with former colleagues of Melon Musk¡ªnow turned into zombies, floating weightlessly in zero gravity.


    As for the Workshop Module, its situation could not be observed from other modules. However, Melon Musk and Donald McGarry knew that zombies were present there, as they had encountered them during an earlier attempt to flee using the escape rocket.


    Each module was equipped with its own emergency shelter and food storage to prepare for the destruction or loss of other modules.


    The emergency rations and water supply in each module were of the highest quality, sufficient for over three months. There were also ample oxygen canisters for worst-case scenarios.


    Securing just one module would drastically extend Melon Musk¡¯s precarious lifespan.


    This sparked a flood of ideas from thousands of users.


    Click-clack, click-clack.


    A notification popped up:


    [Alert!] SKELTON has been banned from the live channel!


    - Ban duration: 23:45 remaining.


    I had also posted an idea, but unfortunately, I was banned. My top-tier suggestion never saw the light of day.


    Meanwhile, a glaring problem emerged¡ªtoo many cooks in the kitchen.


    Melon Musk recognized this issue and posted a notice:


    MELON_MASK:


    Thanks for all the suggestions, but there are just too many. It¡¯s getting chaotic. I appreciate everyone¡¯s help, but please be more thoughtful before posting. And prank posts? I¡¯ll be filtering them out using staff assistance.


    For those watching the live broadcast, let me clarify: the VIVA_BOT helpers are not AI. They¡¯re loyal employees who stayed with the company after the war.


    So, they were human after all. No wonder I felt the emotion behind the ban.


    Soon, only suggestions that passed the strict screening by the VIVA_BOT team appeared in the central chat for selected participants:


    Jekyll: How about using the shutters as weapons? They¡¯re strong enough to sever a person¡¯s leg, so they should easily slice up zombies.desertfox: You¡¯ve got oxygen tanks, right? Can¡¯t you repurpose them as air-powered weapons, like the killer used in No Country for Old Men?BongoXL: You mentioned drones. A 16V battery might not carry a heavy oxygen tank, but in zero gravity? Equip the drones with modified air cannons and remotely fire at the zombies'' heads.VexHexSex: What if you reinforced the shutters with mesh netting? You could lure zombies into the net, trap them, and crush them with the shutter like a guillotine.mmmmmmmmm (Zombie Studies Expert): Zombies struggle on steep inclines.


    These were solid ideas, even better than what I had thought of.


    Zero gravity was an unfamiliar battleground for me. As a hunter, I was accustomed to using my skills and strength to kill zombies, mutations, and monsters¡ªoften effortlessly, like Cheon Young-jae dancing while dispatching the undead.


    From the perspective of ordinary people, however, crafting practical solutions might seem daunting.


    My idea involved attaching an oxygen-propelled rocket to an axe¡ªa space adaptation of the Rocket Axe my mentor, Jang Ki-young, had invented.


    MELON_MASK: Thanks for the suggestions about air cannons, shutters, and nets. I¡¯ll give them a try.


    It was fascinating to watch a global celebrity show gratitude and grapple with survival challenges live.


    While he worked, I made a bland but nourishing porridge from Femicon and boiled water. After a spoonful, I felt marginally refreshed and began grinding some of DragonC¡¯s coffee beans.


    Suddenly, my communicator buzzed¡ªit was Rebecca, not Defender.


    "Skelton!"


    "Yeah, what¡¯s up?"


    "Are you watching Viva! Apocalypse! right now?"


    "Yep."


    "Why aren¡¯t you submitting any ideas?"


    "Me?"


    "Yeah! You¡¯re so strong¡ªyou¡¯ve fought monsters solo. When I told American hunters about you, they thought I was lying!"


    "Well, it¡¯s just luck."


    "It¡¯s not luck! You¡¯re really strong!"


    Static crackled, and the voice switched¡ªit was Sue.


    Spread a net in zero gravity.Lure zombies into it and entangle them.Use drones to haul the net and zombies toward the shutters.Crush them with the shutter, guillotine-style.The Living ModuleThe Power ModuleThe Water ModuleThe Hydroponics ModuleThe Reserve ModuleThe entry point to the Workshop Module


    The shutter opened, revealing the Water Module, with its transparent tanks filled to the brim. Air bubbles floated within, illuminated by the sterile, artificial light.


    A zombie drifted aimlessly alongside the rounded globules of water, oblivious to Melon Musk¡¯s presence.


    I couldn¡¯t quite put my finger on it, but something about that zombie felt off.


    ¡°...Hmm.¡±


    Melon threw the net.


    His first attempt was clumsy.


    Unlike his practice sessions, the net failed to spread properly. Frustrated, he reeled it back in and threw it again.


    There was no need to exert much force. In zero gravity, even a weak throw wouldn¡¯t result in the net falling to the floor.


    Like a slow-motion scene, the net drifted through the air and perfectly wrapped around the zombie.


    Direct hit.


    However, the zombie remained motionless.


    Melon Musk boldly stepped beyond the shutter and shouted:


    ¡°James! James! I have to confess something¡ªI slept with your wife!¡±


    The zombie turned its head, baring its teeth.


    It reacted.


    Thrashing wildly, it lunged at Melon Musk, its movements a frenzied blur. Whether the zombie¡¯s rage was fueled by Melon¡¯s confession or just primal instincts, even I couldn¡¯t say.


    The important thing was that, just as Defender had predicted, the zombie was now hopelessly entangled in the net.


    Melon Musk deployed the drone.


    The drone wasn¡¯t powerful, but it was precise.


    The moment it touched the thrashing zombie, Melon used the remote control to secure the net with the attached hook, dragging the captured zombie toward the shutter.


    The sight of the zombie floating helplessly, its limbs bound by the net, was oddly surreal, almost dreamlike.


    When the zombie reached the shutter¡¯s edge, Melon spoke in a mournful tone:


    ¡°James, you¡¯re fired.¡±


    The shutter came down.


    CRUNCH!


    The heavy shutter, which had once severed Melon¡¯s leg, now crushed the zombie¡¯s skull like a potato.


    HashireV4: He did it!


    Anonymous101: Amazing!


    dongtangmom: Good job!


    Defender: Well done!


    Thisaki: Wow!!!!


    COOKIEMONSTER123: Great work!


    Terry F: Nice!


    Madisonbridge: Melon! That was incredible!


    mmmmmmmmm: Kyaaaahhh!!!!


    The once-silent chat exploded with messages, flooding the screen with praise.


    I wanted to join in but, unfortunately, I couldn¡¯t.


    Instead, I focused on the zombie¡¯s lifeless body beneath the shutter.


    When I first saw the zombie, something had felt off.


    Now I understood why.


    As Melon retrieved the net from the crushed zombie, I realized what had been bothering me:


    Other than its head, the zombie¡¯s body was remarkably intact¡ªfar too intact for something that had encountered a savage mutation like Bumpy.


    This wasn¡¯t the work of the sloth mutation.


    Unless Bumpy had a peculiar habit of killing humans with just enough force to leave their bodies otherwise unharmed, this was the result of human intervention.


    I reached for my communicator to inform Defender, but then I saw something strange on the live feed.


    The CCTV for the Workshop Module showed something.


    The once-empty circular window now displayed a dark, shadowy figure.


    Soon, the shadow took shape.


    Through the blurry glass, a face appeared¡ªclear and unmistakably human.

 Chapter 69.4

    Another survivor exists.


    Melon Musk discovered this right after killing the first zombie and securing the Water Module.


    ¡°Someone¡¯s in the Workshop Module?¡±


    Melon¡¯s expression twisted in disbelief.


    ¡°That¡¯s impossible. They¡¯re all dead. Every single one of them¡ªexcept me!¡±


    When asked if it could be a stowaway, Melon vehemently denied it.


    ¡°Impossible. Even the most skilled stowaway couldn¡¯t hide in this sealed space for half a year without being spotted by six other people.¡±


    One user, ohio, suggested:


    ohio: ¡°How about closing all the shutters for now?¡±


    Following the suggestion, Melon sealed the shutters of both the Living Module and the Water Module. As the shutters descended, spreading the dark, viscous zombie blood into spherical droplets in zero gravity, we all stared at the circular window of the Workshop Module, waiting.


    But nothing appeared at the window again.


    Still, the fact remained¡ªsomeone had appeared there.


    Melon Musk was visibly shaken. The thrill of killing a zombie and the fear sparked by an unknown survivor were too much for his weakened body to handle. He slumped against a wall, nibbling on newly secured space rations to recover his strength.


    Despite his exhaustion, his attention-seeking nature persisted. As he ate, he rambled about how the space food was made, the methods involved, and how it tasted.


    While Melon recovered, the Viva! Apocalypse! chat buzzed with wild speculation about the mysterious survivor.


    The dominant theory? A stowaway.


    If, as Melon claimed, all the crew members were dead, then the only explanation was that someone had hidden aboard.


    But how could anyone sneak onto the Plus Ultra, traversing tens of thousands of kilometers through the vacuum of space at -270¡ãC?


    Vension: ¡°Maybe one of the crew secretly brought along a family member. If they conspired to hide someone without telling Melon, it would make sense.¡±


    Melon rebutted this theory, explaining that for six months prior to the incident, all food, water, and supplies were strictly monitored. Furthermore, the CCTV feed we were watching was equipped with facial recognition technology¡ªdirectly sourced from China.


    ¡°And you know how good they are at that stuff, right?¡± Melon added with a hint of pride.


    Some users proposed an alternative:


    Jekyll: ¡°What if it¡¯s a zombie? Maybe it just looks human because of the lighting or some coincidence.¡±


    Melon Musk dismissed this but decided to wait and see. For now, recovering his strength and resupplying his nutrients took priority.


    Thus, the space mukbang began.


    Melon¡¯s appetite exceeded my expectations. For quite a while, he diligently devoured space rations, chewing with gusto. Finally, he patted his stomach and stood up.


    ¡°Alright, time to find out who¡ªor what¡ªthey are.¡±


    Melon operated the computer terminal to analyze the recorded face from the camera.


    ¡°What the...?¡±


    His reaction was immediate¡ªhe recoiled from the screen in shock.


    ¡°Donald?!¡±


    He leaned back toward the monitor, practically pressing his face to the screen to confirm.


    ¡°It¡¯s him. It¡¯s Donald. The same Donald who said he couldn¡¯t work with me and left for space!¡±


    We couldn¡¯t answer why Donald was there.


    We weren¡¯t on the Plus Ultra. We didn¡¯t know the environment or how external access worked. That mystery was for Melon to solve.


    After pacing around, Melon seemed to piece something together. He nodded to himself and murmured:


    ¡°He must¡¯ve cut the lifeline and jumped straight to the Workshop Module. From my perspective, it looked like he drifted into space, but with the Plus Ultra¡¯s donut-shaped structure, he must¡¯ve moved to another module and entered through its hatch.¡±


    The mystery unraveled surprisingly quickly. The real issue was what came next.


    ¡°Donald. What¡¯s he planning...? Oh no.¡±


    Melon¡¯s body trembled.


    ¡°He¡¯s going to take the rocket and return to Earth¡ªalone!¡±


    The chat erupted with questions:


    ¡°Isn¡¯t the return rocket secured with strict protocols?¡±


    Melon nodded.


    ¡°It is. But before he went into space, I gave Donald the Master Key. Why? To repair the communication system. He fixed it, and that¡¯s why I can talk to all of you now.¡±@@@@


    Melon hadn¡¯t yet considered the possibility that Donald had killed the other crew members. Someone needed to bring him back to reality.


    Theoretically, Donald might realize his mistake and reconcile with Melon, but the odds of that happening were as slim as finding breathable air in the vacuum of space.


    Three hours.


    As the final countdown ticked away, the Viva! Apocalypse! users brainstormed frantically to save Melon.


    Yet, most suggestions were impractical, requiring risks that the fragile Melon simply couldn¡¯t take.


    The most viable option was to eject the Workshop Module from the Plus Ultra entirely, but that would leave Melon adrift in space forever.


    Sure, Melon¡¯s company might send another rocket to rescue him someday, but the chances of that were even slimmer than Melon defeating Donald in hand-to-hand combat.


    Time flew by in the rising tension. One hour passed, then two.


    The chat continued to fill with user suggestions:


    ohio: "Turn an oxygen tank into a flamethrower. Ignite it as soon as Donald steps in."


    Daniel Flix: "What about the net strategy? It worked on the zombies. If you throw it just right..."


    dongtanmom: "Yum."


    HashireV4: "Why not use the vacuum of space? Secure yourself with a tether and open the external hatch to eject him into space."


    X¡¯Ds_Grrrrr: "Lure him into the Mutation¡¯s room. Sure, you might die, but it¡¯s a 50/50 chance, right?"


    mmmmmmmmm: "What if we exploit the incline?"


    None of the ideas were promising.


    Melon, his energy drained, merely stared blankly at the chat, unable to muster the strength to argue.


    There had to be another way.


    Something to help the helpless Melon defeat that murderous Donald.


    I stared at the CCTV feeds again, hoping for inspiration. The environment was already familiar, but perhaps there was something new to spot.


    And then I saw it¡ªa massive, brown, furry mass clinging to the skeletal framework like a spine.


    Bumpy.


    The mutated sloth, once deemed the root of all evil aboard the Plus Ultra.


    Motionless, like any good sloth, the massive creature loomed silently. As I stared at it, a sudden thought struck me.


    What if Bumpy wasn¡¯t the bad guy?


    What if Bumpy was actually friendly, a potential ally to Melon?


    Like the bond I had with Gold, or the cat mom with her designer-brand-named felines.


    Maybe the solution lay there¡ªwith Bumpy.


    But first, I had another problem to solve.


    Click-clack.


    [Would you like to request unban privileges?]


    Click-clack.


    SKELTON: YES.


    Click-clack.


    SKELTON: YES.


    A video chat window opened.


    On the screen was a dimly lit office. A woman in a suit sat silhouetted against the light, her piercing gaze fixed on me.


    It was her¡ªthe Viva! Apocalypse! mod who had banned me.


    She leaned forward, typing:


    VIVA_BOT014: "Explain yourself, Skelton. Why should I lift your ban after three counts of disruptive behavior?"


    I typed back:


    SKELTON: "I¡¯ve found a way to save Melon."


    The woman crossed her legs the other way, her expression sharp.


    VIVA_BOT014: "It¡¯s not just about the method. It¡¯s about your credibility. Who are you?"


    She leaned closer, her face now fully visible¡ªa striking mix of Asian and Western features, no older than her early twenties.


    Her face was pretty enough, but her dominant expression was one of contempt.


    She looked down on me.


    I removed my cap¡ªa $69 black one from my beatboxing days¡ªand stared at my phone, synced to the Obelisk system.


    Click-clack.


    SKELTON: "How do I prove it?"


    The woman, in slightly broken Korean, spoke:


    "Are you a hunter?"

 Chapter 69.5

    I nodded.


    "A hunter, you say?"


    Vivabot 014 scoffed.


    "Old School? Or Awakened? Oh wait, Awakened types are pretty useless here, aren¡¯t they?"


    Was she a Korean-American? Or maybe one of her parents was Korean?


    At the very least, it was undeniable that she had a solid grasp of Korean culture.


    Like the time she coldly banned someone simply for saying "waeng" instead of "why," which is a quintessential Korean phonetic mimicry.


    "Old School."


    Time was running out.


    I had to quickly recover my account and deliver my message to Melon.


    "What¡¯s your rank?"


    "S."


    "S?"


    Vivabot sneered, glaring at me.


    "Did you just say S?"


    "S."


    "Look, I¡¯ve got access to an Old School Hunter database¡ªexcluding China. If you¡¯re lying, I¡¯ll ban you for a month. Are you fine with that?"


    "Call sign: Professor."


    I had nothing to hide, and my confidence didn¡¯t waver.


    Vivabot, previously arrogant, seemed to sense the weight of my words. She frowned, glanced at her monitor, and started typing.


    It didn¡¯t take long before she seemed to find something.


    Her eyes darted between the monitor and me, wide with shock.


    She stammered.


    "Is your real name, by any chance...?"


    "Park Gyu."


    "Do you have the badge? The S-rank badge that only S-class hunters receive?"


    "Oh, that thing."


    I got up and rummaged through a cabinet.


    Digging through a black bag stuffed with miscellaneous items, I eventually pulled out a shiny golden badge.


    The so-called Golden Fleece.


    It was a solid gold badge inspired by the legendary fleece of the golden ram, Chrysomallos, from Greek mythology¡ªan emblem of S-class hunters, of which there had only ever been twelve worldwide.


    Once, it had been the ultimate symbol of pride and aspiration for all hunters.


    Personally, I wasn¡¯t fond of flaunting such things, so I¡¯d rarely touched it unless attending official events. After the decline of Old School Hunters, it became more of a self-deprecating relic and was sealed away in storage.


    And now, here I was, pulling it out again in this moment.


    I was glad I hadn¡¯t thrown it away.


    I showed the badge to Vivabot.


    "...Oh."


    Her face turned pale.


    "Could you... show me the back?"


    I flipped the badge and held it up to the camera.


    Engraved on the back were a serial number and an encrypted QR code.


    She couldn¡¯t verify the QR code with just her eyes, but the serial number should match her database.


    She checked the number and, with an excited voice, asked,


    "Are you really Professor? The one who first discovered the origin of mutations?!"


    "Yes, I am."@@@@


    "Wait, why would someone like you do something like this...? Are you on drugs?"


    "...No."


    Her question was irritating, but at least she now seemed to recognize me as Professor.


    "Oh my God, I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re alive! I¡¯ll post an announcement and get you connected to Melon immediately!"


    Fame really did have its perks.


    Even someone as hostile as Vivabot had turned into an eager helper.


    But her newfound enthusiasm carried a dangerous implication.


    "An announcement?"


    I asked urgently.


    "Yes! I¡¯ll post a big message: ¡®Advice from SKELTON (A.K.A. Professor)!¡¯ How about that?"


    "Don¡¯t."


    "?"


    Was she insane?


    Did she want me dead?


    Right now, even Woo Min-hee was likely watching this live broadcast.


    I¡¯d lied to her dozens of times, saying I wasn¡¯t using the internet.


    "My apologies, but could you make it anonymous instead?"


    "Why? May I ask the reason?"


    "There are people targeting me."


    Vivabot nodded.


    I attached the photo to my message and sent it.


    MELON MUSK: This photo is...?


    SKELTON: Me and a friend who¡¯s no longer here.


    On camera, Melon Musk¡¯s face was awash with unspoken emotions.


    He looked at the camera and spoke.


    MELON MUSK: If I were to release Bumpy...


    Before he could finish, the door to the workspace module swung open.


    Beyond the open door, a man in a spacesuit wielding a wrench in both hands burst in with an unmistakable mix of fury and purpose.


    Thunk!


    The wrench came crashing down on the head of a zombie.


    "Melon!!!"


    Donald McGarry.


    The true nightmare of Plus Ultra glared at the CCTV camera and screamed.


    "I knew it! You sneaky bastard! You¡¯re always lying! I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t kill you right away! I figured you¡¯d mess with the rocket!"


    Donald McGarry stormed past the module, heading straight for the residential section.


    The shutters were closed, but with the master key in his possession, they posed no barrier to him.


    Melon¡¯s options were dwindling fast.


    Would he follow the impossible suggestions of the other users or risk everything on his bond with Bumpy?


    At least the latter option promised a quicker and less painful death.


    It seemed Melon Musk¡¯s thoughts weren¡¯t far from mine.


    He quickly moved to the cultivation module, standing hesitantly before the shutter.


    His finger hovered over the button, unable to press it as he wrestled with indecision.


    Countless Vivarions watched with bated breath.


    This was the moment that would decide the fate of the creator of their world.


    Soon, the shutter opened, revealing the green-filled space of the automated cultivation zone.


    Melon slipped inside through the opening.


    "Has he lost his mind?"


    Donald staggered at the shutter, his limbs flailing before regaining his balance by grabbing the edge. He stared into the cultivation zone.


    What he saw might have been less shock than sheer disbelief.


    A massive sloth stood before him, its gaze fixed on Melon.


    The creature stretched out one grotesque clawed paw.


    It wasn¡¯t trying to kill him.


    It was trying to pat him on the head.


    "Bumpy!"


    Melon¡¯s face twisted with indescribable emotions as he looked at his pet.


    Then Bumpy noticed Donald below, staring up at him.


    Bumpy bared his teeth.


    Donald scrambled to close the shutter, but the spacefaring sloth, defying expectations, hurtled through the zero-gravity zone with incredible speed.


    Bumpy¡¯s monstrous claws lashed out at Donald.


    Two things became clear:


    Donald was dead, and in space, sloths were far faster than we¡¯d ever imagined.


    *


    MELON_MUSK: Today, I don¡¯t even know how to properly thank everyone.


    The ordeal was over.


    Control of Plus Ultra had fully returned to Melon Musk, and every threat to his life had been decisively eliminated.


    The mission to save the creator of our world had concluded successfully.


    MELON_MUSK: I¡¯m really sorry, but my heart¡¯s still racing from all the stress. I¡¯ll need a few days to rest. There¡¯s blood to clean up... and bodies too.


    Our world''s creator gazed at us through the camera.


    The silence in the stream was broken only by the faint sound of his typing.


    MELON_MUSK: Today, I owe my life to all of you. Dongtanmom, Jekyll, Defender, Grrrrr, Ohio, M9, and SKEL¡ªno, to the anonymous user who asked to remain unnamed, among others.


    He mentioned a few names, but it was clear the greatest reason he¡¯d survived was the collective support of everyone.


    MELON_MUSK: The life I owe you, I¡¯ll repay it somehow. I¡¯m not sure exactly what I can do from here, but at the very least, I hope this message from space brought you all some hope.


    Melon Musk stopped typing and let out a faint chuckle.


    He seemed to think of something as his expression brightened, and he began typing again.


    MELON_MUSK: If you think about it, aren¡¯t your messages also messages from space?


    Maybe so.


    MELON_MUSK: We¡¯re living on a planet¡ªlook up!


    Melon smiled brightly and looked up toward the ceiling.


    Then, he turned his camera to show a window.


    Through the space window, the vast blue planet rotated serenely in the void, its beauty beyond words.


    Though parts of it were now tinged with ashen gray, Earth still retained the colors we knew and loved.


    "See you in a week, my friends!"


    The camera shifted to a corner of the room, where the spacefaring sloth was perched.


    Our sloth, Bumpy, was hanging lazily in the cultivation zone, munching on a leaf. He gazed at the camera with serene indifference, as if the chaos from earlier had never happened.


    Barely an hour later, an announcement on Viva! Apocalypse! featured a two-shot of Melon Musk and Bumpy.


    The photo was comical, yet I wasn¡¯t the only one who found "hope" in it.

 Chapter 70.1

    Melon Musk might be a legendary entrepreneur, but if you ask whether he¡¯s a good person, opinions are bound to vary. You only need to look at those around him for proof.


    Twice married and twice divorced with no children, Melon¡¯s early business partners all left him. Even the colleagues who helped write his history during his peak eventually distanced themselves.


    The reasons likely ranged from conflicts over profit distribution to differences in values or the pursuit of better opportunities. However, the media mainly focused on Melon Musk¡¯s personality flaws.


    As everyone knows, Melon is the type who cannot stand not being the center of attention.


    In any situation, he has to be the one in the spotlight, the one everyone notices.


    Undoubtedly, this trait has caused countless issues along the way.


    And now, here I am, feeling the full brunt of what Melon Musk¡¯s former collaborators must have experienced.


    A banner ad appeared at the top of the forum.


    It read:


    "Melon Musk: The First in the World to Confirm Friendship Between Humans and Mutations!"


    The moment I saw it, I couldn¡¯t believe my eyes.


    Melon Musk, the first person in the world to confirm the possibility of friendship with mutations?


    I¡¯m not omniscient¡ªI can¡¯t claim to know everything happening in the world¡ªbut no matter how generous the ranking, Melon Musk wouldn¡¯t even place third.


    The first was the cat mom who cared for Jackfield and two other mutations. The second was SKELTON, who befriended the legendary mutation dog Gold. Melon Musk comes after that.


    And let¡¯s not forget¡ªit was I who informed Melon about the possibility of harmony between humans and mutations in the first place.


    Yet here he is, shamelessly spreading fake news, claiming he was the first to befriend a mutation.


    To make matters worse, sycophants seeking Melon¡¯s favor swarmed like flies.


    Madisonbridge: "Amazing, Melon. Mutations are our friends!"


    Anonymous 8: "Proving harmony between humans and mutations? The legendary drama you¡¯ve shown us will remain in human history forever."


    Dongtanmom: "Yum. ???? Amazing, Melon!"


    mmmmmmmmm: "Melon Musk, a man worthy of my respect."


    Dmitri_Ayantov: "Melon, can¡¯t you send us some supplies? My kids are starving!"


    Unicorn18: "Give me chocolate! Chewing gum!"


    ...


    I didn¡¯t help Melon Musk for any personal gain.


    Like the thousands of other Vivarions, I only wanted him to survive.


    But to say there wasn¡¯t even a sliver of self-interest in my actions would be a lie.


    While helping Melon, I had hoped to elevate SKELTON¡¯s name. Not to become a celebrity, but to be recognized as a user with significant contributions¡ªa respected figure on the forums who could enjoy a more fulfilling online life.


    But now, this modest dream had been crushed in the most ungrateful way possible.


    Fueled by anger, I began drafting a long post condemning Melon¡¯s fraudulent claims when suddenly a chat window appeared at the bottom of the screen.


    VIVA_BOTO14: "Hello, SKELTON."


    It was Vivabot. Judging by the number, it seemed to be the same woman I¡¯d spoken with before.


    Perfect timing.


    I immediately poured my grievances into the chat with fiery keystrokes.


    SKELTON: "I was the one who first discovered and demonstrated the possibility of harmony between humans and mutations. So why is Melon lying and leaving out that fact? I didn¡¯t do this to become famous, but calling himself the first is outrageous!"


    VIVA_BOTO14: "Please calm down, SKELTON."


    SKELTON: "How am I supposed to calm down?"


    VIVA_BOTO14: "Melon is still in poor health, both physically and mentally. From our video call, you seem perfectly healthy¡ªexcept maybe your mind."


    SKELTON: "My mind is the healthiest part of me."


    VIVA_BOTO14: "Melon is alone in the cold void of space. With his personality, he needs some form of achievement to cling to in order to endure it. As you know, his ego is... enormous. Please try to understand."


    SKELTON: "But how can he feel satisfied with something he didn¡¯t even achieve himself?"


    VIVA_BOTO14: "Once the world stabilizes, we¡¯ll make sure to highlight your contributions again. For now, we¡¯ll send you a small gift by delivery. Wouldn¡¯t that be enough?"


    SKELTON: "Delivery?"


    Not that the word "delivery" calmed me down or anything.


    In reality, I knew my complaints wouldn¡¯t change anything. If Melon and Bumpy¡¯s story could give people hope, that was enough. In this collapsing world, being first hardly mattered anymore.


    Still, the idea of a delivery was novel.


    With logistics and infrastructure virtually nonexistent, the thought of receiving a package felt almost surreal.@@@@


    I had heard bits and pieces about America¡¯s dire state from Rebecca. The country had fractured into state-sized territories, with creeping erosion zones and gang-like militias rampaging across borders, burning cities to the ground.


    Fortunately, Melon¡¯s company was in a safe zone and reportedly held substantial stockpiles of resources.


    Above all, they possessed drones capable of intercontinental delivery, called Cygnus.


    The exact specs were unclear, but they supposedly had long wings like albatrosses, equipped with solar panels, and could soar into the stratosphere, riding jet streams to deliver dreams and hope worldwide.


    The only issue was the delivery method.


    It was a literal air-drop.


    Packages resembling aerial bombs were equipped with parachutes and dropped straight to the recipients.


    VIVA_BOTO14: "I¡¯ll send you a link. Please select items within a 5kg limit and message me your choices by 09:00."


    She sent me a link.


    Clicking it opened what looked like an ancient shopping site.


    "Jong-chul¡¯s a bit eccentric, but he¡¯s not inherently bad. And besides, he¡¯s a doctor."


    "A doctor? He didn¡¯t even go to medical school."


    "Maybe, but he¡¯s better at removing bullets than most doctors."


    "I don¡¯t care. I just don¡¯t like him. I wish he¡¯d leave."


    "Cut it out. Jong-chul¡¯s already walking on eggshells around you."


    "Honestly, why is it that you¡¯re so ruthless with strangers but can¡¯t say no to your old comrades? Did something happen in China?"


    "SKELTON! Sorry, I need to end this call."


    Defender hastily cut off the transmission.


    It was the first time I¡¯d seen the siblings argue.


    Usually, they were so in sync that they seemed like a single entity. Yet, the presence of a third party¡ªHeo Jong-chul¡ªwas clearly causing significant tension between them.


    Still, she had a point.


    If I helped once, I¡¯d likely have to keep helping.


    Maybe even after the winter ended, they¡¯d continue to rely on me.


    Adults can be manipulative, and children are no exception.


    Once they latch on, they¡¯d never let go.


    I needed a better solution.


    They say children understand each other best, so I sought Su¡¯s advice.


    "Santa Claus," she suggested.


    "Why not handle it Santa Claus-style?"


    In other words, a no-contact delivery.


    Even extreme cold can be managed with proper precautions.


    With insulated clothing, boots, heat packs strapped near my heart, and a motorcycle, I felt confident I could go anywhere.


    And in this cold, the risk of being ambushed was practically nonexistent.


    Unless it was a battlefield between two armies, no raider would bother lying in wait in these temperatures. It¡¯d be like soaking their feet in an icy stream and draining their battery at the same time.


    "HELP! HELP! Please, someone save us! There are children here! We¡¯re freezing to death!"


    The girl¡¯s desperate voice crackled through the walkie-talkie as I made my way to Sergeant Jang¡¯s hideout.


    There was no trace of the innocence I¡¯d once heard in her voice.


    In the distance, I saw an abandoned residential area, blanketed in snow like everywhere else.


    Smoke rose from one of the houses.


    They must have been using a wood-burning boiler.


    I hadn¡¯t brought fuel for this trip¡ªafter all, I¡¯d already confirmed there was plenty of wood here during a previous visit.


    It was early morning, just before dawn.


    I unloaded the supplies I¡¯d brought in front of the smoking house.


    The supplies weren¡¯t much¡ªjust some surplus food and frozen milk.


    It was the best I could offer without putting myself at risk.


    Click.


    I snapped a photo of my act of kindness with my phone camera and was about to leave when I sensed movement.


    A person.


    Slightly annoyed, I rested my hand on my pistol and spoke quietly toward the source of the sound beyond the door.


    "Who¡¯s there?"


    The door creaked open, revealing a small boy and a younger girl, who seemed to be his sister.


    The boy looked about ten years old, and the girl maybe eight.


    It was a miracle they¡¯d survived this long, given their age. Still, it was heartening to see the boy shielding his sister protectively with his body.


    He cautiously eyed me and asked, "What are you doing?"


    I silently pointed to the supplies I¡¯d left by the door.


    His expression lit up as he realized they were food.


    He didn¡¯t seem like a bad kid, so I put a finger to my lips and whispered, "Keep it a secret that I was here. Got it?"


    The boy nodded, still holding his bewildered sister.


    That would be the last time I visited.


    Now that I¡¯d been seen, there¡¯d be no reason to return.


    Still, I hesitated.


    There was something strange in the boy¡¯s eyes.


    An awakened child.

 Chapter 70.2

    The boy didn¡¯t seem like a high-tier Awakened.


    There was no pulsating aura, and the faint glow in his eyes wasn¡¯t particularly bright.


    He was likely a lower-tier Awakened, below level 5.


    If I handed him over to Woo Min-hee, she wouldn¡¯t be too happy about it.


    But I didn¡¯t have time to dwell on such thoughts.


    "Run away," the boy whispered in a low voice.


    "You seem like a good person, so I¡¯ll tell you this: leave now."


    He wasn¡¯t just saying it to be polite.


    The boy¡¯s face was eerily serious for someone so young. He kept glancing behind him, his eyes darting nervously.


    Sure enough, I heard a metallic sound from beyond the slightly open door.


    The sound of guns being prepared¡ªammo loaded, safeties off, and firing modes switched.


    I hesitated for a moment, then smiled at the boy and climbed onto my motorcycle.


    "Thanks."


    I rode away from the house.


    It wasn¡¯t long before I heard the sound of a door bursting open and someone running out in a hurry.


    Larger kids from Sergeant Jang¡¯s group came rushing out, pointing in my direction and shouting.


    "There he is! He¡¯s running away!"


    "Shoot him! Kill him!"


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Gunshots rang out from behind me.


    I ignored them.


    At that distance, with so many obstacles in the way, whether the bullets hit or missed was up to luck and the alignment of the stars. Still, it was a jolt to my system, like a splash of cold water waking me from a daze.


    Just minutes earlier, I¡¯d been groggy, half-asleep, wandering through a fog of hope.


    Hope.


    I let out a bitter chuckle and sped up.


    When I returned to my familiar snow-covered bunker, I saw a figure waiting for me.


    There was no need to draw my gun.


    In front of the decoy bunker entrance stood Defender¡¯s younger sister, bundled in a parka, her face slightly flushed with cold.


    Hearing my motorcycle, she lit up, waving cheerfully.


    Judging by the heavy bag in her hand, it wasn¡¯t hard to guess why she was here.


    "SKELTON!"


    She¡¯d run away from home.


    The signs of discord had been there for a while, and now it had come to this.


    "Can I crash here?"


    "It¡¯s almost morning. What¡¯s going on?"


    "Why are you so cold? Don¡¯t you want me here?"


    Her demeanor was different from usual.


    Unlike her typical reserved nature, she was meeting my eyes directly and speaking with a soft, almost flirtatious tone.


    "You¡¯re always welcome, but... shouldn¡¯t you have told your brother?"


    "Why should I need his permission?"


    Her cheerful expression shifted to irritation.


    I watched her, her face pale from the cold, and gestured toward the bunker.


    "Let¡¯s talk inside."


    After helping her out of her winter gear, I set about organizing my equipment and boiling water.


    While the kettle heated, she sat silently on the sofa, lost in thought.


    Her face was blank, but her eyes, staring into the void, were a storm of fleeting emotions.


    I poured tea and sat down across from her.


    "Where were you coming from?"


    Avoiding my gaze, she asked about my morning.


    I gave her a brief summary of what had happened.


    "Ah, so it¡¯s like a form of pseudo-begging?"


    Pseudo-begging.


    That was a fair way to put it.


    "People don¡¯t change much from what they¡¯ve experienced. If begging is all they know, it¡¯s all they¡¯ll do," she said, sipping her tea and letting out a long sigh as her arm dangled limply by her side.


    "My brother¡¯s the same," she muttered, her eyes distant.


    "He hated our father so much, yet he acts just like him now."


    She mumbled curses under her breath, quietly insulting her brother with words too vulgar to repeat.


    "The damn genes of a born pushover," she said, looking at me.


    Her gaze held a hint of hesitation and defiance, but it quickly resolved into determination.


    "SKELTON, what do you think of me?"


    I knew what she was getting at.


    She was likely about to propose cohabitation¡ªessentially, something akin to marriage.


    Though sudden, it was a scenario I¡¯d already considered.


    Living with someone as attractive and charming as her would undoubtedly bring happiness and comfort.


    It¡¯d be a lie to say I didn¡¯t have any desire to hold her in my arms.


    But I had to refuse her.


    There were many reasons, but the root cause of the situation stood out the most.


    "You¡¯re beautiful and attractive. I like you," I admitted.


    Still processing her shock, Da-jeong blinked in confusion as I opened my laptop and displayed the shopping site Melon Musk had granted me access to.


    "What¡¯s this?"


    Her startled face lit up like a child on Christmas morning.


    "Is this for real? The stuff will actually get delivered?"


    "Yeah. It¡¯s coming straight from Melon Musk¡¯s headquarters."


    "Melon Musk?! When did you even meet him? Weren¡¯t you banned?"


    "There¡¯s a story behind that, but it¡¯s too long to tell. For now, just pick something. The deadline¡¯s coming up."


    I suddenly recalled a memory of my late sister, one I could no longer hear the voice of. She used to sit me down beside her and shop for cute little trinkets on a clunky old website.


    We¡¯d painstakingly fill the cart with items, trying to stay within a meager budget of 12,000 won. Items would go in, then out, as she adjusted options to make everything fit perfectly before pressing the order button.


    But, of course, we hadn¡¯t accounted for the shipping fee.


    Times had changed. I¡¯d grown older, and the woman beside me was no longer my sister but a much younger girl. The shopping site we were browsing didn¡¯t sell adorable trinkets or plush toys but rather firearms, drugs, and grim survival gear.


    Still, watching Da-jeong add and remove items from the cart within the 5 kg limit made the past and present blur together. Perhaps my thin memories of family were why those scenes overlapped.


    Breaking free from the bittersweet recollection¡ªboth warming and tinged with deep, cold resentment¡ªI issued a warning.


    "Don¡¯t fill the whole cart. I need to order stuff for Rebecca and Su§Ö too."


    "Rebecca? Su§Ö?"


    She turned to me, her face puzzled.


    "Who are these people with nickname-like names?"


    "The sniper and her daughter."


    "Oh, the ones you mentioned shooting up the place in that southwestern town?"


    "Speaking of them, should I call them over?"


    Part of why I suddenly suggested a surprise meeting was to stop Da-jeong from using up the precious 5 kg allocation. But another reason was that the alluring vibe she was unconsciously radiating was starting to pull my thoughts in a dangerous direction.


    Apparently, I was still just a man after all.


    The growing heat inside me was becoming hard to ignore. But crossing a line like that required a level of determination I wasn¡¯t ready for. Anonymous848¡¯s sacrificial lesson had taught me that well.


    "SKELTON! We¡¯re here~!"


    "SKELTON, I want something juicy!"


    Rebecca and Su§Ö arrived at the bunker.


    They quickly spotted Da-jeong hiding behind me.


    "SK-SKELTON? Who¡¯s that?" Rebecca asked, surprised.


    Su§Ö tilted her head slightly, glaring at Da-jeong with a curious but firm expression.


    "SKELTON? Who¡¯s this woman?"


    While I explained the situation to the sniper mother and daughter, Da-jeong stayed silent, hiding behind me.


    Come to think of it, she¡¯d acted similarly when we first met.


    She must be pretty shy, especially since she couldn¡¯t even make eye contact with Su§Ö, a little girl.


    "Hi, Defender¡¯s sister," Su§Ö said suddenly, extending her hand.


    Surprisingly, Su§Ö seemed willing to accept Da-jeong.


    Da-jeong hesitated, then typed something on her tablet and showed it to Su§Ö.


    -Nice to meet you.


    With that little hiccup resolved, we returned to the fiery grill that is shopping, which always manages to ignite a woman¡¯s enthusiasm.


    Rebecca and Su§Ö, now engrossed in the countless items on the shopping site, scrolled frantically, their previous wariness toward Da-jeong entirely forgotten.


    "There¡¯s nothing in stock! Damn you, Melon, son of a...!"


    "Oh! That jelly! I had it back in Seattle! It was super juicy!"


    "Uh, Miss Su§Ö? That¡¯s the one I added to my cart. Why are you removing it...?"


    "Stay out of this, Firefox."


    Amid the chaotic squabbling, I watched them with a faint smile.


    It felt like something I¡¯d lost that morning was being restored.


    Perhaps this replenishing warmth and the creation of fond memories were the greatest rewards these people could give me.


    *


    Life hasn¡¯t handed me many warm pages, but this moment felt like one I could treasure.


    The day the stratospheric delivery drone¡ªCygnus S¡ªwas set to arrive, the sky was fortunately clear with few clouds.


    The temperature was -31¡ãC. Standing still in such cold could lead to freezing, but we forgot the biting chill as we gazed expectantly at the vast, achingly blue sky above us.


    From the sky, my eyes shifted to those around me.


    The Defender siblings, reconciled in a way that felt more tepid than dramatic but still genuine, stood side by side, a small distance between them. Beyond them, Rebecca held Sue close as they looked up together.


    When this winter ends, they¡¯ll likely leave my side, each carrying their own stories and reasons.


    It¡¯s a thought that brings a tangle of emotions, but for now, we simply awaited the arrival of the delivery from above.


    Bzzt


    The K-walkie-talkie crackled to life.


    "Help! Help!"


    It was the kids from Sergeant Jang¡¯s group.


    "We¡¯re freezing to death here! Somebody help us! Please! It¡¯s just kids here! We¡¯re begging you!"


    I reached to turn off the power, irritated, but the thick double-layered gloves made it difficult. Just as I pulled the walkie-talkie out to press the button directly, I heard a voice laced with unexpected childlike excitement.


    "Oh? What¡¯s that? Hey, look up! Look at the sky!"


    It had been a while since I¡¯d heard such innocence over the radio. Almost simultaneously, Sue¡¯s delighted exclamation rang out behind me.


    "Ah!"


    Sue, who had been scanning the skies with her sniper-grade observation gear, pointed upward.


    "There!"


    Following her gesture, we all looked to see a silver metallic object descending straight toward us. It resembled a bomb, with its metal casing glinting ominously in the sunlight.


    "Should we get out of the way?" Defender glanced around, clearly calculating the best escape route. But Sue¡¯s laughter cut through his anxiety.


    A parachute deployed.


    On the capsule¡¯s surface, black marker scribbles were visible:


    -Recipient: SKELTON (First discoverer of human-mutant harmony)


    "What the...? What¡¯s that?" Defender cocked his head, puzzled, while his sister looked at me with equal confusion.


    Rebecca and Sue turned their questioning gazes toward me, but I stayed silent, watching the slowly descending package. It drew closer, carrying with it 5 kilograms of hope.

 Chapter 71

    Recently, leaving a will has become a trend in our corner of the internet.


    The reason becomes apparent the moment you step outside.


    Current Temperature: -22¡ãC


    The traditional pattern of cold snaps and warm spells (Samhan Saon) has disappeared, replaced by relentless sub-zero temperatures below -15¡ãC for an entire month. The world has been frozen solid.


    The catalyst was Monster Park, a flagship online game created by Fox Game.


    It wasn¡¯t to my taste, so I dropped it quickly. But many players clung to it, escaping from reality, even during the onset of this deadly cold. The game remained immensely popular. Monster Park has a hidden mechanic called the "Cemetery."


    If a player remains inactive for a week while logged in, their character transforms into a tombstone within the game.


    Initially, these tombstones were rare. However, with the advent of the harsh cold, their numbers skyrocketed. Now, they can be found almost everywhere. Even a quick visit to the game''s entrance lobby makes the severity of the situation obvious.


    <Monster Park - Lobby>


    This is the lobby of Monster Park.


    A vast space where a chandelier studded with thousands of jewels sparkles at the center.


    Surrounding it are 352 tombstones, standing solemnly, including one marked:


    "Class of 2015, Civil Engineering"


    You can move to: (East), (West), (South), (North), or (Rest Area).


    The lobby itself has turned into a massive communal cemetery. Each tombstone displays a brief self-introduction written by the deceased while alive.


    <Self-Introduction: Class of 2015, Civil Engineering>


    Hi! I¡¯m a Civil Engineering major, class of 2015~ Looking for friends to play without stress~ I¡¯m online all day but usually active at night. Pretty and sexy women are especially welcome, haha. Netkama? Prepare to die!


    A typical, mundane introduction. But after the Cemetery feature gained attention, players¡ªparticularly those from PaleNet¡ªbegan using these introductions as their last wills.


    Here are a few examples of those "wills."


    <MasterShim¡¯s Self-Introduction>


    Real name: Shim Ju-yeop, age 23, male~


    Family? All dead.


    Possessions: A phone and two pairs of underwear.


    Lived a shitty life, died a shitty death. Peace out.


    <YubiPa¡¯s Self-Introduction>


    Kim Hak-chul, 43 years old.


    Law school graduate from Reconnaissance University.


    Legal team of the Cheolju Group.


    If I survive this winter, maybe I¡¯ll get married.


    Let¡¯s overcome this winter!


    <Gongdeok 832 @ColdNoodles¡¯ Self-Introduction>


    Dong-chul, where are you~?


    I¡¯m sorry for what happened back then, son.


    I miss you.


    Each will carries its own story, its own weight. None are insignificant, but one tombstone in particular has captured the public¡¯s attention.


    The most famous tombstone belongs to a well-known celebrity from before the war. After disappearing without a trace, they left behind only this humble grave. I recognized their name and had even seen their films¡ªproof of how renowned they were.


    Other notable tombstones became popular topics of discussion, but one, in particular, caught my eye.


    <Tombstone of the Bandit King>


    The Bandit King¡¯s tombstone is unique. Unlike the average user who froze to death in the lobby, it is located in the middle of a mid-tier hunting ground. A place inaccessible to beginners, as the aggressive monsters there would quickly kill them.


    In this perilous area, the Bandit King left a will befitting his name:


    Let¡¯s skip the chatter. I¡¯ve attached a link and an address.


    Anyone who wants what¡¯s in the photos can come and find it.


    Whoever locates it, it¡¯s all yours!


    The link led to a PaleNet post containing several photos. They showed a hoard of canned goods, fuel, colorful new clothes, ammunition, and a tattooed woman¡¯s slender arm¡ªlikely the photographer¡¯s.@@@@


    For someone like me, these supplies were ordinary. But for refugees in the Incheon camp, surviving on rationed scraps, these were treasures worth killing for.


    The PaleNet community exploded with chatter about the Bandit King¡¯s treasure.


    ??: The Bandit King¡¯s stash is no joke!


    ??: If you get it, surviving this winter will be easy.


    ??: Not just this winter¡ªmaybe even next year.


    ??: But the location is too far away.


    ??: How can you get there in this weather?


    ??: But it¡¯s only in this weather that you can claim it, right?


    Indeed, in times like this, the Bandit King¡¯s stash was synonymous with survival itself. It was natural to covet it. He even provided the precise address for his treasure at the end of the post.


    The location felt familiar.


    It was near my old workplace before the war, not far from where Rebecca and her daughter now lived. Though slightly outside their territory, anyone traveling from major cities like Incheon or Seoul would inevitably pass through their domain.


    What should I do?


    The location is close. It¡¯s within Rebecca¡¯s area, so the risk is minimal. Even with temperatures dropping to -20¡ãC, I¡¯m better equipped than Amundsen was when he explored the North Pole a century ago.


    But what moved me most was this: come spring, scavengers and looters will flock to the Bandit King¡¯s treasure. If that happens, it could spell trouble for Rebecca and her daughter, who plan to leave soon.


    Feeling restless after spending the entire winter in my bunker, I readied my weapons, layered up, and started my motorcycle.


    Vroom¡ª!


    I stopped by Rebecca¡¯s place first.


    "Skelton? Why the sudden visit? Thanks."


    Handing her a can of fuel, I asked about the address.


    "Southwest? Oh, that area? There were some buildings there, mostly one-room apartments. Lots of people used to live there."


    When I asked if anyone still lived there, Rebecca shook her head firmly.


    "I¡¯ve never seen anyone alive in that area. No one lives there now. They all left before the war."


    The Bandit King was like IAmJesus, not moving from his room for three years.The Bandit King lied.Interview Location: Geoje Gohyeon, Sampung Building, 3rd Floor, by 11 AM.Check the Mugunghwa train schedule!Gas station shift: 5 AM¨C2 PM. Hourly wage: 10,000 won.Mom¡¯s birthday: November 2nd. At least give her a call!Check hospital loan details.


    War may have destroyed the world, but for this man, destruction had come earlier. He had met his ruin before the apocalypse officially began.


    ¡°Skelton, why did he die?¡± Sue asked, white puffs of breath escaping her lips in the cold. ¡°Suicide?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I replied. ¡°Natural causes.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    After taking a few more photos for evidence, we left.


    One thing was certain:


    The Bandit King¡¯s treasure didn¡¯t exist.


    Skelton¡¯s Report:


    Braving the bitter cold, a search for the Bandit King¡¯s treasure!


    If I had suffered, it was only fair to reap some reward. My post also served a second purpose: a warm-hearted gesture to prevent anyone else from freezing to death chasing a non-existent treasure.


    The Bandit King was a famous name in Monster Park, so, unusually, my post quickly garnered attention:


    ??: Of course it was fake.


    ??: Was he trying to get people killed by making them wander in this cold?


    ??: So that guy died alone?


    ??: The address was weird from the start. 301? That¡¯s just a one-room apartment!


    mmmmmmmmm: ...Hmm...


    Anonymous 458: Good job, Skelton, for checking it out!


    Gijayangban: Wait. That place?


    Unfortunately, my carefully crafted report didn¡¯t make it to the trending posts.


    A new episode of Live! Apocalypse! had just started, stealing the community¡¯s attention.


    Dongtanmom, now embracing a mysterious persona, captivated viewers with an over-the-top action-packed cooking stream.


    ¡°So, in the end, the answer is live streams...¡±


    I sipped my coffee while watching the show, letting my mind wander.


    Ding!


    A notification popped up.


    Was it a comment on my post? At this point, it didn¡¯t matter if it went viral, but curiosity compelled me to check.


    ??: Can you message ¡°ProfuchinaMania¡± in Monster Park for me? It¡¯s urgent.


    Monster Park? Now?


    I glanced at the live stream¡ªa user riding what seemed to be a private yacht, slicing through the ocean. Thrilling, sure, but something about the anonymous user¡¯s request felt off.


    Opening another tab, I logged into Monster Park.


    /m ProfuchinaMania


    This is Skelton. What¡¯s up?


    Using the game¡¯s messaging command, I reached out. Shortly after, ProfuchinaMania initiated a conversation.


    ProfuchinaMania: I saw your post. Is it true?


    Skelton: Yeah.


    ProfuchinaMania: I see.


    Skelton: Are you the Bandit King?


    I had a hunch.


    ProfuchinaMania hesitated before replying:


    ProfuchinaMania: ...Yeah.


    I asked why. Why lie about the treasure? Why leave the address of a room containing a dead man?


    Monster Park¡¯s world is crude, leaving much of its emotional nuance to the players¡¯ imagination. Though not particularly imaginative, I thought I could almost hear ProfuchinaMania sigh during the brief silence.


    ProfuchinaMania: It was my brother. We lost touch years ago.


    I see.


    ProfuchinaMania: I just started thinking about him... what might have happened to him.


    I shared my observations.


    The man had likely died before the war, and while the exact cause was unclear, the peaceful posture of the body suggested that his final moments had been calm.


    I didn¡¯t mention the moldy chicken, his job struggles, or his illness.


    ProfuchinaMania: Thanks. I don¡¯t have anything to give you, but... really, thank you.


    Skelton: If you¡¯re grateful, give my post an upvote. I¡¯ve got a stream to catch.


    Logging out of Monster Park, I returned to the live stream.


    On screen, a woman in a bikini and a mascot head flaunted herself provocatively in a makeshift pool.


    Ten days later, I came across ProfuchinaMania¡¯s tombstone.


    Fox Game had moved the overwhelming number of tombstones to a new Memorial Park and uploaded the list.


    There, among the names, was ProfuchinaMania.


    <Tombstone of ProfuchinaMania>


    Another user, frozen to death in the bitter cold, without even a will to mark their passing.


    That day, 372 new tombstones were added to Monster Park.

 Chapter 72.1

    Three years have passed since the war began.


    The current temperature is -10¡ãC.


    In the old days, such weather would have dominated the headlines with news about thermal underwear sales skyrocketing and warnings about power shortages. By today¡¯s standards, though, it¡¯s practically warm.


    For the first time in a while, I stepped outside to shake out my bedding and air it in the sunlight. Sipping on hot instant coffee, I surveyed the snow-blanketed wilderness surrounding me.


    As always, it was an unchanging wasteland.


    The stillness made it feel like time had frozen, a delusion broken only by the occasional sighting of a wild animal.


    While the winter sunlight seeped into every corner of my bedding, I patrolled the perimeter to check its condition. After completing my rounds, I attached a trailer to the back of my motorcycle and headed down toward the valley.


    Due to the frigid temperatures, the valley¡¯s water had turned to solid ice. I pulled out the electric drill from the trailer, bore holes into the ice, and used a mallet and chisel to break it into manageable chunks. Then, I hooked the chunks with a chain and hauled them into the trailer.


    These massive ice blocks would serve as my water supply for the day.


    Although the water tank in my bunker had insulation to prevent freezing, the pipes drawing groundwater into the tank had succumbed to the subzero temperatures. As a result, I had to manually replenish my water supply each morning.@@@@


    Lately, I¡¯ve taken to listening to the radio while working. I flip between various frequencies, but my favorite is the Legion¡¯s official broadcast.


    It¡¯s got music, stories, and a pleasant voice narrating it all.


    "The weather is relatively mild today. According to the Meteorological Unit, this warm spell is expected to last about four days. Ah, how I miss the days of ¡®three cold, four warm.¡¯


    "When I think of winter, I¡¯m reminded of cold noodles paired with savory pancakes. I used to enjoy a bowl at this North Korean defector¡¯s restaurant in Dongdaemun Market, rather than the so-called ¡®Big Three Noodle Houses.¡¯"


    I don¡¯t know who oversees the Legion¡¯s propaganda, but they seem remarkably polished.


    Instead of criticizing the Incheon government, they focus on subtly flaunting their wealth and comfort.


    Listening to these broadcasts makes the horrors described on PaleNet about Incheon feel like tales from a distant land.


    In Incheon, it¡¯s no longer just protests; random shootouts occur regularly.


    It¡¯s not the military fighting civilians but civilians shooting each other indiscriminately.


    Corpses litter the streets, and fires from burning bodies light up the cityscape.


    It¡¯s the ¡°war of all against all¡± I once witnessed on Seoul¡¯s outskirts, now playing out in Incheon.


    Perhaps the collapse of hope has eroded the last shreds of humanity¡¯s patience.


    That hope was shattered the moment Jeju Island¡ªthe so-called ¡°Island of Salvation¡±¡ªwas exposed as a mirage.


    Although the city¡¯s security is barely holding, PaleNet posts paint a precarious picture.


    ??: ¡°I¡¯m young and pretty. Is there anyone who can take me in? (Photo included).¡±


    ??: ¡°Former idol trainee. Only looking for those with bunkers.¡±


    ??: ¡°I used to model. Is there someone who can come get me?¡±


    MinjaePapa: ¡°I¡¯m so sorry to ask this, but is there anyone who can save my family? I¡¯ll serve you for the rest of my life! Please, I beg you!¡±


    ??: ¡°I¡¯m a former actress.¡±


    People are selling themselves.


    Even on our doomsday survivalist board¡ªonce the most mocked and despised community in Korea.


    Lately, it¡¯s made me reluctant to post anything.


    SKELTON: (Skelton yawns) ¡°Haaaah~¡±


    Even this frivolous post prompted replies like:


    MinjaePapa: ¡°Skelton, where are you? I¡¯m the father of a seven-year-old. My wife and child are dying. Please, I¡¯m begging you¡ªsave my family! I¡¯ll do anything you ask!¡±


    It¡¯s not just me.


    Keystone: ¡°We¡¯re a family of four¡ªme, my wife, son, and daughter. We¡¯re good people. If you take us in, we¡¯ll more than earn our keep!¡±


    ??: ¡°Anonymous458, where are you? Is your bunker close? How big is it? Do you have enough food?¡±


    ??: ¡°Foxgames, I¡¯m sorry to ask, but where do you live? It¡¯s so scary here. Could you please take my family in?¡±


    Our board has become a haven for desperate PaleNet refugees to beg for salvation, calling out usernames like lifelines.


    Of course, there are exceptions:


    MMMMMMMMMM: (The Hope: Now accepting new residents) ¡°Come on in~ Oiso~ Irasshaimase~¡±


    DongtanMom: ¡°Yum...¡±


    But they are rare.


    The overall atmosphere is so desolate and oppressive that it¡¯s becoming impossible to post anything.


    Frankly, it¡¯s disgusting.


    Did John Nae-non foresee this future when he connected our board to PaleNet?


    CLUNK!


    A thick slab of ice broke loose.


    I hooked it with a chain and hauled it onto the trailer.


    THUD!


    No, I doubt John Nae-non anticipated this.


    Unicorn18: ¡°Enough already!¡±


    For someone like Unicorn18¡ªwho seemed like they¡¯d never care about anything, even during a war¡ªit was shocking to see him lash out.


    Unicorn18: ¡°What is this? A refugee board?! Take your pathetic, filthy stories somewhere else! Why do we have to be responsible for your lives?¡±


    Even a broken clock is right twice a day.


    I couldn¡¯t help but add my voice to his righteous outburst.


    SKELTON: (Skelton angry) ¡°Exactly! I wholeheartedly support Unicorn18¡¯s statement!¡±


    But the tide was unstoppable.


    Unicorn18¡¯s cries were buried beneath an avalanche of even more desperate posts.


    ??: ¡°Skelton, I¡¯m begging you! I have a car¡ªjust tell me your location!¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°My child is dying! If you don¡¯t help, they¡¯ll die!¡±


    ??: ¡°I swear on my life, I¡¯ve never lied. Skelton, please¡ªjust help my family survive this winter. I¡¯ll do anything!¡±


    This couldn¡¯t go on.


    Our board was meant to prepare for disaster¡ªsharing wisdom and resources to face the apocalypse. It wasn¡¯t supposed to become a space where strangers screamed for salvation.


    ¡°Skelton, doesn¡¯t the board feel so tainted these days?¡± Da-jeong said, clearly fed up.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m going to take a break. I¡¯ll focus on prepping for live content instead. Want to help?¡±


    ¡°No, I can¡¯t appear in live broadcasts.¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°Yes.¡±


    VIVA_BOTO14: ¡°Why don¡¯t you create some content for us? Maybe then I¡¯ll tell you.¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°Content? Like what?¡±


    VIVA_BOTO14: ¡°You¡¯re one of the twelve holders of the legendary Golden Fleece. Why not record yourself taking down a Mutation? It would help improve the quality of the live broadcast.¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°And if I do?¡±


    VIVA_BOTO14: ¡°Block PaleNet? Sure. Why not?¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    This Woman, She¡¯s Something Else


    Could she possibly be an AI?


    No, she¡¯s human¡ªI saw her with my own eyes.


    Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself and asked her another question.


    SKELTON: ¡°I¡¯ll think about it. Hunting, I mean. So who was it? Who else contacted you about this issue?¡±


    Promises are made to be broken.


    But¡ª


    VIVA_BOTO14: ¡°Unicorn18.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    The answer caught me completely off guard.


    ¡°Unicorn18...?¡±


    Unicorn18 wasn¡¯t your average user.


    Their position in the community was similar to mine¡ªlurking at the bottom of the boards.


    They¡¯d post incessantly about obscure anime no one cared about or ask bizarre, borderline absurd questions about finding pure women in a world where violence was as routine as breathing.


    At one point, they even tried buttering me up with sycophantic nonsense.


    But that same Unicorn18 was messaging VivaBot?


    Surely, this had to be some kind of mistake.


    I checked the spelling.


    It was correct.


    It really was Unicorn18.


    Reeling from the shock, I asked VivaBot again to confirm.


    SKELTON: ¡°Unicorn18? Seriously?¡±


    VIVA_BOTO14: ¡°Yes, seriously. Why do you sound so skeptical?¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°That user? Sending you messages? Come on, they¡¯re just a troll.¡±


    VIVA_BOTO14: ¡°That¡¯s what I thought once, too. But you really don¡¯t know?¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°Know what?¡±


    VIVA_BOTO14: ¡°Unicorn18 is a Golden Fleece holder.¡±


    SKELTON: ¡°...What?¡±


    VIVA_BOTO14: ¡°Are you serious? You really don¡¯t know each other?¡±


    I felt like I¡¯d been punched in the back of the head.


    Unicorn18, a Golden Fleece holder?


    The Golden Fleece, the ultimate proof of being an S-class Hunter, was limited to just twelve in existence.


    Three of those were allocated to South Korea.


    One was mine.


    The other two went to Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in.


    In other words, they were also S-class Hunters.


    Before their appearance, the concept of the ¡°Awakened¡± didn¡¯t even exist.


    You could call it a kind of grandfather clause.


    Shortly after Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in received their Golden Fleeces, the Hunter system was overhauled, and both the Golden Fleece and the S-class Hunter designation vanished like a mirage.


    And yet here was Unicorn18¡ªa user I knew well from the boards¡ªholding one.


    SKELTON: ¡°What¡¯s Unicorn18¡¯s real name? Is it Kang? A relative of Kang Han-min?¡±


    VIVA_BOTO14: ¡°Nope. During their first live stream, they just flashed the Golden Fleece for a second and started acting so weird that we blocked them for 24 hours. I don¡¯t know their name, face, or even their gender.¡±


    Two possibilities came to mind.


    Either Unicorn18¡¯s Golden Fleece was real, or it was fake.


    If it were real, then their identity narrowed down to two options:


    Kang Han-min or Na Hye-in.


    In my mind, Unicorn18 was more likely to be Kang Han-min than Na Hye-in.


    Could it really be Kang Han-min?


    Had he been on our board this entire time?


    Spending three years in the same space as me?


    My heart pounded faster.

 Chapter 72.2

    Kang Han-min.


    He is one of Jang Ki-young¡¯s disciples, just like me.


    Though not an exceptionally talented hunter, he was incredibly lucky¡ªluck that saved his life on the battlefield.


    His call sign, ¡°Fool¡± (FOOL), meaning an idiot or clown, was given to him by none other than Jang Ki-young, who harbored a deep dislike for him.


    Kang Han-min experienced the largest recorded Alpha Awakening during the final defense of Changping District in Beijing, which was the central defense line. He became one of the first Awakened.


    Na Hye-in.


    She had two mentors: Ko Jong-beom, who defected to China, and Jo Doo-hong, who showed little interest in the school¡¯s internal power struggles.


    Even as a student, she stood out as an exceptional hunter, capable of excelling in long-range, mid-range, and close-combat roles¡ªa true jack of all trades.


    Her call sign, ¡°Alpha One,¡± was given to her by Jo Doo-hong, who lacked any literary sensibility and preferred rigid, military-style command structures.


    Na Hye-in, along with Kang Han-min, was one of the two key figures in what the Chinese called the ¡°Double Alpha Awakening¡± during the battle at Changping.@@@@


    Their exact Awakening levels remain unknown, but it is widely accepted that no other Awakened matched their strength.


    There were rumors of an incredibly powerful Awakened in East Africa, but the chaotic state of the battlefield and their disappearance amidst monster waves left Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in as the strongest Awakened up to the end of the war¡ªa status that likely still holds.


    Unicorn18 might be one of them.


    The fact that Unicorn18 possesses the ¡°Golden Fleece¡± and speaks fluent Korean points more toward Kang Han-min.


    I once saw him typing bizarre posts on a shared computer in our dormitory cafeteria.


    It wasn¡¯t just the infamous elephant incident.


    After that, I stumbled upon more posts left by Kang Han-min on the shared cafeteria computer. From what I can remember, here are a few examples:


    Kang Han-nam: ¡°Eat this, and you¡¯ll make 10 billion won.¡±


    (A picture of a cute cat with fake burger buns above and below its face.)


    Kang Han-nam: ¡°The life of an Alpha Male.¡±


    (A convenience store clerk asking a handsome man for his contact information.)


    Kang Han-nam: ¡°Call me an idiot in the comments, and I¡¯ll do something drastic.¡±


    (A clear attempt to bait insulting replies.)


    At first, I couldn¡¯t understand why he wrote such posts, but over time, I found myself strangely addicted to reading them. Toward the end of my dormitory life, I would even sneak peeks at his posts whenever he wasn¡¯t around.


    Na Hye-in, unlike Kang Han-min, barely used the internet.


    She was so unskilled with computers that she often had to ask her junior, Woo Min-hee, for help with simple tasks like printing documents.


    Woo Min-hee would always oblige with a cheerful smile but never missed an opportunity to tease her.


    ¡°Senior, how can you not even know how to do this~?¡±


    The dormitory life was monotonous, and with the cafeteria computer being the only place with internet access, even Na Hye-in would occasionally sit down to use it.


    I once pretended to pass by while sneaking a glance at her screen. She was mostly reading Chinese news websites.


    Unlike me, she was fluent in Chinese and had a strong interest in Chinese current affairs.


    From my perspective, Unicorn18 is more likely to be Kang Han-min than Na Hye-in.


    But that¡¯s not the real problem.


    The real question is whether Unicorn18 is truly Kang Han-min.


    The ¡°Golden Fleece¡± they possess could very well be a fake.


    Before the appearance of the Awakened, there were frequent rumors in our hunter community about fake Golden Fleeces being made.


    Self-proclaimed ¡°Hunter Enthusiasts¡± would often create imitations of equipment for cosplay, including counterfeit Golden Fleeces.


    What¡¯s more, Unicorn18¡¯s Golden Fleece hasn¡¯t even been verified by VivaBot yet.


    It¡¯s entirely possible that Unicorn18 is a fraud.


    I considered the likelihood of Unicorn18 being a scammer more plausible than them being Kang Han-min.


    To confirm, I contacted Da-jeong.


    ¡°Can I ask you for a favor?¡±


    ¡°Sure. Want me to come over?¡±


    ¡°No need. Do you know Unicorn18?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that guy.¡±


    ¡°I want to figure out who he really is.¡±


    ¡°Why? He¡¯s just an otaku troll. He doesn¡¯t even seem interested in real communication.¡±


    As expected, reaching out to Da-jeong was a wise choice. Her years of experience in online communities, stretching back to elementary school, made her a treasure trove of knowledge.


    I asked her what she meant by a ¡°troll not interested in communication.¡±


    It didn¡¯t make sense to me.


    A troll, by definition, seeks attention through disruptive behavior. How could such a troll not want to communicate?


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing, Skelton,¡± Da-jeong explained with her usual internet philosophy.


    ¡°They want to shout at a crowd of strangers and make them look their way. But they don¡¯t want to build personal connections with those strangers. Do you get it?¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    Honestly, I didn¡¯t.


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°On most boards, a post-to-comment ratio of 1:1 is considered odd. A ratio of 1:2 is a bit eccentric, but the normal cutoff is 1:4. Anything beyond that, people start calling you a weirdo.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s research on this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s common knowledge on large forums. People generally agree that anyone with a 1:1 ratio isn¡¯t normal.¡±


    ¡°And Unicorn is at 20:1?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. He¡¯s not just odd¡ªhe¡¯s something else entirely.¡±


    Da-jeong concluded with certainty:


    ¡°That¡¯s why I called him a troll who doesn¡¯t want communication. Even when people comment on his posts, he doesn¡¯t care. There¡¯s something seriously off about him.¡±


    For reference, Defender¡¯s ratio was a perfect 1:1. Mine was 1:12¡ªstill higher than normal but nowhere near Unicorn18¡¯s. Based on internet standards, Defender¡¯s sister concluded that Unicorn18 wasn¡¯t a ¡°normal¡± user.


    And honestly, based on his posts, she was right.


    Unicorn18 wasn¡¯t your average forum user.


    Unicorn18: "Red Archive Touching Scenes Compilation.jpg"


    Unicorn18: "Rest in Peace, Beloved VTubers.rip"


    Unicorn18: "My little one... has grown... again..."


    Unicorn18: "Check if you have toilet paper before you poop."


    Unicorn18: "I hate eating the same meal three times a day... "


    Unicorn18: "Any decent gals around? (looks around)"


    Half of Unicorn18''s posts were like a diary, another half were about animation, and the rest were too absurdly crude to look at without cringing.


    But as I sifted through thousands of Unicorn¡¯s posts, one realization struck me: this guy is meticulous.


    When you write thousands of posts, you''d expect glimpses of personal details to slip through. Yet Unicorn18 managed to write all that without revealing even a fragment of their real identity.


    ¡°...¡±


    The Unicorn18 I had dismissed as just a clown suddenly felt different.


    To write so much while stripping away all traces of ¡°self¡± seemed, as Da-jeong put it, almost inhuman.


    Maybe the secret was that, like me, Unicorn didn¡¯t crave attention at all. But even so, Unicorn never mentioned daily struggles or petty inconveniences.


    His posts lacked any semblance of "humanity."


    The only slightly personal thing might be his cryptic references to a ¡°little one growing stiff,¡± but that wasn¡¯t a rabbit hole I wanted to explore.


    ¡°I combed through the Jeju board,¡± Defender said, sending me a link. ¡°Unicorn only posted once there.¡±


    I clicked the link and read Unicorn¡¯s lone post on PaleNet¡¯s Jeju Island board.


    Unicorn18: "Sky.sky"


    The title was uncharacteristically poetic for Unicorn18.


    The post contained nothing but a single photo:


    A vast, open field blurred out of focus, under a blue sky tinged with streaks of a crimson sunset. At the center of the frame, the camera¡¯s focus rested on a lone cosmos flower blooming in a barren gravel field.


    Seeing that cosmos, I unconsciously murmured a name:


    ¡°Na Hye-in?¡±


    I hadn¡¯t interacted much with her, nor did we share any meaningful connection. The only thing that tied us was the cosmos flower.


    That fact likely mattered little to either of us.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I asked Da-jeong.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Do you think someone who barely used the internet could suddenly turn into a troll like Unicorn18?¡±


    ¡°Who knows?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯ve always been cases of seemingly normal people acting bizarrely online. Even guys pretending to be girls¡ªthat¡¯s been happening since 20 years ago.¡±


    Defender, who had been quietly listening, chimed in:


    ¡°Skelton, do you think Unicorn might be someone you know?¡±


    There was no need to lie here.


    ¡°...It¡¯s possible.¡±


    ¡°People change,¡± Defender said. ¡°Take Jung-chul, the guy I live with¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please kick him out already!¡± Da-jeong interjected, but Defender just laughed it off and continued.


    ¡°When we were in China, he was a fiery patriot. Once, he even pointed a gun at our team leader for suggesting we abandon wounded comrades and retreat.


    Now? He¡¯s practically a butcher. Back in school, during dissection classes, he used to shake so much he¡¯d fail every exam.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, people change. You, Skelton¡ªyou weren¡¯t always like this when you first joined Viva! Apocalypse!¡±


    His words struck a nerve.


    It was true. Since the start of the war, I had undergone immense changes¡ªso much so that anyone who once knew me likely wouldn¡¯t recognize me now.


    Maybe that was why Woo Min-hee didn¡¯t recognize me; the gulf between who I was as ¡°Professor¡± and who I became as ¡°Skelton (post-apocalypse)¡± was like a chasm spanning galaxies.


    But speculation alone wouldn¡¯t uncover the truth.


    To find the truth, I would have to confront Unicorn18¡ªthe problematic individual with a post-to-comment ratio of 20:1. There was no other way.

 Chapter 72.3

    There are many ways to approach someone¡ªindirect methods, chance encounters, or feigned coincidence.


    Direct conversation should always be the last resort.


    If your intent becomes suspicious, you risk being blocked, effectively cutting off all future interaction.


    I decided to approach Unicorn18 in a more subtle and refined way.


    Unicorn18: "the song I''m currently listening to"


    The target had just posted another absurd thread.


    I left a comment.


    SKELTON: "Alpha One"


    Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in, after becoming Awakened, were offered new callsigns by the National Crisis Management Committee, not their school.


    If I recall correctly, Kang Han-min was given the callsign Jupiter, while Na Hye-in received Minerva.


    Kang Han-min stubbornly clung to his dishonorable school-given callsign, while Na Hye-in abandoned hers and chose the new one.


    Alpha One was a relic of our 13th cohort¡ªa name known only to a select few who shared that era with her, back when Na Hye-in had not yet risen to power.


    I left the comment beneath Unicorn18¡¯s post.


    ¡°...¡±


    There will be a reaction¡ªof that, I am sure.


    If someone left a comment on one of my posts calling me Professor, I¡¯d probably lose sleep wondering who they were. If it were Woo Min-hee who left the comment, I might seriously consider moving to another city.


    The bait had been set.


    Now, all I had to do was wait for the fish to bite.


    Leaving Unicorn18¡¯s thread open on my browser, I headed to my sauna.


    The new sauna facility I¡¯d built recently was one of my few sources of solace.


    It¡¯s strange¡ªback in China, I would ignore the luxurious saunas in five-star hotels, but now, a day feels incomplete without one.


    My handcrafted sauna adhered to traditional Finnish methods: a stone hearth, heated rocks, and steam created by pouring water onto the scorching stones.


    Chi-i-i-i!


    The steam hissed as it rose, filling the air with a comforting warmth. With my eyes closed, I could feel the impurities being expelled from my body, sweat carrying them away.


    I carried a rifle into the sauna, of course. That¡¯s the kind of world we live in now.


    Even in a peaceful sanctuary like this, vigilance can¡¯t be forsaken.


    To push aside the creeping negativity, I tried focusing on positive thoughts.


    What if Unicorn18 turned out to be Na Hye-in?


    How should I continue the conversation?


    Honestly, I wasn¡¯t sure.


    There wasn¡¯t much left to connect us besides cosmos, the wildflowers that now bloom both in spring and fall¡ªrootless and ubiquitous.


    But then again, time changes people.


    Maybe we¡¯d have things to talk about after all these years.


    For instance, I could share the story of how I embarrassed Um Chang-yi.


    Na Hye-in was Woo Min-hee¡¯s mentor, though their relationship was far from amicable.


    Despite Na Hye-in¡¯s overwhelming talent and flawless demeanor, Woo Min-hee had a knack for subtly challenging her authority, poking at her composure in small but persistent ways.


    Everyone knew they disliked each other¡ªthough, to be fair, nobody truly liked Woo Min-hee.


    Perhaps recounting how I outsmarted Woo Min-hee could elicit a rare smile from Na Hye-in.


    But if Unicorn18 turned out to be Kang Han-min...


    I had no idea what to say.


    There were too many unresolved grievances between us¡ªfar more than the four syllables of "awkward" could convey.


    As students, I¡¯d silently watched Jang Ki-young torment him, secretly wishing he¡¯d quit.


    Things didn¡¯t change in China.


    I was part of the elite front-line group¡ªKim Da-ram, Lee Sang-hoon, and the late Choi Bong-seok.


    Meanwhile, Kang Han-min was relegated to second-line tasks like maintaining order with fresh graduates.


    We barely interacted.


    Even when we crossed paths in the showers, we exchanged no words.


    We attended separate social events, worked in segregated teams, and lived completely parallel lives.


    The only meaningful interaction we ever had was at Kim Da-ram¡¯s wedding.


    Kang Han-min gave 200,000 won as a wedding gift¡ªa highly unusual amount.


    At the time, 50,000 won was considered the bare minimum, and 100,000 won was the standard for school alumni.


    The fact that he gave such a large sum, despite having no real connection to Kim Da-ram, left a strong impression.


    We ended up standing outside together, awkwardly waiting for the ceremony to begin.


    "I should get married too," Kang Han-min said, exhaling vapor from his e-cigarette.


    ¡°They say having kids guarantees lifelong employment.¡±


    At the time, the National Crisis Management Committee incentivized hunters to marry and have children, especially those who had served in war zones.


    The benefits were substantial, including financial support and accelerated promotions.


    A reply came, delayed by several moments.


    Unicorn18: "?"


    Unicorn18: "Who are you?"


    I swallowed hard.


    Time seemed to slow to a crawl.


    It felt like I was watching sand trickle, grain by grain, through an hourglass.


    I typed:


    "It¡¯s me, Park Gyu."


    And then deleted it.


    Erasing it felt like waves washing away words written in sand.


    Finally, I settled on a simpler approach.


    SKELTON: "I¡¯m from the school. 13th cohort."


    This was the best my courage could muster.


    Unicorn18: "Is this a joke?"


    His reply was curt, but somehow, it carried a seriousness I hadn¡¯t expected.


    Emboldened, I continued.


    SKELTON: "Do you need proof?"


    If he asked for verification, I was prepared.


    I wouldn¡¯t need to reveal my face¡ªjust a small, shining badge of the Golden Fleece would suffice.


    But there was no response.


    The silence stretched.


    Was he distracted by something else?


    No, he was deliberating¡ªjust as I had hesitated before revealing myself moments earlier.


    After what felt like an eternity, a reply came.


    Unicorn18: "No, don¡¯t do anything."


    Before I could process his words, more messages arrived.


    Unicorn18: "I don¡¯t care who you are or want to know. Stop messaging me."


    Unicorn18: "I¡¯m ignoring reality right now, so don¡¯t break my focus."


    Unicorn18: "One more word and I¡¯ll block you. Just leave things as they are."


    Unicorn18: "What I¡¯m saying is, do we really need to drag reality into this? This is a space for blowing off steam, not bringing in our baggage. Isn¡¯t that why you¡¯re here too? So let¡¯s leave the board as the board, and reality as reality."


    It was an unexpected turn of events.


    Yet, somehow, I felt it was the most fitting answer¡ªone that my imagination could never have produced.


    It was softer, gentler, and avoided unnecessary wounds on either side.


    Unicorn18: "Let¡¯s just forget this conversation happened. Enjoy the board. I¡¯ll talk to VivaBot to smooth over this situation."


    Unicorn18 had told me not to reply, but I couldn¡¯t resist saying something.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton thumbs up!)


    Unicorn18: "Maybe I¡¯ll have good news for you when spring comes. Until then, enjoy Viva!"


    In that moment, I imagined the person on the other side of the screen¡ªwhether Kang Han-min or Na Hye-in¡ªclosing a door and walking away.


    Watching them disappear, I murmured quietly:


    "...Enjoy Viva."


    This might be the first and last conversation between Unicorn18 and me.


    Unless something dramatic happens, our paths are unlikely to cross again.


    I confirmed a possibility, and that¡¯s all this clumsy attempt achieved.


    Beyond that? I don¡¯t think it¡¯s necessary.


    Leaving things unresolved might be the best choice.


    Not everything needs to be uncovered or explained. By now, both Kang Han-min and I are old enough to understand that.


    Unicorn18: "Chu-byu-chu-byu!"


    SKELTON: "Kkiya-hooo~!"


    A relationship defined by mutual awareness but deliberate distance¡ªthis might just be the golden ratio for us.


    *


    Unicorn posted a real-time video to Live! Apocalypse! not long after that¡ªjust before Christmas.


    The footage began with the towering peak of Hallasan Mountain, its surroundings scarred by massive fissures. The scene shifted to a colossal wall and fortress, divine in scale rather than human, slicing the landscape. The sky above was an empty, ash-gray expanse devoid of even a single bird.


    Then the ground trembled as an enormous Kraken, a mega-sized monster, attempted to breach the wall. It was struck down by merciless artillery fire, collapsing in a heap. The camera panned to a barren field of gravel.


    Half the gravel was covered in snow, but I recognized the location immediately.


    It was the same spot where Unicorn had once photographed cosmos.


    The video ended with the faint sound of a sigh.


    It was unmistakably a woman¡¯s sigh.


    "..."


    I couldn¡¯t decipher the meaning behind it.


    Was it a mockery directed at me? A calculated ploy to provoke or deceive? Or simply an unguarded, raw exhalation from the person filming?


    It hardly mattered.


    At the very least, this ambiguous, unresolved situation gave me a small sense of purpose.


    I needed to keep living¡ªjust a little longer.

 Chapter 73.1

    Unicorn18''s live broadcast did not provide clarity or resolution. Instead, it sparked a whirlwind of controversies and questions.


    The video itself was unstable, fragmented with cryptic hints, leaving only a handful of people capable of deciphering its meaning.


    Disputes ranged from whether the blurry mountain shown was Hallasan or Baekdusan, to whether Unicorn18¡¯s voice was male or female.


    For those unfamiliar with Jeju¡¯s current state, recognizing it from the footage was no easy task.


    Gone were the warm, idyllic images of tangerine orchards, dol hareubangs, lush forests, and blue seas. Instead, there stood towering concrete walls, pillboxes, fortresses, and scorched earth. Few could confidently identify it as Jeju.


    Most telling of all was Unicorn18''s post-video behavior. True to form, he ignored all responses, maintaining his infamous 20:1 post-to-comment ratio and continuing his spree of absurd posts.


    Unicorn18: "Kano jo-ni~ Naa-tte ageru~"


    Unicorn18: "Kono, pull it!"


    Unicorn18: "Feeling good today... "


    Unicorn18: "Red Archive Best Pick.five"


    Nevertheless, the significance of Unicorn18''s video was undeniable.


    According to VivaBot, the final selection of Live! Apocalypse! content required approval from Melon Musk himself.


    This meant Unicorn18''s video had received his acknowledgment.


    The reason behind Unicorn¡¯s live broadcast was clear:


    He wanted to separate PaleNet users¡ªendless beggars and whiners¡ªfrom the rest of us.@@@@


    VivaBot had even promised to block PaleNet¡¯s access once the Live! content was posted.


    But nothing changed.


    Every day in Incheon, thousands froze to death from cold and malnutrition, while just as many perished in gunfights between rival refugee camps.


    It wasn¡¯t our concern, nor did we want it to be.


    What we desired was a safe haven for our community of apocalyptic nihilists.


    When no solution seemed forthcoming, I decided to ask VivaBot directly.


    Judging by the number of inquiries she must have received, VivaBot eventually posted a response in the admin chat:


    VIVA_BOT014:


    "Honestly, there''s no immediate way to block the gap between the Korean board and PaleNet."


    "We¡¯re short on staff, and I¡¯m sure you¡¯re all aware there¡¯s a civil war in the U.S."


    It took only a minute of conversation to realize VivaBot wasn¡¯t exactly the most diligent admin.


    True to form, she discarded her earlier promises.


    Instead, she proposed a "solution":


    VIVA_BOT014:


    "But I agree the current state of the Korean board is pretty dire. So, here¡¯s what I¡¯m thinking: we¡¯ll appoint moderators from among the board users after a screening process."


    "These moderators can manage the board, block malicious users, and delete harmful posts."


    "We¡¯ll decide how many to appoint later, but I think it¡¯s best for Korean board users to solve their own problems."


    In short: Handle it yourselves.


    It was an infuriatingly irresponsible answer.


    But there was one aspect of her response that no Korean could simply ignore:


    "...A board moderator?"


    The phrase struck me like a bolt of lightning.


    It seems I wasn¡¯t alone.


    Other users also latched onto this unfamiliar concept.


    Anonymous 424: "A board moderator?"


    RkkaRa: "Hmm..."


    ??: "Huh?"


    Gijayangban: "LOL."


    Anonymous 458: "Wait, does that mean we¡¯re getting an admin for the board?"


    Berkut_break: "So basically, they want to exploit unpaid users as board admins? Lame."


    ??: "What is this? Just an armband, really."


    Foxgames: "A bit inconvenient, but I¡¯d like to see some form of board management."


    RokaGG: "I bet lots of people would jump at the chance."


    Chaos erupted.


    The thought of these self-important users donning an armband and wielding power was enough to send shivers down my spine.


    mmmmmmmmm: "If you appoint me as board moderator, I¡¯ll purge all trolls, beggars, baiters, and unfunny users, creating a clean, enjoyable Korean board!"


    dongtanmom: "Nom nom... If you make me mod, nom... I¡¯ll share some juicy China stories, nom..."


    Keystone: "Sounds fun if I get the armband~ Count me in, LOL."


    Dies_irae69: (Blocked user post)


    This was going to be a problem.


    Berkut_breakAnonymous 424Dies_irae69dongtanmomDolsingmanmmmmmmmmmAnonymous 1031SKELTON


    If I were to compare, I¡¯m like a one-table gourmet restaurant run by a Cordon Bleu chef, while the others are local diners with broad appeal.


    Sure, a few connoisseurs recognize my value, but I¡¯m undeniably niche.


    "Wait, you¡¯re running for the armband election?"


    I reached out to Da-jeong for her opinion.


    If she moves away, I might actually miss her.


    Suppressing my mixed feelings, I asked her directly:


    "Be honest. Do you think I stand a chance?"


    "Not a chance."


    "Why?"


    "Why do you think? SKELTON isn¡¯t popular. Objectively speaking, you¡¯re closer to being disliked."


    For a moment, I thought I wouldn¡¯t mind her moving after all.


    I quickly ended the call and turned my attention back to the board.


    The majority of the board was still overrun by PaleNet beggars represented by countless anonymous "??" users.


    "Save me," "Help me," they¡¯d cry.


    Most of them were likely looters, pretending to be desperate survivors.


    Genuinely struggling individuals wouldn¡¯t have the luxury to post pleas for help.


    With Incheon¡¯s collapse imminent and the local government seemingly abandoning the situation after Yang Sang-gil¡¯s downfall, it¡¯s no surprise.


    Even Woo Min-hee hasn¡¯t been in touch since.


    She occasionally makes appearances on the board, but it¡¯s clear her hands are tied.


    Unicorn18 promised good news by spring, but I doubt this winter will ever end.


    It¡¯s still early December, and Christmas hasn¡¯t even arrived yet.


    "...There has to be a way."


    A way for SKELTON to overcome this disadvantage and rally support from multiple users.


    If this were reality, I could distribute food and drinks to win their favor.


    But this is the internet.


    VIVA_BOT014:


    "The voting system requires preparation, so we¡¯ll hold the election in three days."


    "In the meantime, candidates should focus on gaining support¡ªespecially through Live! content."


    To make matters worse, the election will take place immediately after the Live! Apocalypse! session.


    This essentially demands that candidates prepare live content.


    It makes sense, considering it benefits the board as a whole, but still...


    Live content won¡¯t be easy for me.


    Revealing my identity is out of the question, especially with people like Kang Han-min or Na Hye-in potentially watching.


    It feels like there¡¯s a forbidden boundary in my heart, warning me not to expose myself.


    The only realistic live content I could provide would be a mutant hunt.


    But hunting would inevitably reveal Park Gyu, shattering the SKELTON facade.


    Caught in this dilemma, an unexpected incident occurred:


    PaleNet went offline.

 Chapter 73.2

    It had been a long time since I cooked ramen.


    Ramen isn¡¯t something I eat often.


    It¡¯s been at least two years since I last had it.


    The reason is simple: despite its reputation as a preserved food, ramen has a relatively short shelf life.


    Though the noodles are fried in oil to extend their expiration date, the oil itself has a shelf life.


    Manufacturers generally estimate that ramen lasts about a year.


    Even with frying, vacuum sealing, and additives, it seems ramen is not immune to the inevitability of deterioration¡ªperhaps a metaphor for its destiny.


    I used to have a stockpile of ramen, but after the war began, I prioritized eating through it.


    Now, there¡¯s barely any left. Just five packs of wing-packaged ramen stored in the freezer.


    Today, I took one of those out and cooked ramen for the first time in ages.


    Bubble, bubble.


    Ramen always looks its best when it¡¯s cooking.


    Why ramen all of a sudden?


    For one, the warm and slightly spicy dish pairs well with the cold, snowy weather.


    But more than that, ramen reminds me of John_Nae-non, the creator of PaleNet, which is now offline.


    Our John_Nae-non wrote about countless topics, one of which was ramen.


    John_Nae-non¡¯s Post: "On Long-Term Storage of Ramen"


    It caught me off guard.


    At the time, I had always thought of John_Nae-non as a European masquerading as a Korean, living a distinctly Western lifestyle.


    His writing habits, choice of terms, and the environments he described seemed more American or European than Korean.


    Even his examples of ingredients reinforced this impression.


    While other users discussed Korean staples like rice, ramen, grilled pork belly, Spam, lettuce farming, or kimchi-making efficiency,


    John_Nae-non would bring up oatmeal, lentils, chickpeas, wine, cheese, bacon, ham, thyme, basil, and shallots instead of onions.


    Back then, I was still naive¡ªmy experience on the internet was limited.


    It never crossed my mind that our John_Nae-non might have been plagiarizing posts from French survivalist forums and passing them off as his own.


    So naturally, I assumed he was someone who had lived abroad.


    But then, out of nowhere, John_Nae-non began discussing a distinctly Korean topic: ramen.


    Specifically, ramen, a topic that had been the subject of heated keyboard battles.


    I couldn¡¯t help but feel intrigued.


    What unique, expert-level "Korean" insight would our resident sage, John_Nae-non, bring to the table?


    I clicked the post with high expectations.


    The content was, to put it bluntly, ridiculous.


    "Just put it in the freezer. ????"


    That was it.


    A single, unimpressive sentence in a post I had eagerly clicked on with high hopes.


    "...Huh?"


    It was probably the first time my faith in John_Nae-non faltered.


    Still, given his vast knowledge and sense of humor, I chalked it up to a failed joke and moved on.


    Shortly after, I left the board to focus on finishing construction and dealing with the ever-tightening financial noose of reality.


    By the time I returned, John_Nae-non had been exiled into obscurity.


    Now, it was time to test his hypothesis.


    Slurp¡ª


    "Fuck!"


    The taste of spoiled noodles was indescribable.


    I forced it down, but I had a nagging feeling it would ruin my mood for the rest of the day.


    It¡¯s a petty complaint, I know¡ªone I can afford because I live relatively well.


    But eating that spoiled ramen brought back memories of John_Nae-non and his creation, PaleNet.


    PaleNet is much like spoiled ramen.


    Its "manufacture date" was when John_Nae-non sealed the PaleNet server room with himself inside.


    Since then, it has deteriorated, eventually becoming inedible ramen.


    But it was good ramen while it lasted.


    Considering the difficulty of maintaining server facilities capable of handling immense traffic without upkeep for months, it was no small feat.


    With PaleNet¡¯s demise, the election for the board moderator has lost its meaning.


    Yet VivaBot, lazy as ever, has remained silent for three days since PaleNet went down.


    It¡¯s likely the election will simply fizzle out without any updates¡ªclassic VivaBot style.


    But then, an announcement appeared from an unexpected place.


    171cm54kg13cm:


    "Hello, everyone. I¡¯m the second administrator of PaleNet."


    The announcement wasn¡¯t posted on our board¡ªit came from PaleNet itself.


    Since PaleNet was down, the admin posted the message on our board.


    To summarize: PaleNet isn¡¯t dead.


    Some servers had gone down, but with fewer users, it was still operational.


    John_Nae-non¡¯s disciple had even remotely upgraded the software and optimized the system.


    The problem lay outside.


    The antenna installed on the rooftop of the old mansion housing the server had been damaged.


    Heated seats.Handlebar covers.A windscreen.


    VROOOOOM¡ª


    It¡¯s been a while since I last headed to Seoul.


    Thanks to the thorough preparations, I don¡¯t feel the cold at all.


    If anything, it¡¯s so warm I¡¯m tempted to take off some layers.


    How long has it been since I last felt this carefree riding down the road?


    The air is sharp as a blade, and countless people are dying in places I¡¯ll never see.


    Yet, the snow-covered world feels so still, so peaceful, it¡¯s almost drowsy.


    *


    "Skelton!"


    In the desolate, ghost-like streets of Seoul, a figure approached me¡ªa shadow against the forlorn skyline. It was John Nae-non¡¯s subordinate.


    Wearing glasses, his body hadn¡¯t changed much since we last met, but his face looked pale and unhealthy.


    His skin had taken on a sickly, blotchy hue¡ªlike that of someone who¡¯d destroyed their liver through excessive drinking.


    We retreated to the basement of an abandoned apartment complex, where he showed me drone footage of the PaleNet¡¯s antenna.


    One of the transmission antennas had been clearly damaged.


    "The main transmission antenna went down," he explained. "The receiving antenna is fine, but without the transmitter, PaleNet can¡¯t send signals. Even if someone enters commands, it won¡¯t respond."


    Standing there, I decided this man needed a new title.


    Back when John Nae-non was around, this guy had been little more than a sidekick. But now, he was the de facto operator of PaleNet.


    A title befitting his role was in order.


    "I have a complex about my real name," he admitted. "Could you just call me Valentine?"


    Judging by the smirk he gave, it was likely a name inspired by alcohol.


    "Thirty years old, I presume?"


    "More than thirty," he said with a chuckle.


    We got down to business.


    While we¡¯d gone over most of the situation online, humans have an innate tendency¡ªwhether conscious or not¡ªto hide information that might be disadvantageous to them.


    It¡¯s not inherently malicious; it¡¯s just human nature to conceal weaknesses.


    And, as expected, Valentine revealed something he hadn¡¯t mentioned before.


    "This... was captured accidentally. What do you think?"


    He played a portion of the drone footage, showing a pale, humanoid figure moving amidst the ruins.


    Even Valentine, who clearly didn¡¯t know what it was, seemed aware of its danger.


    Anyone would be unnerved by a creature of that size¡ªnearly human in shape yet disturbingly alien¡ªstalking the streets.


    Worse still, I recognized it.


    Not from personal experience, but from Dongtanmom¡¯s livestream.


    It was one of the creatures that had relentlessly pursued her, along with hordes of zombies, during her harrowing escape.


    And now, it was here in Seoul.


    I let out a sigh.


    "This... won¡¯t be easy," I muttered.


    My rule is simple: never engage an unknown monster.


    It¡¯s a philosophy I developed as Professor, not Jang Gi-young.


    I¡¯d seen too many allies die¡ªunable to use even half their skills¡ªbecause they faced an unfamiliar creature without preparation.


    New species should only be handled by the best hunters.


    Elite hunters can figure out the optimal strategies with minimal loss and share that knowledge with others.


    But that was a principle I upheld during my active years.


    Now, I have no intention of risking my life for PaleNet or the people of Incheon.


    As I considered the situation, something else caught my attention¡ªthe fire Valentine had lit.


    "Hey, even if this is Seoul, isn¡¯t it risky to have a fire going like this?"


    "See that vent? It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ve lit fires here many times without any trouble."


    "No, I mean... are you sure there aren¡¯t dangerous people around? I didn¡¯t see any smoke on my way here. In a place as deserted as this, lighting a fire is like painting a target on your back."


    Hearing my concerns, Valentine hurriedly extinguished the flames.


    But it was too late.


    Footsteps echoed from the entrance.


    "Is someone there?"


    It was a young man¡¯s voice¡ªcalm but cautious.


    I exchanged a quick glance with Valentine and took cover, weapon at the ready.


    "Lower your weapons, please," the voice called out. "We¡¯re not enemies. We¡¯re part of a search party from the National Commission."


    His words were measured, but trusting a voice alone is a fast track to an early grave.


    Moments later, more footsteps approached.


    "Oh?"


    This time, it was a woman¡¯s voice.


    Just as I began to think her tone sounded vaguely familiar, a cry of joy echoed through the stairwell.


    "Sam!"


    That voice. That name.


    I broke cover to find myself staring at a woman whose radiant eyes were brimming with tears of recognition.


    There was no doubt.


    It was her¡ªmy former student of two weeks, Song Yoo-jin.

 Chapter 73.3

    "We decided to give up on Seoul, and the Legion faction withdrew from the eastern side of the city.


    However, there were people who refused to leave. Seoul, being such a large city, and with so many refugees pouring in from surrounding areas, still had a considerable population. So, there were quite a few people left behind."


    The unfamiliar faces that appeared in front of us, as they had already stated, were from the National Crisis Management Committee¡¯s search team. To explain their purpose, let''s hear it from Song Yoo-jin.


    "There were probably at least hundreds of thousands left. Even though they were abandoned, the population was still quite significant, almost at a provincial level.


    Well, after that, the cold wave hit, monsters descended, and mutated beings like the Four Heavenly Kings started roaming around, so the population rapidly decreased. But at some point, they all just vanished.


    It was probably around last summer."


    Song Yoo-jin looked at me with eyes shadowed by twilight.


    "They sent out the search team to find out the cause. About once a month."


    The man next to her, wearing glasses, added:


    "Besides that, we¡¯ve been investigating the rate of erosion around Seoul, changes in the vegetation, the number of mutations, and monster density.


    In fact, if Seoul, which is practically one with Incheon, falls, Incheon will likely face the same fate."


    The man¡¯s name was Lee Ho-yeon.


    Like Song Yoo-jin, he was an Awakened, at level 4.


    He was the leader of the search team.


    The search team consisted of seven members: four Awakened and three soldiers.


    Although they were Awakened, except for one, all of them were below level 4, low-tier Awakened, which meant their basic combat abilities were insufficient, and the soldiers helped make up for this.


    The soldiers didn¡¯t wear any insignia, indicating they weren¡¯t part of the Ministry of National Defense but the National Crisis Management Committee. They looked like seasoned veterans based on their solid builds and fierce gazes.


    They found us not by their Awakened abilities, but by the campfire.


    They saw the black smoke rising from the fire in broad daylight and came straight here, using their Awakened senses to pinpoint our exact location.


    It was a meeting that seemed to be an unexpected yet fateful coincidence.


    The atmosphere wasn¡¯t bad.


    While the soldiers were keeping their distance, the Awakened were generally friendly, probably thanks to Song Yoo-jin.


    "So why did you suddenly come to Seoul?"


    "Well... that¡¯s..."


    I paused for a moment, thinking about how to speak in a way that would allow me to clearly separate my identity as SKELTON from my role as a professor.@@@@


    It¡¯s true that Song Yoo-jin¡¯s mouth is heavy.


    Had she revealed to Woo Min-hee that I actually had satellite equipment, I might have disappeared long before I could dream of wearing an armband. After organizing my thoughts, I looked at her seriously and said:


    "Do you know Failnet?"


    "Yes, I know."


    The Awakened behind us exchanged glances.


    "It just exploded, didn¡¯t it?"


    "Yeah."


    They were the ones who hadn¡¯t told me their names yet.


    It wasn¡¯t that they disliked me, but being young, they seemed reluctant to connect with others.


    "I¡¯m on my way to fix Failnet."


    "Fix Failnet?"


    I introduced Valentine, who had been silent until then.


    "He¡¯s the current admin of Failnet. We¡¯ve known each other for a while."


    "Valentine."


    "Ah, I see..."


    Unlike me, Song Yoo-jin didn¡¯t seem too pleased with Valentine, but the two friends who hadn¡¯t told me their names were now intrigued and started asking him all sorts of questions.


    While they were talking, I turned to Song Yoo-jin.


    "Can I talk to the team leader for a moment?"


    "The team leader? Sure, no problem. Ho-yeon team leader! Looks like Sam has something to say!"


    As Song Yoo-jin called out, Lee Ho-yeon slowly approached. Then, suddenly, Song Yoo-jin leaned in close to me and whispered in my ear.


    "Our team leader is suffering from depression, by the way. Just so you know."


    "Depression, huh?"


    Lee Ho-yeon, wearing a wry smile, stepped closer.


    This guy¡¯s pretty tall.


    Maybe 187 or 188 cm?


    He had a slender frame and was hunched over slightly, so I hadn¡¯t noticed from afar, but standing close, he certainly had a commanding presence.


    His attitude toward me was neutral.


    He neither liked nor disliked me.


    He knew I was a professor, but it seemed his impression of me wasn¡¯t as deep as Song Yoo-jin¡¯s.


    Honestly, this is the new norm in schools.


    No matter how great I was in the past or the achievements I had, my style was already considered outdated.


    It was like how painters who made incredibly detailed portraits ended up out of work after the invention of the camera.


    I didn¡¯t particularly care about earning respect or being acknowledged for my past, so I simply stated my purpose.


    My purpose was none other than to deal with the new monster.


    Valentine showed the photo of the pale, wriggling creature, which looked like a giant maggot, to Lee Ho-yeon.


    The moment he saw the photo, Lee Ho-yeon adjusted his glasses.


    His expression didn¡¯t change, but it was clear he was surprised.


    "This is..."


    He asked for my phone.


    Once I handed it over, he zoomed in on the image of the new monster until it filled the screen and spoke.


    "It¡¯s an extinction-type."


    "Wait a second."


    Song Yoo-jin pulled out her K-WalkerTalk and started fiddling with the keypad.


    What¡¯s she doing? As I watched, she was entering a personal identification number.


    Personal Identification Number: CLIFF_HANGER.


    "What¡¯s that?"


    "Ah, it¡¯s his personal identification number."


    "What?! That guy?"


    "Do you know him?"


    "No. Not really."


    "Well, honestly, now he¡¯s... like a living cultural asset! That¡¯s the kind of vibe he gives off, you know? His apartment is also called ¡®The Hope,¡¯ right? So, he¡¯s been getting a lot of support from here and there."


    "...I see."


    I didn¡¯t not understand, but something about this felt off.


    As a doomsday theorist, my pride in my philosophy was starting to crumble.


    It¡¯s like he¡¯s proving that surviving in a zoo-style setup is possible, which wasn¡¯t what I thought survival was about.


    Sure, it might not be a survival method built on thinking things through, but purely by luck, M9¡¯s method is undeniably impressive.


    Especially in how he¡¯s earned the fair favor of humanity, the greatest threat.


    M9 responded to the call.


    "Captain M9 speaking!"


    Hearing that, I lost my composure and blurted out without thinking:


    "Shut up."


    "Sam?!"


    I quickly shut my mouth and signaled to Song Yoo-jin to communicate with him using the school''s codes.


    With a somewhat reluctant look, Song Yoo-jin asked M9 what I wanted.


    "I think someone just said shut up..."


    "Oh, I was talking about Jurassic stuff next to him."


    "Hmmm..."


    Song Yoo-jin requested information about the extinction-type monster.


    I had a hunch.


    The tilted apartment would offer a better view of things down below.


    "Ah, the one that looks like a maggot?"


    Sure enough, M9 knew the monster we were talking about.


    "That thing¡¯s pretty fast, but it can¡¯t climb slopes well. One time, it chased me all the way to the elevator corridor, but then it slipped there. It fell and I haven¡¯t seen it since. The little bastard got stuck."


    (¡®Slipped¡¯ means the floor was made slippery.)


    It seems like it survived despite being attacked.


    "..."


    When I first saw M9, I thought he was missing a few screws, but living in that tilted place, it looks like he¡¯s leveled up.


    I asked a few more questions through Song Yoo-jin.


    Whether he had fired shots or if there were any special abilities.


    Unfortunately, I couldn¡¯t find the specific information I wanted, but I did gather a few details worth noting.


    The most important piece of information:


    The extinction-type doesn¡¯t cause waves.


    Waves are precursors to a variety of miracles, like the reflective energy fields caused by monsters.


    They signify an explosion of psychic energy.


    The fact that there were no waves means this creature isn¡¯t as formidable as it seemed.


    Even in Dongtanmom¡¯s live broadcast, the creatures didn¡¯t cause waves and moved alongside zombies.


    "..."


    Maybe this new species isn¡¯t as strong as we think.


    We won¡¯t know its exact specs until we face it, but for now...


    "Thanks, Yoo-jin."


    "It¡¯s nothing, Sam. It wasn¡¯t that important."


    "Then we¡¯ll head toward Seoul to fix Failnet."


    "What? You¡¯re going to Seoul after seeing the new species?"


    Song Yoo-jin looked at me, surprised.


    "Are you serious?!"


    After thinking for a moment, I realized that I hadn¡¯t really taught my disciple much.


    I had just recited some textbook material, void of any soul.


    Still, if she¡¯s following me this much, I should at least teach her something.


    Looking at her with eyes holding a subtle glow, I calmly added, layering her image with that of the innocent middle schooler she once was.


    "Discovering a new species isn¡¯t enough of a reason to stop the mission."


    "?".


    "If I avoid it, someone else will face that new species without knowing. Like you and your team. You know how dangerous it is to face an unknown new monster without any information, right?"


    "...Yeah."


    "A hunter needs to have this basic mindset: that I am better than anyone else."


    "Sam..."


    I smiled at her softly.


    "And I¡¯m a professor."

 Chapter 73.4

    The current temperature is minus 25.2¡ãC.


    The sky is clear with not a cloud in sight, and the wind is calm.


    The streets, blanketed in white, are submerged in silence.


    The high-rise buildings and apartments, unmanaged and decayed like corpses, block the view with an oppressive density, but there isn¡¯t a single place where smoke rises from those countless buildings.


    "Seems like they¡¯ve all left," Valentine muttered weakly.


    "Last winter, there were at least a few plumes of smoke visible..."


    Valentine had a peculiar mode of transportation.


    A golf cart.


    But the wheels were way too large for it to be considered a cart.


    It seemed like it had been heavily modified, and when it was set to full speed, it could reach 120 km/h.


    The motor had been replaced with an electric one made by Melon Mask, and the suspension had been adjusted to support high speeds, though I didn¡¯t comment on it. In this age, simply being alive is evidence enough.


    Normally, we moved on foot during operations.


    It was more covert and meticulous, allowing us to use the terrain and cover effectively.


    Of course, the reason I chose walking over a quicker method was the insurance of being able to request support at any moment.


    When encountering enemies or obstacles that would be hard to deal with on foot, I could always call for backup from the Chinese military.


    But in this ruined city, there was no backup.


    Helicopters and armored vehicles, let alone a single drone, would be too much to expect.


    If I ran into a dangerous foe, I had to figure out how to escape on my own.


    The freezing cold slowly numbed the body and dragged it toward the swamp of death, but ironically, it also gave me a sense of stability.


    Being able to move through the wide-open streets between high-rise buildings, almost like exploring an abandoned house, was something I had never experienced even in China. There were always snipers.


    Abandoned by the government and disillusioned with reality, the remaining people in these areas shot at anyone who dared approach their territory.


    Occasional gunfire could be heard, and sometimes dozens of people would lie in ambush on buildings, suddenly launching a barrage of bullets.


    Some of my comrades had died foolishly, hit by stray bullets.


    Among them was even a Chinese hunter, someone I¡¯d respected for their skills.


    Just yesterday, he was boasting about calling the prettiest girls from Shanghai¡¯s bars for a wild night, and then, with a gunshot from afar, he collapsed lifelessly. I suppose that was when it happened.


    I realized then that while our greatest enemies were the monsters, the most dangerous ones might just be our fellow humans.


    In this frozen wasteland, that kind of danger didn¡¯t exist.


    In the concrete buildings with no power and no water, survival meant constantly keeping a fire burning.


    The moment that fire went out, the warmth that surrounded you would vanish like a mirage.


    The roads, buried in snow like everywhere else, weren¡¯t too bad for riding a motorcycle, as the snowfall had been light all winter.


    Depending on the area, the snow depth varied, but on average, it came up to about the ankles.


    Just eleven years ago, the Legion faction had controlled this area, so the roads weren¡¯t in too bad of shape.


    There were no abandoned cars, and the debris had all been cleared away.


    There were some unidentified trash piles here and there, but compared to the circular roads and highways filled with abandoned vehicles that could only be navigated by motorcycle, this was still in relatively good condition.


    However, the aesthetic was far from pleasing¡ªon several occasions, bodies, hanged by signs around their necks, twisted grotesquely due to the freezing and thawing. The signs were written in red paint, labeling them as thieves, traitors, or deserters.


    The bodies weren¡¯t only human.


    "Look over there, SKELTON."


    A giant cat was lying on its side, completely covered by a blanket of snow.


    It was a mutation.


    Valentine cleared the snow and checked the creature¡¯s condition.


    "Looking at its white fur, it seems to be one of the five mysteries¡ªthe Jangsan Tiger."


    "Jangsan Tiger?"


    "Yeah. It¡¯s a cat, but it makes a sound like a crying baby to lure people in and then eats them. I¡¯ve heard over a hundred people have fallen victim to it."


    Valentine kicked the corpse with his foot.


    "Seems like even monsters can¡¯t survive in the cold."


    Well, it¡¯s a season where even humans freeze to death.


    Being a mutation didn¡¯t mean it was invulnerable.


    I couldn¡¯t help but think of Gold.


    If it were a smart one, wouldn¡¯t it have sought my help in such a winter?


    "Do you remember this alley?"


    "Yeah, this is the place where people were shooting at each other."


    "Right. Back then, we had to crawl, using cover and concealment like soldiers, but now... it¡¯s quiet."


    As Valentine said, the once violence-ridden old shopping street was now submerged in silence, like the rest of the city.


    "Just a little further."


    "No, stop."


    There was something beyond the white street.


    Instead of squinting, I immediately pulled out my telescope and zoomed in on the figure.


    It was a new species.


    Just like in the live broadcast or photos I¡¯d seen before, the creature had the same appearance.


    Its upper body was upright, resembling a centaur, and its overall shape was like the letter "L."


    True to its maggot-like nature, it didn¡¯t have limbs, but it seemed to move by contracting and expanding its worm-like body, with primitive foot-like appendages near its abdomen.


    There were no visible sensory organs like eyes or a nose on its head, but a rhomboid chitinous shell covered the top of its head, and its lower jaw was filled with sharp teeth that looked like they were designed to embody pure malice.


    "Step back."


    "What will you do?"


    Instead of answering his question, I raised my firearm.


    Click.


    As I disengaged the safety, Valentine automatically turned the cart around and moved it back to a safe distance.


    I used the telescope to gauge the distance between the monster and myself.


    600 meters.


    It was within a reflective field.


    The strengths and weaknesses of long-range shooting became apparent here.


    The longer the distance, the lower the chances of dying, but the accuracy drops, meaning I could still be affected by the reflective field.


    I believed this new species didn¡¯t have the ability to create a reflective field.


    But I didn¡¯t want to test that theory with my life.


    The safest option was probably intimidation¡ªusing suppressive fire¡ªbut considering the distance, my frozen body, and the condition of my rifle, getting closer seemed like the most prudent decision.


    Every time I thought about the long-range options, I thought of Kim Daram.


    She was my most outstanding junior, and she would have taken the shot without bothering to check wind speed or direction, hitting the monster¡¯s side with a precise shot.


    This extinction-type new species isn¡¯t that formidable in combat.


    It may look like a monster, but its actual combat strength is closer to primitive interdimensional life forms rather than true monsters.


    But there¡¯s one problem.


    It doesn¡¯t disappear.


    When monsters die, they usually break down into particles and vanish, but this new species, like a human or mutation, froze in place, retaining its dead form.


    It¡¯s as if it¡¯s embracing decay¡ªmonsters¡¯ only beauty is their death¡¯s elegant transformation, but this creature seems to have abandoned that as well.


    In the middle of my speculation, a silent shockwave suddenly shook the entire area.


    A shockwave.


    It wasn¡¯t from the monster.


    It came from a distant location.


    It seems there are other monsters around.


    As I tried to leave the battlefield, a dark, ominous energy began to spread over the body of the extinct species I thought was dead, like black paint scattered over the world.


    I quickly pulled out two magazines from my pocket and prepared for combat.


    Once the black energy dissipated, an unwelcome reality unfolded in front of me.


    The monster I thought was dead rose from its spot.


    "Screeech!"


    It opened its mouth wide, letting out a roar before charging directly toward me.


    Tatatatat!


    I fired.


    It was the same method as before.


    But as the bullets struck its body, a shockwave rang from a distance, and black fog rose around the point of impact. Through the fog, the monster continued advancing toward me as if nothing had happened.


    The monster is currently on the second floor.


    There¡¯s time.


    I pulled out my phone, zoomed in to maximum magnification, and fired again.


    The same thing happened, but now I could break it down frame by frame.


    When I saw the footage on my phone, I understood the nature of the black fog.


    It¡¯s regeneration.


    When the bullet pierced through its white torso, the black fog rose and quickly sealed the wound.


    This is a new type.


    The one causing the shockwave from the northeast must be the one triggering the regeneration.


    I want to confirm this, but the new species is right in front of me.


    An immortal monster that absorbs every bullet.


    But I have insurance.


    "Screeech!"


    With a terrible scream, the monster tried to climb the escalator. I grabbed two axes from my bag.


    Axes are always my last line of defense, but today, the axes aren¡¯t the main star.


    "Screeech!"


    Just as the monster seemed ready to pounce, something unexpected happened. It suddenly slipped down the escalator. The slope was created.


    I had placed plywood on the escalator and sprayed water on it.


    M9 had inspired me.


    Indeed, the monster¡¯s inferior body structure couldn¡¯t overcome the natural barrier of the slope.


    I watched it struggle in front of me.


    It was definitely faster than a normal monster.


    It felt more like a living creature than a withered tree.


    But objectively, it was clearly slow.


    Seeing its heavy movements, it didn¡¯t seem necessary to create the slope.


    Crack!


    I finally swung both axes freely.


    Every time the axes sliced, the mysterious fog tried to heal its wounds, but it couldn¡¯t keep up with how fast I was disassembling it.


    Of course, this alone wouldn¡¯t be enough to kill an immortal worm monster.


    I had been eyeing the chitinous visor all along.


    As it slipped but still raised its head toward me, I swung the axe with all my might at the back of its head.


    Rather than breaking the visor, I felt as though I was peeling it off.


    Screech-


    The axe cleanly removed the visor.


    Inside the open head was a grotesque organ, like a seed wriggling like a heart.


    Crack!


    I struck it with the other axe.


    The heavy sensation of hitting something solid confirmed that the monster¡¯s movement had finally stopped.


    The long battle had finally ended.


    Even the black fog couldn¡¯t save it.


    The body, struck in the vital area in its head, disintegrated into countless glowing particles and vanished, just like other monsters.


    "..."


    It wasn¡¯t particularly strong, but it wasn¡¯t an easy opponent either.


    A creature with bullet resistance, regeneration, and detection abilities¡ªif a group of such monsters appeared, the weak would likely be wiped out.


    But this one isn¡¯t alone.


    There¡¯s another.


    The one likely responsible for the shockwave and the black fog.


    Just as I was about to push the plywood and move down, the radio crackled.


    Crackle!


    The frequency was public.


    "Park Gyu Hunter!"


    It was an unfamiliar voice.


    "It¡¯s the Search Party. We¡¯re currently under attack by multiple powerful monsters. The team leader has been hit, and the entire team is cornered. We know it¡¯s dangerous, but is there any chance you can provide support?"


    Multiple enemies.


    Was the main fight on this side or the other?


    I stepped into the disintegrating particles of the monster and responded to the communication.


    "Where are you?"

 Chapter 73.5

    It''s a worse situation to go for support without sufficient power; it''s better not to go at all.


    When offering support, you should always go in with overwhelming strength. Otherwise, instead of helping your trapped allies, you''ll only hold them back.


    Given the current circumstances, it''s impossible to gather enough power.


    Unless I could pull off a trick like Sun Wukong and use my hair to create clones, right now it¡¯s just me. I could call on Valentine, but an untrained fighter would be more of a liability in a monster battle than a help.


    As a backup, I kept communication open, trying to gather as much detailed information as I could.


    "We''re dealing with five new types and a number of zombies. The zombies aren¡¯t much of a problem, but the new types are resistant to bullets. No matter how many times we knock them down, they rise again, spewing black smoke."


    "It''s at the old wedding hall. Do you know the Sky Temple wedding hall?"


    "Our team leader has suffered a major bite. It¡¯s not a full amputation, but the thigh wound is bleeding heavily. We''ve managed to stop the bleeding for now, but the cold is rapidly lowering his body temperature. We¡¯ve called for a helicopter, but with the low temperature, it¡¯s taking a while to get it off the ground."


    "The situation is somewhat stable for now. We heard that they can¡¯t climb slopes, so we¡¯ve built a makeshift ramp with the stairs and are holding out."


    The person handling the communication on the other side wasn''t an Awakened, but a soldier who introduced himself as Sergeant Kim.


    Even amidst the gunfire and chaos, his calm voice made it clear he was someone experienced in frontline combat.


    He added, "Oh, and about that white grub... anyone killed by it turns into a zombie."


    "Is that true?"


    "Yeah, my colleague is down there right now, and he''s trying to kill us with the monsters."


    As we continued the exchange, the gunshots grew louder.


    Beyond the pale street, the wedding hall building loomed.


    It used to be a high-end wedding venue popular with the wealthy.


    I remember it because Kim Daram had mentioned wanting to get married there many times.


    In the end, she ended up getting married at a hotel venue slightly lower in status than that one.


    "What¡¯s the situation now?"


    I checked the area around the wedding hall.


    "Still the same. We''re surrounded, and they¡¯re trying to kill us."


    "How much ammo do you have left?"


    "I have one magazine. The others are probably in the same situation."


    "Understood. Hang in there for a little longer."@@@@


    "Where are you now?"


    "I''m in front of the wedding hall, but I have something I need to check."


    "But the situation..."


    "I can¡¯t fix it alone. I¡¯m looking for another way."


    "Another way?"


    Just then, I heard a voice through the speaker.


    It was Song Yoo-jin.


    For some reason, hearing her voice lifted my spirits a little.


    I hadn¡¯t heard any news of her death, but confirming she was alive felt like a different kind of relief.


    "It won¡¯t take long."


    "Understood."


    I ended the communication and surveyed the surroundings.


    The street was blanketed in snow, and there was no sign of life in the frozen city.


    Without the occasional gunshots from the wedding hall, it might¡¯ve been an ordinary scene I would¡¯ve passed by.


    I looked at the buildings.


    I needed a building that was tall, in good condition, easy to observe from the rooftop, and no higher than ten stories.


    I spotted a ten-story building with a faded sign reading ¡°Rehabilitation Academy¡± and "Medical Department."


    I walked inside, and the foul stench of decaying corpses immediately assaulted my senses.


    The smell of rotting bodies is awful.


    Even in this freezing cold, the remnants linger heavily in the air, which only emphasizes how long the bodies had been there.


    I hurried up the emergency stairs to the rooftop.


    There were some blocked areas, but¡ª


    Bang!


    With the gun in my hand, nothing would block my path.


    Around the 8th floor, the stench of decay grew unbearably strong, and as expected, a mummified corpse''s arm stuck out from the emergency exit in the open hallway.


    What happened to them or what killed them isn¡¯t important.


    Bang!


    I kicked open the last door, and a bitter cold wind hit me.


    The hand warmer in my chest pocket had lost its heat.


    I swapped it out for a new one, then stood by the rooftop railing, scanning the area.


    From up here, I could see a lot.


    The tallest building behind me was a 25-story officetel, but that¡¯s too tall.


    I had chosen a ten-story building because buildings under ten stories usually have fire escapes.


    Luckily, this building had one on the rooftop.


    Probably because it was an academy building, the owner must¡¯ve taken extra care.


    I lightly hung from it.


    Swish!


    Crack!


    Two down.


    "Kiieeeek!!!"


    There''s no need to count the numbers.


    Considering what I''m doing is more of a task than a hunt.


    For the first time in a while, my axes danced happily.


    My axes are not ordinary axes.


    People often say that my axes are made of titanium, but in fact, they are custom-made killing tools forged from "Super Steel," the highest-grade steel.


    Impressed by my results, the National Crisis Management Committee (Gukwiwon) promised to make me a weapon, and in response, this custom equipment was born.


    The manufacturer is from Austria, and before starting production, they asked whether I wanted to prioritize cutting power or durability.


    My mentor, Jang Ki-young, recommended cutting power, but I chose durability.


    Because I thought durability would kill more in the end.


    Crack!


    It was an excellent choice.


    Now, there was only one thing left.


    Boom!


    The monster leader causing the shockwaves was right in front of me.


    I didn''t think I''d need a gun.


    From the way my entire body tingled as if every cell were waking up, it seemed like I had already entered the minimum distance of its reflective shield.


    "Park Gyu, Hunter!"


    Sergeant Kim called for help again.


    It felt like they were calling me excessively, but judging by the sounds, it seemed really urgent.


    It was likely an "overrun" situation, almost at the point of collapse.


    "We''re out of ammunition!"


    To me, what they lacked wasn''t ammunition, but hope.


    I calmly turned the corner and spoke into the radio.


    "I found their leader."


    "The leader?"


    "Yes. Hold on just a little longer. It won''t take long."


    "But!"


    "Didn''t my disciple tell you about me?"


    "..."


    No further response came.


    Instead, the sound of gunfire filled the air, drowning out the words about running out of ammo.


    I turned the remaining corner, hearing gunshots both from the speaker and the wedding hall.


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    The monster was in front of me.


    But it felt completely different from the ones I''d seen before.


    When I looked at it as a whole, it was rounded.


    There were no other visible organs or structures.


    For some unknown reason, it hovered in the air like a necromancer, but that was all.


    The new monster I saw had a whitish, grotesque body made of raw flesh.


    And...


    Boom!


    Each time it generated a shockwave, parts of its white flesh seemed to be sucked into the air and disappear.


    "...So this was the mechanism."


    I stared at it.


    There was no malice, no aggression.


    Despite being right next to me, it didn''t take any defensive actions.


    It simply generated shockwaves, supplying its flesh in the form of black mist to another monster.


    Out of all the monsters I''ve seen, this was the first time encountering such a type.


    It was neither a necromancer imitating humans, nor a spider or dancer type mimicking insects or animals¡ªthis was a pure, malicious imitation.


    There was no trace of any such mimicry.


    It just kept generating shockwaves, constantly supplying its flesh to its inferior kin.


    It had no combat ability, and not even the smallest trace of intelligence.


    Its horrifying dedication to one function alone made me feel a sense of fear, a feeling I hadn''t experienced in a long time.


    Yes.


    This is our enemy.


    This is the true face of the enemy trying to destroy our world and kill us.


    Not the internet¡¯s monster, but the one we have to face head-on, the true enemy of humanity.


    Not wanting it to be for internet use, but as a teaching tool for my juniors, I quickly took a short video of the creature on my phone, then drew my axe.

 Chapter 73.6

    Swish!


    For the first time in a while, the axe felt personal.


    Without a hint of hesitation, the two axes tore through its body, cutting and slicing it, literally disassembling it.


    Even as its flesh was torn apart, it didn¡¯t flinch.


    Boom!


    The creature, looking like a sluggish grub, only seemed to exist to feed its own flesh with more of its own kind, sending waves of shock through the air.


    Monsters don¡¯t have vital points in the same way.


    They¡¯re more like moving entities than living beings, so when they endure more damage than they can take, they disintegrate regardless of where they are hit.


    However, from what I can tell, hitting areas like the head¡ªsimilar to how it works for humans or beasts¡ªseems to inflict more damage.


    In practice, creatures of a certain size, like "combat types" that are over a certain size, have an outer shell of armor, but when the head is struck, it absorbs more shock than other parts.


    But this remains just a hypothesis, since monsters leave no bodies behind, making dissection and analysis impossible.


    What we can rely on is the observation from the outside and the personal experiences of those actually fighting these creatures.


    But the new breed that appeared this time is different.


    In both appearance and function, it has a true vital point.


    Swish¡ª


    The two axes kept cutting through its flesh, exposing the vile internal parts hidden within.


    I continued hacking at its center because, while its vitality was shockingly resilient, I also suspected that its vital point might be deep inside, which proved to be correct.


    And sure enough...


    I found the familiar organ deep within.


    It resembled a seed, pulsating on its own, a monster¡¯s vital organ.


    When I swung the axe toward it...


    Boom!


    A shockwave hit me.


    It wasn¡¯t so much defensive as it was a natural reaction, but the shockwave from this close sent a tremendous impact through my body.


    Ugh!


    The moment the shock hit, my vision blurred.


    Well, it wasn¡¯t as bad as the time with I Am Jesus.


    In fact, this was the kind of close-range shockwave I was more accustomed to.


    Usually, I don¡¯t have direct contact with monsters like that.


    Before it could release another shockwave, I gritted my teeth and steadied myself, driving my axe into the monster¡¯s heart.


    Snap!


    The seed cracked open.


    At that moment, the body of the monster, which had seemed immortal, scattered like a dandelion seed blown by the wind, turning into particles of light.


    "...."


    Finally, it was done.


    I had destroyed the leader of the new breed, known as the Extermination-type.


    Among the scattering particles, I felt a small sense of relief, the flames of hatred somewhat soothed, and let out a shallow sigh.


    "Ha."


    Yeah, this was the feeling.


    The one I had forgotten, but always deep down yearned to return to.


    "Park Gyu, Hunter!"


    Apparently, there was no time for reflection.


    The radio crackled loudly again.


    "I¡¯m on my way."


    Passing through the alley filled with beautiful particles of light, I rode my motorcycle toward the wedding hall.


    Indeed, the situation inside the hall was not good.


    At the top of the "Heavenly Stairs"¡ªa central feature of the Skytem Wedding Hall¡ªon the third floor, a rescue team was desperately fighting back against the Extermination-type with fire axes and clubs.


    Below, zombies and other Extermination-types continued their assault through different staircases, constantly slipping down the incline in their efforts to reach the humans.


    "Sam!"


    I heard Song Yoo-jin¡¯s voice from above.


    At the same time, several Awakened from the search team stood on the railing like children, staring at me.


    At the end of the paired stairs, soldiers were holding their ground.


    "Now¡¯s the time for firearms!"


    I shouted toward the sturdy man, who appeared to be Sergeant Kim.


    "We¡¯re out of ammo!"


    He replied, swinging a metal pipe at a slug-like creature attacking him.


    Nodding, I raised my firearm and fired.


    Rat-a-tat!


    I prioritized the creature charging toward Sergeant Kim.


    I then turned and sent nine rounds in three bursts into the next incoming ones.


    Hieeeek!


    The creatures hit by the bullets thrashed, falling down the stairs.


    Noticing they didn¡¯t disintegrate, I guessed they might have entered a kind of stasis.


    I glanced at the zombies and monsters turning toward me.


    Clink!


    Reloading my magazine, I shot at the incoming zombies.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    When dealing with zombies, it¡¯s crucial to take them down one by one. They rely on numbers rather than combat ability.


    If their brain is destroyed, the zombie stops moving.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    In no time, six zombies were down.


    From above, I could hear cheers, but my eyes were focused on the graying slug-like creatures following behind the zombies.


    Rat-a-tat! Rat-a-tat!


    While Valentine kept watch with a firearm, he worked to repair the antenna on the roof.


    It would take about an hour, so I lit a fire to warm both myself and the motorcycle in the cold weather.


    I added coffee mix to some hot water, taking a sip while silently watching as Failnet was being repaired. The excitement from the battle still lingered in my body.


    As I fidgeted, recalling the rush of wielding the axe, the radio crackled.


    Personal ID: REDMASK


    It was Woo Min-hee.


    "Oh. Min-hee."


    "Hey, senior~ I heard you did something that seemed like a real senior thing. Is that right?"


    "Well, it¡¯s only been half a month, but the disciple who remembered me was in danger, so I had to step in and use some strength."


    "I wanna hear about it later. Those experiences."


    "I have some pictures on my phone."


    "Okay~. Ah, and one more thing."


    Woo Min-hee let out a laugh that wasn¡¯t typical of her, almost refreshing.


    "What are you gonna name that monster?"


    "The monster¡¯s name?"


    "New monsters get to have their names given by the first person who discovers or kills them. The slayer of the monster has the priority in naming rights, though."


    "...What?"


    It was the naming rights for monsters.


    A rule established by the so-called World Hunter Association.


    It¡¯s not about national power, politics, or scholars who love categorization. The hunter who hunts the monster has the right to name it.


    While the discoverer can suggest a name, the slayer ultimately decides the name.


    I¡¯ve named a lot of them.


    Necromancer, Spider, I didn¡¯t name those, but Dancer, Pyromaniac, Artillery, Panzer¡ªthose were all names I came up with.


    Of course, the last one I named was the General type, but that¡¯s not the official name.


    I just discovered it, but I¡¯ve never eradicated it myself.


    When the first person who actually kills it shows up, that name will change.


    "Well, what should I call it?"


    "Decide quickly, we need to hold a meeting. Did you hear about the new ability?"


    "Yeah."


    Among all the choices, the name "Eomchang" strongly came to mind, but I showed some extraordinary restraint and said a simpler name that suited it.


    "Meatball and Caterpillar."


    "Still a dull naming sense. A General name would be better."


    "Then how about Sato and Ibong?"


    "I¡¯m cutting off."


    "Okay."


    "Be careful on your way back, senior."


    The communication ended.


    Once again, it was all Woo Min-hee¡¯s pace, but for some reason, a faint smile appeared on my lips as the transmission ended. How long had it been?


    Since I had heard the pure "thanks" from Woo Min-hee.


    Well, she didn¡¯t exactly say the words, but the emotions behind her voice conveyed pure gratitude.


    "Skelton!"


    Valentine waved from above.


    "Can you see it?"


    "Yeah?"


    "Can you see it?!"


    "What¡¯s that?"


    At my question, Valentine pointed to the sky with his finger.


    The afternoon sky had lost its blinding light and was gradually showing signs of approaching darkness.


    While pointing at the sky, Valentine cheerfully shouted.


    "Happy!"


    "Ah."


    It seemed the repair was done.


    What he meant by "happy" was probably the signal from Failnet.


    In a world filled with nothing but death and pain, the only real comfort came from the broadcast of Failnet.


    As we left the city together, I asked him.


    "What if the server breaks? It won¡¯t last forever, right?"


    "I don¡¯t know."


    Valentine hesitated, but already had the look of someone prepared.


    He looked at me.


    "Then, we might have to risk our lives once in a while."


    Valentine gave me a mischievous grin on his reddened face.


    Thus, Failnet was activated, having died, but now alive again.


    I couldn¡¯t see the happiness of the people, but I could only hope they had a small comfort.


    If there¡¯s no such small happiness in this apocalypse, then this world would be no different from hell.


    "Hey."


    Before we left, I asked Valentine.


    "About my armband, no, being the forum moderator. That¡¯s set, right?"


    Valentine nodded vigorously.


    "Watch and see! I¡¯ll make you a moderator, no, I¡¯ll make Skelton a moderator, even with Goo Ssang-hyo¡¯s name on the line!"


    "I don¡¯t think you need to include John Nae-non..."


    Actually, I came here to wear the armband.


    "No, let¡¯s do it."


    That¡¯s my "happiness."

 Chapter 74.1

    Ballantine: "Skelton, don¡¯t worry. Everything will turn out fine."


    Recently, Ballantine, who had changed his nickname, exuded considerable confidence as he prepared for this grand endeavor.


    I had given Ballantine two major requests. First, to keep my identity as Skelton as secret as possible. In other words, to ensure Skelton didn¡¯t look like Professor. The second was, of course, to secure my role as a forum moderator.


    With the restoration of Failnet, the conditions for a moderator election had been established.


    VIVA_BOT014: "The forum moderator election will proceed as scheduled."


    During the dark days of Failnet¡¯s downtime, users had been forced to flock to a government-run site called NationNet or StateNet, but those hastily made platforms couldn¡¯t handle Failnet¡¯s enormous traffic.


    The government¡¯s system required real-name accounts, installation of authorized login certificates, and, even then, the servers frequently crashed, making the internet almost unusable.


    It was yet another reminder of how exceptional and thoughtful an operator my role model John Nae-non was.


    Naturally, when Failnet was restored, its users erupted in a frenzy of excitement.


    On the day of restoration, the forum became a scene reminiscent of the first invasion of Failnet.


    ?? "????? Let¡¯s gooo!!"


    ?? "Hello? Came from Failnet?"


    ?? "It¡¯s so cold! My fingers got frostbitten, so I¡¯m typing with my tongue~~~"


    ?? "Is your forum warm? We¡¯re freezing to death over here!"


    DongjinDad: "???????????????"


    ?? "Doing Failnet like penguins, huddling together."


    ?? "Viva! Aren¡¯t you guys cold?"


    ?? "????? We¡¯re back!!!!"


    ?? "Minus 277 degrees¡ªLet¡¯s gooooooo!!!!!"


    ...


    The once-quiet forum had roared back to life.


    It was so active that it was almost impossible to participate in discussions.


    However, unlike before, the beggars¡ªthe desperate users¡ªwere nowhere to be seen. Or perhaps they occasionally popped up but were drowned out by the cheers of genuinely happy users celebrating the restoration of the internet.


    Amidst this lively reunion, Ballantine and I steadily advanced the steps necessary to make Skelton the next forum moderator.


    Ballantine: "The main variable is this: Will we exclude Failnet users without accounts from voting, or let everyone participate?"


    The easier route would be the latter.


    If Failnet users could vote, Skelton¡¯s victory was almost guaranteed. Despite their struggles in the cold, Failnet users far outnumber the handful of active forum users.


    But neither Ballantine nor I thought it would be that simple.


    After all, the moderator system was created specifically to filter out troublemakers migrating from Failnet. It made sense to deny voting rights to Failnet users. So, what plan did Ballantine have?


    He had a strategy.


    Ballantine: "Back when John Nae-non analyzed the network to connect Viva! Apocalypse! and Failnet, we discovered a large number of spare accounts on the Viva side."


    Each Viva! Apocalypse! account has a unique ID, which only becomes a legitimate account when linked to the user¡¯s satellite device, the Obelisk. However, Melon Musk had created several spare accounts in the system that hadn¡¯t yet been linked to satellite devices.


    Ballantine speculated on the reason:


    Ballantine: "Take DongtanMom¡¯s intercontinental drone delivery, for example, or the certified shopping sites she used. It seems Melon Musk wanted to continue doing business even during the apocalypse. Viva! Apocalypse! was likely part of that plan¡ªto secure a community of doomsday preppers, create a marketplace, and then attract others who hadn¡¯t joined yet."


    "If I¡¯m right, Melon Musk probably has a large stock of satellite devices at his headquarters."


    I had thought similarly.


    For a cunning businessman like Melon Musk, even an apocalypse would have been an endless opportunity. If the disaster on his space bunker hadn¡¯t occurred, we might be living in a world a hundred times more controlled by his vision.


    Even now, a corner of the forum screen still featured his photo with Bumpy under the caption, "The First Friend of Mutation."


    "..."


    At any rate, those unsold spare accounts were the ace up our sleeve to secure my moderator position.


    Ballantine: "All those accounts have the same default password: 0000. It¡¯s not difficult. But just because the password is simple doesn¡¯t mean the accounts can be activated."


    The battle for the armband had begun.


    *


    "Skelton, why are you suddenly running around in this cold weather?"


    I first went to see Rebecca and her daughter.


    "Still no contact from the U.S. military?"


    "It¡¯s too cold. Maybe when it warms up a bit."


    Rebecca''s home was surprisingly well-maintained.


    While Rebecca lacked skills in cement work, plumbing, or electrical repairs like me, her traditional woodworking skills, honed in the vast forests of America and Canada, were a step above mine. She had transformed her house into a charmingly rustic, 18th or 19th-century American home.


    The fireplace, log walls, and tapestry-style fabrics decorating the walls gave it a distinct warmth.


    "Ondol* is nice, though."


    (*Note: Ondol refers to traditional Korean underfloor heating.)


    I gave her a little unsolicited advice, but Rebecca, being Rebecca, remained unconvinced.


    "I don¡¯t like the idea of baking my body like bread."


    Regardless, I handed her a heartfelt gift.


    "What¡¯s this?"


    "Ah, nothing much. I had some free time this winter and decided to make it."


    "Sausage?"


    "Yeah."


    Sue, yawning, came down from upstairs.


    Apparently, the recent cold weather meant they weren¡¯t on guard duty, leaving them with more free time than usual.


    For Sue, I handed over a juicy canned good I had received earlier from Melon Musk.


    "Thanks, Skelton."


    "No need to thank me. Just having you around gives me a sense of comfort in one corner of my heart."


    "Skelton, you¡¯re acting different than usual."


    She was sharp as ever.


    Finally, I revealed the real reason for my visit to Rebecca.


    "What? Voting? Moderator?"


    "Yeah. So, there¡¯s going to be an election for the Korean Forum Moderator. When the time comes, I¡¯d really appreciate it if you could cast your precious vote for me. And while you¡¯re at it, your American friends too..."


    "Uh, okay."


    "If you could persuade them to cast their votes for me, it¡¯d really make this a happy end-of-year season for me."


    "...You¡¯re talking more than usual, Skelton."


    It was the first time I¡¯d seen Rebecca look at me with disdain.


    So, this is what that face looks like.


    Now I understand Park Sang-min¡¯s struggles.


    Politics, it seems, isn¡¯t for the faint-hearted.


    Elections require you to completely set aside your pride.


    "Please."


    "Uh, hmm..."


    In any case, I secured Rebecca +@.


    "..."


    Next up was Defender.

 Chapter 74.2

    Defender¡¯s home hadn¡¯t changed much since the last time I visited.


    But anyone who¡¯s spent time in a warzone would immediately notice the deadly traps lying in wait around the area.


    Take the shortcut to his house, for example. It¡¯s covered in snow, making it hard to spot the dangers beneath. Step on the wrong spot, and you¡¯d sink into a pit lined with rusty, blood-stained spikes, leaving your leg not just injured but exposed to a host of severe infections, including tetanus.


    Even the neighboring house, which looks like a prime position to attack Defender, is a trap. It appears intact but has been secretly reinforced by Defender himself. It serves as a decoy, much like my fake bunker. Any attempt to occupy it and attack Defender would end in a massive explosion.


    That¡¯s why visiting Defender¡¯s house requires following the safe route he shared with me. It¡¯s marked with scraps of plastic tied to tree branches. To the untrained eye, it might seem like windblown trash snagged on branches. But to those in the know, it signals the path to safety.


    "Hey, you¡¯re here."


    Defender greeted me outside his house.


    His face still bore traces of his former handsomeness, but a shadow lingered, like a permanent stain.


    It couldn¡¯t be helped. In this era of fear, violence, and decay, it¡¯s almost impossible for a person to remain unchanged. And most people, it seems, change for the worse.


    "I¡¯ve put Jong-cheol in a separate room. He¡¯s reflecting on his actions."


    I entered Defender¡¯s house, which had once been an illegal gambling den. As befitted a place built for the wealthy, it was luxurious, constructed with high-quality materials. However, the insulation left much to be desired. Despite two wood-fired boilers, the interior still felt quite chilly.


    "Skelton!"


    Da-jeong greeted me, bundled up in a coat that was two sizes too big for her.


    I handed them gifts: fuel and food.


    "Where do you keep getting all this stuff?" Defender asked, his tone tinged with admiration.


    "Just helping out a former colleague with some work," I replied.


    "That ¡®colleague¡¯ wouldn¡¯t happen to be from Gukwiwon, would it?"


    "Well, yeah."


    As they organized the supplies, I brought up my purpose.


    "...So, for this election, I¡¯d like to ask for your votes. If you know anyone else, please recommend me to them too."


    Back in the day, I¡¯d heard that handing out rubber shoes and rice wine was a surefire way to win elections during Korea¡¯s post-liberation period. As a child, I¡¯d thought that candidates who resorted to such tactics were inherently bad. But now that I¡¯m older, I see things differently.


    After all, whoever gets elected, life won¡¯t change much. At least those who hand out goods show some awareness of their voters.


    "This is outright bribery, Skelton," Da-jeong said with a playful laugh.


    "Can¡¯t you think of it as a token of appreciation?" I countered.


    "Nope, it¡¯s a bribe. Skelton, I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d stoop so low. You¡¯ve really lost your head over this election."


    "It¡¯s not like that. Think about it. What if someone like Dies Irae becomes moderator? Could you even stand to keep using the forum? That jerk would probably ban me and you within 72 hours."


    "I¡¯d be fine with that."


    "Well, I wouldn¡¯t. I had a bit of a spat with him before."


    "Come on. Who bans people over petty arguments? That¡¯s just ridiculous."


    "No, really. That¡¯s the kind of guy Dies Irae is."


    As we debated, Defender brought over some tea. To my surprise, it was yuja-cha (citron tea), a rare sight these days.


    "Wow. Where did you get this?"


    "This?" Defender smirked. "Got it from a friend."


    "Jong-cheol?"


    "No, not him. Someone from the Legion faction."


    Defender sat in a single-seater sofa, crossing his legs and sipping his tea. He stared at me, as if debating whether to say something. His expression wasn¡¯t entirely pleasant¡ªthere was a hint of dissatisfaction.


    Finally, he uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, and spoke bluntly.


    "Don¡¯t you ever get tired of the internet?"


    The sudden remark caught me off guard.


    Seeing my silence, Defender let out a bitter laugh and continued.


    "It¡¯s always the same thing, you know? The same people posting, the same content recycling over and over. It¡¯s been three years of the same routines. Honestly, I liked the live streams, but other than that, what¡¯s the point? Watching stuff on the internet won¡¯t change my life."


    I thought back to when I first met Defender. He¡¯d been someone who, despite his violent tendencies, genuinely loved our forum. But nothing lasts forever. The harshness of the times had eroded his passion for the community.


    "Back in the day, it was fun. The golden age was about two years ago. There were more people, and the quality of posts was way better. I used to love reading the webtoons, but now all the artists are gone. DragonC went off to Jeju Island, and the rest are just attention-seekers without talent."


    Defender glanced at me, tilting his head slightly, as if he was scrutinizing me.


    When our eyes met, he quickly looked away.


    Defender looked serious, while Da-jeong gazed at me with curiosity.


    It was oddly refreshing to see how their expressions differed. I took a moment to gather my thoughts. Where should I start?


    To avoid losing one¡¯s sanity in extreme circumstances, stress must be managed effectively.


    My mentor, Jang Ki-young, used to claim that the human mind was as unbreakable as a diamond. But from my experience, the mind has something akin to HP.


    Everyone¡¯s mental HP is different. Some have high HP and remain resilient, while others crumble at the first sign of hardship. But no one¡¯s HP is infinite. Even the strongest person will break in the face of unrelenting despair.


    I¡¯ve seen it firsthand¡ªa supposedly unshakable soldier, praised for his mental fortitude, went mad after two years on the battlefield. He killed his teammates and even opened fire on civilians.


    The only way to escape such a fate is to actively manage your inner stress.


    There are good ways¡ªlike spending time on hobbies, with loved ones, or with pets. And then there are destructive ways¡ªlike gambling, drinking, violence, or cruelty.


    Since the war began, the world has changed. Hope is gone. Even the concept of ¡°tomorrow¡± is tainted with uncertainty.


    In this crumbling world, where else can you find solace like you can in Viva! Apocalypse!?


    In a bunker designed to isolate me from others, I¡¯ve found happiness in connecting with people, laughing with them, and witnessing their lives unfold.


    To wear the armband of my favorite forum¡ªto manage the place I love¡ªis thrilling. Isn¡¯t it?


    I don¡¯t intend to be a tyrant. I¡¯ll be a fair and benevolent moderator, ensuring the forum remains a safe and happy space for everyone, all while working for free.


    I laid out my thoughts concisely for Defender.


    ¡°...I see.¡± Defender¡¯s expression soured slightly.


    Da-jeong, on the other hand, looked at me in awe and muttered, ¡°You¡¯re really serious about this forum, huh? I¡¯ve never seen anyone who values the internet more than reality.¡±


    I¡¯ll take that as a compliment.


    At least my message was clear to the siblings.


    ¡°Alright. If it means that much to you, I¡¯ll vote for you. I¡¯ll also talk to some of my friends on Viva! and ask them to do the same.¡±


    ¡°Skelton, you know I¡¯m always on your side, right?¡±


    I had convinced the siblings. Two votes secured, with potential extras.


    They walked me to the entrance.


    ¡°If you change your mind, let me know before I leave for good,¡± Defender said, though his lingering regret was evident.


    ¡°I appreciate the sentiment, but I won¡¯t change my mind. Just don¡¯t come back to kill me later.¡±


    ¡°If that happens, I¡¯ll make sure to shoot you from behind.¡±


    Defender extended his fist. For the first time in a while, two men exchanged a fist bump. Well, three, if you count Da-jeong joining in.


    As I mounted my motorcycle, Defender called out.


    ¡°Hey, Skelton.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your call sign? Mine¡¯s Raptor.¡±


    Come to think of it, we¡¯d never exchanged call signs before. That was the kind of relationship we¡¯d had¡ªmutual respect from a safe distance, maintaining just enough mystery.


    But as the world changed, so had our relationship. The fog that once defined our dynamic had lifted, replaced by the stark reality of our divide.


    I decided to share my true name, or at least, the name that defined me in this world.


    ¡°Professor.¡±


    Defender looked surprised, then let out a soft chuckle and nodded.


    Da-jeong whispered something to him, her curiosity piqued.


    ¡°What is it? Who is he?¡± she asked.


    With a faint smile, Defender replied, ¡°...A great hunter.¡±


    As I started my engine and drove off, I caught a faint snippet of Defender¡¯s words carried by the wind.


    ¡°The internet really does ruin people...¡±


    I chose to pretend I hadn¡¯t heard that.


    The day of reckoning had arrived.


    VIVA_BOT014: ¡°The election for forum moderator will now begin! Voting will open immediately after the Viva! Apocalypse! live broadcast ends. I trust everyone has prepared excellent content~¡±


    I had no content to show.


    But I knew how to win.

 Chapter 74.3

    Failnet¡¯s Administrator-Only Chatroom


    Valentine: Are you ready, Skelton?


    Skelton: Yes, sir!


    Valentine: Just to be sure, let me remind you how to use it:


    Log in with the account details sent previously.Activate the virtual device integration program.If a code is requested, refer to the code chart and enter it.Vote.Repeat from step 1.


    Skelton: Roger.


    Valentine: By the way, I haven¡¯t slept in over three days.


    Skelton: You¡¯ve worked really hard!


    The preparations for the battle were complete.


    Valentine had prepared 300 accounts for the election of the Failnet board administrator. Now, all that remained was to wait for voting to open and focus all 300 votes on Skelton.


    It wasn¡¯t difficult, just a bit tedious. However, gaining the symbolic armband of authority would significantly improve my mental state.


    More importantly, Rebecca and her daughter, along with Defender and his sister, would leave my vicinity come spring. I could no longer deny that their departure would deal a heavy blow to my mental HP.


    This armband was a buffer, a way to endure the confirmed loss.


    In other words, it was an item to increase my HP pool. With it, I could face the upcoming farewells with more composure. That, in truth, was the real reason Skelton was putting his life on the line for the armband.


    The live broadcast was about to begin. Voting wouldn¡¯t open until after the live ended, but in the apocalypse, where chronic content deprivation was a problem, watching a live broadcast wasn¡¯t optional; it was essential.


    [Announcement! Live broadcast starting soon: Apocalypse Begins!]@@@@


    I scavenged through DragonC¡¯s coffee beans and preserved foods, placing some mysterious Skelton-made snacks drizzled with honey on my desk as I prepared to watch.


    The host of Live! Apocalypse was, as always, the space-dwelling Melon Musk.


    Usually, he only communicated via chat, but today, he and Bumpy graced the opening show with a special live video.


    ¡°Hello? This is Melon Musk, the first friend of mutations!¡±


    His face, now fuller than before, filled the screen. Beside him, his loyal companion Bumpy floated in midair, munching on romaine lettuce.


    ¡°Today, I hear that the Korean board has implemented a unique system called the Board Administrator Election! Imagine, a volunteer manager working unpaid! Such a thing would be unimaginable in America. But for this unpaid position, countless Korean board users have applied. Today is Korea¡¯s day! Let¡¯s take a look!¡±


    After waving alongside Bumpy, Melon Musk¡¯s screen transitioned to a new scene.


    The first contestant was Dies Irae.


    Although I had blocked him on the board, Failnet¡¯s rudimentary system meant that blocking a user didn¡¯t stop them from showing up everywhere, including live streams.


    The most notable example was the chat. Even if you blocked someone, you could still see their chat messages in live broadcasts.


    Despite being an irritating individual, I couldn¡¯t ignore him. He was a cruel man who discarded people like playing cards without hesitation. Still, his survival skills were undeniably exceptional, as evidenced by his track record.


    Occasionally, observing his so-called "collective survivalism" in action wasn¡¯t the worst way to spend my time.


    Sip.


    I sipped my coffee and began watching Dies Irae¡¯s show.


    [And now, the live broadcast begins!]


    As the broadcast started, the screen suddenly turned white, as if someone had poured paint over the camera.


    The sound of heavy breathing and footsteps crunching on snow echoed.


    It wasn¡¯t just one person.


    It was a group.


    A subtle but undeniable presence of a collective aligned perfectly with Dies Irae¡¯s identity.


    The screen shifted to reveal a man¡¯s face, hidden behind snow goggles and layers of heavy winter gear.


    Was that Dies Irae?


    ¡°Hello, friends of the world,¡± he greeted.


    Though his voice cracked from the cold, his calm and measured tone was unmistakably Dies Irae¡¯s.


    ¡°Today, we¡¯re going hunting... well, technically, this is pre-recorded. Hunting often takes us beyond areas with a stable signal. But on the bright side, I¡¯ve edited out the boring parts for your viewing pleasure.¡±


    Behind him, muffled sounds of people dragging something heavy accompanied the faint rhythm of footsteps and labored breathing.


    The camera panned to reveal the object of their efforts¡ªa 105mm howitzer.


    A relic of military equipment.


    Just like Dies Irae, the men pulling the howitzer were wrapped in winter gear, their identities obscured. They looked like a team of Rudolph reindeer hauling the artillery through the snow.


    It didn¡¯t take long to see their target: a massive boar mutation wandering the snow-covered landscape below a distant mountain peak.


    The creature was enormous, almost the size of a truck.


    I¡¯d seen boar mutations on Failnet before, but never one this large. This had to be an exceptionally rare variant.


    ¡°That beast is Zhu Bajie, one of the Three Celestial Beasts,¡± Dies Irae explained. ¡°It¡¯s the one that rammed a bus, flipped it over, and devoured everyone inside.¡±


    With that size, it seemed plausible.


    Beyond its sheer bulk, the boar¡¯s intelligence¡ªtypical of its species¡ªlikely made it a formidable opponent.


    It was clear that small arms fire wouldn¡¯t suffice. This monster would need high-grade hunter equipment or anti-tank rockets to take down.


    However, something was off about the boar. Its movements were unsteady, its balance wavering.


    It looked malnourished, weakened by prolonged hunger and the cold.


    Perhaps that¡¯s why Dies Irae had decided to hunt it.


    ¡°But even in this cold, this monster has no choice but to endure,¡± Dies Irae remarked, looking directly into the camera.


    ¡°Still, it¡¯s a tough hunt to do alone, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    The live chat filled with agreement.


    Even I had to admit, if the boar wasn¡¯t a direct threat, there wasn¡¯t much point in killing it. The cost in resources alone would be enormous.


    [We are living in despair.]


    Dongtanmom zoomed in on the desolate streets of Shanghai, filled with overwhelming hopelessness.


    A pale, slender hand flipped the page.


    [Shanghai: a hell where no one can survive.]


    The camera panned down, showing a rusted iron deck, its worn and faded state adding to the melancholy.


    Silence followed, stretching on for a long time.


    Then Dongtanmom raised his head.


    The sketchbook displayed another message:


    [But!]


    A gentle melody began to play.


    The soft, rhythmic drumbeats echoed faintly, resembling the pulse of a heartbeat.


    As the melody swelled, Dongtanmom¡¯s wife turned the page of the sketchbook.


    [We received a fragment of hope from Melon Musk.]


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    A fragment of hope?


    What did he mean?


    With the rising melody, Dongtanmom walked into the ship¡¯s interior.


    The dark corridors were lined with people¡ªtired, hungry, and beaten down.


    As Dongtanmom passed, they silently raised their fists in support.


    Without a word, he walked past them, heading toward the ship¡¯s engine room¡ªthe heart of the ship.


    Of course, the engine was silent.


    Dongtanmom approached it, his gloved hands resting on the cold metal.


    He knocked on the engine, but naturally, it didn¡¯t roar back to life.


    The rising melody suddenly softened, the rhythm fragile and uncertain.


    The sketchbook appeared again.


    [Let¡¯s use the fragment of hope.]


    The melody shifted, growing more vibrant and rhythmic.


    The scene changed.


    The once-empty engine room was now filled with people.


    Those who had been lurking in the corridors now stood at their stations, wielding tools and equipment.


    At the center of it all stood Dongtanmom, holding an unfamiliar component in his hand.


    As the melody reached its crescendo, Dongtanmom pushed the part into an open hatch and pulled the lever beside it with all his strength.


    Thud!


    For a brief moment, the ship¡¯s heart throbbed.


    [We are moving forward.]


    The camera panned to a baby cradled in its mother¡¯s arms, its innocent laughter echoing.


    The melody swelled to its peak before abruptly cutting off.


    Darkness.


    That was Dongtanmom¡¯s live stream.


    coral8103: What the hell? Is he shooting a movie now?!


    XD_Grrrrr: Dongtanmom! Is he a god?!


    Anonymous13: Singing hope in the midst of despair... what an emotional video.


    L-V-R-M: Incredible. I don¡¯t know who Dongtanmom is, but I can¡¯t help but root for him.


    mmmmmmmmm: Oh.


    Anonymous100: Truly, he¡¯s the treasure of our board.


    Zebusika: Dongtanmom! GOAT!


    SKELTON: Hm...


    gijayangban: ?


    It was impressive.


    No, it wasn¡¯t just him.


    It was probably thanks to his wife.


    Maybe one of the survivors on the ship was a former TV producer.


    Whatever the case, it left my face flushed.


    It had been a while since I¡¯d seen something this stirring.


    It was as if they force-fed me forgotten seasonings of hope and anticipation in this desolate era.


    But why?


    Why couldn¡¯t I fully rejoice in this masterpiece?


    ¡°...Ha.¡±


    This wasn¡¯t good.


    I shook my head.


    Dongtanmom... why did he have to produce another masterpiece on such an important day?


    I might actually lose this election.

 Chapter 74.4

    ¡°Wow, as expected of Dongtanmom! What an incredible man. To instill hope in us with such a short video! We need to give him more support!¡±


    Melon Musk appeared on-screen once again, sharing his thoughts with enthusiasm.


    So moved was he that he shed a few tears, which floated through the cold expanse of space. Like a true three-year space veteran, Melon collected the floating droplets with a sponge and, wearing an elated expression, exclaimed dramatically:


    ¡°Next up is M9!¡±


    Finally, it was that guy¡¯s turn.


    It was the first time the "M" in M9 seemed to falter.


    This guy had been desperate for the armband from the beginning. He¡¯d been campaigning for votes for ages, even promising residency rights at The Hope to attract supporters.


    Living in unfounded confidence as always, M9 had been acting like he already owned the armband, going as far as posting fake announcements:


    mmmmmmmmm: (Announcement) Captain M9 speaking!


    And now, after Dongtanmom¡¯s ridiculously high-quality video¡ªeven I had to admit its brilliance¡ªwhat could M9 possibly be feeling?


    As much as I hated to admit it, M9 and I might be experiencing similar emotions right now.


    Would he give up halfway like Berkut did? Or quit entirely?


    Frankly, even if he dangled himself from a rope in a collapsing apartment, his chances of beating Dongtanmom were close to zero.


    As I sipped my coffee and waited, a message popped up.


    [M9¡¯s live broadcast will begin shortly!]


    I had to give it to M9: his persistence was commendable. Despite knowing he had no chance of winning after seeing Dongtanmom¡¯s video, he was pushing forward with his live stream.


    While there was no way he¡¯d win, I leaned back and focused on the broadcast.@@@@


    The video began with M9 sitting cross-legged in a tilted living room, suspended by a rope.


    Judging by the angle and framing, he was using a selfie stick to film.


    His expression was serene, as if he¡¯d achieved some profound enlightenment.


    What had he realized? That his house was about to collapse?


    Suddenly, M9 opened his eyes and, with surprising agility, began navigating the tilted apartment.


    He climbed through slanted hallways and against walls at an angle of at least 45 degrees, moving as effortlessly as a salmon swimming upstream.


    Eventually, he reached a dark elevator shaft, its gaping maw open like a black hole, and descended the rope rapidly. His reinforced gloves sparked from the friction.


    Emerging into a well-lit passage, he landed gracefully in what appeared to be a fourth-floor garden.


    ¡°Ah, it¡¯s cold,¡± he muttered, adding a bit of humor.


    From there, M9 moved into the apartment¡¯s community facilities, connected to the outdoor garden.


    The building, once known as The Hope, had been a symbol of ultimate luxury. Its amenities included a pool, a sauna, a screen golf area, and a fitness center.


    But like everything else in this apocalypse, it had fallen into disrepair, and most of the facilities were non-functional. The only exception seemed to be the bathhouse.


    Unsurprisingly, M9 headed for the bathhouse.


    The boiler was miraculously still running, filling the space with white steam and warmth.


    It was remarkable that water and electricity were still operational. Truly, this was The Hope.


    But why the bathhouse?


    Was he planning a bath scene?


    Who on earth wanted to see M9 in a bath scene?


    In the upper-left corner of the screen, Melon Musk¡¯s live reaction window appeared silently.


    Melon¡¯s wide eyes reflected a mix of curiosity and uncertainty as he watched, likely wondering the same thing as me.


    Would Melon shut down the broadcast if M9 actually undressed?


    But instead of a bath scene, what awaited us in the bathhouse was something entirely unexpected:


    A nest.


    Not just any nest¡ªa colossal one.


    Inside it was an egg, far larger than an ostrich egg.


    ¡°I found this egg a week ago,¡± M9 said, smiling as he gently stroked the egg.


    ¡°It¡¯s alive. There¡¯s life inside this shell.¡±


    He lifted the egg carefully, cradling it as if it were a baby.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where its parents went. They¡¯ve been gone for over two weeks, so they¡¯re probably dead. But I¡¯ve decided to raise it.¡±


    M9¡¯s smile widened.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s a mutation egg. Believe me, I¡¯ve been tempted to fry it up for breakfast many times! But Melon Musk taught us, didn¡¯t he? That humans and mutations can coexist.¡±


    I glanced at Melon Musk¡¯s reaction window.


    Melon¡¯s expression shifted, his mouth forming the words ¡°M9,¡± accompanied by what seemed to be genuine emotion.


    Turning to the camera, M9 bowed deeply in Korean fashion.


    ¡°...Should I just do some beatboxing?¡±


    As soon as I mentioned beatboxing, the screen abruptly went black.


    [That¡¯s all for today!]


    Melon Musk abruptly cut off my live stream.


    His face reappeared at the center of the screen as he pointed a finger at the camera, passionately voicing his disapproval.


    ¡°What was that? Are you a terrorist or something? Why use a voice modulator? Are you more famous than me? And if you¡¯re going for a concept, at least make it entertaining!


    You droned on with a boring monologue that no one asked for, and just when it was starting to get interesting, you veered off into beatboxing? Of course, you¡¯re disqualified!¡±


    Melon Musk wasn¡¯t the only one upset.


    The chilly atmosphere was palpable in the chat.


    coral8103: What the...


    XD_Grrrrr: What did I just watch?


    dongtanmom: Yum yum... lol


    Anonymous458: Seriously, this is embarrassing on a national level.


    Anonymous13: Can¡¯t we filter out boring stuff like this beforehand?


    L-V-R-M: Cosmic waste of bandwidth.


    COOKIEMONTER123: Skelton...


    unicorn18: God, stop pretending to know him, seriously...


    mmmmmmmmm: Hey! Skelton, you got the innkeeper to shut down!


    Zebusika: Trash.


    Ballantine: Oh dear...


    gijayangban: lol


    "..."


    Well, it wasn¡¯t like I had high expectations for the live stream anyway.


    It was just something I tried on a whim.


    [Message from Ballantine: Shall we begin?]


    In the end, the outcome would be decided by the election.


    VIVABOT014: As announced, we¡¯ll now begin the voting process.


    Click on the candidate of your choice. Oh, and PaleNet users, you can¡¯t vote, so don¡¯t bother trying. Seriously, have some integrity.


    The voting process was simple.


    Log into an account.Activate the voting function.Vote.Log out.


    Repeat.


    [Would you like to vote for SKELTON?]


    Click.


    I needed to repeat this process 150 times.


    The other 150 votes would be handled by Ballantine.


    Here¡¯s hoping for a good result.


    ¡°...Click.¡±


    *


    The Next Day


    Judgment day had arrived.


    Today would determine who would wear the armband and lead the board. Depending on the outcome, the board could either thrive under a savior or crumble under the whims of a tyrant.


    The result was known only to VivaBot.


    Unlike its usual lazy and half-hearted demeanor, VivaBot arrived precisely on time.


    VIVABOT014: Hello, Korean board friends! We¡¯re now going to announce the results of the Korean board moderator election that started yesterday.


    I hunched over, took a deep breath, and steadied myself.


    My heart was beating a little faster.


    It meant I had high hopes for this armband.


    mmmmmmmmm: (Armband) Captain M9 speaking!


    For some reason, M9 was already acting like he¡¯d won.


    He wasn¡¯t the only one.


    dongtanmom: Yum... lol


    Dongtanmom was smugly flaunting his confidence.


    SKELTON: Hm...


    Who would be the one to claim the armband?


    Although we couldn¡¯t see it, it felt like everyone¡¯s eyes were glued to VivaBot¡¯s words.


    Amid the rare and eerie silence, VivaBot¡¯s message appeared in the chat.


    VIVABOT014: The results are a bit unexpected...? Anyway, let¡¯s announce them.


    VIVABOT014: Viva! Apocalypse! The highly anticipated moderator for the Korean board is...


    "..."


    unicorn18: Hooeee~


    VIVABOT014: Drumroll, please...


    "...!!"


    VIVABOT014: SKELTON!

 Chapter 74.5

    <You are now the moderator of Viva! Apocalypse! Korean board!>


    "..."


    Without even a cheer, I quietly clenched my fist.


    I had finally done it.


    I had clawed my way to the position I so desperately coveted.


    As memories of all the struggles to secure this armband flashed before me, I suddenly became acutely aware of the pervasive darkness of my bunker. Three years¡ªthree long years¡ªI had lived in this silence and shadow.


    Alone.


    No one by my side, no hope for the future, no faith in anything.


    I just existed.


    Not because I wanted to, but because I didn¡¯t know how to do otherwise. It was easier to endure this empty existence than imagine another life.


    Deep down, what I truly wanted was something else entirely.


    But it was something I could never have.


    Wishing for it would be like a human yearning for wings.


    And if real wings were impossible, I thought, then even fake ones would suffice.


    I turned to the board.


    Messages poured in, but I didn¡¯t read them.


    I half-heartedly scrolled, catching glimpses of negativity in nearly every post.


    One word stood out repeatedly, as if it were the natural conclusion to every sentence: ¡°rigged.¡±


    Even with blurry eyes, certain usernames were unmistakable.


    dongtanmom: Are you kidding me?


    mmmmmmmmm: What is this? Rigged?


    berkut_break: A ruler without legitimacy becomes a tyrant.


    The losers'' opinions didn¡¯t matter.


    VIVABOT014: The detailed voting results are below. Feel free to share your thoughts!


    The vote counts appeared.


    berkut_break: 1 votedies_irae69: 33 votesdolsingman: 6 votesdongtanmom: 287 votesmmmmmmmmm: 42 votesSKELTON: 302 votesAnonymous424: 8 votesAnonymous1031: 9 votes


    "...Phew."


    It was a narrow victory.


    Having prepared 300 spare accounts turned out to be the winning move.


    If I had followed Ballantine''s original plan of only 10 accounts, the result would¡¯ve been unthinkable.


    But why 302 votes?


    The extra two votes nagged at me, but I brushed it off.


    What mattered was that I had the armband.


    Minor details didn¡¯t need my attention. After all, human endeavors were prone to error.


    Shortly after the results, Ballantine, the mastermind behind my victory, sent me a message.


    [Message from Ballantine: Congratulations, Skelton!]


    SKELTON: (teary-eyed) Thank you. If you ever need anything, just ask. I¡¯ll be there, no matter where it is!


    [Message from Ballantine: I appreciate that. But I do have one concern.]


    SKELTON: Concern? What kind of concern?


    [Message from Ballantine: To wear the armband, you must let go of many things.]


    SKELTON: Huh?


    [Message from Ballantine: You need to separate yourself from the board. I¡¯m saying this as someone with experience managing large sites.]


    I understood the intent behind her words and chuckled lightly.


    SKELTON: I¡¯m Skelton.


    I set Ballantine¡¯s advice aside and marked the occasion with my first announcement as the board¡¯s moderator.


    SKELTON: (announcement) Captain Skelton speaking!


    "..."


    My heart...


    It felt full.


    The Role of a Moderator


    I admit it¡ªI didn¡¯t earn the armband through honest means.@@@@


    Yes, I used underhanded tactics.


    But my reasons for becoming a moderator weren¡¯t purely selfish.


    They were for the greater good.


    <Would you like to delete this post?>


    Click.


    <Would you like to ban the user ¡°??¡± for 72 hours?>


    Click click.


    I can post six messages per second.


    That means I can delete just as many.


    The world is gripped by an unbearable cold, and chaos seeps into every corner of society. I don¡¯t need to explain this in detail.


    And with that chaos, scum from PaleNet have flooded into the board, spreading filth everywhere.


    When PaleNet reopened, it was once a place of quality discourse. But that was short-lived.


    Soon, it became overrun with beggars¡ªusers posting desperate, insubstantial drivel.


    Only I can clean up these messes swiftly and efficiently.


    <Would you like to delete this post?>


    <Would you like to ban the user ¡°??¡± for 72 hours?>


    "...Phew."


    But the duties of a moderator don¡¯t end there.


    Among the PaleNet invaders are depraved souls who post abhorrent content:


    Those hinting at prostitution.Necrophiles posting images of corpses.Perverts uploading explicit photos.Sadistic lunatics showcasing evidence of their heinous crimes¡ªrape, cannibalism, torture.


    Deleting and banning these posts and users is my job.


    I¡¯ve seen the worst atrocities humanity has to offer, so such things don¡¯t faze me.


    But not everyone is like me.


    Even rare, silent users have complained about the growing volume of grotesque images.


    Anonymous 1844: Can you take it easy? Poor M9.


    ??: Jeez.


    Defender: ...


    There are plenty of complaints, but they¡¯re all anonymous.


    Freshly created accounts, at that.


    That just proves how afraid they are of my watchful eye.


    But there¡¯s always a clueless idiot who doesn¡¯t know when to shut up.


    dongtanmom: Yum-yum... just a loser who finally got a badge and¡ª thinks they¡¯re someone now...


    ¡°...?¡±


    Click-clack.


    SKELTON: Who just made a ¡°yum¡± sound?


    The fact that I didn¡¯t even bother to prefix this with ¡°Notice¡± should make it clear how angry I am.


    Dongtanmom, despite being strange, seemed to have some awareness of the situation.


    dongtanmom: ...Nyum?


    SKELTON: Banned!


    <Would you like to ban Dongtanmom for 72 hours?>


    ¡°...¡±


    SKELTON: (Notice) Dongtanmom has been banned for 72 hours due to malicious trolling. Please adhere to board rules.


    Let¡¯s see how the board reacts.


    ??: Wow...


    Anonymous 458: Skelton, isn¡¯t this too much?


    unicorn18: Eek!


    Anonymous 1844: Whoa...


    ??: He¡¯s a tyrant, an absolute tyrant...


    Defender: ...


    ...


    ...


    I am the sole law and order of this board.


    No one can stop me.


    Why? Because I worked so hard to earn this badge.


    Even after becoming a manager, I¡¯ve worked harder than anyone else to serve this board.


    Is this too much to ask in return?


    Since we¡¯ve come this far, let¡¯s take it a step further.


    SKELTON: (Notice) Skelton¡¯s beatbox, ¡°THE FINAL,¡± will be uploaded soon.


    SKELTON: (Notice) Don¡¯t forget to like and comment on ¡°THE FINAL.¡± Anyone who doesn¡¯t will be tracked down and banned for 24 hours.


    If not now, when else would I get the chance to do this?


    Before I¡¯m ousted from the manager position, I should savor this ultimate authority.


    My ambition, however, was crushed immediately after posting that announcement.


    <Your manager privileges have been revoked by VIVA_BOT014.>


    ¡°?!¡±


    The announcement from VivaBot came right after I lost everything and was kicked out.


    VIVA_BOT014: Sigh. I had my doubts, but it seems I was right. Giving ordinary users managerial powers was a foolish idea. I just wanted to test it, but this is the result. For this reason, the board manager system will be discontinued effective immediately.


    VIVA_BOT014: Users who were unfairly banned by Skelton will be reinstated immediately. As for Skelton... you know what comes next, right?


    ¡°...¡±


    I guess I¡¯ll have to write an apology letter.


    "Senior~."


    While pouring my soul into writing my apology letter, Woo Min-hee contacted me.


    "Yeah, Min-hee, what¡¯s up?"


    Could it be that she¡¯s calling to nitpick about my live stream earlier?


    Feeling a slight twinge of annoyance, I responded to the call.


    "Senior, do you have any heavy vehicles or anti-tank weapons at home?"


    "What? No, why? What¡¯s going on?"


    "There¡¯s news about a new type of raider showing up in Chungcheong Province."


    As always, our unpredictable Ms. Woo tossed out another unexpected piece of valuable information.


    "They¡¯re operating in snowmobiles, targeting isolated survivors or small groups in the dead of night."


    "...Is that so?"


    This was the first I¡¯d heard of it.


    Then again, it¡¯s no wonder I hadn¡¯t. If everyone who encountered these snowmobile raiders was killed, there¡¯d be no one left to post about it online.


    "Where did you hear about this?"


    "One of our informants got caught. They were stationed in a territory under the Legion Faction¡¯s control, but they were killed shortly after a communication.


    They were a seasoned soldier who¡¯d been active on the front lines, yet they didn¡¯t stand a chance. From what I gather, these raiders are a well-trained, professional military group."


    "That¡¯s serious."


    Raiders in snowmobiles, preying on survivors in this sub-zero, unforgiving world.


    It¡¯s a simple yet brutally effective strategy.


    In a world where failing to maintain heating means death, these raiders hunt for any signs of warmth to locate their targets.


    Attacking at dawn¡ªthe cruelest and most vulnerable time of day¡ªshows just how deliberate and ruthless they are.


    "When the weather warms up, I¡¯ll have something for you to handle. I don¡¯t want you dying this winter, senior. That¡¯s why I¡¯m telling you this."


    "...Thanks."


    For a moment, I¡¯d completely forgotten.


    Caught up in the thrill and distraction of being a board manager, I¡¯d momentarily lost sight of the fact that the world we live in is far from forgiving.


    A single lapse in vigilance can lead to death and ruin¡ªsomething I¡¯d briefly forgotten.


    "..."


    But for now, I need to finish this apology letter.

 Chapter 75.1

    For the first time in a while, I slept deeply.


    How long had it been?


    I couldn¡¯t remember the last time I had such a sweet, restful sleep.


    My body and mind felt light, as if the weight of exhaustion had finally lifted.


    After washing my face and lightly rinsing my hair, I checked the temperature.


    -22 degrees Celsius.


    It had warmed up a little.


    I did some light stretching, brewed a steaming cup of coffee, and went on my usual patrol around the area.


    Outside, sleet was swirling in the wind.


    There weren¡¯t any noticeable changes, but I made sure to meticulously check every corner.


    I inspected all the decoy bunkers, thoroughly searched the container house, and carefully swept through the cabin.


    After completing the patrol, it was time to fetch water.


    The method was straightforward: breaking the ice over the creek and loading it onto the motorcycle.


    Today, I planned to bathe, so I cut two rectangular slabs of ice and loaded them onto the cart.


    Once all the tasks were done, I opened the internet.


    I was still banned from the message board.


    But being banned didn¡¯t mean I couldn¡¯t read posts.


    I just couldn¡¯t comment or create any posts myself.


    On PaleNet, however, I could write freely and enjoy my online life as I did before.


    With a quiet slurp, I scrolled through the daily posts.


    Occasionally, there were begging posts, but their frequency had noticeably decreased.


    Apparently, Vivabot had finally developed a proper macro.@@@@


    Though it seemed reluctant to work, it still showed some level of competence befitting an employee of Melon Mask¡¯s company. The quality of posts had certainly improved compared to before. Still, it was nothing like the completely clean days when Skelton¡ªme¡ªwas in charge.


    I¡¯d already submitted an apology letter to Vivabot, though I wasn¡¯t sure if it had read it.


    Was it not sincere enough?


    Not being able to post for three days was torture, but, strangely, my brief stint with authority had left me feeling refreshed.


    It was like unclogging a long-blocked channel.


    Like achieving a life milestone.


    Perhaps... was it magnanimity?


    This wasn¡¯t a trait that particularly suited Park Gyu.


    It had been a day and a half since Skelton was stripped of his badge, yet there were still people badmouthing me on the board.


    Especially those I had banned¡ªthey were grinding their teeth in anger, spewing insults.


    mmmmmmmmm: "Shouldn¡¯t we permanently ban that Skelton bastard? Why isn¡¯t he getting a lifetime ban?! Seriously, this fraud gets to play overlord with nothing to his name, pretending he¡¯s some kind of oracle. Ugh, I want to drag him to my house and throw him out myself..."


    Ridiculous.


    This is Park Gyu they¡¯re talking about. Sure, I made some minor blunders, but I¡¯ve exchanged messages with Melon Mask and maintain a decent rapport with Vivabot.


    I¡¯ve been diligently writing apology letters, so I¡¯ll be reinstated soon enough.


    Anyway, as I browsed the board, I noticed something unusual¡ªthere was a buzz today, unlike the usual humdrum.


    Oddly enough, the name of a user I disliked was popping up frequently.


    ??: "Dies Irae is incredible."


    Anonymous424: "Wow, that¡¯s practically a tank, isn¡¯t it?"


    ??: "There were raiders even in this winter, huh."


    Anonymous458: "With so many people, they managed to take down those guys too. Amazing."


    tntn_Orthopedics: "Murderers and robbers operating in -40 degrees Celsius? This place is grim enough without people like that. Can¡¯t even light a proper fire now."


    ...


    Judging by the context, it seemed to refer to the raiders on the snowcat that Woo Min-hee had mentioned to me yesterday.


    Apparently, these snowcat raiders were somehow tied to Dies Irae.


    What should I do?


    Maybe I¡¯ll lift their ban temporarily. Just for a moment.


    There¡¯s nothing else to do anyway. I could at least check out one of their posts, right?


    I unbanned Dies Irae.


    Sure enough, one of their fresh posts was trending in the popular section.


    The post was titled: "Yesterday''s Record.jpg" by Dies Irae69.


    I clicked on it.


    The photo showed a massive vehicle, blackened and scorched, with 12 wheels burned beyond recognition. Scattered around were mangled corpses, and standing tall amidst the carnage was Dies Irae¡¯s group, lined up victoriously.


    Below the photo was an explanation:


    Dies Irae69:


    "Even in -50 degrees Celsius, our survivalists never let their guard down. Around 5 a.m. yesterday, one of our members heard the deafening roar of an engine from the southwest and woke everyone up.


    It turned out to be a snowcat, likely something repurposed from a ski resort. Watching it head straight for us, we figured they¡¯d seen the smoke from our campfire during the night.


    We immediately prepared for battle and set up an ambush. Among our stockpile, we had a Hyungung missile and a Panzerfaust-3. While the Hyungung seemed like overkill, the Panzerfaust-3 felt more appropriate.


    Once they were within 50 meters, we launched the ambush. The result is in the photo."


    I couldn¡¯t deny it¡ªregardless of his morality, Dies Irae was an experienced and skilled commander.


    Waking up at dawn, assessing the situation, and decisively ambushing an unknown enemy¡ªit wasn¡¯t something just anyone could do.


    An amateur leader would¡¯ve either tried to negotiate foolishly or fumbled their way into retaliation only after taking a hit.


    Though not explicitly mentioned in the post, Dies Irae¡¯s tactical acumen couldn¡¯t be ignored. In a time where both survivors and raiders had significantly leveled up, seeing such a one-sided victory between two armed groups was rare. From weapon choice to ambush positioning and battle command, his fingerprints were all over it.


    A follow-up post appeared shortly after.


    Dies Irae69:


    "Prisoner Interrogation Results.txt"


    This time, the photo depicted two men kneeling with their hands tied behind their backs, garbage bags covering their heads.


    The interrogation details followed:


    **"A light interrogation revealed just how brutal these bastards were. Apparently, they didn¡¯t want anyone to know their methods, so they left no survivors.


    Their execution methods were horrifying: they¡¯d tie up their victims, pour boiling water over them, and abandon them in the -40-degree wasteland. ''Boiling and cracking,'' they called it."**


    "Two of them managed to escape. They fled westward on a black snowmobile¡ªone male and one female. It looked like they were unarmed, but don¡¯t underestimate them. One seemed injured, but if you see anyone on a snowmobile, shoot them immediately."


    Click-clack.


    I tried to leave a comment.


    <Warning! SKELTON, you are currently banned!>


    <21:42 remaining until ban lift!>


    ¡°...¡±


    I sighed.


    I had to admit, Dies Irae had accomplished something impressive this time.


    He and his group had taken down a highly trained, well-equipped band of raiders numbering at least twenty. Even Woo Min-hee had described them as a significant threat.


    At least it didn¡¯t seem like they were carrying main firearms, like rifles.


    The snowmobile, crossing my territory, suddenly veered in my direction and roared forward.


    I looked up at the smoke still lingering in the sky.


    So, they were coming because of that?


    What should I do?


    A single shot would easily send them running.


    With a little more effort, I could draw them in closer and kill them all.


    There was also another option.


    This was directly connected to my currently damaged reputation on the board.


    If I captured or hunted these snowmobile raiders and posted the process on the forum...


    Wouldn¡¯t it get a huge reaction?


    This could be the perfect opportunity to make a comeback, to restore my position after being ousted from the throne.


    ¡°...¡±


    No.


    Let¡¯s drop it.


    Even though I wore the badge by resorting to some trickery, I had my limits.


    At least I wouldn¡¯t play games with human lives.


    It might be better to just kill them cleanly.


    I adjusted my firearm, setting it to semi-auto, and aimed at the approaching snowmobile.


    Suddenly, my K-WalkieTalkie emitted a beeping sound.


    It was on the public frequency.


    The signal was close.


    I let the sound play out.


    ¡°My girlfriend¡¯s injured! Please, just let us stay for a moment! We don¡¯t have any weapons! If you don¡¯t trust us, you can cuff us! We won¡¯t resist! Just please, save my girlfriend!¡±


    What should I do?


    I don¡¯t have a habit of toying with people¡¯s lives.


    Once they¡¯re confirmed to be enemies, we neutralize them immediately.


    But right now, I was banned from the forum.


    Which means I have some time.


    Moreover, these people came from Dies Irae¡¯s territory.


    Dies Irae might be far from here now, but it looked like he moved his group from place to place, never staying in one spot for long.


    We may not cross paths now, but if we ever did, he could become one of the most dangerous enemies I¡¯d ever face.


    It wouldn¡¯t be a bad idea to gather a little information while I have the chance.


    I took off my poncho, grabbed my gun, and climbed to the top of a small hill.


    The snowmobile was charging directly at me.


    The man appeared to be in his early twenties, and the woman looked to be around the same age.


    The man was tall, though gaunt, and despite wearing thick clothes, his arms and neck were covered in tattoos that crept up to his face. He didn¡¯t seem to carry any weapons.


    The woman looked similar.


    Her face was bruised, but she seemed to have a fair amount of healing, though it was clear she had light lacerations.


    The more serious issue was the signs of frostbite.


    The man had no feeling in the tip of his nose, and the woman couldn¡¯t feel her toes.


    I didn¡¯t think it was my place to make decisions about amputations, so I just gave them some cheap ointment.


    For a meal, I served them a soup made only from chicken stock.


    The location was a camouflaged container box.


    Of course, I had no intention of showing them my real home.


    But at least, because I¡¯d been maintaining it throughout the winter, no cold air was seeping in, and I¡¯d rigged up a crude heating system in the center.


    I watched the man and woman huddling by the fire.


    They kept glancing at me.


    I didn¡¯t ask their names.


    I wasn¡¯t planning on letting them live.


    This wasn¡¯t a moral issue.


    These people were murderers.


    They lived by killing others and using their spoils to survive.


    They might attack me here, or maybe they¡¯d go after my friends or people I cared about somewhere else.


    That¡¯s how they lived.


    I stared at them as I spoke.


    ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    I knew my voice sounded cold.


    In fact, this was closer to my original tone.


    Detached, yet pressing.


    The man and woman exchanged glances.


    ¡°A gang.¡±


    The man smirked.


    ¡°We just got done killing people.¡±


    I liked his honesty, but I didn¡¯t react.


    After a moment of silence, the man spoke again.


    ¡°We disbanded from our gang, and started having fun on our own. But we got hit hard this time. They were probably soldiers.


    They killed all the men on the spot and took the women to a cave-like place.¡±


    ¡°They killed everyone except the pretty ones.¡±


    The woman added.


    ¡°After having their fun, they¡¯ll probably kill them too. I was pretty close with one of them.¡±


    The two exchanged another look. The man, in a mocking tone, spoke while glancing at me.


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna back off now and live quietly in the city. We¡¯re sick of this life...¡±


    The young couple, barely over twenty, held hands.


    The man gently caressed the woman¡¯s belly.


    ¡°We¡¯re having a baby.¡±

 Chapter 75.2

    Since Cain killed Abel, there are few acts that provoke as many conflicting opinions and thoughts as murder.@@@@


    Especially when it comes to groups that are forced to commit murder¡ªsoldiers, police officers, executioners, and so on¡ªthere are so many arguments and theories that even an entire book would not be enough to cover them.


    In our case, the Old School Hunters, we categorized murder as a secondary issue and approached it accordingly.


    Just like how Diderot placed the concept of God under the category of natural sciences in the Encyclopedia, rendering divinity itself meaningless, we too didn¡¯t directly tackle the subject of murder. Instead, we defined it as one of the auxiliary actions that accompanies operations.


    The regulations we learn at school contain no approval of murder.


    As I recall, the only clauses that could justify killing someone were:


    The right to eliminate those who obstructed our mission, such as hostile individuals.The right of hunters to defend themselves if attacked during their mission.


    These two points could be considered the foundations of our justification for killing.


    Like the law, which leaves much room for interpretation, it¡¯s important to understand that there are no direct provisions in our regulations for punishment or consequences for murder.


    Of course, murder for personal reasons, rather than as a necessity of the mission, is punished by laws outside our regulations, such as Chinese or Korean laws.


    What¡¯s certain is that we had no qualms about killing people.


    To be precise, there was no need for deep judgment.


    The judgment was made once.


    Was the person in front of us an enemy or not?


    There was always the condition that they would act hostile, but in actual situations, any signs of hostility were immediately neutralized.


    Most of the neutralization work was handled by our Chinese military allies, but in urgent situations or when their forces were lacking, we assisted and eliminated secondary targets. There was no question about this.


    Anyone who obstructs our mission, which is aimed at eliminating monsters¡ªthe enemies of humanity¡ªis not much different from the monsters themselves.


    It had been a long time since I¡¯d taken off my uniform, but I still stood by that philosophy.


    In my eyes, the man and woman in front of me, babbling on, were enemies.


    They were raiders who had boasted of killing many people and had actually committed gruesome murders.


    In this world, the basic requirement for judging a human being as an enemy is just that: they¡¯ve killed people.


    One thing that puzzled me was the excessively transparent attitude of the man in front of me, who appeared to be at least ten years younger than me.


    Was he thoughtless? Or had drugs clouded his judgment?


    He was thoroughly absorbed in telling his own story, never deviating from his own perspective.


    His level of intelligence didn¡¯t even reach the average, let alone the basics of survival.


    His vocabulary was poor, and the language he used felt stuck in the past, like someone still caught in the war.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to Incheon. I¡¯ll find my parents, and if I can¡¯t, I¡¯ll just work my ass off. I¡¯m done with this life. Killing people, stealing their stuff, scaring people...¡±


    He winced, perhaps realizing the frostbite on his nose and face, and pointed at it for his girlfriend to see. The woman, while still observing me, didn¡¯t seem much different from him.


    ¡°Hahaha! Look at Kyung-jin¡¯s face! She looks like a freak.¡±


    They had just barely escaped death, yet they laughed loudly enough to make the whole container shake.


    ¡°Can we stay for a day? Do you have any leftover fuel?¡±


    The man asked confidently, making it clear that he only used respectful language when it was necessary. His attitude was absurd.


    But I wouldn¡¯t kill them here.


    As much as I hated the idea of blood and corpses, I hated the idea of unnecessary violence more.


    ¡°Tell me everything. Which gang were you part of? How did you end up here? Where did you get a snowmobile?¡±


    I steered the conversation towards what I wanted to hear.


    ¡°We were in Sejong City.¡±


    ¡°Sejong City?¡±


    It had been hit by nuclear bombs.


    Twice in a row, and to make things worse, chemical bombs had been dropped on it.


    While Seoul had also been bombed, the concentrated attack on Sejong was much more emotional.


    The attack by China on Sejong City was literally a strategic bombing meant to wipe the entire city off the map, with overwhelming firepower.


    This had also been the location of all the administrative and military operations in South Korea, which is why so many officials were killed.


    I didn¡¯t know the full details, but I had heard that bunker-busters¡ªanti-bunker missiles¡ªhad been deployed to pierce even the underground shelters.


    As a result, Sejong City became a death zone, with nothing left.


    The heart of South Korea had been literally obliterated.


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me there was still something left there?¡±


    ¡°No. When I first got there, there were still people living. The neighborhood was a mess, but the underground bunkers were pretty well made, huge even, with electricity and hot water.¡±


    ¡°Is there a gang there?¡±


    The man nodded.


    ¡°King is the leader there.¡±


    ¡°King?¡±


    ¡°The leader of the gang. No one knows his real name.¡±


    The woman, standing next to him, coldly added:


    ¡°He¡¯s a disgusting pervert. He only takes pretty, well-built girls and makes them live with him. He does all kinds of twisted things. If he gets tired of them or they upset him, he throws them to his subordinates.¡±


    ¡°How many people are in that gang?¡±


    ¡°I can tell you, but...¡±


    The man glanced at me.


    ¡°I feel like you keep asking questions. Can you give us some fuel? I still haven¡¯t heard your answer.¡±


    ¡°I can spare about half a gallon of synthetic oil.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a gallon?¡±


    ¡°Half a can.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s with the complicated words?¡±


    The man pulled something out of his pocket.


    It was dried meat.


    I didn¡¯t know what kind of meat it was, but it wasn¡¯t made before the war.


    The stench from the dried meat was enough to make me wonder if it had failed the hygiene inspection before the war, and I could smell the pungent odor that would¡¯ve been enough for it to be banned from sale.


    He tore it in half and handed some to his girlfriend.


    He chewed the jerky and gave a wicked smile.


    ¡°3,000 people.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    That¡¯s nearly the size of a military unit.


    ¡°Not everyone¡¯s a raider. Some of them were captured elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Slaves.¡±


    The woman added.


    ¡°Yeah. A lot of slaves, a lot of us underlings, a lot of people high on drugs, and even more like the military. There are some scary old men, but other than that, we¡¯ve got everything.


    The man with the face of a raider suddenly lunged at me, only to bury his face in the snow.


    He was bowing to me.


    "Please, please. Just let Mi-jin live."


    He pleaded with a desperation I hadn¡¯t heard from him before.


    When a person begs me, it doesn''t make me reconsider my thoughts.


    Once someone is labeled as an enemy, they are just a target to be eliminated, not someone to negotiate with.


    How many comrades and friends have died because of petty whims?


    To avoid repeating that same mistake, firmness¡ªno, perhaps it¡¯s better to call it ruthlessness¡ªwas essential.


    I could pull the trigger countless times.


    But¡ª


    ¡°Is it because of the child?¡±


    I asked, a question I hadn¡¯t planned to ask.


    I wouldn¡¯t have asked this question seven years ago.


    The man shook his head.


    Lying face down in the snow, he mumbled with a smiling face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know who she is. I told you. It¡¯s a damn shitty neighborhood.¡±


    He looked up at me.


    He was begging for mercy, mercy that wasn¡¯t even his to ask for.


    I looked at the woman.


    She, however, didn¡¯t seem willing to accept that mercy.


    She ignored me and pulled the man up from the ground, slapping him so hard that it echoed, then kissed him.


    ¡°... Hah.¡±


    I felt my heart grow cold.


    ¡°Leave.¡±


    The couple, who had narrowly escaped death, hurriedly made their way toward their snowmobile.


    I followed them and heard their conversation.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°I told you. We¡¯re going to Incheon.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to kill more people there?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t anymore. I mean, if I have to, I will. But I don¡¯t know. I won¡¯t join any more gang groups like that. You¡¯re a soldier too, right? You know how it goes? When you¡¯re alone, it¡¯s impossible, but when you¡¯re in a group, you do things you wouldn¡¯t normally do.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    For a brief moment, I actually sympathized with the words of this young man.


    I raised my rifle and took a step back.


    The man got on the snowmobile, and the woman climbed on behind him, glancing at me cautiously.


    After a moment, the snowmobile roared to life and tore through the snow, leaving my territory behind.


    It wasn¡¯t over yet.


    There was a reason I had let them go.


    I had a calculation.


    The snowmobile had barely any fuel left, and the little fuel they had was siphoned off while delivering food. No matter what, they would soon run out of fuel and freeze to death in the -22¡ãC cold.


    But the temperature had risen slightly.


    It was now -18¡ãC.


    Though they were still the same people...


    Even so, the faint warmth of the sun felt real.


    With my eyes closed, I felt the sun¡¯s rays briefly on my eyelids as I listened to the fading roar of the snowmobile. It wasn¡¯t long before the sound stopped.


    They had run out of fuel.


    I watched, expecting the inevitable.


    The result was clear.


    They would try to arm themselves and attack me.


    They would try to kill me to pave the way for their survival.


    In a world on the brink of collapse, humans were no different from beasts.


    ¡°?¡±


    The result that unfolded before me was unexpected.


    The young lovers, who had chosen the path of murder as their way of life, didn¡¯t head towards my territory.


    Instead, they hobbled away, leaning on each other, trudging through the blizzard-covered tundra.


    I could hear their refreshing laughter, even from afar.


    Vroom!


    The couple appeared before me, now on a motorcycle, having somehow made their way through the snow.


    They stared at me.


    I tossed a gallon of synthetic oil and a package containing some hand warmers and a little food in front of them.


    ¡°What, what¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°Incheon¡¯s that way. If the road¡¯s covered by snow, use the signs and abandoned cars to guide yourself. There should be a new sign marking the turnoff for Incheon.¡±


    ¡°Why are you doing this all of a sudden?¡±


    I glanced at the woman, who had been hostile towards me all along.


    She wasn¡¯t particularly pretty, but she definitely had a cute side to her.


    I spoke as I looked at her.


    ¡°There¡¯s a child.¡±


    I watched them leave.


    The snowmobile, now fueled with the lifeblood of survival, zipped through the tundra with more energy and grace, disappearing from my sight.


    I turned my attention back to my bunker.


    Have I grown old?


    Or has wearing the armband, even for just a short while, made mercy become second nature to me?


    I don¡¯t know.


    I just hope this moment of whimsy or weakness doesn¡¯t come back to haunt me.


    It had been three years and three months since the war began.


    The days were growing warmer.

 Chapter 76.1

    SKELTON: (Celebration) Former board manager SKELTON returns with a bang!


    Finally, the block has been lifted.


    It wasn¡¯t so much the result of my apology letter but rather the fruits of my patience after 72 hours.


    During the long, arduous months of being blocked, not once did I fail to think about this moment of liberation.


    I was sure there would be some kind of reaction.


    It wouldn¡¯t be warm and forgiving, like Christian forgiveness or enthusiastic support, but surely I¡¯d get some sort of comment, even if it was a hateful one.


    The reason didn¡¯t matter; the fact was that I had become famous, right?


    Apparently, the artist Andy Warhol once said that once you become famous, even if you turn your back, the public will still clap for you.


    I thought something similar would happen to me.


    But...


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Hmm."


    There was no reaction.


    Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes passed, and not a single comment appeared.


    Could it be that I¡¯ve been buried?


    It was 7:00 AM, and it had been some time since the block was lifted, but it was still a bit early.


    After an hour, I posted again.


    SKELTON: "Releases from prison) Hey, guys! I¡¯m back! Tofu... huh~"


    Now, surely, in Korea¡¯s tiny internet world, no one would be unfamiliar with SKELTON.


    After all, I was the first and last armband holder in the Viva! Apocalypse! Korean forum, so whether the comments were hateful or supportive, there should be at least a few.


    I mean, don¡¯t famous people always want attention and people swarming around them?


    But again, no response.


    Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes...


    Alright. Fine. Then let''s try some shock therapy.


    SKELTON: "(Announcement) No comments? You¡¯ll be tracked and blocked for 24 hours!"


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    Still, no comments.


    It¡¯s normal for me not to get comments¡ªbreathing, eating, and not getting comments are all everyday occurrences¡ªbut this coldness felt different from the usual dismissal I had experienced.


    I mean, not even a single hateful comment?


    Could it be that Viva blocked my posts from being visible to others?


    I don¡¯t know the reason, but it feels like that one foreigner with black hair, who has always had a strange dislike for me, might have personally imposed a private sanction to make me invisible. Could they have used their powers to make me transparent?


    mmmmmmmmm: "That boring bastard. So shameless, really shameless. After pulling that stunt, he¡¯s still posting here like nothing happened. Has he really lost his humanity...?"


    ...That doesn¡¯t seem right.


    It¡¯s clear that "that boring bastard" refers to SKELTON, anyone who has spent some time on the forum would know that.


    It¡¯s a bit humiliating for a senior user like me to be mentioned directly by another user, but what can I do?


    Even after the eventful return, with no comments at all, I decided to try a bit of friendly banter with m9.


    SKELTON: "Peace offering handshake) m9, I understand your feelings now after being blocked, haha."


    For the first time, my fingers felt heavy on the keyboard.


    Each keypress felt as heavy as lifting a 90kg bench.


    But this guy¡ªhe still didn¡¯t react, even after I extended the olive branch.


    mmmmmmmmm: "It¡¯s getting warmer, maybe I¡¯ll get some sun today~ You know? If you tilt the angle of the sunlight properly, the disinfectant effect of sunbathing increases."


    A thorough snub.


    Even though I extended the hand of reconciliation, he only responded with unrelated talk.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    I guess I should¡¯ve expected that from someone like him.


    To be honest, the timing isn¡¯t great.


    It just so happens that the day I return coincides with the worst mood on the board.


    As the temperature rises, the scale of damage from the cold snap becomes apparent.


    Naturally, many people have died from freezing.


    The resources are scarcer, the temperature lower, and the cold has lingered much longer than last year.


    The situation at the refugee camps varies drastically.


    With Yang Sang-gil, the acting president, dead, the camps in Incheon have essentially fallen into a situation of survival of the fittest. The organization and leadership of each camp have determined the fate of the people there, leading to a variety of outcomes.


    Some camps recorded just a few frostbite cases, while others experienced total fatalities from the cold.


    The camp that saw the least damage was the 13th shelter, where they made the bold decision to abandon the government-provided tents and housing to move to a nearby subway station when the cold arrived.


    This wasn¡¯t a decision anyone could make lightly, as it required immense courage.


    The shelter leaders built a second winter camp on the subway tracks, risking suffocation and poisoning to light fires inside. They selected strong individuals to handle resource gathering and distribution, allowing all activities to be conducted within the subway.


    The most impressive part of the 13th shelter¡¯s winter activities was their huddling technique.


    Just like penguins in Antarctica, hundreds of refugees gathered together in a circle, using their body heat to block the wind and cold, surviving the harsh winter by sticking together and moving slowly.


    The 29th shelter, on the other hand, faced the worst situation. Unlike the 13th shelter, they had relied on their heating and electric facilities, confident in their proximity to the district heating system.


    However, disaster struck.


    Just a moment ago, I was reading about people freezing to death in Incheon, and now I feel like I¡¯ve stepped into a fairy tale world.


    Just then, the user who led me here posted something.


    GingerCookie: Roaker - Did you charge your game console?! It¡¯s not dead again, is it?!


    Are they chatting in real time?


    FailNet doesn¡¯t have a message function like ours.


    There¡¯s no concept of accounts, and everything is anonymous.


    Roaker: Oh, it¡¯s dead again~ Ugh, maybe it¡¯s because it¡¯s cold. It keeps dying so often ??


    GingerCookie: You should¡¯ve put it on a heating pad when you weren¡¯t using it. The repairman¡¯s gone now, so you¡¯ll have to be careful while playing.


    Roaker: Yup, yup ??


    Real-time conversation is happening on the board.


    There might not be many people, but the activity level seems enough.


    For a board like this, the size doesn¡¯t really match Skelton¡¯s reputation, but it¡¯s worth leaving a comment.


    Tap tap tap


    SKELTON: (Skelton blushes) Hey everyone~?


    When in Rome, do as the Romans do. I tried greeting them warmly in the style of this board.


    What kind of response will I get?


    There was no reaction for about a minute, but soon GingerCookie recognized me.


    GingerCookie: Huh?! Skelton?! You really came!


    GingerCookie: Guys! The famous user Skelton is here! Everyone say hi!


    This was expected.


    But then,


    NoCommentGamer: Hi, Skelton! Nice to meet you!


    QueueSkelton: Who¡¯s this Skelton? What does he do? Anyway, nice to meet you!


    Ismail: ¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤


    THE MAN: Oh! Skelton! A fun guy, huh?


    TempleTteokbokkiFaithful: "Skelton, welcome!"


    MintChocoRice: New here? Hello!


    HairStylingWarrior: Even this remote board has people coming... Welcome, Skelton.


    Roaker: A famous user, Skelton? Wow~ Impressive!


    ¡¤¡¤¡¤


    What¡¯s going on? Am I dreaming?


    Unlike the cold, harsh board where I returned after 72 hours of banishment with no comments, this Animal Crossing board is showing interest in me. Every user, although slowly, is paying attention.


    GingerCookie: Welcome, Skelton - we¡¯re so happy to have you here, do you play Animal Crossing?


    SKELTON: Nah, I don¡¯t do that. I don¡¯t even have it.


    GingerCookie: No worries, you¡¯re welcome here no matter what! This is a place where everyone¡¯s welcome!


    MintChocoRice: Skelton! Welcome!


    TempleTteokbokkiFaithful: "Skelton!"


    Ismail: ¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤


    Roaker: Famous user Skelton!


    ¡¤¡¤¡¤


    Now, even now, this small board is giving me an overwhelming amount of attention with every move I make.


    I told this kind, little discovery to Dajeong.


    "What? People are warmly welcoming you on a small board?"


    She, being the internet expert, was the one to explain my surprise.


    And just as expected, she easily explained my situation with the knowledge she had in her mind.


    "Yeah, there are places like that. It¡¯s called sticking with your own kind. When small boards gather around a common hobby or topic, people are so rare that everyone gets along and it¡¯s warm."


    "Really?"


    Such places exist.


    Even in this cold and cruel internet world.


    "Where is it? Animal Crossing? Oh, let me check it out. Oh~ So it¡¯s like this?"


    At the end of Dajeong¡¯s sentence, there was a slight hint of mockery.


    "So it¡¯s just a remote social board."


    "It does have that vibe."


    "Animal Crossing, you said? I know that game. It¡¯s too peaceful for me, so I didn¡¯t play it, but if it suits you, it¡¯s not a bad place to heal.


    Being social in moderation is actually a good thing. In fact, even before the war, there were people who spent over 10 years on the same board, growing old together."


    "Is that really true?"


    "There are quite a few."


    Hearing the voice full of confidence from Dajeong, the internet expert, made me feel somewhat embarrassed, but since I¡¯ve worn the armband before, I guess I can handle it well.


    Since we¡¯re about to part ways, and the conversation was getting too long, I tried to wrap it up appropriately when suddenly Dajeong asked a question.


    "But, are there no deaths there?"

 Chapter 76.2

    "Casualties?"


    "Isn''t that another PaleNet thing?"


    Come to think of it...


    "Didn¡¯t a ton of PaleNet users die in one go? That game by FoxGames turned into a massive cemetery, and even the developer, who seemed mentally solid, couldn¡¯t handle it anymore."


    That¡¯s right.


    This is reality.


    A popular post on the board described the developer''s devastation about how their game had become unmanageable.


    FoxGames: This was predictable, and I even implemented a cemetery system in anticipation. But now, I''m scared to log into my own game. I can''t tell if I¡¯m the administrator or a corpse collector anymore. As for Monster Park... I¡¯m rethinking whether I should keep running it.


    The surreal feeling from the Gather, Animals Island! board wasn¡¯t just from their absurdly friendly attitudes.


    Dajeong presented a theory on the spot.


    "Could it just be one lunatic playing multiple roles by themselves?"


    The hypothesis she suggested was a classic case of "multi-acting."


    Multi-acting: When one person uses multiple accounts to appear as several different individuals. Surprisingly, this is an old trick, dating back to the early days of online forums in the PC communication era.


    "Look, don''t their speech patterns all seem similar? Like they¡¯re out of it or something? Instead of sounding like real people, it¡¯s more like NPCs in some kiddie zoo, all dragging around that ''Ismail'' guy."


    Her argument had a point.


    Unless it was a case of multi-acting, there was no way a board with only 12 active users could consistently post over one thread per minute, rivaling even ghost boards in activity rankings.


    "I heard PaleNet doesn¡¯t rely on usernames for user counts because of how rampant trolling and fake accounts are. Instead, they register each unique device ID as one user."


    She added with a smirk, "So yeah, if I felt like it, I could probably manage ten accounts at once there."


    "Hmm."


    One person acting as many, huh?


    Well, that would reveal itself with time. And time is something I have plenty of.


    While keeping an eye on the Gather, Animals Island! board, I decided to clean and organize my weapons. On the blanket before me lay five rifles and two pistols, neatly arranged.


    Click!


    I disassembled each firearm, laying the parts carefully on the blanket. Using an oil-soaked cloth, I meticulously wiped down each piece while keeping an eye on the board.


    Posts were coming in steadily¡ªone every minute, sometimes every five minutes.


    Click!


    Reassembling firearms was one of the few hobbies I enjoyed back in school. I wasn¡¯t the fastest, but I never made a mistake. Even if someone shook the blanket and scattered the pieces, I could reassemble them without hesitation. It was like my personal puzzle game.


    Although my hands had slowed with age, the methodical precision I prided myself on back then remained intact.


    Click.


    The empty trigger clicked with its familiar hollow sound as I turned back to the monitor.


    MintChocoRiceBowl: I want tuna stew.


    HairIronWarrior: Drawing on my phone is so hard.


    GingerCookie: The neighbors are fighting again...


    TempleTteokbokkiFollower: ¡°Don¡¯t click!¡±


    Loacker: I think my console is busted.


    Ismail: ...


    BunnyHop: Where can I catch a golden salmon?


    QueueHam: These nutrition bars taste awful!


    A surprising number of posts had piled up.


    I wiped my oily hands, grabbed the mouse, and began clicking on threads. As expected, the content matched the titles. Some even included photos relevant to their posts.


    For example, QueueHam¡¯s nutrition bar thread included a picture of a roach-colored bar I¡¯d seen before. Loacker¡¯s console thread also had a photo of a game console on a blanket.


    Curiously, the photos posted by these two users seemed to have been taken in entirely different settings. The lighting, atmosphere, and even the background differed. Loacker''s photo appeared to be taken inside a tent, while QueueHam''s was clearly in an apartment.


    They couldn¡¯t have been taken by the same person.


    "Hmm..."


    Still, the fact that someone was living in an apartment in this day and age was odd. Aren¡¯t most people holed up in evacuation camps?


    Regardless, based on the photos alone, Loacker and QueueHam seemed to be distinct individuals.


    As I continued cleaning my guns and monitoring the board, I noticed a consistent flow of posts¡ªat least ten every hour. Though some were frivolous, none were off-topic; every post matched its title.


    It felt... peaceful.


    Too peaceful for the current apocalyptic reality.


    After finishing with the weapons, I typed into the chat.


    SKELTON: Is everyone safe? The recent cold wave¡¯s no joke.


    For some reason, the eerie vibe of the board made me more cautious than usual. I didn¡¯t even include my signature phrase¡ªsomething I¡¯ve always done. Perhaps it was an unspoken metaphor for my unease.


    As soon as my post went up, another one followed.


    MintChocoRiceBowl: I¡¯m craving squid rice bowl~


    A pointless post.


    Considering it was posted within ten seconds of mine, it¡¯s likely they hadn¡¯t seen my message yet. Sure enough, GingerCookie soon responded.


    GingerCookie: Skelven! Are you worried about us?


    SKELTON: The board¡¯s been a mess lately. Everyone doing okay?


    GingerCookie: Want to check for yourself?


    SKELTON: Check?


    GingerCookie: Come over to my place!


    The moment GingerCookie invited me, it was as if an avalanche of posts had been triggered.


    BunnyHop: Skelton, Skelton, Skelton!


    QueueHam: Skelton, don¡¯t abandon us!


    Another bombardment of unsettling messages filled the screen.


    In the face of this eerie deluge, I had no response but silence.


    Then, a message arrived from Ballantine:


    Ballantine: The activity is PC-based, not mobile. And it all traces back to a single computer.


    Ballantine: So, GingerCookie, QueueHam, MintChocoRiceBowl, Loacker, BunnyHop¡ªthey¡¯re all the same person. If they weren¡¯t, the board wouldn¡¯t be buried so low in the rankings.


    Even with just five active users, the current PaleNet rankings make it easy to hit the top 100.


    Dajeong was right.


    These were not multiple people but the creation of a single user.


    Their unnaturally friendly demeanor, bizarre concept, and twisted fairy tale-like atmosphere were not coincidences but the product of one person¡¯s delusions.


    However, the chat I¡¯d seen while cleaning my guns hadn¡¯t felt like the work of one person.


    The various voices, each distinct in tone and personality, seemed far too different to be a single entity.


    I pointed this out to Ballantine.


    Ballantine: Ah, I get it now.


    A moment later, Ballantine delivered their analysis.


    Ballantine: It¡¯s a macro.


    SKELTON: A macro?


    Ballantine: Two types, actually. Let me show you.


    Ballantine posted an anonymous message on the board.


    ??: Hey everyone, say hi.


    Instantly, replies flooded in:


    FridayGamer: Hello? Nice to meet you!


    QueueHam: What¡¯s up? Anyway, nice to meet you!


    Ismail: ...


    THE MAN: Oh, you know how to party, huh?


    TempleTteokbokkiFollower: "Welcome!"


    MintChocoRiceBowl: Are you new? Hi there!


    HairIronWarrior: Wow, people show up here too? Welcome!


    Loacker: Wow~ Amazing!


    It was exactly the same as the overwhelming welcome I received when I first posted¡ªminus the ¡°famous user SkelDon¡± tag.


    As I felt a chill run down my spine, Ballantine explained further.


    Ballantine: The second type is a background macro. It plays posts like music.


    SKELTON: Plays posts?


    Ballantine: They input old posts¡ªlike a script¡ªso it keeps running when no one¡¯s actually there. Look at QueueHam¡¯s post about nutrition bars. They haven¡¯t distributed those in years.


    Ballantine¡¯s logs revealed that two years ago, this board had genuine activity. Multiple users with unique IDs from different regions, including many from Seoul, had been active.


    But now, the only device posting to the board was a single PC using the old Shelter 258 signal.


    Ballantine: This phenomenon seems to have started last year¡ªaround the time Seoul was abandoned. Everyone who used to post here must have died. Back then, conditions were even worse than they are now. Food, water, hygiene¡ªit was all catastrophic.


    Ballantine: In summary, this Gather, Animals Island! board is just a phantom created by GingerCookie.


    "..."


    So this was the truth behind the Gather, Animals Island! board, the sanctuary I had briefly considered.


    SKELTON: GingerCookie.


    I called out to the one who had tried to summon me.


    But they didn¡¯t respond.


    Instead, the hollow murmurs of the dead from two years ago echoed through the board, filling its emptiness.


    If only the story ended here.


    But there was still another truth hidden beyond the network.


    At the same time that Ballantine revealed the truth of the board, freelance hunter Cheon Young-jae led three old-school hunters and two scavengers to raid the abandoned basement behind the old Shelter 258.


    Cheon Young-jae, a low-level Awakened, relied on tracking skills learned in school rather than his abilities to locate the hideout. He relayed the discovery to the one who had hired him for this job¡ªDefender.


    "There was one person, slumped dead in front of a computer. Looked like they hadn¡¯t been dead long, but their condition was so bad that decay might have been preferable."


    In the adjacent room were several more bodies.


    Defender clicked his tongue in disgust.


    "They were all cannibalized. Bit by bit, one after another."


    A desperate cannibal had called out to me.


    Why?


    To eat me? Or because they couldn¡¯t bear their loneliness?


    Perhaps both.


    After all, consuming someone and sharing emotions both stem from a desire to fill a void.


    One thing was certain¡ªthe cannibal¡¯s actions had given me, a man cornered, a chance to rise again.


    SKELTON: (A near-death experience with a cannibal) Storytime incoming. horror.


    For the first time in a while, I posted something that made it to the trending section.


    By the way, the cannibal¡¯s original username wasn¡¯t GingerCookie.


    It was Ismail.

 Chapter 77

    Once again, Christmas had come.


    There were no cakes, no carols, and no motels in this world anymore. Yet, on our message board, we kept up an annual tradition since the war began¡ªa small event of our own: decorating a virtual Christmas tree.


    In the past, FoxGames would set up a tree site every Christmas season, allowing users to add ornaments to the tree as a way to share heartfelt messages with one another. But this year, there was no sign of such a gesture.


    FoxGames had gone silent.


    Since their magnum opus, Monster Park, had literally turned into a mountain of corpses, they seemed to have lost all motivation. After admitting that running Monster Park was no longer sustainable, they hadn¡¯t posted anything since.


    The scattered graves in Monster Park had been moved to a central cemetery, so FoxGames was presumably still alive. But it seemed their spirit had been broken.


    Some users grumbled, saying they didn¡¯t understand why FoxGames was acting so weak. After all, death had become an annual event during winter.


    But I understood.


    Hearing about mass deaths and witnessing them firsthand are entirely different things.


    Monster Park was FoxGames¡¯ dream, a creation they poured their heart and soul into after the war. That dream had become buried under death. Feeling defeated was only natural.


    And it wasn¡¯t just FoxGames whose resolve was wavering.@@@@


    I felt a little uneasy myself.


    The Defender siblings had set their moving date.


    I heard the news just as I was riding the wave of popularity from my latest post¡ªa sort of comeback moment for me.


    Defender contacted me.


    ¡°Sorry, this came up suddenly.¡±


    The exact date hadn¡¯t been set, but they¡¯d be leaving before the year was out. Less than a week.


    If no delays cropped up, they might leave as soon as tomorrow. The schedule wasn¡¯t up to them but decided by the Legion faction.


    "..."


    Even though I knew this day would come, the thought of people leaving my life hit me harder than I¡¯d imagined.


    My former teammates would¡¯ve been shocked to see me now.


    The same Park Gyu who could remain stoic while fighting alongside a dying comrade was now getting sentimental over someone moving away.


    Some might say I¡¯d grown weak. Others might claim I¡¯d simply aged.


    But what could I do?


    The truth was, I felt uneasy, and I had no intention of denying it.


    In a world that was falling apart, showing weakness wasn¡¯t a crime.


    Pretending to be strong wouldn¡¯t make the apocalypse go away.


    And it wasn¡¯t just the Defender siblings who were leaving.


    Rebecca and her daughter were also planning to depart soon, heading toward others of their kind.


    They¡¯d heard about a fully operational U.S. military base near Daegu.


    The base housed about 150 people¡ªsoldiers who hadn¡¯t managed to evacuate and their families. It was well-equipped, closely collaborating with the city government, and even had its own school.


    It was probably the school that swayed Rebecca.


    One by one, the people around me were leaving.


    I used to think being alone was natural, but now that I was facing it again, I wasn¡¯t so sure.


    Even though I didn¡¯t talk or interact much with my neighbors, just knowing I could reach out when I needed to was a significant difference.


    VIVA_BOT014: We¡¯re not planning to appoint a new board moderator~ And even if we did, we¡¯d never pick you, Skelton~


    Desperate for some form of connection, I reached out to VivaBot.


    But that cruel, black-hearted foreigner had no intention of helping me.


    After some hesitation, I decided to contact Rebecca.


    ¡°Skelton, what¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°Hey, Rebecca. Today¡¯s Christmas, and I was thinking...¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°...?¡±


    Her abrupt response caught me off guard.


    ¡°Um, I was just wondering if we could grab a bite together or something.¡±


    ¡°No, Skelton. Don¡¯t contact me again today.¡±


    The call ended.


    What the hell was that?


    Had I done something wrong?


    Weren¡¯t we the kind of neighbors who¡¯d at least share a light meal or a cup of tea on a day like this?


    I thought about calling her back but decided against it.


    In my already fragile mental state, facing rejection again would likely leave lasting damage.


    During my days as a professor, people used to whisper about how I had a heart of steel.


    They couldn¡¯t understand how I could remain so composed after a teammate died.


    To some extent, they were right. I was shameless and selfish. I didn¡¯t deny it.


    But that didn¡¯t mean I was unaffected when someone I knew became a cold corpse before my eyes.


    I simply chose not to think about it.


    It was like flipping a mental switch.


    I first discovered that switch when my family was massacred by monsters.


    At their funeral, while listening to relatives argue over the meager inheritance my parents had left, I shut off the switch for the first time.


    You could call it escapism, but it worked.


    The key was not to waver.


    Focus only on what was happening now, not the reasons or the past. The important thing was me.


    As long as I didn¡¯t falter, nothing else mattered.


    Lost in thought, I noticed commotion on the board.


    FoxGames: Sorry, I was recovering for a bit.


    FoxGames had returned.


    SKELTON¡¯s Tree (1)GloomColdAdversityHungerPainBetrayalLonelinessLiver CancerRheumatismHigh FeverMyocardial InfarctionHemorrhoidsTetanusNeuralgia


    Lying flat on the cold snow, I waited for the target to come into view.


    It appeared.


    One pull of the trigger, and the threat before me would be eliminated.


    But wait.


    "..."


    Was Kim Daram this careless?


    I hadn¡¯t taught her to be sloppy.


    If it were me¡ªor her¡ªI¡¯d set up a death trap so well-hidden that by the time the target noticed, it¡¯d already be too late.


    Stopping myself from pulling the trigger, I let the vehicle come closer.


    It wasn¡¯t like me, but some foolish hope compelled me to wait.


    "Skelton!"


    A young voice carried on the wind.


    Sue¡¯s voice.


    The vehicle stopped in front of my bunker.


    There was no doubt¡ªit was Rebecca¡¯s Humvee.


    "Skelton! Where are you? Why didn¡¯t you answer my calls?!"


    Rebecca¡¯s voice followed, sharp and urgent.


    Slowly, I emerged with my weapon still in hand.


    "Skelton!"


    Rebecca¡¯s eyes locked onto the recoilless rifle.


    "Are you insane?!"


    "Uh, no. I just heard a vehicle¡ª"


    "Then why didn¡¯t you answer the comms? I tried to contact you!"


    "..."


    I dodged her question, instead focusing on the Humvee.


    "What¡¯s going on with this?"


    Sue hopped out of the vehicle, standing proudly as she tapped the engine hood.


    "Mom and I fixed it."


    "What?"


    "We looked it up online."


    "You fixed this using the internet?"


    "I even fixed my bike, too."


    Sue looked up at Rebecca with pride.


    "Mom even quit her beloved internet for a while to get it done."


    Rebecca, visibly flustered, averted her gaze.


    "We¡¯ve been taking so much from you, and since we¡¯re leaving soon, we thought we should give something back. Consider it a Christmas gift."


    "A juicy surprise gift," Sue chimed in confidently.


    The mother and daughter stood together, facing me with expectant smiles.


    "Merry Christmas, Skelton!"


    "..."


    For a moment, I hesitated.


    Should I flip the switch in my heart off or leave it on?


    "...Merry Christmas."


    Let it be.


    Let myself waver.


    On this sacred day marking the birth of a savior, it was okay to be a little vulnerable.


    The heavily-armored Humvee, complete with a 12.7mm machine gun, barely fit into the cramped garage. As I returned to my bunker, ready to shut down my computer, I noticed a notification.


    Probably more insults.


    Still, I figured I¡¯d take a look.


    Click.


    "Hmm?"


    Was it from the Defender siblings?


    What¡¯s with the heart?


    There¡¯s more.


    "..."


    So it was them.


    The culprit behind the negative decorations on my tree.


    mmmmmmmmm: Oops, you caught me lol.


    But it wasn¡¯t just them.


    Further down, more decorations appeared.


    Ballantine: Merry Christmas, Skelton!


    And another simple message:


    Merry Christmas.


    "..."


    For a moment, I smiled.


    Even in the cold, harsh world I¡¯d chosen, there were still flickers of light.


    Merry Christmas.

 Chapter 78.1

    As the weather warmed, it wasn¡¯t just the ice that began to melt.


    The last vestiges of patience were wearing thin.


    According to Reporter Yangban, there had been an armed attack on government facilities around Christmas. While protests and violent incidents against government facilities were nothing new, the sophistication and quality of equipment in this attack set it apart from anything seen before.


    More than ten mortars were used to bombard the government district, surrounded by barbed wire and concrete walls. Rocket-propelled grenades targeted warehouses and guard posts in sporadic skirmishes.


    While the exact number of casualties remained unknown, it was certain that the five-minute mortar barrage had left dozens dead.


    Rumor had it that a select few were hosting an exclusive Christmas party inside the walls at the time.


    People speculated that the attack stemmed from the increasing factionalism among evacuation shelters.


    After Yang Sang-gil¡¯s fall from power, citizens had demanded a replacement leader, but the Incheon government stalled with vague responses, dragging things out.


    Having been deceived several times before, the people finally lost their patience. Factions began forming within the shelters.


    In the past, the government would have suppressed this, but now, their power had diminished. They could only stand by and watch.


    The prevailing theory on PaleNet was that some of these newly factionalized shelters, supplied with weapons by the Legion faction, were behind the attack.


    Incheon¡¯s streets were now under heavy surveillance, with tanks, helicopters, and armored vehicles stationed at every major intersection. But I wondered¡ªwhen the next cold wave hit, would they maintain the same vigilance?


    The online atmosphere wasn¡¯t much better.


    Ironically, leading the charge in the attack was a name known worldwide: DongtanMom¡ªBaek Seung-hyun.


    DongtanMom: There were hundreds of empty containers on the deck. Each one housed four families, with three people per family. And they weren¡¯t single-story either.


    They¡¯d stacked the containers four stories high and crammed people in. Those who¡¯ve seen the evacuation fleet know. It wasn¡¯t a refugee transport¡ªit was a can of sardines.


    Sure, it wasn¡¯t as bad as an African slave ship, but it was close. The stench of filth and urine was everywhere.


    DongtanMom: Then suddenly, the ship stopped. It was around 2 a.m., pitch dark. The captain announced over the intercom that some cabins were leaking water.


    Our cabin wasn¡¯t leaking, so we didn¡¯t think much of it. Soon, people from the "leaking" cabins came up to the deck and started boarding another ship. But here¡¯s the thing¡ªthose people didn¡¯t look wet.


    Even from a distance, in the dark, you could tell. If someone was wet, the ground would be wet too, and the water would glisten under the faint starlight. But it didn¡¯t.


    DongtanMom began recounting their story of being sent to China.


    The tone was calm, almost as if they were merely stating facts. But the intent was obvious: to condemn the government for abandoning hundreds of thousands of people in China.


    Though their story hadn¡¯t yet reached the part where they actually arrived in China, the tension was steadily building.


    This expose? was bound to fan the flames of anger already consuming Incheon.


    Classic Baek Seung-hyun¡ªkeeping silent until the moment it would serve him best.


    DongtanMom: The atmosphere felt off. People were saying that those being sent over were "selected performers," chosen through some shady process.


    But still, I believed in the Republic of Korea. That¡¯s it for today. Nom nom...


    Their post garnered hundreds of comments¡ªa typical sight on PaleNet.


    I didn¡¯t even need to read them to know what they¡¯d say.


    Rage, hatred, and a deafening chorus of outrage, all teetering on the edge of explosion.


    Honestly, this should have happened last year.


    When the Pioneer Corps abandoned people and countless froze to death, this kind of backlash was long overdue.


    Maybe it was the uniquely Korean traits of patience and tolerance that bought the government an extra year, but now even that patience had run dry.


    By this time next year, I doubted there¡¯d even be an Incheon government left.


    While South Korea hurtled toward its end, Viva! Apocalypse! was gearing up for a grand year-end celebration.


    Melon_Mask: After consulting with several users, we realized that live broadcasts require more resources and manpower than expected.


    Sure, we all love DongtanMom¡¯s videos, but let¡¯s be real¡ªthose are only possible because it¡¯s DongtanMom. Ninety-two percent of our users are reclusive shut-ins. Where are we supposed to find people?


    We also lack proper equipment and editing skills. A poorly done live stream is worse than nothing.


    So, this year¡¯s final live event will be replaced with a photo exhibition.


    A photo exhibition to close out the year¡ªit was an interesting idea.


    Unlike live streams, photos had a much lower entry barrier.


    Someone like Baek Seung-hyun might dominate with their professional video content and elaborate setups, but photos? All you needed was a camera and a subject.


    However, a lower entry barrier also meant more competition.


    Anyone could participate. Even older users who rarely moved around could try their hand at photography.


    Some of those veterans were masters of the craft.


    "..."


    Of course, this global-scale festival couldn¡¯t possibly exclude me, Skelton.


    At least online, I was a very active man.


    Traditionally, the most popular photo subjects were historical buildings, children, animals, and nature.


    Reflecting the times could also add value to a photo.


    Thinking back to pre-war PaleNet, it was predictable.


    For example, the old m9 was just another goofy guy at a meat restaurant, stealing bites instead of grilling.


    But post-apocalypse m9? Living alone in a crumbling apartment complex, he was now seen as an extraordinary figure.


    I suspected the key theme of this photo exhibition would be the times.


    This shared doom¡ªour collective destiny¡ªseemed likely to be the decisive factor.


    I recalled a photo I¡¯d taken a few years ago that had garnered some attention.


    It captured the moment when a colossal species dissolved into thousands of glowing particles against the night sky, with Rebecca and Sue¡¯s silhouettes holding hands in the foreground.


    The photo had everything: family, children, a beautiful background, and a poignant reflection of the era.


    Not bad, younger me.


    But was it enough?


    Even without looking, I knew.


    It was Heo Jong-chul, the oddball who¡¯d been freeloading with Defender¡¯s group.


    Sensing my gaze, Defender spoke up apologetically.


    ¡°Skelton, sorry for not mentioning this earlier, but I figured we¡¯d need a photographer. We really want a picture of the three of us together, and having someone to take it makes sense.


    "Plus, you know Jong-chul. He¡¯s an Awakened, so he¡¯s great at spotting ambushes. Sure, he¡¯s done some questionable stuff before, but at his core, he¡¯s a good guy. Deep down.¡±


    Defender¡¯s sudden, rapid explanation sounded like he was pitching the "benefits of Heo Jong-chul" like an old restaurant flyer advertising the health perks of duck meat.


    Finding his unusual enthusiasm amusing, I responded casually.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine if he comes along.¡±


    I didn¡¯t hold any particular grudge against Heo Jong-chul.


    Sure, he was odd, but in the end, it wasn¡¯t his fault¡ªor Defender¡¯s¡ªthat their generation, the 18th cohort, turned out this way. It was the world¡¯s doing.


    And honestly, he had a point: killing everyone in Incheon would theoretically make the remaining people safer.


    At least Jong-chul seemed remorseful now.


    Whether he repented or not, this would likely be our last meeting. If we ever crossed paths as enemies, well, what difference would one more foe make?


    Besides, I kind of liked the idea of having a photo of me, Defender, and his sister together.


    When I gave my approval, Jong-chul bowed at a sharp 90 degrees, apologizing with fervor.


    ¡°Sir, I¡¯m so sorry for not recognizing you before!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. Relax.¡±


    ¡°No, really, you¡¯re the famous prof¡ª¡±


    Cutting him off with a smirk, I said, ¡°In a dying world like this, does any of that even matter?¡±


    And with that, our journey began.


    The Humvee, painted white to blend with the snow, roared across the frozen ground, heading toward the ruined capital.


    Defender had his own truck, but we opted for the Humvee since the weather had warmed up.


    Interestingly, the Humvee was more sensitive to low temperatures than my motorcycle.


    Plus, warmer weather meant more people would be out and about¡ªraiders and murderers included.


    The Humvee offered a layer of protection against stray bullets, eliminating one of the most frustrating variables.


    As the scenery sped past, I asked Defender, ¡°So, when are you heading to the Legion faction?¡±


    ¡°January 2nd.¡±


    ¡°The day after tomorrow, huh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Got everything packed?¡±


    ¡°Just need to show up.¡±


    Defender was riding shotgun, sitting comfortably but keeping his sharp eyes constantly scanning for potential danger.


    In the backseat, Jong-chul and Dajeong sat as far apart as possible, their strained relationship apparent.


    Jong-chul occasionally glanced at her, but there didn¡¯t seem to be any overt hostility¡ªif anything, he might even like her.


    ¡°How about some music? Let¡¯s set the mood for our trip,¡± Dajeong suggested from the back.


    Defender and I ignored her.


    Even if this was a trip, blasting cheerful music while driving was crossing a line.


    Seoul wasn¡¯t safe.


    Though it was devoid of people, there were mutants roaming around.


    The ones I¡¯d named Meatballs and Caterpillars.


    And let¡¯s not forget the city¡¯s infamous collection of grotesque mutations.


    I wished they¡¯d all freeze to death, but the world rarely granted such favors.


    Caution was never a bad thing in a world like this.


    Unlike games, in reality, you only get one life.


    Half excited and half wary, we reached Seoul.


    The frozen lake reflected the ruins of towering skyscrapers, some snapped in half, and the abandoned amusement park loomed with a haunting beauty.


    Click.


    I grabbed my firearm and stepped out of the Humvee.


    ¡°No people in sight. No signs of mutants either,¡± Jong-chul reported, scanning the area with a cautious gaze.


    After confirming the safety of our surroundings, Dajeong climbed out of the vehicle.


    ¡°Wow, this place is wrecked.¡±


    She looked around nostalgically.


    ¡°This neighborhood was so expensive. I barely ever came here.¡±


    ¡°You want to take pictures here?¡±


    The atmosphere wasn¡¯t bad.


    The half-collapsed skyscraper in the background had a strikingly powerful image.


    ¡°This spot could work.¡±


    Dajeong, our self-appointed director for the day, surveyed the area with a critical eye.


    Her face lit up suddenly as she had an idea.


    ¡°How about the subway?¡±

 Chapter 78.2

    Is there a more familiar mode of transportation for Seoul citizens than the subway? Since the war began, the subway has become an even more integral part of their lives.


    During the height of the war, it served as an air-raid shelter, and after the infrastructure collapsed, it functioned as a refuge.


    The subway, constructed with reinforced concrete deep underground, became a fortress unto itself, equipped with essential elements for survival¡ªa reliable stronghold for many.


    It¡¯s said that before Seoul was abandoned, countless citizens lived in makeshift zones within the subway system.


    Perhaps that¡¯s why.


    Thunk¡ª


    When Defender turned on the lights, the overhead lamps in the subway station pushed back the darkness in unison.


    The power was still on.


    As we descended the stairs into the subway, the stench of life left behind and the traces of human activity overwhelmed our senses.


    Cardboard boxes, empty mattresses, discarded blankets, and trash of unknown purpose were strewn everywhere in chaotic disorder.


    Even makeshift partitions of PVC panels, marked with footprints and abandoned in haste, caught our attention.


    ¡°When I was in high school, I got lost in the subway once.¡±


    Da-jeong looked around with nostalgic eyes.


    ¡°I needed to transfer, but it was too far. I mean, who designed it like that?¡±


    I wanted to respond to her, but letting down your guard underground is a grave mistake. Subways have always been zombie nests.


    When idle, zombies gather in dark places, especially underground, staying still like computers in sleep mode. But once they sense a human presence, they spring into action.


    This subway station was once inhabited, but it¡¯s been over a year since it was abandoned.


    Wandering zombies likely settled here, making it their new home.


    I¡¯ve never worked with an Awakened before, but having someone who can see through walls and sense people would certainly make things easier.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing here. Not a thing.¡±


    Heo Jong-chul wasn¡¯t holding a weapon.


    More accurately, he hadn¡¯t been given one.


    If I weren¡¯t here, they might have handed him one. But because of past complications, Defender kept him unarmed.


    ¡°No zombies, no people. Just us.¡±


    Before long, we reached the stairs leading to the platform.


    The stairs were cordoned off with tape bearing warnings of restricted access. Chillingly, the tape had a biohazard warning symbol on it.


    ¡°What¡¯s this? Something bad?¡± Da-jeong asked, crossing her arms and frowning at the warning sign.


    ¡°Could¡¯ve been a bioweapon,¡± Defender replied as he expertly cut through the tape with a knife.


    ¡°Want to go down?¡±


    He turned to his sister as he asked, and she nodded with her arms crossed.


    ¡°A subway makes for a perfect backdrop.¡±


    ¡°A subway, huh. Think we¡¯ll find one? It might not even be here.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll check and see.¡±


    Da-jeong removed the backpack from her shoulders and pulled out a small drone.


    The palm-sized drone floated into the air with a gentle hum as she operated it with a simple controller, sending it down the stairs.


    ¡°Convenient.¡±


    When I commented, Da-jeong gave a faint smile, her eyes fixed on the drone¡¯s camera feed displayed on her glasses as she manipulated the controls.


    ¡°Drones are essential. Even during wars, they¡¯re a must-have.¡±


    ¡°Especially the ones made by the Chinese,¡± Defender chimed in.


    ¡°They don¡¯t use Awakened,¡± Heo Jong-chul added.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t they use Awakened?¡± Defender asked, staring at Jong-chul.


    ¡°There must be a problem.¡±


    Jong-chul adjusted his glasses and stroked his trademark sideburns.


    ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard through my Chinese connections, they conducted experiments on Awakened individuals.¡±


    ¡°Experiments? Isn¡¯t that common everywhere?¡±


    ¡°Sure, but they must¡¯ve found something fatal. The Chinese initially tried to use Awakened seriously, but they suddenly abandoned the plan.¡±


    ¡°What did they find?¡±


    ¡°From what I heard, it¡¯s a flaw tied to the survival of the Chinese people. The details are unclear, but that¡¯s what they say.¡±


    A flaw tied to their survival.


    Haven¡¯t they already fallen?


    There are supposedly survivors on Hainan Island, but that¡¯s not my concern.


    What does concern me is the group of Chinese individuals west of my territory, beyond DragonC¡¯s bunker.


    ¡°Do you still have contact with those Chinese folks?¡± I asked, looking at Jong-chul.


    He flinched and avoided my gaze.


    ¡°Uh, no. I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Speak freely. No need for formalities.¡±


    I don¡¯t care about being addressed formally¡ªit only makes the relationship more burdensome. Mutual respect works better, whether it¡¯s formal or casual.


    ¡°I doubt they¡¯d like me much. I conned them, after all.¡±


    Jong-chul spoke awkwardly, his gaze wandering. Then, as if remembering something, his eyes widened, and he raised his voice.


    ¡°Oh! Kids!¡±


    ¡°Kids?¡±


    ¡°Someone I know mentioned there¡¯s an issue when Awakened have children.¡±


    ¡°Do they give birth to deformed babies?¡± Defender interjected.


    ¡°No, not that. But there seems to be serious data about it.¡±


    Though we couldn¡¯t know exactly what data Jong-chul referred to, it was undeniable that the Chinese had discovered a fatal flaw in Awakened individuals¡ªone severe enough for them to forsake the powerful beings and face destruction instead.


    Awakened above level 5 can temporarily neutralize reflective barriers. With this ability to "dispel veils," they could crush monsters with firepower in localized battles.


    A single level 10 Awakened could seal low-intensity rifts with ease.


    And level 15? They¡¯d be closer to gods than humans.


    To abandon such powerful beings, the flaw must have been devastating.


    ¡°Nothing wrong! The subway¡¯s clean! Probably just a bluff,¡± Da-jeong¡¯s voice broke into our conversation as her drone returned.


    As Da-jeong joked, Defender turned his head from the back seat and said softly, ¡°You¡¯ll need to get checked first.¡±


    ¡°Checked?¡± I asked, puzzled.


    ¡°There¡¯s a good hospital there,¡± he explained. ¡°I¡¯m planning to have my sister undergo some tests.¡±


    ¡°Is she sick?¡±


    ¡°No, but it¡¯s good to take the opportunity for a thorough check-up. You could get checked too, if you join the Legion.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pass,¡± I replied, glancing at Da-jeong through the rearview mirror.


    We locked eyes, and she smiled playfully. I spoke firmly, ¡°If you¡¯re coming, let me know.¡±


    ¡°Okay!¡±


    I don¡¯t know when she¡¯ll return. There¡¯s no guarantee.


    We might never meet again.


    But knowing there¡¯s a possibility she¡¯ll come back is strangely comforting.


    Perhaps this is how we come to terms with farewells.


    In the faint clarity of a long, dreamlike slumber, I gazed out at the endless snowy plains.


    The road ahead was still long.


    *


    MELON_MASK: Alright, folks! The last event of the year¡ªPhoto! Apocalypse! Let¡¯s get started! Everyone ready? Send in the best snapshot you can think of!


    Defender is Defender, and I am Skelton.


    Right now, it¡¯s time to focus on the photo contest.


    Honestly, I¡¯m confident about this one.


    Why?


    Because I have an ace up my sleeve¡ªa single, exceptional shot.


    It¡¯s a photograph of Rebecca and her daughter staring into the distance, against the backdrop of a dark wilderness, as a massive swarm of giant monsters scatters in chaos.


    There¡¯s no competition. It¡¯s a guaranteed win.


    Feeling like a winner already, I submitted the photo confidently.


    VIVA_BOT014: Whoa, this is...!


    Of course. Even Viva Bot recognizes greatness.


    Grinning with satisfaction, I responded.


    SKELTON: Something the matter? ????


    VIVA_BOT014: This photo is amazing! Definitely worthy of winning.


    SKELTON: Smirk.


    VIVA_BOT014: But... there¡¯s a problem. Someone else submitted the exact same photo.


    SKELTON: What? Who?


    VIVA_BOT014: User mmmmmmmmmm.


    ¡°That bastard!¡±


    I shouted aloud, uncharacteristically losing my cool. Quickly regaining composure, I filled the chat calmly, like the professional I am.


    SKELTON: That photo¡¯s mine. I posted it in an article two years ago. You can verify it.


    VIVA_BOT014: See, this is why you shouldn¡¯t make enemies.


    SKELTON: (Skelton invokes the right to remain silent.)


    VIVA_BOT014: Are you two dating?


    SKELTON: Excuse me?


    VIVA_BOT014: Between power abuse and tampering, mmmmmmmmmm said they¡¯d forgive you if you asked nicely.


    ¡°...¡±


    m9.


    What¡¯s this guy¡¯s deal?


    Before I could process my shock, Melon Mask¡¯s voice blared loudly from the speakers.


    MELON_MASK: Wait a second! An incredible photo just came in. It¡¯s better if I show you instead of trying to explain!


    ¡°?¡±


    Melon Mask¡¯s usual calm demeanor was gone, replaced by genuine excitement.


    MELON_MASK: The title of this photo is... Family!


    The screen changed, revealing a dim, desolate landscape.


    Two men crouched in front of the camera.


    One wore a tattered yet luxurious suit that somehow retained its elegance, but his pale, shriveled face clearly wasn¡¯t human.


    A zombie.


    That face¡ªJe Pung-ho.


    Stunned, I shifted my gaze to the second man beside him.


    A gaunt figure with long, flowing hair reminiscent of Jesus Christ, his eyes shone with a fierce light.


    No doubt about it.


    It was him.


    The Internet friend who disappeared into the City of the Dead¡ªIamJesus.


    Behind them, a ruined city stretched into the distance, filled with countless zombies mimicking their crouched posture, all staring at the camera.


    ¡°...¡±


    Unbelievable.


    The zombie savior¡ªno, the zombie king¡ªIamJesus, had made a spectacular comeback, fully demonstrating his abilities during the grand event of Photo! Apocalypse! for the entire world to see.


    MELON_MASK: I can¡¯t believe what I¡¯m seeing! How did you do this, IamJesus?


    The screen switched to a live feed of IamJesus, surrounded by his zombie entourage. His glowing eyes fixed on the camera as he uttered his first and last words.


    ¡°Mem-mem!¡±


    That was it.


    MELON_MASK: IamJesus wins!


    ¡°...¡±


    Fair enough.

 Chapter 79

    The leader of the terrorist attack on the government facility in Incheon was captured shortly after the second, brief but brutal cold snap had passed.


    On a frigid night, with the thermometer plummeting to -30¡ãC, government forces raided Refuge 13. They uncovered critical evidence, including several mortars, and arrested the shelter¡¯s director, Eom Nak-soo, on charges of rebellion.


    The name "Eom Nak-soo" was unfamiliar to me, yet his face, revealed during the arrest broadcast on PaleNet, struck an odd chord of recognition.


    Where had I seen him before?


    My social circle isn¡¯t particularly broad or deep. At most, I could trace connections through school, a brief stint in China, my time as an instructor, or during frontline service¡ªbut none of those periods brought me face-to-face with someone like him.


    So where?


    Maybe I met him at one of John Nae-non¡¯s meetups. But then again, he wasn¡¯t at the humble first gathering. The scene of diligent m9 grilling meat doesn¡¯t feature his face.


    Even if he attended one of the larger meetups later, would I have remembered a fleeting encounter in such a crowded place?


    That¡¯s unlikely.


    As Jang Ki-young, my former mentor, taught: memory is a weapon and must remain razor-sharp. Wasting it on recalling random faces is inefficient. If anything, I¡¯ve become even more discerning over the years.


    Perhaps he was someone I met while working odd jobs to survive in the lead-up to the war?


    After completing my bunker, I drifted between various temporary gigs until the war broke out. I favored cash-only jobs since creditors could seize bank accounts.


    No matter how desperate, warm food was still a necessity.


    While my bunker was stocked with rations, consuming them before the apocalypse felt akin to denying my survivalist philosophy. So, I had to work.


    But what kind of work?


    As a former hunter, my most viable option was leveraging my experience to land a related job. With my credentials, I could easily out-earn most professionals.


    However, such jobs made you a prime candidate for conscription when war began.


    I needed something else.


    Ironically, my hunter background proved a hindrance in other fields. My education was effectively equivalent to a middle school diploma, and I was considered to have no military service record.


    The unique nature of hunter education and training meant little in the job market. Explaining this rarely swayed potential employers.


    Ultimately, the options for someone like me¡ªcashless, underqualified, and deemed unfit for conscription¡ªwere limited to jobs where turnover was high, and standards low.


    I cycled through countless positions, hopping from one to another¡ªa phenomenon known as "chuno."


    Originally, chuno referred to the pursuit of runaway slaves. In modern parlance, it describes workers quitting temporary jobs or small enterprises after brief stints.


    The fastest chuno I experienced was at a barbecue restaurant.


    There, a girl younger than me¡ªmy so-called sasu (mentor)¡ªdemonstrated how to scrub greasy, scorched grill plates with a steel scouring pad, her expression utterly mechanical, as if she were an emotionless robot.


    Terrified that I might end up like her, I used the excuse of a smoke break to flee without looking back.


    The manager¡¯s penchant for installing three CCTV cameras in the kitchen also contributed to my escape.


    I briefly worked at a cafe? but left after enduring the condescension of young, arrogant supervisors. I wondered if they were still alive.


    The job I stuck with longest was at a gas station.@@@@


    I worked there for two months¡ªa record.


    Gas stations don¡¯t care about age; they prioritize longevity and commitment.


    The one I worked at ranked among the top three busiest in Korea, handling over 1,000 vehicles daily.


    Its secret? Lower fuel prices than competitors and a cutting-edge automatic car wash, one of only two in the country.


    The owner reportedly had connections with a major oil distributor, allowing him to buy fuel in bulk with cash and keep prices low.


    But fuel sales weren¡¯t the real moneymaker.


    The station used cheap gas as bait, profiting from the car wash fees. Naturally, the car wash preferred cash payments.


    My main job was directing the endless stream of vehicles into the car wash.


    ¡°Keep moving! Stop! Neutral gear, sir. Neutral! NEUTRAL!¡±


    Kindness wasn¡¯t a priority. Customers sought the cheapest gas, not the friendliest service.


    I once witnessed rival gas stations slash prices across the board¡ªexcept for ours. That was when I realized even this bustling station wasn¡¯t immune to stagnation.


    One thing¡¯s for sure¡ªEom Nak-soo doted on his son.


    I remember him drunkenly boasting during a drinking session in the breakroom, with his wife¡¯s homemade snacks on the table.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sending my kid to college. Back in my day, having a ¡®sa¡¯ in your title [e.g., doctor, lawyer] earned you respect. Now? It¡¯s all about money. Rich bastards are the nobles, and the poor ones are the peasants. I¡¯m saving to buy him a gas station.


    Who knows? With my guidance, maybe he¡¯ll out-earn me one day.¡±


    If the government had taken his son from him, it¡¯s not hard to imagine his fervor for wealth transforming into fury against authority.


    While I was lost in thought, a new update popped up on PaleNet.


    Apparently, Eom Nak-soo¡¯s rebellion was motivated by his child.


    ¡°...¡±


    So, it was him.


    A lifetime spent exploiting desperate people for profit, climbing to the rank of director of Refuge 13 after losing everything in the war, only to turn into a revolutionary after losing his child.


    I remember parting with him on relatively good terms.


    It was about a month before the war broke out.


    A distant junior informed me that China was planning to start a war.


    At the time, I didn¡¯t know who was behind that junior, but now I¡¯m sure¡ªit was likely Gong Gyeong-min, an old acquaintance.


    It must¡¯ve been his final gift to me before cutting ties completely.


    When I told Eom Nak-soo I was leaving, he tried to stop me. Perhaps he¡¯d grown fond of me, or maybe he valued my knack for handling difficult customers.


    ¡°Manager Park.¡±


    Somehow, I¡¯d been promoted to ¡°manager¡± without knowing it. Of course, my pay remained the same as the part-timers.


    With an air of sagely wisdom, he spoke while staring into the void.


    ¡°If you want to make real money, you need to run a business. Doctors? They have to work until they drop, dealing with people directly. Real wealth comes when you don¡¯t have to work.


    You let others do the heavy lifting, like an automated workshop, and watch the money roll in. Don¡¯t you want to learn? I can teach you. You won¡¯t learn this in school.


    How about it? I¡¯ll give you 3.5 million won a month as a site manager.¡±


    I figured he saw my middling credentials¡ªbankrupt, undereducated, unfit for conscription¡ªand thought I was the perfect ¡°nowhere-to-go¡± employee he favored.


    Still, I sensed a grudging acknowledgment of my abilities.


    He hadn¡¯t offered to ¡°teach¡± any of my predecessors.


    With a touch of gratitude, I replied, ¡°A war is coming¡ªthis year.¡±


    Though I was sincere, his response was a smirk and a mocking comment.


    ¡°Manager Park, are you a doomsday prepper?¡±


    He laughed heartily and walked away.


    That was our last conversation.


    Despite recovering from bankruptcy three times, it seemed he couldn¡¯t rise again after the fourth.


    Just an hour ago, PaleNet reported that Eom Nak-soo had been executed by firing squad behind a military tribunal.


    It was revealed that his rebellion stemmed from the disappearance of his daughter, who had boarded an evacuation fleet.


    ¡°Daughter...?¡±


    So, it wasn¡¯t my old boss.


    I rummaged through a cabinet filled with disorganized papers and found an old employment contract from the gas station.


    The result was clear.


    ¡°...It was Jang, not Eom.¡±


    I had guessed wrong, but it wasn¡¯t a wasted endeavor.


    After all, it kept me entertained for most of the day.


    Yesterday, after Defender and his sister departed, Rebecca and her daughter unexpectedly left my territory as well.

 Chapter 80.1

    Rebecca and her daughter left my territory abruptly, barely a week after the Defender siblings departed in their truck to the Legion faction¡¯s domain.


    In the relentless -20¡ãC cold, a U.S. military helicopter arrived unannounced and whisked Rebecca and Sue away.


    The sudden appearance of the helicopter took even Rebecca and Sue by surprise. As a result, I couldn¡¯t hand over the juicy gift I had prepared for them as a parting token, nor could I properly see them off.


    ¡°Skelton, I¡¯ll contact you online. Thank you so, so much for everything,¡± Rebecca said, her voice trembling with emotion over the short farewell through the radio.


    ¡°Skelton, this isn¡¯t the end. Just wait a little,¡± Sue added. Though more composed than her mother, it was clear she was fighting back her emotions.


    I didn¡¯t have much to say.


    ¡°Take care. Stay safe, and live a long, long life,¡± I replied, offering the kind of platitude that felt hollow but was all I could muster.


    Still, as Sue said, this isn¡¯t the end.


    Thanks to the internet, no matter how far apart we are, we can keep in touch as long as Viva! Apocalypse! remains operational.


    ¡°...¡±


    I stood on the hill above my bunker, listening to the distant sound of the helicopter¡¯s rotors fading into the horizon.


    A farewell I had long anticipated had come to pass.


    Oddly, I felt relieved.


    It was as if I had completed a significant task.


    Upon reflection, leaving now might have been the wiser decision.


    Given Incheon¡¯s descent into a de facto civil war, this year promises to be just as dangerous, if not more so, than the last.


    More refugees will flood out¡ªarmed to the teeth with the weapons scattered by the Legion faction.


    South Korea, as I know it, is one of the most dangerous countries when weapons are in play.


    With mandatory military service for most adult men, many can handle not only firearms but also heavy weapons like mortars and howitzers.


    Anyone who¡¯s survived thus far is bound to have exceptional combat skills.


    Should those people pour out, Rebecca, Sue, and even the Defender siblings could find themselves in peril.


    As I returned the gifts I had prepared for Rebecca and Sue to their original spots in the freezer, I felt a brief pang of sadness, but it was fleeting.


    A day later, I found myself adapting surprisingly quickly to my new routine.


    I patrolled daily, inspected my equipment and supplies, checked for issues within the bunker, and repaired or improved whatever needed attention. In my free time, I browsed the internet, gathering external information and connecting with my online ¡°friends¡± for a semblance of emotional comfort.


    It felt like I had returned to the early days of the war.


    Of course, a few things have changed.


    My equipment is better now than it was back then.


    I¡¯ve acquired an all-terrain motorcycle, a light-armored Humvee, and advanced weaponry, including a Javelin missile launcher and some hunter-grade gear.


    With luck, I can handle not only Dancer-types and medium-sized mutants but even large-scale ones.


    Fuel, once a concern, is now supplemented by synthetic alternatives. These are surprisingly efficient, and as long as I can procure them, I¡¯ll likely stick with them.


    However, my food supplies have significantly decreased.


    The once-packed freezer is now down to a third of its capacity¡ªa deliberate choice.


    I learned from experience how precarious frozen food becomes when power outages are a risk.


    Though frozen supplies have dwindled, my stockpile of preserved foods remains robust.


    Canned goods, freeze-dried meals, and brick-like survival rations¡ªenough to last another three years or more.


    Plus, I¡¯m farming.


    Now in my fourth year as a survivor, I¡¯ve developed a knack for agriculture and have plenty of seedlings.


    Last year, I kept my crops sparse and scattered to avoid detection by drones. This year, I plan to create a ¡°coincidentally discovered¡± mid-sized field in the abandoned farmland below.


    If I¡¯m lucky, I might grow enough fresh produce to sustain me for a year.


    After the brief second cold snap, temperatures have risen rapidly.


    It¡¯s been a week since Rebecca and Sue left, and the external temperature now hovers around -8¡ãC.


    Spring is coming.


    The warmer weather has made my surroundings noticeably noisier.


    ¡°Please! Somebody help! My children are freezing to death!¡±


    It seems Sergeant Jang¡¯s survival training was top-notch¡ªhis ¡°children¡± are still alive and kicking, boisterous as ever.


    But the real commotion wasn¡¯t from the radio.


    A droning sound had been circling overhead for some time.


    Judging by the sound, it was a propeller-driven military transport plane, orbiting the area for reasons unknown. Could it be the U.S. military again?


    Donning a white poncho for basic snow camouflage, I slipped out of the bunker and scanned the sky. Sure enough, a single transport plane was crossing the distant horizon.


    What¡¯s their purpose?


    As I watched silently, my K-Walkie crackled to life.


    Personal ID: REDMASK


    It was Woo Min-hee.


    She had mentioned before that she¡¯d need a favor when the weather warmed. Was now the time?


    I returned to the bunker and answered the call.


    ¡°Senior.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, what is it?¡±


    In my current, mildly melancholic mood, I felt inclined to help as long as it wasn¡¯t overly dangerous.


    But her request caught me off guard.


    ¡°Senior, is there a plane circling near your place right now?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly responsible¡ªjust someone living nearby.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for your help.¡±


    ¡°May I ask what happened?¡±


    ¡°Well, the engine had a sudden malfunction,¡± the captain explained.


    No matter how meticulous their maintenance, it had been three years since the war began. Spare parts had run dry, and they¡¯d been recycling barely functional components to keep things running. Add to that the subpar quality of aviation fuel these days, and it was no surprise they ran into problems.


    ¡°Eventually, we had to make an emergency landing. Your area just happened to be nearby,¡± he continued.


    ¡°A maintenance truck from Incheon should arrive soon. Until then, we¡¯ll have to stay here. I hope that¡¯s not too much trouble,¡± he said, offering a polite nod.


    ¡°If you need anything, let me know.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not short on supplies, thankfully.¡±


    But the captain¡¯s smile held a hint of unease.


    ¡°And yet, we¡¯ll need to head back to Incheon for a bit,¡± he added.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re short on people. Or rather... the right people. There¡¯s no one in Incheon with the expertise we need. The skilled technicians all left for Jeju Island, and we¡¯re supposed to head there ourselves eventually.¡±


    I glanced at his name tag.


    Captain Kwon Seong-yul.


    Despite his rank, he looked no older than 23 or 24.


    Beside him, Sergeant Major Ki Byung-ho seemed no older than his mid-30s.


    It was typical of a collapsing military structure to inflate ranks like this.


    From their conversation, it sounded like even the air force was pulling out of Incheon.


    Was the city being abandoned?


    Unicorn 18¡ªor whoever they really were¡ªhad hinted that spring would bring change.


    But change didn¡¯t come easily.


    For now, I¡¯d do what I could with the task at hand.


    I wasn¡¯t exactly thrilled about running a daycare, but I was curious to see the children chosen for Jeju¡ªa stark contrast to people like me, who had been discarded by society.


    ¡°All right, kids. Come on out,¡± Captain Kwon called.


    One by one, children emerged from the cargo bay, bundled in thick clothing and wearing wary, nervous expressions.


    There were eight of them in total.


    Most looked to be in their mid-teens, around 14 or 15 years old¡ªthe age of middle school seniors.


    The youngest caught my eye.


    A boy, no older than ten, clung to the tallest girl like a baby penguin seeking shelter.


    The girl cradling him was strikingly tall, with an air of maturity beyond her peers. She looked about 20.


    But there was something familiar about her face.


    ¡°...?¡±


    It was a face I remembered.


    Where had I seen her before?


    She glanced at me, and the moment our eyes met, a distant memory resurfaced like fate had pulled it from the depths of my mind.


    Before Seoul fell, I used to frequent a boarding house.


    A family lived there¡ªpoor, but good-looking.


    I¡¯d grown close to their son, who¡¯d gifted me the laptop I still used. But one day, he and his family vanished without a trace.


    The boy had a sister.


    A quiet, slender girl who always kept her distance.


    She was older now and more gaunt, but there was no mistaking it.


    It was her.


    The sister of the boy who had given me the laptop that still brought me moments of joy and despair.


    The tattoos that crawled up her neck and the heavy piercings covering her ears were new additions, but after two years, it was clear she¡¯d been through her share of struggles.


    I said the name of the place where we¡¯d met, testing the waters.


    ¡°International Residence?¡±


    Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of recognition flashing through them.


    A moment later, she pointed at me, her voice trembling.


    ¡°You¡¯re... that guy from back then?!¡±


    Fate works in strange ways.


    For me, it was a meaningless word¡ªmost often associated with sudden or senseless death.


    But for her and her family, fate was a twisted, tangled thing.


    The brother destined for Jeju had died, while the sister, overlooked and forgotten, was now the one heading there two years later.


    ¡°Hey! Hey!¡±


    The tense moment shattered as a loud voice blared from the radio.


    ¡°What now?¡± grumbled Sergeant Major Ki, scowling as he looked at the device.


    ¡°These are just local kids,¡± I explained.


    ¡°Local kids?¡±


    His expression softened briefly before I clarified the truth.


    ¡°Raiders.¡±

 Chapter 80.2

    "Is that so?"


    The soldiers¡¯ expressions quickly hardened, their gazes growing cold.


    "Those sprouts are already rotten," the handler remarked, spitting the words out like venom.


    "Things like that should be snuffed out before they grow."


    It wasn¡¯t an idle comment. He genuinely contemplated murder.


    Once someone is categorized as a raider, factors like age¡ªwhether they¡¯re children or the elderly¡ªcease to matter.


    And honestly, this isn¡¯t a world generous enough to afford mercy for kids simply because they¡¯re kids.


    In fact, child raiders are often said to surpass adults in cruelty. Stories of their savagery are far from rare.


    "I hope they won¡¯t mix with our children," Major Kwon muttered. His thoughts weren¡¯t much different from the handler¡¯s.


    As we lingered, two more figures in heavy winter clothing emerged from the transport plane.


    A young man and woman, both wearing glasses and unarmed.


    Behind them, men unmistakably recognizable as pilots followed.


    The soldiers called out to them.


    "This way. This hunter here will be your local guide."


    The researchers approached and greeted me.


    "I¡¯m Chief Researcher Jang Mok-hyun."


    "And I¡¯m Chief Researcher Jo Hyun-soo. Pleased to work with you."


    The pilots merely nodded from afar, clearly drawing a line.


    I didn¡¯t care. We¡¯d meet once and never cross paths again.


    After finishing their cigarettes, the pilots returned to the transport plane.


    Major Kwon, watching them leave, spoke up.@@@@


    "The pilots won¡¯t leave the plane."


    "Can¡¯t they all just stay inside?"


    "The heating only works in the cockpit¡ªand it¡¯s electric. The cargo hold is freezing.


    We can¡¯t leave those precious kids in such a cold place for a whole day."


    Researcher Jang Mok-hyun, standing nearby, nodded in agreement.


    "Those children are South Korea¡¯s future."


    South Korea¡¯s future, huh?


    There was a lot I wanted to say, but now wasn¡¯t the time.


    We briefly discussed the accommodation plans. It was decided that the researchers and children would stay temporarily in the underground bunker within the U.S. military base.


    Accompanied by soldiers, we scouted the bunker.


    Zombies hadn¡¯t been spotted in the area recently, but you never know.


    The stench from the restroom was unbearable. It seemed to be remnants of the chaos during Chairman Park Cheol-joo¡¯s incident, evidence of the people who¡¯d used the facilities.


    When I¡¯d looted the place before, the plumbing and water tanks had been functioning, so this wasn¡¯t a sanitation issue.


    Other than that, the bunker seemed fine.


    "This room looks good. It¡¯s spacious enough, well-insulated, and far enough from the entrance with plenty of cover in case of an attack," the handler said.


    He went back to the transport plane and brought out a jeep.


    "We¡¯ll head to Incheon. It should take no more than a day. Please take care of things until then, Hunter Park."


    "Will you be okay?" I asked the departing soldiers.


    They quickly caught on to what I meant and smirked wryly.


    "Don¡¯t worry. The vehicle¡¯s armored, and if things go south, we¡¯ll call for reinforcements."


    Well, if they say they¡¯ll be fine, I guess they will.


    The jeep, carrying the soldiers, sped off, leaving a snowstorm in its wake.


    On the runway, only the oversized transport plane, the researchers, the children, and I¡ªPark Gyu¡ªremained.


    As I passed by the plane, I noticed its cargo hold crammed with large machinery resembling my own generator.


    So, they¡¯re abandoning Incheon, huh?


    With growing suspicion, I led the researchers and children to the bunker.


    "Ew, it¡¯s dirty and dark! It smells funny," one of the kids complained.


    "I don¡¯t want to stay here. I want to call my mom!" another whimpered.


    "It¡¯s just for one day. Think of it as a field trip. Besides, once you¡¯re in Jeju, you won¡¯t be able to leave for a while," a researcher coaxed.


    Reluctantly, the kids grabbed sleeping bags and moved toward the bunker.


    While they settled in, we transported a portable generator, electric heaters, and firearms.


    One piece of equipment stood out¡ªa combat robot.


    It looked like a mini-tank with treads, equipped with a 7.62mm machine gun, cameras, and sensors.


    According to the researchers, it could identify friend from foe and attack autonomously.


    Chief Researcher Jo Hyun-soo leaned in to warn me.


    "If you have any urgent business, avoid approaching it at night.


    The combat program isn¡¯t sophisticated and will attack any intruder it senses."


    COOKIEMONSTER18: SKELTON!


    It was Rebecca.


    Feeling an involuntary smile tug at the corners of my lips, I quickly typed a reply.


    SKELTON: Rebecca?! Did you arrive safely?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Yeah, thanks to you.


    SKELTON: How is it there?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: It¡¯s big, spacious, and well-equipped. There are a lot of people, and hearing English after so long feels strange.


    SKELTON: That¡¯s great.


    I was genuinely relieved.


    I¡¯d been more worried than I cared to admit, but it seemed everything was going well.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Sue started school too, but it seems like the other kids are afraid of her.


    SKELTON: Why?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Because she¡¯s got charisma?


    Charisma¡ªof course she does.


    Three years of surviving out there with a rifle will do that to a kid.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: I¡¯ll let you talk to Sue. She¡¯s sitting here punching me.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue: Hi, SKELTON!)


    "?"


    SKELTON: Sue, what¡¯s with that opening line?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue: Deadpan) Just imitating how SKELTON talks.


    SKELTON: I get it, but still, we¡¯re finally talking online, and this is how you greet me?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue: Confused) Why? Is it weird? It¡¯s SKELTON style, isn¡¯t it?


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile.


    Her charisma, her pure innocence¡ªit all shone through.


    As I was about to type a reply, the K-walkie-talkie crackled to life.


    "Shibal! Shibal! Is anyone there?! Hey!?"


    It sounded like those kids from Jang¡¯s squad.


    Probably running low on food after a long winter.


    I reached to turn off the walkie when another voice¡ªa young one¡ªcut in.


    "Who are you?"


    That voice¡ªI recognized it.


    "How old are you?"


    The voice belonged to one of the kids at the airfield.


    "Older than you, obviously. What about you? Where are you?"


    Jang¡¯s girl answered, likely the eldest among them.


    I could picture her now¡ªthin, dirty, wearing a tattered shirt with a cartoon character on it. She¡¯d been glaring at Jang from under the shadows with the other scrappy kids.


    This was not good.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue: Sad) SKELTON? Why¡¯d you go quiet? Am I boring you?


    SKELTON: (SKELTON: Sweating) No, it¡¯s not that. Hold on, something¡¯s come up.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Monsters?


    SKELTON: (SKELTON: Sweating) No, maybe something scarier.


    Silence fell as the walkie buzzed again.


    "We¡¯re at the airfield."


    My blood ran cold.


    I immediately switched frequencies and contacted the researchers on their private identification number.


    Personal Identifier: LAB033


    "Chief Researcher, this is Hunter Park."


    "Ah, Hunter Park."


    A man¡¯s voice¡ªprobably Chief Jang Mok-hyun.


    "How many walkie-talkies do you have?"


    "Just mine and Chief Jo¡¯s."


    "I told you to confiscate them! Take them away now!"


    "Why?"


    "Do you even know who the kids are talking to?"


    "No."


    I almost yelled but restrained myself, forcing my voice to stay calm.


    "They¡¯re talking to raiders. Raiders who use kids¡¯ voices to lure adults, kill them, and take their supplies."


    "...I¡¯ll confiscate them immediately."


    Switching back to the shared frequency, I overheard a dangerously cheerful exchange.


    "Really?"


    "Yeah, really."


    They sounded like friends.


    But to me, that camaraderie only spelled doom.


    "Yeah, we¡¯re headed to Jeju Island."


    Hearing that, my blood froze.


    After a moment of silence, the kids with Jang¡¯s squad asked, "Can we come too?"


    The airfield kid¡¯s response was cut off by a researcher¡¯s voice, severing the connection¡ªbut it felt far too late.


    "Hey, airfield! Can you hear me? Take us with you to Jeju! We want to go to Jeju too!"


    The abandoned children had met the chosen ones.

 Chapter 80.3

    "Please take us to Jeju Island. Please!"


    "We want to go to Jeju. Please, we¡¯re begging you."


    "If we can¡¯t go to Jeju, we¡¯ll starve to death. We¡¯ve run out of food!"


    "Are you really going to let us die?"


    "If we die, we¡¯ll come back as ghosts to haunt you!"


    Jang¡¯s kids were former street beggars, and their knack for pleading hadn¡¯t dulled with time. Throughout the night, they rotated shifts on the walkie-talkie, imploring relentlessly.


    Though it was still the dead of night, I contacted the researchers.


    "We need to leave here as soon as possible. Have you heard from the main unit?"


    After three attempts, I finally got through.


    Jang Mok-hyun responded casually, yawning as though oblivious to my mounting frustration.


    "Not yet. Why?"


    A question crossed my mind:


    Just how comfortable and carefree were the lives of these researchers?


    Every time I visited their labs, they struck me as pre-apocalypse corporate slackers, but this was on another level.


    They seemed entirely detached from the dangers of this wilderness.


    "Can¡¯t you hear the public frequency? The raider kids are still chattering about Jeju Island!"


    "Oh, yeah. I hear them."


    "Do you realize passing raiders or Legion members could hear that too?"


    "That would be bad."


    "This isn¡¯t something to brush off. If we¡¯re not going to shut those kids up, we need to leave immediately."


    "Then how about this?"


    Jang Mok-hyun proposed an idea.


    "Let¡¯s call the kids over."


    I stared at the radio in disbelief, unsure what he was thinking.


    "We¡¯ll test them. If they show promise, we take them with us."


    "And if they don¡¯t?"


    There was a pause before he answered.


    "...We have a method in mind."


    I had a vague understanding of what kind of place Woo Min-hee¡¯s lab was.


    The smell of alcohol, an unnaturally sterile atmosphere, dim lighting, and researchers bustling around in white coats, pretending to be busy.


    But I¡¯d never given much thought to the kind of people they were or how they thought.


    When Jang Mok-hyun explained his plan, I studied him for the first time.


    A man with an unremarkable, studious face¡ªsomeone you¡¯d expect to have graduated from a top university and secured a stable research job in the pre-apocalypse world.


    That was likely the life he had planned for himself.


    But when those plans were derailed, it wasn¡¯t surprising he had twisted into something unrecognizable.


    "Ta-da! A makeshift screening device!"


    Jang¡¯s ¡°screening device,¡± designed with Jo Hyun-soo¡¯s assistance, was shockingly simple.


    It required a long, straight hallway, a robot armed with a 7.62mm machine gun, and a partition to obscure the robot.


    Beaming like he had devised a groundbreaking invention, Jang explained his idea with the same cheerful demeanor he¡¯d used with the chosen children earlier.


    "When the kids arrive, we¡¯ll hand them tickets. The ones who pass will move to this side, and the rest will stay in the hallway. Once the screening is complete, we press this button."


    He demonstrated by pressing a remote. The murder robot¡¯s sensors glowed red, emitting a chilling metallic sound as it powered up.


    Jang turned to me with a bright smile.


    "Well, what do you think, Hunter Park? Isn¡¯t it efficient? We can identify potential Awakened candidates while removing societal trash in one fell swoop."


    Comfort and luxury don¡¯t preserve humanity.


    These researchers were thoroughly broken¡ªby both the war and its aftermath.


    "Shall we call them over now?"


    Jo Hyun-soo held the walkie-talkie, looking at me expectantly.


    "..."


    What could I even say?


    "Isn¡¯t this what you wanted, Hunter Park? To shut those kids up? If we don¡¯t, the Legion might show up."


    Jo urged me with a calm yet persuasive tone.


    I sighed deeply before speaking.


    "Leave the robot out of it."


    "Excuse me?"


    "Wait, what?"


    Both Jang and Jo turned to me, stunned.


    "They haven¡¯t directly targeted us. Killing them based on suspicion alone is too much. What would the kids inside think if they saw that?"


    Jang chuckled dismissively.


    "Don¡¯t worry about the kids. They won¡¯t live long anyway..."


    Jo smiled, offering a more measured response.


    "The survival rate for auxiliary Awakened near rifts isn¡¯t high. While the main Awakened recover, auxiliaries are deployed to neutralize rift waves."


    That was a piece of information I hadn¡¯t expected.


    Suppressing my reaction, I pressed him further.


    "What do you mean by that?"


    "They¡¯re like support beams in a coal mine. You use sturdy ones where needed, but when you run out, you make do with weaker ones. These kids are like those weaker beams¡ªthey just need to hold up a little. Their sacrifice is noble because if we close the Jeju rift, we can at least prevent South Korea¡¯s total collapse."


    Looking toward the room where the chosen kids were staying, Jo added with a pitying expression:


    "They¡¯re tragic, really. That¡¯s why we try to treat them well while they¡¯re here. We give them whatever they want¡ªthat¡¯s why they had the walkie-talkie in the first place."


    A year ago, the researchers wouldn¡¯t have shared any of this with me.


    Secrets are like that.


    In a solid, future-proof organization, they stay buried. But in a crumbling, doomed one, secrets seep out like grease from a dented can of spam.


    At least now I understood what they intended to do in Jeju.


    "I¡¯ll handle it. Don¡¯t activate the robot."


    Some lives are worth saving.


    The old me wouldn¡¯t have understood this decision, but I¡¯ve changed. My convictions are firm.


    Why? Because even on our forum, the empty spaces stand out so starkly.


    Most of the usernames I once knew are gone, replaced by unfamiliar ones¡ªor none at all.


    If even they disappear, then what¡¯s left?


    The government still treats people as problems to manage, but the day will come when people become precious.


    I don¡¯t know when that day will arrive, but it¡¯s not far off.


    "Call the kids. I¡¯ll take responsibility."


    *


    In the midst of a tense atmosphere, a group of ragged children appeared at the airfield.


    ¡°How old are you?¡±


    ¡°Nineteen.¡±


    ¡°What? Same age as me? Thought you were some old hag based on your face.¡±


    The eldest daughter extended her hand, silently demanding the sheet.


    Jo Hyun-soo hurriedly offered a fresh sheet, but the eldest daughter declined.


    ¡°No. They won¡¯t believe it¡¯s genuine. I¡¯ll use the one she already bit into.¡±


    The emaciated girl scoffed.


    ¡°What middle school did you go to?¡±


    ¡°Daegyo.¡±


    The girl sneered.


    ¡°Never heard of it. Trash neighborhood, huh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Unlike the emaciated girl, whose face was twisted with scorn and anger, the eldest daughter¡¯s expression remained cold and unchanging.


    The girl threw the sheet toward the eldest daughter, aiming it at her face.


    Unfazed, the eldest caught it and pressed it to her lips.


    A small but undeniable change appeared before us.


    The sheet, seemingly stuck in permanent blackness, began to shift, lightening until it approached an almost pure white.


    Pulling the sheet from her lips, the eldest daughter held it up for the emaciated girl to see.


    ¡°Satisfied?¡±


    ¡°...Get lost.¡±


    Tears welled in the emaciated girl¡¯s eyes, her face twisting into a grimace.


    ¡°Hey! Kill her!¡±


    I had anticipated this and was already moving.


    Before the boys could even fully react, I had reloaded and aimed my rifle, directing the muzzle at the boys reaching for their guns.


    ¡°Stay still.¡±


    One boy, however, continued moving toward his weapon.


    Bang!


    The bullet struck the ground just in front of the rifle, ricocheting off.


    ¡°That¡¯s not a warning,¡± I said.


    The boy grinned defiantly and kept reaching.


    Bang!


    This time, I shot the weapon itself. The impact sent it tumbling, striking the boy¡¯s ankle hard.


    ¡°Agh!¡±


    I lunged forward, kicking him to the ground and slamming the butt of my rifle into him.


    Thud! Thud! Thud!


    ¡°Agh! Stop! Stop!¡±


    I didn¡¯t enjoy hitting people¡ªit didn¡¯t suit my role. But I¡¯d been trained for it.


    How to attack, subdue, and inflict pain when necessary.


    The crack of bone echoed faintly.


    Fear has a way of taking root. The Chinese army had demonstrated that much to me.


    The boy, battered but alive, collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain.


    He wasn¡¯t seriously injured¡ªjust enough to teach him a lesson.


    It was his own fault. If it hadn¡¯t been me, someone else would¡¯ve put a bullet through his head.


    The effect was immediate.


    The tension in the air grew icy as frightened eyes locked on me.


    ¡°Push the weapons this way.¡±


    The children obeyed, just as they had obeyed the raiders who once used them for begging and worse.


    After securing their firearms, I turned to the emaciated girl, who seemed to be their leader.


    ¡°The test is over. Go back.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    I raised my hand, and the girl instinctively squeezed her eyes shut.


    ¡°No... please...¡±


    Tears spilled from her tightly shut eyes.


    A sob broke through the silence as my hand, raised in feigned threat, slowly lowered.


    Suddenly, the girl¡¯s eyes snapped open, and she turned to Jo Hyun-soo.


    ¡°I studied abroad in America when I was a kid! I¡¯m fluent in English! I¡¯m an American citizen! I¡¯m good at math! I went to the Junior Olympiad! I even placed!¡±


    Jo looked at me and shook her head. Behind her, Jang Mok-hyun stifled a laugh.


    ¡°...¡±


    Now I understood.


    I understood why they had resorted to such extreme methods.


    They must have witnessed scenes like this countless times.


    Desperate children and parents, clinging to their pleas, over and over¡ªhundreds, thousands of times.


    That¡¯s why they conceived the brutal, makeshift screening device.


    I didn¡¯t want to become like them.


    I wanted to send these children away peacefully, quietly¡ªeven if it meant being called a hypocrite.


    But the world doesn¡¯t wait for idealism.


    Two soldiers burst into the entrance, rifles at the ready.


    They were pilots.


    ¡°Multiple drones spotted!¡±


    The man wearing a lieutenant colonel¡¯s insignia turned sharply to us.


    ¡°They¡¯re hostile. The enemy is nearby!¡±

 Chapter 80.4

    As expected, our training at the academy included combat drills for fighting humans.


    The credit for this goes to my former instructor, Jang Ki-young.


    While other instructors argued that we didn¡¯t need such training, as our primary focus was on battling monsters, Jang insisted that hunters should be prepared to complete missions in any scenario. Thus, the hand-to-hand combat course remained in the curriculum.


    His judgment proved wise, as my long stint in China revealed.


    At first, we dealt only with monsters, but over time, our missions increasingly involved hostile humans.


    I could understand the rebels¡¯ perspective.


    The Chinese government designated areas overrun by monsters as war zones, sealing off the inhabitants as if they were cargo, leaving them to fend for themselves.


    Though I didn¡¯t witness it personally, there were frequent reports of mass killings of innocent civilians.


    While the concept of the mutation factor wasn¡¯t fully established at the time, there was enough data to suggest that zombies or mutations often appeared around people in monster-affected zones.


    In those increasingly grim battlefields, we also conducted operations against humans on several occasions.


    Unlike Defender, who carried out such missions regularly, we encountered rebels equipped with stolen military hardware¡ªtanks and heavy weapons¡ªand fortified entire districts of cities.


    That meaningless battle claimed the lives of some of my comrades.


    "When can we expect reinforcements?"


    Numbers matter most.


    Jang Ki-young might have emphasized quality over quantity, but there¡¯s no denying the comfort of having more people on your side.


    Another pair of hands, eyes, and ears is always an advantage.


    "Uh... well, the reinforcements ran into an attack on their way to Incheon, so they¡¯ve been delayed. They¡¯re planning to send a helicopter, but it¡¯s uncertain. Mortar shells could fall on the airfield at any moment," Jang Mok-hyun stammered.


    "So, when exactly?"


    "Not today, at least."


    We would have to survive the night.


    Standing in the shadows near the entrance, I looked up at the sky.


    Four drones hovered visibly, and I could spot another in the distance.


    They were undoubtedly surveying the entire base.


    These weren¡¯t ordinary raiders.


    At best, they were a well-equipped gang; at worst, they were a detachment of the Legion.


    "If it¡¯s the Legion, we should surrender," I suggested seriously.


    The pilots grimaced but didn¡¯t protest for long.


    As soldiers, they knew the truth better than anyone: if a well-trained, well-equipped elite unit attacked, we¡¯d have no chance of victory.


    This wasn¡¯t a fight that could be won with a single murder robot.


    Soon, the owners of the drones revealed themselves.


    "Hey there, airplane owner! We saw you heading into the bunker. Why not save yourself the trouble and surrender? We¡¯ll treat you nicely!"


    Their flippant tone made it clear they weren¡¯t Legion.


    The worst-case scenario was off the table, but the situation remained grim.


    "I saw a mark on one of the drones," the co-pilot said, narrowing his eyes as if trying to recall the details.


    "Yeah, that¡¯s it. The King. The gang in Sejong City. Their emblem was on the drone."


    "What kind of mark?"


    "A roaring tiger."


    He crouched and sketched a rough image on the ground.


    "Something like this."@@@@


    One of Jang¡¯s kids smirked.


    "Looks like a cat."


    The kids began whispering and laughing, even the boy I had beaten earlier. When our eyes met, he didn¡¯t look away. Instead, he grinned.


    "..."


    Definitely not an ordinary kid.


    "What¡¯s the plan?" I asked the pilots and researchers.


    If it was a gang, surrender was not an option.


    The Legion might offer some semblance of Geneva Convention-like treatment, but gangs wouldn¡¯t bother.


    They¡¯d mock, torture, and kill¡ªor, at best, enslave.


    For once, everyone agreed: fighting was the only option.


    "No one who gets captured by the King has a good time. Word is, they converted an old baseball stadium into a colosseum where they release mutations and throw people in to be slaughtered," one researcher said grimly.


    The challenge was deciding how to fight.


    "The best we can do is hold out until reinforcements arrive," the pilot suggested.


    It was a straightforward strategy, but not one I could fully commit to.


    Against humans, unlike monsters, having a wildcard up your sleeve is essential.


    Without it, battles tend to play out exactly as the stronger side expects.


    "Hold on. I¡¯ll scout around."


    Surveying the terrain is a basic principle.


    I had to ensure there weren¡¯t any unexpected entry points.


    While we could potentially use such an exit ourselves, it was far more critical to prevent the enemy from exploiting it.


    During my reconnaissance, a minor commotion arose.


    The kids from Jang¡¯s group.


    In the end, I had no choice but to house them with the chosen children in the same room.


    No matter how unwelcome they were, I couldn¡¯t let them sleep on the bare floor in subzero temperatures without sleeping bags.


    "Isn¡¯t it irresponsible to mix the future of South Korea with kids like that?" the researchers protested.


    The pilots, however, approached the issue pragmatically, as soldiers tend to.


    "It¡¯s better to keep them in one place. One of them might switch sides otherwise."


    "We should¡¯ve just dealt with them earlier," Jang muttered, unconcerned that the children could hear him.


    In the midst of the ticking clock, I found an exit.


    A maintenance ladder led to a manhole, which opened behind a destroyed hangar.


    The area was well-concealed by debris.


    It could serve as an emergency escape route¡ªor, conversely, an invasion path for the enemy. Either way, it was a matter of time before it became significant.


    "Got a question," I asked Jang.


    "Any of the kids combat-ready?"


    He shook his head.


    "They haven¡¯t been trained yet. We¡¯ve only assessed their potential. Actual training happens with the Guard in Jeju."


    For the briefest instant, I felt like I was looking into my own eyes.


    Her half-wet eyes burned with an unrelenting flame of hatred so fierce it seemed capable of evaporating even her tears.


    *


    The small, confined room held two distinct groups of children.


    Here, the division wasn¡¯t one of sociology but something more akin to classifications at a kennel.


    On one side were the so-called ¡°purebreds.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry. How long do we have to stay here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m cold. Hungry. Where¡¯s my mom?¡±


    ¡°Researcher! I hate it here! I want to go out now!¡±


    ¡°I hate it!!! Let me out!!!¡±


    These children whined incessantly, cried, and even screamed, voicing their discomfort. They were, unmistakably, kids throwing tantrums.


    On the other side of the room, huddled near the heating unit without sleeping bags or any semblance of comfort, were the ¡°mutts.¡±


    They were the unwanted, the ones with no special abilities, and kids who had lived lives marked by crime and violence.


    But they were utterly different from the ¡°purebreds.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°You cold?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Even as they starved, faced inequality, and were threatened with death, they didn¡¯t cry or complain.


    They simply sat silently, their expressions stoic, as though time itself was meaningless to them.


    In my eyes, they looked more human than the others.


    One of them caught my gaze.


    It was the boy I had beaten earlier.


    He stared at me, then broke into a crooked smile.


    ¡°Let us fight too,¡± he said.


    ¡°I know I deserved to get hit. But I swear, I won¡¯t shoot you in the back.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have time to respond.


    From the entrance, a loudspeaker blared.


    ¡°We know you¡¯re in there. Drop your weapons and come out.¡±


    The moment of truth had arrived.


    In any battle, the opening moments are critical.


    The outcome can hinge on the initial exchange¡ªon how much damage is inflicted at the start.


    Ambushes and surprise attacks are strategies designed to maximize this shock.


    ¡°Wait,¡± I said.


    Lights flickered in the dark corridor.


    The raiders¡¯ flashlights cut nervously through the shadows.


    ¡°If you won¡¯t come out, we¡¯ll set this place on fire!¡±


    Fire? Fine.


    This was a U.S. military bunker, complete with a far superior ventilation system than my own.


    The flashlights retreated, their beams disappearing.


    The captain, watching the entrance from the opposite side of the hallway, clicked his tongue in disappointment.


    ¡°We could¡¯ve taken out one or two of them.¡±


    He turned to me.


    ¡°They say you¡¯ve got plenty of combat experience. Is that true?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied. ¡°You can count on it.¡±


    A mechanical buzzing broke the silence.


    A drone.


    Its light illuminated the corridor as it scanned the interior, trying to glean our position.


    I gestured to the pilots.


    The moment I signaled, they retreated into the room, closing the door and taking cover.


    I ducked into a vacant room, quietly shutting the door behind me. Through the window, I tracked the drone¡¯s movements.


    It flew toward our position, then veered away, heading toward the entrance.


    As soon as it disappeared, I eased the door open and refocused on the hallway.


    In the dim light, shapes began to emerge.


    Even without night vision or Awakened abilities, I could tell: the raiders were coming.


    They moved with precision, each armed and ready to kill and loot.


    The researchers stood frozen, pale-faced, barely able to hold their footing.


    ¡°Should we start now?¡± one of the pilots whispered impatiently.


    I ignored him.


    This tension, this painstakingly slow buildup, was an extension of reconnaissance.


    It was time to gather crucial information¡ªabout their movements, discipline, and tactics¡ªthat only direct observation could provide.


    Five of them had entered.


    They were adept at moving silently, skilled enough that their approach would go unnoticed without careful attention.


    These weren¡¯t amateurs; they were likely ex-military.


    Like the drone, I let them come closer.


    The pilots fidgeted nervously in their hiding spots.


    They were skilled aviators, but ground combat clearly wasn¡¯t their forte.


    Though I wanted to draw in more of the enemy, five seemed like a good number for an exchange.


    I signaled to Jang Mok-hyun.


    He nodded, pressing a button on the remote control in his hand.


    A faint mechanical whir filled the corridor.


    In the middle of the hallway, hidden under a white sheet, the murder robot sprang to life.


    Its red sensors gleamed in the darkness, and its steel frame began to move.


    The raiders froze.


    The one in front raised a hand, signaling his team to halt.


    ¡°Hide!¡±


    They scrambled toward the nearby doors, yanking on handles and desperately trying to find cover.


    ¡°It won¡¯t open!¡±


    As they struggled in vain, the robot¡¯s gun turret swiveled left and right.


    Its sensors flared red.


    Tat-tat-tat!


    Tat-tat-tat-tat!


    The staccato burst of gunfire echoed down the corridor.


    Screams erupted but were quickly drowned out by the relentless roar of the gun.


    And then, silence.


    The robot had exterminated every intruder.


    It had, quite literally, ¡°sorted¡± them.

 Chapter 80.5

    ¡°Did we... kill them all?¡±


    Jang Ju-im, standing behind me, asked hesitantly.


    ¡°Not all of them, just a portion,¡± I replied.


    ¡°What about our robot? How did it do?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±


    Truthfully, it wouldn¡¯t have made much of a difference even without the robot. In a narrow, straight hallway devoid of any cover, mowing people down with a 7.62mm machine gun isn¡¯t exactly difficult.


    The only reason we managed to kill five of them was because we lured them in. If we¡¯d started shooting from the entrance, we might not have gotten a single one. Still, the initial show of force was enough to assert dominance.


    Now the real challenge begins.


    But something¡¯s nagging at me.


    I can hear crying behind us.@@ing from the room where the children are.


    I turned to the researchers.


    ¡°Pull the robot back around the corner.¡±


    ¡°What? Back? Aren¡¯t we going to use it?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll bring it out when we need it again.¡±


    Jang Ju-im, his face pale, nodded shakily and maneuvered the robot back behind cover.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    The raiders¡¯ gunfire persisted as the robot retreated to the corner of the hallway.


    ¡°What now?¡± Jang Ju-im asked.


    ¡°Let them keep shooting. All we need is time, right?¡±


    It was 9 p.m.


    We had to hold out for another ten hours to see the light of day.


    But...


    ¡°Scared!¡±


    ¡°Moooom!¡±


    ¡°Teacher! Teacher!¡±


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 Chapter 81.1

    ??: ¡°The streets are littered with corpses. People freeze to death, get shot, or are beaten to death with clubs, house after house. How can you all be so indifferent?¡±


    A user on Failnet was taking a jab at us.@@@@


    But no one on our board paid them any mind.


    Anonymous 1311: ¡°Today¡¯s snowman.¡±


    Anonymous 458: ¡°Snowman ver. 3.1.¡±


    rokaGG: ¡°Snowman!¡±


    Anonymous 853: ¡°I made a snowman too.¡±


    Berkut_break: ¡°I don¡¯t usually follow trends, but this vibe got me making a snowman.¡±


    mmmmmmmmm: ¡°The Hope Palace¡ªmade of snow: ¡®SNOW PALACE.¡¯¡±


    ...


    Even new users, obscure ones, and those with poor reputations were all talking about snowmen.


    Preppers were treated like fools, seen as immature, maladjusted individuals.


    In the Joseon era, an unmarried man wearing braided hair would have faced less ridicule than a modern South Korean prepper.


    There was even a comedian, Hwang Dae-seop, who built his entire career mocking preppers on TV.


    Even someone like me, who rarely watched television, learned about his show through YouTube.


    One episode sticks with me:


    A skinny, disheveled man with sunken eyes (played by Hwang Dae-seop) hoards meat at a grocery store, preparing for doomsday. But the apocalypse never comes. Time passes peacefully, symbolized by a rapidly spinning clock and a backdrop showing days and nights blurring together.


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 Chapter 81.2

    Hwang Dae-seop: ¡°What? Not funny? Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s hilarious?¡±


    No one left a comment on Hwang Dae-seop¡¯s ¡°Wife.¡±


    No one liked it, either.


    Those of us who¡¯ve been on these boards for a long time might not be able to decipher every nuance of a post, but we can tell whether it was written with good intentions or bad.


    ¡°Wife¡± fell into the latter category.


    It was created purely to provoke us, to force us to confront truths we¡¯d rather ignore.


    And yet, ¡°Wife¡± quickly garnered likes.


    The fingers, with their index and middle digits severed, were blackened from decay but still bore the wrinkled marks of a life lived long and hard.


    Beneath the horrific photo, Hwang Dae-seop left another comment.


    Hwang Dae-seop: ¡°Isn¡¯t this fun? Huh?¡±


    Who could possibly find this amusing?


    One thing was certain: since Hwang Dae-seop started posting, the snowman uploads on our board had completely stopped.


    The heavy atmosphere was one reason, but so was the fear of engaging directly with this madman.


    Amid the silence, Hwang Dae-seop unveiled his third piece.


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 Chapter 81.3

    The man buried in snow took a selfie.


    His face, covered in snow as if he were a snowman, stared at us with lifeless eyes. His last words were replaced with a comment.


    Hwang Dae-seop: Why isn¡¯t anyone laughing? ?


    It was the final act of a comedian who had once been a household name.


    The forum users, who had silently ignored Hwang Dae-seop for years, finally began discussing him.


    Not a single word was positive.


    Let¡¯s borrow the words of Dongtanmom, the most notoriously unpleasant user in our forum:


    The catalyst for this continuation came from an artistic duel that unfolded afterward.


    *


    SKELTON: I was merely "reinterpreting."


    <Message sent.>


    I am not the same as John Nae-non.


    As a "disciple," I, Park Gyu, have always embodied the concept of Cheongchul-eoram: the student surpassing the teacher, no matter who the teacher may be.


    This was true of Jang Ki-young, and it¡¯s no different with John Nae-non.


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 Chapter 82.1

    keystone: Let¡¯s say someone showed up next to your bunker and built a small house. Not a raider or a thug¡ªjust someone decent and harmless.


    Let¡¯s also assume they¡¯re not a young, attractive woman or anyone appealing like that. But their house is right next to your bunker. You have weapons, and they don¡¯t.


    In that situation, what would you do? What¡¯s the right answer?


    Keystone posted for the first time in a while.


    He explained that he hadn¡¯t posted because of his neighbors.


    For some reason, people kept settling near him, and this time was no different. New neighbors moved in, and he had to tread carefully around them.


    In the end, he barely endured by keeping the heat to a minimum until they froze to death.


    At one point, he risked his life to leave his bunker and run his generator, even starting a wildfire in the process.


    Classic oldbie behavior.


    Keystone¡¯s post was a nostalgic nod to those times.


    But the dilemma he posed was an old one, with a clear answer:


    Kill them.


    Staying out of sight¡ªlow visibility¡ªis our most sacred principle.


    Having someone nearby threatens that principle and risks attracting raiders or other dangers.


    Even if they¡¯re unarmed now, that doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯ll always be. They might have armed acquaintances visiting someday.


    Interactions with neighbors during an apocalypse almost always end in disaster.


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 Chapter 82.2

    During Yeo Sa-yul¡¯s prime, it might have been possible to avoid watching her movies, but escaping her advertisements was impossible.


    TV, street billboards, subway screens, news portals, the internet¡ªher face was everywhere.


    Let¡¯s skip over her career details. She started acting as a child, scored multiple mega-hits, and even won a few awards overseas.


    I remember her name because she was particularly famous in China.


    When I was deployed to China, I believe it was her heyday. Despite the chaos, her face often appeared on incomprehensible Chinese broadcasts.


    After the war began, the fates of celebrities varied widely.


    Some blended in with ordinary people, some clung to the elite and escaped to Jeju Island, while others met tragic ends.


    Given her celebrity status, even the comments included notable names.


    King commented.


    That might have been the first time since the days of IAmJesus.


    Well, someone like Yeo Sa-yul would certainly make a trophy worth bragging about.


    While I¡¯m indifferent to celebrities like her, capsules are my specialty.


    I commented.


    SKELTON: I don¡¯t know where you are, but you should move before it¡¯s too late. Unless you have people to call for help.


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 Chapter 83.1

    With Reporter Guy gone and the PaleNet users disappearing, my only sources of information are the scattered friends on our forum and the Legion faction¡¯s radio broadcasts.


    For the past three days, thunder-like gunfire has echoed from the north.


    There were even moments when fighter jets roared across the distant skies, splitting the air with ear-shattering noise.


    I didn¡¯t see the jets themselves, but the contrails they left behind stretched unmistakably from south to north.


    The forum atmosphere remains calm, but the users, myself included, know the truth.


    Another hard time is coming.


    I tidied up the area around the bunker and ran diagnostics on the facilities.


    I wanted to wash it out with water, but my resources weren¡¯t plentiful enough for that kind of cleanup.


    While the ground surface was beginning to thaw under the spring warmth, the underground still clung to the bitter cold of the past winter.


    The groundwater intake pipes were half-frozen, filling the tank to only half capacity.


    Cleaning the pit during a rainy day would be a better solution.


    Most of my day was now spent not on the internet but on external surveillance.


    Like Sue, who used to stare endlessly at unfamiliar horizons, I now scoured every possible approach to my territory using telescopes and observation equipment.


    Rebecca, Defender, and Gold were gone. Their absence wasn¡¯t just emotional but directly impacted the number of zones that needed watching.


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 Chapter 83.2

    Rumors exist everywhere.


    From celebrity gossip to stock market whispers, conspiracy theories, and more, they capture people¡¯s attention, are consumed, and eventually fade away.


    In the extreme stress and isolation of a warzone, where information is scarce, rumors tend to become more provocative and despair-inducing.@@@@


    There were countless rumors during my time in China, too.


    Stories about monsters being under the control of intelligent extraterrestrial beings, leader-class monsters directing groups of other monsters, monsters blending in with humans by mimicking them, and even urban legends claiming that children born to the Awakened were actually monsters themselves.


    The rumor I posted on the forum was simply a rehashed version of one of those Chinese rumors.


    A gang¡¯s power doesn¡¯t come from laws or public support; it comes from the number of strong gangsters under its control.


    And if those subordinates are well-trained and highly loyal, even better.


    King wouldn¡¯t want to lose any of his key subordinates. Naturally, he wouldn¡¯t ignore even a small rumor.


    Now that King has taken the bait, I need to reel him in.


    The rumors I¡¯ve encountered all share one common trait:


    Aside from the most outlandish ones, every deeply discussed rumor prominently features an authoritative figure, like a professor or expert.


    Full-time professor in the Department of Biotechnology at Harvard University, recognized as a leading authority on mutation and monster research.During his doctoral studies, he and fellow scholar Edmond K. Park (rumored to be of Korean descent) discovered the M.E.-Rees reaction, shocking the academic world.Recently, the professor reportedly identified an aggressive mutation factor that instantly zombifies living humans upon inhalation and has begun research to commercialize it.This project was, of course, terminated in the U.S. following protests from various bioethics organizations.However, rumors persist that the research continues in secret at U.S. military bases located in Korea, Japan, and Germany.


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 Chapter 83.3

    "Hello. I am Doctor M. Cheng."@@@@


    I practiced introducing myself as Professor M. Cheng while looking in the mirror.


    My pronunciation wasn¡¯t bad, and my voice sounded decent.


    But I looked far too young and stylish to convincingly portray him.


    There¡¯s no way this would fool that suspicious gangster boss.


    However, with the right mix of resources, tricking him might not be as difficult as it seemed.


    I had several DVDs¡ªon medicine, architecture, electrical engineering, construction, tailoring, survival skills, and even beatboxing¡ªeach containing knowledge I could use in isolation after the war.


    Among them, I remembered a lecture on internal medicine featuring a Chinese professor.


    In the short video, a doctor in a white coat explained internal diseases in fluent English. After reviewing it carefully, I realized his appearance was perfect for the role of Professor M. Cheng.


    I paused the video, pressed the print screen button, and pasted the captured image into Paint.


    This should be enough to fool even that paranoid gangster boss.


    I continued the work with momentum, but the loud rumble of a vehicle from the direction of the U.S. military base interrupted me.


    Through the periscope, I saw a jeep with its headlights on driving briskly in my direction.


    Click.


    Work was work, but security was security.


    I stepped outside and observed the jeep¡¯s path.


    It was taking an eastern detour, crossing the bridge, and heading straight toward my territory.


    There was no doubt about it.


    They were coming here.


    Had they found me?


    I grabbed a recoilless rifle, two assault rifles, and three magazines, then headed to the decoy bunker.


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 Chapter 84

    For us old-school hunters, composure is a cardinal virtue.


    Even when a comrade dies right beside you, or you take a blow so staggering it leaves your mind reeling, maintaining unwavering judgment, as though nothing has happened, is the foremost quality demanded of us.


    In that regard, my skills rank at the top. My battlefield accomplishments and academic records testify to this with numbers and data.


    Woo Min-hee caught the scent.


    Judging from my usual, unwaveringly objective reasoning, brushing it off like I used to won¡¯t work this time.


    Denying everything despite the clear circumstantial evidence would be a rookie mistake. Some damage control is necessary.


    The question now is, how much damage am I willing to sustain? This requires careful deliberation.


    Bzzt.


    Everyone knows that regardless of her personality, Woo Min-hee is a talented hunter.


    And true to form, she doesn¡¯t leave room for hesitation.


    Though she now uses a prosthetic arm and leg, I¡¯ll omit those details¡ªI knew her before she lost those parts of herself.


    I summoned the image of Woo Min-hee before me.


    In my mind¡¯s eye, she¡¯s smiling triumphantly, as though she knows everything. A victor¡¯s smug expression.


    Yet, my face remains perfectly calm.


    ¡°....¡±


    This is what it means to be an old-school hunter.


    ¡°Senior, are you hiding something from me?¡±


    ¡°Hiding something?¡±


    ¡°Yup~.¡±


    ¡°Ah, right.¡±


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 Chapter 85.1

    The boy¡¯s name was Jeon Si-hoon.


    He was part of a typical four-member family: a father, mother, and younger sister.


    His father ran a small business that barely made ends meet, while his mother worked as a cashier at a supermarket to cover the children¡¯s education costs.


    Though he didn¡¯t grow up in wealth, he was a kind, thoughtful child who cared deeply for his family.


    Perhaps it was this goodness that served as a catalyst, for the gods blessed him with the abilities of a Level 10 Awakened¡ªpossibly even higher.


    An Awakened over Level 10 is a rarity, a national strategic asset recognized as such even before the war.


    That boy fell into the hands of the notorious gang leader, King.@@@@


    Your father is dead.


    ¡°What¡¯s the problem then?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t understand. By all accounts, he sounded like a decent father.


    ¡°Better than that Dongtanmom character, right?¡±


    ¡°Senior, you swore you didn¡¯t use the internet, but now that you¡¯ve been caught, you¡¯re happily referencing internet personalities?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡±


    ¡°I never thought you were like this. How can you lie so easily? Were you always this kind of person?¡±


    ¡°....¡±


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 Chapter 85.2

    The Paju Rift is the most critical rift in South Korea.


    It¡¯s located near hostile territory, close to the capital, and, most importantly, it is stronger than any other rift in the country.


    To contain it, a massive defensive structure was built, and a monster-kill zone¡ªknown as the Kill Zone¡ªwas established in front of the rift.


    Anyone seeing the Paju Rift for the first time would be stunned by the otherworldly dimensional portal and then further awed by the sheer scale of the defensive fortifications built around it.@@@@


    Over 2,000 fixed artillery pieces were aimed directly at the rift, while hundreds of howitzers and multiple rocket launchers were positioned in the rear, ready to fire at any moment.


    There was also air force support, but I won¡¯t go into details as I don¡¯t know much about that.


    Around 100 tanks were stationed there, specially designed with downgraded main guns to avoid penetration by reflective shields, earning them the nickname ¡°Dummy Tanks.¡± Despite the name, they were reliable allies, moving to reinforce secondary lines immediately if the front line was breached.


    For smaller monsters, two tank shells were enough to overload their reflective shields, while mid-sized monsters required about five direct hits to nullify their defenses.


    During my time in Paju, there were only two incidents where monsters breached the general soldiers¡¯ zone.


    One time, I handled it with the help of dispatched hunters.


    The other time, the situation was so dire that I had to send the armed soldiers back and deal with the monster myself, using just my two axes.


    The first incident was witnessed by hundreds of soldiers; the second, by only about ten.


    Not long after that, I left Paju and began my path as a doomsday prepper.


    It seems many of the soldiers from back then survived, given that, even three years into the war, there are still people around reminiscing about the past.


    ¡°I saw you kill that monster.¡±


    It was probably the first incident.


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 Chapter 85.3

    My mentor, Jang Ki-young.


    He¡¯s a complicated figure.


    I won¡¯t deny that I was his most favored student.


    Even so, I can¡¯t see him in a wholly positive light.


    And there¡¯s a reason for that.


    Jang Ki-young is not someone you can easily like.@@@@


    He bragged that he knew more about monsters than anyone else in the world, but with each encounter, it became painfully clear just how many lies he had told.


    His career was built on half lies and half delusions.


    Standing on a foundation of deceit, Jang Ki-young demanded that we bring his delusions into reality.


    Yet now, standing before me is something eerily similar to Jang Ki-young¡¯s hypothesis.


    He is a gang leader.


    For some reason, he¡¯s locked his predecessor inside a cylinder.


    ¡°Hello?¡±


    This King sent a woman to me.


    A woman wearing a rabbit mask.


    She dragged a cart filled with alcohol and food.


    Glancing at the food on the cart, I addressed the rabbit mask.


    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m not particularly interested in women. Could you just leave the food and go?¡±


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 Chapter 85.4

    Next to Sejong City, in an open field, stood an incomplete facility the government had once planned to construct. While I couldn¡¯t determine its original purpose, one thing was clear: a stadium was part of the plan. Even in its unfinished state, the structure made that obvious.


    The facility wasn¡¯t tall, likely no more than six stories at its highest point, with a sprawling layout thanks to the abundant land. The main roads were designed to be 16 lanes wide, while even the smallest side roads maintained six lanes.


    However, the city¡¯s construction had halted, leaving the roads barren of vehicles. In their place stood pale gray walls¡ªalien, unnatural, and completely out of sync with human understanding.


    It was the characteristic maze of a Spider-type monster.


    After three years, the maze had grown vast and complex, larger and more intricate than any I¡¯d seen before.


    Before entering the maze, I inspected my weapon, unraveled a length of rope from the armored vehicle, and secured it tightly to a protruding metal fixture whose original purpose I couldn¡¯t discern.


    King watched me with curious eyes.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°We need an escape route. Whenever you¡¯re hunting monsters, you should always have something with wheels nearby.¡±


    ¡°Calling it back now feels a bit undignified, though.¡±


    ¡°Dignity won¡¯t save your life.¡±


    King hesitated before using his radio to summon the vehicle.


    ¡°Can we swap out the driver?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s deaf. Communication¡¯s going to be an issue.¡±


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 Chapter 85.5

    The true effects of the erosion zone on humans remain a mystery, with no definitive research data available. The closest anyone has come to understanding it is the Chinese government''s studies, which involved thousands of unwilling human test subjects. The results were inconclusive: while people living in erosion zones displayed significantly higher rates of psychotic episodes, there was no evidence that the zones caused direct physical harm to the body.


    Still, as hunters who have spent years operating in these zones, we know one undeniable truth: no one living in an erosion zone remains mentally stable.


    There¡¯s something in the air¡ªsomething our science can¡¯t explain¡ªthat drives people insane.@@@@


    ¡°This place is safe,¡± the girl said.


    From a distance, she¡¯d looked like a middle schooler, but up close, she seemed about the same age as Jeon Si-hoon or perhaps even younger. Her small frame¡ªbarely 150 cm tall, with a gaunt body¡ªmade her appear more childlike than she was.


    ¡°See this? This is the talisman of Ma Jong-sa. As long as this talisman is here, no Spiderlings can come in.¡±


    Her speech carried a faint North Korean accent, though it was clear she had quickly picked up and adapted Seoul dialect. It wasn¡¯t uncommon for young female refugees from the North to mimic Seoul speech patterns.


    Despite this, the girl displayed unwavering faith in the talisman.


    ¡°You have nothing to worry about. You have no idea how strong the messengers¡¯ subordinates¡¯ sense of boundaries is,¡± she said, speaking with the certainty only a zealot could muster.


    Whether the talisman worked or not, one thing was clear: the Spiderlings had stopped pursuing us.


    I glanced out the window.


    The hundreds of Spiderlings that had been swarming us earlier were now retreating as if nothing had happened.


    ¡°See? Do you understand now just how miraculous Ma Jong-sa¡¯s talisman is?¡±


    King remained silent, simply observing.


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 Chapter 85.6

    The classification of monsters falls into two major categories: size and purpose.


    Monsters, the enemies of humanity, are generally categorized by size and assigned corresponding purposes.


    Small monsters are typically infiltrators. They act alone, establish bases, and accelerate the flow of erosion spreading from rifts.


    Medium-sized monsters are primarily combatants. They rarely appear in low-grade rifts but occasionally emerge in high-grade ones, especially in kill zones where numerous surges have been suppressed. Most are eradicated within these zones, but the few that manage to breach them roam the battlefield, causing extreme devastation and numerous casualties¡ªhunters are no exception. These creatures are ruthless killers.@@@@


    Large monsters are essentially upgraded versions of medium-sized ones, significantly more dangerous. While medium-sized monsters can be hunted with adequate firepower, large monsters are best left alone unless absolutely necessary. The manual dictates waiting for them to naturally expire rather than engaging them directly.


    "Hey, Jeon Si-hoon! Can''t you do something about this?" King alternated his gaze between Jeon Si-hoon and the window, finally breaking the silence.


    "Th-that thing?"


    Jeon Si-hoon looked out the window. His luminous eyes, usually calm, now reflected stark terror.


    He stumbled back.


    "How could anyone fight something like that?"


    "You''re strong, aren''t you? Aren''t you a Level 10 Awakened?"


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 Chapter 85.7

    Shhhhick! Shhhung!


    Shrapnel, reminiscent of shotgun rounds, dissipated in front of us, leaving ripples of light as if they had fallen into an invisible pond.


    That¡¯s the power of an Awakened. Without it, King and I would¡¯ve been torn apart, left in bloody shreds among the debris.


    The fragments absorbed by the reflective field were redirected, hurtling back toward the monster through small dimensional rifts connected to the field. This is the core effect of the reflective field¡ªit reflects.


    The exit rifts for these fragments appear within the reflective field''s maximum range. Thus, it¡¯s impossible to create an infinite loop of reflected projectiles.


    The torrent of fragments bombarded the monster''s head, where its barrel-like aperture was located. Grayish-white flesh was ripped and shredded, but that was all.


    The small shrapnel, effective against soft targets like humans, couldn¡¯t inflict significant damage on the monster. It left only scratches before the rift opposite the reflective field closed rapidly.


    Even as this occurred, we continued advancing.


    Step by step.


    The distance remained at 70 meters. We could close the gap with a sprint, but the Annihilator type could fire unpredictably in rapid succession.


    ¡°Skelton, shouldn¡¯t we run?¡± King asked.


    Sure enough, a strange ripple shimmered near the Annihilator''s barrel.


    The second wave.


    ¡°Here it comes!¡±


    At 50 meters, dodging bullets isn¡¯t just about their speed; it¡¯s also because they¡¯re hard to perceive with the human eye.


    But this monster¡¯s shrapnel was different.


    Though slower than gunpowder-based weapons, I only needed to track the medium and large fragments that stood out visually. The smaller ones weren¡¯t worth worrying about.


    Thud!


    With another shockwave, the Annihilator spewed its grayish-white shrapnel in all directions.


    As the fragments spread, I spotted a large, angular piece flying toward us with a sinister gleam.


    ¡°Evade!¡±


    I threw myself to the side, diving toward the flank.


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 Chapter 86.1

    True spring had finally arrived.


    The weather had noticeably warmed, and the barren wasteland was turning green with new growth.@@@@


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare tell Min-hee that I¡¯m Uhm Chang. Do you hear me?¡±


    Jeon Si-hoon had gone to Woo Min-hee.


    There had been no new messages from King.


    He seemed active on the forums, but his style suggested he only commented when absolutely necessary. A dignified forum user, if you will. With so many women at his side and 30,000 people under his rule, he likely didn¡¯t feel the same pressing need for human interaction as we did.


    Meanwhile, Incheon had entered its own ¡°Warring States Period.¡±


    Factions within refugee shelters formed alliances, fought battles, and¡ªunbelievably¡ªeven engaged in all-out extermination wars at the shelter level.


    I had no way of knowing the exact details.


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 Chapter 86.2

    VIVA_BOT014: Pardon?


    There was only one reason I initiated a conversation with VIVA_BOT.


    A short while ago, I had submitted a story to the Movie! Apocalypse! event¡¯s storytelling contest. It was based on my own raw, unfiltered experiences.


    Frankly, even as the author, I thought it was an incredible story.


    It chronicled the great struggle where I, SKELTON, alongside my handful of teammates, held back an entire front line against an endless tide of monsters that had broken through Beijing¡¯s final defense line.


    dongtanmom: Nom nom... I passed the preliminaries... nom nom... I''ll probably pass the finals too... Don''t feel too bad... It''s just that I''m too strong... nom nom...


    Already disheartened by the rejection, seeing dongtanmom''s smug post tipped me over the edge.


    I immediately initiated a conversation with VIVA_BOT.


    SKELTON: What exactly makes me inferior to dongtanmom?!


    VIVA_BOT014: What is the intention behind your question?


    SKELTON: No, seriously¡ªwhy does dongtanmom get approved, and I don¡¯t?


    The First Zone provided homes roughly 84 square meters in size, along with extensive welfare support.The Second Zone offered homes about 59 square meters in size, with moderate welfare.The Third Zone consisted of cramped living spaces, not much better than studio apartments, with minimal welfare.The Holding Zone resembled the conditions of refugee shelters back in Incheon.


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 Chapter 86.3

    Thud! Thud! Thud!


    Someone knocked on the door.


    It was the middle-aged president of the mid-sized company from the neighboring cabin. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Baek Seung-hyun as he abruptly spoke.


    ¡°You. You¡¯re a hunter, right? An old hunter, huh?¡±


    ¡°What about it?¡±@@@@


    ¡°What do you mean, ¡®what about it¡¯? You need to gather people. Get the ones who can fight together, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    Though Baek Seung-hyun was a cold and ruthless man, his demeanor was one of calm restraint. He wasn¡¯t the type to yell, turn red in the face, or lash out impulsively.


    But even now, there was a sharp edge to his voice.


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk somewhere else. My child might cry.¡±


    He gestured toward the man¡¯s cabin.


    ¡°Let¡¯s use your cabin. That okay?¡±


    The man glanced at the woman holding the baby in the room and then at her faintly visible tattoos. With a cold expression, he nodded and led Baek Seung-hyun to his cabin.


    The room was empty.


    The man poured expensive whiskey into a glass and offered it to Baek Seung-hyun.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s your name?¡±


    It was meant as a gesture of goodwill.


    Baek Seung-hyun ignored the glass entirely, staring at the man coldly before opening his mouth.


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 Chapter 86.4

    Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s wife hid under the bed, covering their baby¡¯s mouth to stifle any sound, while Baek hung from the harness he¡¯d rigged, motionless, gripping his revolver with eyes full of murderous intent. His gaze fixated on the shadow cast outside the porthole.


    ¡°Damn it.¡±


    The man outside muttered and moved on.


    Nearby, a scream pierced the air.


    ¡°Someone¡ªhelp me! Please!¡±


    Baek recognized the voice.


    It belonged to the young doctor couple who had been the only ones kind to him and his family, even offering to examine his baby.


    Baek stayed silent.


    ¡°Now that you mention it, there¡¯s a rotting smell coming from that room.¡±


    The raiders broke down the door to Baek¡¯s original cabin and went inside.


    ¡°Ugh, damn it.¡±


    ¡°When the hell did this guy die?¡±


    ¡°What a short-tempered bastard.¡±


    Seeing the hanging corpse in the adjacent room, the raiders left.


    Baek, who had been holding his breath and gripping his revolver, ready to fight to the death, finally exhaled deeply.


    One by one, his neighbors died.


    And this is a story about making neighbors again.Hope.About people dreaming the same dream of Korea.This is the story of our slightly strange but kind and cool neighbor.Damn Americans!Too many idiots!How did such a stupid country lead the world?I hate the USA.


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 Chapter 87.1

    When I was young, I used to answer calls from unknown numbers.


    There was a subtle hope lodged in my untainted heart that the owner of an unknown number might be someone dear to me, someone I had forgotten.


    But as internet scams and advertisements became rampant, and people increasingly shifted to using social media or messaging apps instead of phone calls, unknown numbers grew distant from me. By the time I returned to Korea, I almost never answered them.


    Most of the time, answering meant dealing with pointless calls like advertisements or surveys. Occasionally, there were unsettling offers that bordered on treason or criminal activity.


    Somehow, there were people who knew personal information about me¡ªdetails that should have been top secret¡ªand called me directly. These were likely Chinese agents or brokers working under their orders, contacting me on my old number with the generic proposal of visiting China.@@@@


    But those calls never caused me much trouble.


    Unlike before the war, it¡¯s now nearly impossible to deduce someone¡¯s identity just from their personal identification number.


    Let¡¯s assume there¡¯s someone out there.


    This person knows the Professor-era Park Gyu but is unaware of the Skelton-era Park Gyu. They don¡¯t even know that Park Gyu uses the internet.


    If this mysterious person were to contact me via the K-Walkie Talkie that issues personal identification numbers, they¡¯d likely try to reach me with an ID like PROFESSOR.


    If that doesn¡¯t work, they might add numbers after "Professor," or attach my birth year, or maybe my cohort number from school.


    But under no circumstances could this person deduce that my personal identification number is SKELOTN.


    The same applies to me.


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 Chapter 87.2

    The area where Jeon Yu-gyeong lived was a barren wasteland stretching eastward. Once filled with countless greenhouses and farmland, it had now devolved into a cracked, desolate terrain, with its surface split open like the pages of a forgotten story.


    Here and there, reservoirs dotted the landscape¡ªone of the few places where water remained. But even those reservoirs bore the frozen remnants of time, coated in the grime of years gone by, revealing the traces of past human habitation.


    If someone were to ask why no one lived here, my answer would be simple: there are better places to live.


    The abundance of zombies, mutations, and monster-controlled zones in the area is one of the primary reasons small groups of survivors avoid settling here.


    Nominally, this wasteland fell under the Corps Faction''s jurisdiction. Though far from their main stronghold in the Yeongdong region, it was relatively close to their forward base in the Yeongseo area. However, due to the poor state of the roads, only vehicles capable of off-road driving could traverse this terrain.


    For someone like Bang Soo-byeon, a general in the Corps Faction, acquiring an off-road jeep wouldn¡¯t have been difficult. That¡¯s likely how he managed to set up a hideout for his mistress here.


    According to Bang Soo-byeon, Jeon Yu-gyeong¡¯s hideout was on the northeastern ridge beyond the church.


    Through the grass and dirt-covered slope, faint traces of concrete emerged. Slowly, I approached with my firearm ready.


    Sure enough, there was a house.


    The yard, untended, had bamboo growing wildly as if an explosion had gone off. The house itself bore signs of neglect¡ªstains and cracks marring its structure. Yet, by pre-war standards, it was a remarkably well-built country house.


    Its experimental architecture and the sleek, modern interiors visible even in its decay made it clear that this house was once carefully designed. Below the ridge lay a green-covered hill and a lake, likely a former golf course.


    The scenery was impressive¡ªworthy of a general¡¯s hideout.


    As I approached, signs of habitation became apparent: a firepit with charred remains, recently discarded coal briquettes, and a small flowerbed hidden behind the bamboo thicket.


    "General Bang Soo-byeon is, in fact, an incredibly powerful Awakened, possessing abilities that even make the savior Kang Han-min wary..."


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 Chapter 87.3

    The exaggerated tone of Dies Irae¡¯s account offered some value, though it was still rife with hyperbole. Bang Soo-byeon¡¯s potential status as an Awakened remained ambiguous, but his involvement in several strange and significant incidents was undeniable.@@@@


    According to Dies Irae, Bang Soo-byeon was often at the heart of peculiar and extraordinary situations. His military unit frequently suffered heavy losses, yet somehow the enemy would also be completely wiped out or mysteriously abandon their positions.


    Dies Irae69: "The units under his command would always be annihilated, but the enemy would also disappear without a trace, as if an evil spirit clung to him. Back then, the concept of Awakened didn¡¯t even exist. People just whispered that he was cursed or possessed."


    Dies Irae emphasized one consistent trait¡ªBang Soo-byeon¡¯s utter fearlessness in the face of death. He would always choose the most dangerous assignments, often at great personal risk, earning him a promotion to colonel.


    During the skirmishes in North Korea, the battles were less about full-scale engagements and more about ambushes, surprise attacks, and sporadic clashes. Most North Korean forces would surrender upon encountering South Korean troops, but certain units resisted to the bitter end. In this chaotic environment, Bang Soo-byeon¡¯s aggressive tactics achieved the high command¡¯s objectives, despite repeated losses to his forces.


    Moreover, Bang Soo-byeon displayed none of the typical signs of being Awakened. There were no glowing eyes, no energy fields, no shockwaves¡ªnone of the abilities associated with Awakened individuals. If he had truly been an Awakened, especially one of such power, his subordinates or superiors would have reported his extraordinary nature, particularly during the height of the Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in era, when Awakened individuals were celebrated as national heroes.


    Thus, despite the intriguing testimonies, Bang Soo-byeon¡¯s story returned to square one. There was no compelling evidence to confirm his status as an Awakened. Perhaps his mistress, Jeon Yu-gyeong, was simply mistaken.


    Unwilling to leave it there, I reached out to Jeon Yu-gyeong again.


    Beep. Beep. Beep.


    This time, it took persistent attempts to get through, likely due to my earlier prank about "Um Chang."


    Finally, the connection was established.


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 Chapter 88

    Beep¡ª Beep¡ª Beep¡ª


    The radio was still ringing.


    Should I answer it?


    Or should I ignore it?


    For some reason, I chose a third option.


    I thought about the past.


    Not that reminiscing about the past meant anything now, but I let myself recall Kim Daram from our school days.


    Back then, we barely had any interactions. She was cheerful, lively, and always eager to do her best. A positive kid.


    I don¡¯t remember anyone disliking her.


    Though, contrary to her cute-sounding name, she wasn¡¯t particularly small or delicate.


    From the first time I saw her, she was taller than most girls¡ªby at least half a head, sometimes a full one.


    He was one of the first humans to ever step into a Rift.


    Back when Rifts were spewing extraterrestrial-level threats, he made a name for himself.


    Like a character out of a high-stakes adventure movie, he wore a cowboy hat and wielded a long whip as his weapon.


    In the school¡¯s video archive, you could find footage of him cracking a three-meter-long whip, slicing through an entire swarm of alien centipedes in an instant.


    If nothing else, the guy had style.


    Practicality aside, his movements were almost dance-like¡ªgraceful, extravagant, mesmerizing.


    I¡¯m convinced that Michael Voodoo¡¯s videos had a major influence on Jang Ki-young.


    "Like Michael Voodoo!"


    Back in our first year, Jang Ki-young made us watch Michael Voodoo¡¯s videos and told us to be like him.


    That sentiment carried through until early in our second year.


    Until Michael Voodoo met his end¡ªshaking like a leaf in front of a real monster with a reflective forcefield, unable to do anything before being torn apart.


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 Chapter 89.1

    They say wise people foresee the future.


    Before the war, I predicted the fall of civilization and took decisive action to build a bunker. I might not be a sage, but I¡¯d say that puts me in the category of somewhat wise.


    Now, with the Legion faction controlling the capital region and Kim Daram reestablished as a contact, I had to predict what would come next.


    One possibility stood out.


    Kim Daram wouldn¡¯t kill me outright.


    Instead, she¡¯d throw me into monster-hunting operations.


    She knew my skill level better than anyone¡ªso she¡¯d make sure I got the hardest, most dangerous jobs.


    I hadn¡¯t left Gukwiwon and buried myself in debt to carve out my own territory just to die like some disposable pawn under Kim Daram¡¯s command.


    For the past few days, I had been thinking about how to smoothly refuse her demands.


    And Kim Daram, of all people, knew I¡¯d never believe in some insane cult preaching that ¡°monsters are our friends.¡±


    So that was out.


    PTSD? Panic disorder? I considered them.


    But even if I put on an Oscar-worthy performance, I doubted I could fool Kim Daram.


    I scanned the items in my bunker.


    Blackout sheets covering the windows, a coffee maker, an artificial fish tank, and goldfish.


    A printed-out meme of IamJesus and Chairman Je Pung-ho, stuck to the wall.


    A cartoonish portrait of myself, drawn by Da-jeong.


    All of these were proof that I had survived the war.


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 Chapter 89.2

    "The entrance looks different."


    From the moment Kim Daram stepped out of the jeep, she looked annoyed.


    That was when I knew.


    This wasn¡¯t going to go the way I planned.


    "Oh, that toilet."


    I forced my voice to stay flat.


    Daram wasn¡¯t Woo Min-hee.


    She had been jealous of Woo Min-hee back in school, but it was never about her¡ªit was about the life she had.


    While Kim Daram clawed her way up from rock bottom, desperate just to keep moving forward, Woo Min-hee did whatever the hell she wanted and still ended up in the same ranks.


    Their personalities had always been different, but time had stretched that gap into something irreconcilable.


    Daram had married young, had a child, became a mother.


    A grainy war-time video flickered onto the screen.


    SKELTON¡¯s Beatbox (3).


    My earliest¡ªand quite possibly my most hated¡ªrecording.


    On screen, a younger me swayed to the beat, face obscured by a mask, letting loose a half-trained, yet earnest beatbox routine¡ª


    "Boom-chik! Pak-chik! Chiki-chiki pak-chik!"


    For whatever reason, this video had been universally despised.


    I figured Kim Daram wouldn¡¯t be any different.


    "Oh, this."


    She let out the flattest response imaginable, checking her watch mid-sentence.


    "You used to practice that all the time back in Beijing, huh?"


    No reaction.


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 Chapter 89.3

    When I was inevitably forced to leave the battlefield, what I regretted most wasn¡¯t a stable future, a position admired by others, or even public recognition.


    Ever since I lost my family to monsters, my life had only one purpose.


    To erase monsters from this world.


    Nothing else mattered.


    The world changed.


    Those of us who had risked our lives on the frontlines were now relegated to the back, reduced to nothing more than old relics biding our time in irrelevance. Government support dwindled.


    My comrades, both seniors and juniors alike, exchanged their tattered combat gear for crisp business suits, trading battlefields reeking of gunpowder and corpses for luxurious offices cooled by air conditioning.


    No matter how much I stubbornly clung to war, there was nothing left for me to do.


    I tried to return to the battlefield by any means necessary, but all that awaited me were positions as an instructor or some bureaucratic post¡ªpaths I had no desire to walk. If I couldn¡¯t stand on the battlefield, I would rather disappear into seclusion.


    And if I couldn''t kill monsters, then being killed by one in the end wouldn¡¯t be so bad either.


    With that thought, I entertained the path of a doomsday nihilist and began preparing for retirement.


    ¡°I don¡¯t make mistakes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll trust you.¡±


    Click¡ª


    I loaded my domestic 12-gauge automatic shotgun and advanced into the abandoned factory.


    The remnants of battle were everywhere.


    Before we arrived, the Legion-affiliated hunters had already carried out a cleansing operation.


    A smear of fresh blood, not yet blackened, was splattered across the floor¡ªevidence that someone hadn¡¯t made it.


    Cleansing operations involved eliminating the minions guarding a monster¡¯s lair and reshaping the terrain to favor human fighters before the executioner moved in to finish the main target.


    These operations were usually assigned to rookies or inexperienced hunters, but in the absence of hunters, soldiers sometimes took on the role.


    Just because they didn¡¯t engage the main monster didn¡¯t mean it was any less dangerous.


    There were times when clearing minions was even riskier than fighting the monster itself¡ªjust like when King and I entered the ruins near Sejong City.


    Thud¡ª Thud¡ª Thud¡ª


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 Chapter 89.4

    I made countless excuses, but deep down, my heart had always remained on the battlefield.


    That was why I underwent three high-intensity psychic synchronization tests that nearly killed me.


    That was why I smeared dozens of litmus strips with my saliva.


    That was why I tried to take IAmJesus with me.


    If I became Awakened, I could return to the battlefield.


    But I didn¡¯t.


    That was why I hated Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in.


    I resented them. I envied them.


    They stole the battlefield from me.@@@@


    I wanted them to fail.


    For the first time in a long while, my body was on fire.


    How long had it been?


    Since I last felt this alive?


    Maybe not since I last wore the armband.


    ...?!


    Wait.


    This wasn¡¯t right.


    The armband was good, but it wasn¡¯t this good¡ªnot like the satisfaction of battle.


    ¡°Senior?¡±


    Kim Daram tilted her head, looking at me curiously.


    ¡°Something wrong?¡±


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 Chapter 89.5

    The interior of the Assembly had changed beyond recognition.


    The Spider-Type¡¯s architectural instincts had fully kicked in, transforming the entire building into a labyrinth just as intricate as the one that had once imprisoned that Minotaur.


    The clearing teams had used explosives and bulldozers to force open paths, but due to counterattacks from both minions and cultists, they hadn¡¯t been able to carve out a completely secure route.


    In short, we had to conduct our operation while the defensive structure built by the Spider-Type remained intact.


    And to make matters worse, there were cultists inside the building.


    Walking through the dim gray corridors¡ªonce adorned with luxurious carpets, now eroded into a dull white¡ªI asked Kim Daram:


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t your side have cultists too?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we do.¡±@@@@


    ¡°Think they¡¯ll get mad if we kill these ones?¡±


    ¡°Not really? They care more about the monsters we kill than the lives of these cultists.¡±


    Whichever was true, one fact remained: North Korea had a massive number of cultists. And many of them had disguised themselves as ordinary refugees to slip into South Korea.


    Not all refugees were dangerous. But some had defects so severe that they could never be integrated into Korean society.


    ¡°If it were up to the Director, he¡¯d round them all up and throw them into a gas chamber.¡±


    For someone like Kim Daram, who usually took a neutral stance, that was an extreme statement.


    The cultist girl I had seen in Sejong was already far from normal.


    If thousands of people like her were running rampant, it was only natural that they¡¯d provoke hostility.


    I didn¡¯t particularly like cultists either.


    Unlike Kim Daram, I wasn¡¯t in favor of gassing them en masse, but on the battlefield, they were obstacles that needed to be removed before the monsters.


    And right now, instead of heading into monster territory, we were moving straight into a cultist-controlled zone.


    The team consisted of me, Kim Daram, and three nameless fighters¡ªone of whom was carrying a flamethrower.


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 Chapter 89.6

    It''s been a while since I''ve felt this way.


    From a distance, I spotted a man named Kim Byung-cheol.


    He wasn¡¯t particularly tall.


    His physique was average, and nothing about him really stood out.


    His hair was cropped short, and he wore a neatly pressed military uniform, a simple medal pinned to his chest.


    The only odd thing was the unusual gleam in one of his eyes. I was puzzled until I looked closer and realized he was wearing a monocle.


    I¡¯d heard that monocles weren¡¯t suited for East Asians due to the lack of a prominent supraorbital ridge, but Kim Byung-cheol seemed to have figured something out. Every time he turned his head, sunlight glinted off the lens, scattering light in all directions.


    In front of Kim Byung-cheol, Kim Daram stood stiffly, explaining the operation.


    She was likely arguing that the current situation was highly unfavorable and that it would be better to wait for another opportunity.


    Kim Byung-cheol listened to her in silence, then suddenly threw his head back and let out a bizarre cry.


    "Achtung!"


    And once their numbers grew, they would solidify their defenses, turning the building into an impenetrable fortress.


    "But what do we do? I don¡¯t see a way in."


    Reinforcements had arrived, and the zealots had entrenched themselves throughout the Assembly building. Hours of work on our end had been rendered useless.


    We¡¯d have to start over, wiping out each defensive position one by one. It was the safest way to minimize casualties while eliminating the monsters.


    But it was already 4 PM.


    The sun was beginning to set.


    This had to end before nightfall.


    "Wait. Let¡¯s think this through."


    I went with Kim Daram into the command tent to reevaluate the plan from scratch.


    Ideas came and went in my head.


    It had been a while since I had to rack my brain like this.


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 Chapter 90.1

    It wasn¡¯t hard to guess Kim Byung-cheol¡¯s online ID.


    armeegruppe_B : achtung!


    He had already revealed himself during the IamJesus incident.


    Just like the other high-ranking figures who emerged back then, Kim Byung-cheol had made some effort to recruit IamJesus.


    At the time, there had been no way of knowing who he was, but in hindsight, it seemed we had been playing alongside the very people who would one day control Korea.


    Still, contrary to my concerns, Kim Byung-cheol never reached out to me on the board, nor did Kim Daram pressure me with any unreasonable requests.


    A week passed quickly, and my daily life returned to peace.


    "..."


    Peace was good¡ªbut this was too peaceful.


    Defender had sent me a message.


    That was something only possible now that the situation had stabilized.


    Ultimately, what happened next depended on what our Lady Kim decided to do, but from the looks of it, she wasn¡¯t going to call me unless it was something truly important.


    I could feel it.


    That moment when she faked the eyepatch, trying to stir my sympathy.


    While my real life had settled into stability, something grim was unfolding in the online world.


    Anon458: Hey, doesn¡¯t it feel like it¡¯s been a while since we¡¯ve seen Fox Games?


    keystone: He disappeared in the winter. His last post was three months ago.


    Anon1131: I actually started visiting this board after playing his game...


    If a user who posts daily disappears for a day, they¡¯re probably sick.If they¡¯re gone for three days, they¡¯re in danger.If they¡¯re gone for a week, they might be dead.If a month passes? They¡¯re 99% dead.


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 Chapter 90.2

    Who Fox Games had been before the war wasn¡¯t my concern.


    The war had changed everything.


    Digging into the past¡ªinto a time that would never return¡ªwas pointless.


    Not just for Fox Games, but for everyone in the forum.


    We judged each other solely by what we saw in our world, through our screens.


    And in our eyes, Fox Games was a good guy.


    A generous soul who had used his talents to make our prison of endless apocalypse just a little more bearable.


    Because of people like him, our lives were more livable.@@@@


    I, too, had enjoyed one of the many illegal conversion games he had distributed.


    His identity had been exposed when he suffered a mental breakdown during the Monster Park incident.


    A normal person like me wouldn¡¯t have noticed, but insiders had picked up on clues in his old posts.


    ?? : Oh, shit. It was him? The PM of Legacy Online?


    ?? : Yeah, that guy was famous. I thought he was dead. Turns out he¡¯s been living a pretty decent life, huh?


    ?? : Dude¡¯s been acting like some saint on Viva! Apocalypse!


    ?? : Nobody plays the ¡°nice guy¡± act better than him.


    ?? : Wasn¡¯t he sitting on, like, a billion won?


    ?? : All built on the blood, sweat, and tears of others. As always.


    There was no way to verify if these people were really from the industry.


    A ventilation system.A drainage pipe.


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 Chapter 90.3

    "Oh, so you¡¯re Skelton?"


    Even after repeated explanations, FoxGame couldn''t fully accept that I was Skelton.


    "There¡¯s a huge gap between what I imagined and reality. I pictured someone much older than me, desperately clinging to a youthful fashion that doesn¡¯t suit them."


    "...I am Skelton. Let¡¯s just speak casually. We¡¯re internet friends, after all."


    "No, I prefer speaking formally. I¡¯ve spent nearly half my life using honorifics, so anything else feels foreign, like some strange language that¡¯s somewhere between a dialect and a foreign tongue."


    For someone who had been a true named figure in our forum, FoxGame¡¯s first impression was... questionable.


    Not exactly a good one.


    He made eye contact occasionally, but mostly avoided my gaze. There was a subtle yet firm line drawn between us. More than anything, he seemed uncomfortable with the fact that I had come to see him.


    "How did you find this place?"


    "Don¡¯t say that. You¡¯re FoxGame. You have no idea how popular you are online. You¡¯re a named figure."


    "Named, you say? Haha. That¡¯s ridiculous."


    "Either way, just check in with the forum. People are disappearing left and right, and if someone like you goes silent, it¡¯ll only make the place even gloomier."


    I was planning to leave after delivering the message.


    FoxGame clearly felt uneasy with me here.


    But just as I was about to leave, he stopped me.


    "Wait, would you like to have some tea in my bunker?"


    ...What made him change his mind?


    I was always curious about other people¡¯s bunkers.


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 Chapter 90.4

    He had to be a good person.


    That was the one certainty I felt while dealing with FoxGame.


    He spoke in a voice as bleak as the shadows that clung to his face.


    "I took them in with good intentions, but at some point, they seized control. I even let them stay despite having a kid, but this is how they turned out. Not that I didn¡¯t expect it. Those two... they resent me."@@@@


    "Resent you?"


    "Yeah. Back when I worked at the company, I once took inspiration from that guy¡¯s idea without his permission. I was so sleep-deprived, barely getting three hours a day under crushing performance pressure, that I wasn¡¯t even conscious of stealing it. But in the end, I did something awful to him."


    FoxGame recounted his past with a sorrowful expression that didn¡¯t feel forced.


    Maybe he was telling the truth.


    Then, in a hushed whisper, he added,


    "They have the key to the armory."


    At that moment, the inner door of the garage creaked open.


    "They¡¯re keeping me alive because I¡¯m the only one who knows how to maintain and operate this bunker. But once they learn everything... they¡¯ll kill me."


    I turned to look at him.


    He was staring toward the end of the hallway, his expression cold yet exhausted.


    "You saw my room, right?"


    "You mean that cramped space?"


    He turned to face me.


    "Do you really think that was my room?"


    If I hadn¡¯t spoken with the couple earlier, I might have believed FoxGame¡¯s words without question.


    But I couldn¡¯t shake the evaluations I had read about him on Failnet.


    I studied his face.


    FoxGame had the perfect face of a victim.


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 Chapter 90.5

    I don''t like Dies Irae.


    He gathered innocent people, used them as tools, and abandoned them to die¡ªall for a single goal.


    I don¡¯t necessarily condemn people who use others.


    But a person like that will always see people as disposable, convenient tools.


    And yet, for once, he said something unexpected.


    "Think about it. If they were really raiders, would they have kept some creepy-looking middle-aged guy around for a year and six months? If they were going to kill him, they would''ve done it immediately. If they needed information, a few days of beatings would¡¯ve been enough."


    His reasoning was the same as mine.


    I didn¡¯t want to kill that family.@@@@


    Or rather, I couldn''t find a reason to.


    Had he carried this weapon before?


    I wasn¡¯t sure.


    The last time we met, it had been cold, and he¡¯d been bundled in thick layers.


    Now, he twirled the kukri effortlessly, the razor-sharp edge spinning through the air.


    If he made even a single mistake, he¡¯d lose a finger¡ªat best.


    The fact that he didn¡¯t hesitate meant he had been using it for a long time.


    As I was momentarily distracted by the blade, Dies Irae suddenly sheathed it and smirked.


    "At first, he said they were old coworkers making a game together, but things got tense over creative disputes."


    He paused.


    "But a month ago? He claimed they tracked him down, using old company records to break in."


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 Chapter 90.6

    "Hello! The lonely survivors of the world! My fellow doomsday enthusiasts!"


    Melon Mask had reappeared after a long absence.


    He had gained a significant amount of weight since his last appearance¡ªso much so that he now resembled his pre-war, well-fed self. Flashing his signature bright yet vaguely condescending smile, he took up nearly half the screen.@@@@


    "Seriously! I completely underestimated Korea. Who would''ve thought such a small country, wrecked by civil war, would be home to so many geniuses? Damn. This is truly something else. Really."


    With a snap of his fingers, a screen popped up, and suddenly, an explosion of dazzling graphics and exquisitely designed characters came to life, launching into a massive, instantaneous battlefield.


    I knew this screen well.


    This was the very game that the man from FoxGame¡¯s bunker had shown me.


    "My friends! Our brilliant comrades from the Korean board have done it again! Can you believe it? That a game like this could be made in a time like this¡ªwhen war has started and the world is on the brink of destruction?!"


    As Melon Mask¡¯s excited voice carried on, the title of the game appeared on the screen in elegant effects.


    bowwow82: GOAT!


    coral8103: This reminds me of the old days with WoW! I had so much fun playing that back then! I''m seriously excited!


    X''Ds_Grrrrr: FoxGame... I know them. They developed that text-based MUD. It was fun, even if only for a short time.


    mmmmmmmmm: FoxGame! You¡¯re still alive! ????


    Anonymous13: Did they save the entire company? How the hell did they even make this?


    Dronx: So Monster Park was just a test stage for network stability, huh?


    L-V-R-M: This is really exciting. I was going insane from the boredom lately!


    dongtanmom: Yum...


    ...


    Planning: FoxgamesProduction: FoxgamesCoding: FoxgamesProject Management: FoxgamesMusic Selection: FoxgamesModeling: Foxgames2D Artwork: Foxgames


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 Chapter 91.1

    Accidents happen without warning.


    The generator broke down.


    I realized it when I was finishing up my usual routine and went to start the generator to charge the capacitors.


    It wouldn¡¯t turn on.


    ¡°...¡±


    Rather than fear or panic, what I felt was more of a resigned Ah, it¡¯s finally happening kind of feeling when I discovered that the power button¡ªsomething that had never failed me before¡ªwas now completely unresponsive.


    I had always expected it to break down someday.


    But I thought it would last at least five years.


    There could be many reasons why it broke down sooner than expected, but my best guess was the synthetic fuel I had been using recently.


    Forget air conditioning¡ªit wouldn¡¯t even provide enough power to run my motion sensors or other security systems in my territory.


    More importantly, for me to survive here long-term, the heart of my domain had to keep beating.


    Clatter, clatter.


    Clang! Clang!


    I popped two caffeine capsules and pulled an all-nighter.


    Even though it was nighttime, I was drenched in sweat by the time I finally pinpointed the cause of the failure.


    It was the shutdown solenoid.


    According to the manual, this part controlled the fuel supply to the generator based on electrical signals. In short, it was what allowed the generator to shut down properly.


    But it wasn¡¯t responding.@@@@


    Possible sniper vantage pointsPotential cover for when I moved to my next targetRetreat and move on to another industrial complexTake out the sniper


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 Chapter 91.2

    The woman¡¯s movements were strange.


    Despite being a soldier, she lacked confidence in her steps. Beneath her rigid expression, clear fear showed through.


    The way she constantly glanced over her shoulder was enough to make me suspicious.


    She could be bait.


    In sudden standoff situations like this, it wasn¡¯t uncommon for the Chinese to send expendable people ahead to gather information on their opponents.


    Her unremarkable appearance only reinforced my theory.


    Ignore the woman.@@@@


    Treat her like another drone.


    One drone was already hovering overhead, likely watching to see if anyone left the factory.


    Which meant my opponents weren¡¯t alone.


    I remained silent, waiting on the third-floor window as the woman approached the building.


    There was only one room here¡ªa reception area that doubled as the factory owner¡¯s office.


    Soon, she knocked on the door.


    ¡°It¡¯s... locked.¡±


    She spoke again.


    ¡°It won¡¯t open. Something¡¯s blocking it. Huh? No, I¡¯m serious, it won¡¯t open. Come check it yourself! What am I supposed to do? I can¡¯t do anything about it!¡±


    Her voice grew increasingly desperate, almost tearful.


    She was being forced into this.


    I didn¡¯t know by who, but I¡¯d find out soon enough.


    ¡°No, listen! You hear that? I¡¯m really trying!¡±


    As her shrill voice rang through the room, something flashed in the reflection.


    I inhaled sharply and held my breath as I switched my rifle to semi-automatic mode.


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 Chapter 92.1

    I first came across the terms high school debut and college debut in a short story collection by Filkrum, whom I¡¯ve long lost contact with.


    It refers to students who, during their middle or high school years, were unremarkable and largely unnoticed. But when they enter a new environment with a fresh set of people, they shed their unimpressive past selves and transform into popular, charismatic figures.


    What happens in reality tends to happen on the internet as well.


    A user who was virtually unknown on Board A might suddenly become a household name on Board B.


    Now, as someone who¡¯s fairly well-known on Viva! Apocalypse!, there¡¯s no real reason for me to do something like that. But the truth is, I¡¯ve been feeling dissatisfied with Viva! Apocalypse! lately.@@@@


    To be blunt, I¡¯m getting sick of it.


    According to Da-jeong, our resident internet expert, people start getting disillusioned with their online communities when the number of users they dislike outweighs the ones they enjoy interacting with.


    Honestly, there aren¡¯t many users I like on Viva! Apocalypse! these days.


    *


    Blinder is an open site.


    It can even be accessed via our satellite equipment.


    Of course, since it runs on the Legion Faction¡¯s servers rather than Viva! Apocalypse!¡¯s, logging in requires logging out of Viva! Apocalypse!, entering a complex code to switch to a different physical server, and adjusting satellite transmission settings.


    Following a manual I downloaded from FailNet, I configured my equipment and attempted to connect.


    Being my first time, I ran into a few hiccups, but before long, I had set foot in this new world called Blinder.


    At first glance, the site was clean and well-organized.


    It had a ¡°Hot Topics¡± board featuring trending posts, along with neatly categorized discussion boards on various subjects.


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 Chapter 92.2

    That user was a well-known figure on Blinder.


    I learned this in the ¡°Completely Anonymous¡± board tucked in a corner.


    This board was different from others in that everything was kept blind.


    To give you an idea, here¡¯s what the current posts look like:


    Someone: I can¡¯t take manual labor anymore


    Someone: Saw a mutation hunting a cow¡ªit¡¯s just wrong


    Someone: They say monsters are showing up up ahead¡ªare we safe here?


    Someone: Monsters live in the next town over?


    Someone: Another post from that Bitchy Aunt¡ªseriously


    Someone: Ugh, that Bitchy Aunt again. Can¡¯t stand her


    Someone: Why did they have to copy that site? Couldn¡¯t they have just made it like FailNet?


    ...


    It was there that I learned the user I had suspected to be Kim Daram was being called the Bitchy Aunt.


    It wasn¡¯t just because the person was strange. They were constantly flaunting their achievements, stirring up jealousy among users. It seemed like the nickname was a result of that.


    If I¡¯d posted as Unemployed, no one would have clicked on my post, no matter how right I was.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    In South Korea, reputation matters.


    That hasn¡¯t changed even three and a half years after the war started.


    How you acquire that reputation is what matters most.


    That¡¯s where Skelton¡¯s successful debut on Blinder comes in.


    The Power of Connections


    If you live alone, maybe you don¡¯t care about this. But in a group, nothing is as important as connections.


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 Chapter 92.3

    Is it only possible to pretend to be a doctor if you graduate from medical school?


    If I were in a medical position, I would say otherwise.


    The internet world is different.


    You can be a doctor in the online world and still have a happy internet life.


    That¡¯s based on my own experience.


    Before the war, I briefly participated in the precursor to Blinder for a short time.


    During that brief stay of about two hours, the users who left the strongest impression on me were the ones who wore the doctor title.


    They knew how to give the ¡°sharp words¡±.


    I smiled brightly and responded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯m a pro at the internet.¡±


    Doctor / x***:** (Skelton) Here¡¯s lunch today! Haha (3)


    I posted a simple update on the Everyday Board.


    13th Collective Farm / A****:** Looks delicious!


    Daegwallyeong Dairy Cooperative / So**:** My mouth is watering~


    Gasan Advanced Manufacturing Plant / D****:** Looks tasty!


    It was a simple post, but I got three comments.


    To compare, I checked the post I made earlier as Skelton:


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 Chapter 93.1

    The internet is the internet, and reality is reality.


    I am someone who strictly separates the two.


    However, there are quite a few people in this world who cannot distinguish between the internet and reality, diving too deep into one or the other.


    Personal Identification Number: DARAM2


    Kim Daram seems to be one of those people.


    "Hey. Daram, what''s up?"


    When I casually picked up the call, a trembling voice came through the receiver.


    "Senior."


    The voice was shaking.


    She replied nonchalantly.


    "Outside? Where?"


    "Yeah. Paju."


    "Wait a minute."


    Kim Daram requested a pause.


    The reason was obvious.


    She was probably trying to estimate my distance using the distance estimation feature on her radio.


    "Really in Paju?"


    "Why would I lie about where I am?"


    "Why Paju?"@@@@


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 Chapter 93.2

    A helicopter with two rotors was heading towards the grayish area.


    There were six people on board, including the pilot.@@@@


    Everyone except me was an Awakened.


    The average age was in the early twenties, but the atmosphere inside the helicopter was heavy, and the silence was almost oppressive.


    The reason I was on board the helicopter was, as always, my pathological curiosity.


    The concept of luring monsters had been proposed long ago, but it was considered unrealistic and unlikely to come to fruition.


    You could see that just by looking at the map of South Korea.


    If you¡¯re going to lure monsters, where would you send them?


    During that process, millions of people lost their homes and became refugees, but instead of protesting against their government, the Japanese turned on and looked down on the displaced refugees.


    The method Japan used to lure monsters was a paradigm shift.


    When monster groups began frequently attacking the Awakened training facilities near rifts, the Japanese government hypothesized that monsters were drawn to the Awakened, who emitted waves similar to those of small monsters. They then placed unfit Awakened in mass detention facilities and observed the movement of monsters.


    The monsters, instead of attacking nearby military bases, gathered around the Awakened detention centers.


    And thus, the monster luring facility was invented.


    Ironically, it was called the Lighthouse.


    Woo Min-hee had benchmarked this method and created a similar lighthouse north of Paju.


    "That¡¯s the lighthouse," she said, pointing out the window.


    Without a word, the woman gestured toward the endless, ochre-colored sea that stretched beyond the bay. Beyond the sea, a shabby, dilapidated city sprawled, and beside it stood a massive structure that almost made me question my eyes.


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 Chapter 93.3

    My alma mater is unlike other schools in that it does not aim to socialize individuals.


    The only thing taught there is combat skills for dealing with monsters.


    Therefore, graduates from the school struggled to adapt when thrown into society.


    In societal terms, graduates from the school were merely aging boys, nothing more.


    I was no different.


    When I retired from the front lines and returned to civilian life, I knew less than someone fresh out of high school entering the workforce.


    I didn¡¯t even know that when you move, you have to register your address, or that you need to visit a dealership to set up a phone.@@@@


    The only thing that helped me in that situation was the internet.


    There, I was able to learn the basic social duties and how-to¡¯s for adult men in South Korea, even the places to go for them.


    The stench quickly reached the children watching.


    ¡°Ugh!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that smell?¡±


    ¡°Disgusting.¡±


    Although they had eyes that glowed faintly, the children didn¡¯t seem much different from any other normal kids I knew.


    If I had to pick out a difference, it would be that they spoke with a heavy North Korean accent?


    But even that was just the accent, none of them actually used North Korean words. It was clear they were trying to speak in Seoul¡¯s dialect, albeit clumsily.


    It¡¯s not hard to understand why.


    Who would want to speak the language of a poor, backward, and failed nation?


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 Chapter 93.4

    It was nighttime, and a full moon was in the sky.


    The full moon cast an eerie glow over the grayish hues surrounding the city.


    It made the world look sick, as if it were suffering from some kind of illness.


    Not the kind of contamination caused by humans, but something far more fundamental.


    It felt like a malice beyond our understanding, one that sought to dismantle the world as we knew it.


    The honeycomb-like structure of the building looked like a solid wall at first glance, but according to the blueprints I had acquired, each hexagonal section contained communal housing where multiple people lived.


    Structurally, it wasn¡¯t all that different from an apartment, except it lacked windows. True to the nature of this place, where privacy was a luxury, essential facilities like bathrooms, laundry rooms, and kitchens were shared among the residents.


    The dining hall on each floor could accommodate about fifty people at once. Its location was the same as in both the Revolution District, where I lived, and Moran District, where Jeong Ho-kyung resided.


    So, it didn¡¯t take long to find the dining hall.


    Inside, the clatter of utensils echoed.


    Jeong Ho-kyung.


    "Oh, Park Gyu!"


    The moment I heard his voice, my stiffened body regained motion. I quickly turned my gaze toward his tray, scanning it hungrily.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    The word failure burned itself into my mind.


    If this were the internet, I might have seen this coming, but in real life?


    It was an experience I had rarely encountered.


    On his tray, just like the children''s, sat a grotesque, deformed lump of flour¡ªcompletely unseasoned, practically an edible failure.


    And yet, Jeong Ho-kyung kept shoveling it into his mouth, chewing relentlessly as he gestured for me to come closer.


    That confirmed it.


    Jeong Ho-kyung was eating the same food as the children.


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 Chapter 93.5

    Creak¡ª


    The door opened.


    I wasn¡¯t carrying a gun.


    Just two axes in my hands.


    Footsteps followed behind me, and soon, I could feel the weight of countless eyes watching my back.


    In a small, enclosed facility like this, rumors spread fast.


    There was no such thing as secrecy in this concrete cage, where entertainment was nonexistent.


    It was like whispering in an empty winter room¡ªyour voice would inevitably reach every corner.


    And the audience wasn¡¯t just behind the bars.


    On the towering 15-floor-high hexagonal walls, uniformed children stood in orderly lines, having seemingly forgotten their fear of falling, watching me intently from above.


    I needed to hurry.


    It was only after dozens more casualties that the phenomenon of reflective barriers was finally understood.


    I don¡¯t blame the hunters of that era.


    Because of their records and sacrifices, we were able to prepare better.


    "Go back!!!!"


    And that¡¯s where I differed from Jeong Ho-kyung¡ªI didn¡¯t deny the past.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    I sprinted at full speed, my eyes locked on the massive silhouette, black against the glare.


    It threatened to crush me, like an enormous boulder about to drop, but my feet never hesitated.


    The monster¡¯s immense body, lifted high, came crashing down.


    Like slamming a thick book onto a bug.


    Screeeeeaaaaam¡ª!


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 Chapter 93.6

    The way people succumb to the erosion zones is almost always the same.


    They grow quiet.


    They lose their energy.


    They sit there, frozen in place, staring blankly into the distance¡ªlike plants.@@@@


    Then, one day, they just disappear.


    No one knows where the ones who¡¯ve lost their minds to the madness of erosion go.


    Some say they wander off to die alone, like elephants seeking their graveyards.


    Others claim they¡¯re drawn to even deeper erosion zones, their bodies taken by whatever force governs those cursed lands.


    But from what I¡¯ve seen firsthand, those who succumb to erosion literally disappear.


    The room was hot. Stifling.


    His lifeless eyes stared into nothingness.


    "Jong-beom."


    I called his name.


    No response.


    I didn¡¯t call it a second time.


    Even calling it once was out of character for me.


    Because the moment I saw him, I knew¡ª


    Hong Jong-beom had been consumed by the madness of erosion.


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 Chapter 93.7

    "I can take care of it. But why? Why do I have to do it?"


    This lighthouse is crawling with Awakened.


    Not just any Awakened, but ones above Level 5¡ªpowerful enough to generate waves of force.


    Even Jeong Ho-kyung, standing in front of me with a grim expression, is supposedly a Level 8 Awakened.


    So why can¡¯t they handle it?


    They don¡¯t even need to lift a finger. They could crush the entire capsule with their abilities.


    I¡¯ve seen Awakened do it before on the front lines¡ªtaking care of capsules like it was a joke, throwing me smug glances as they did.@@@@


    So why is it different here?


    If the concern is for the children¡¯s safety, fine.


    But what about Jeong Ho-kyung?


    What about all the soldiers stationed here?


    If Jeong Ho-kyung simply neutralized the defensive field, the problem would be solved in an instant.


    And how are they treated?


    They¡¯re a step above disposable Awakened¡ªjust barely good enough to lead patrol teams in hellholes like Seoul.


    Yet this guy, despite being the same level, secured a high-ranking position in Gukwiwon right out of school. Throughout the war, he held the fate of millions in South Korea in his hands from the safety of Jeju.


    Does that make sense?


    I don¡¯t know.


    I don¡¯t care to know.


    But it¡¯s the reality in front of me.


    ¡°...Technically, I¡¯m Level 4, but for some reason, whenever I¡¯m measured, it registers as Level 5 or higher. I don¡¯t know why. It¡¯s not even that rare of a case. The mental resonance test is man-made, after all...¡±


    I cut him off coldly.


    ¡°Pick one of the teenagers here. I don¡¯t need anything else¡ªjust someone who can neutralize the defensive field.¡±


    Clearing multiple capsules in a time limit of an hour and a half is no easy feat.


    Each one has to be verified at the risk of our lives. Even if they pass the check, there¡¯s still the possibility of ending up like Park Sang-min¡ªdecorating a monster¡¯s lair as an ornament.


    So I¡¯m going to demand what needs to be demanded.


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 Chapter 94.1

    Before the war, the internet was overflowing with websites.


    Each had its own purpose, audience, and culture, but they all shared one fate.


    User traffic.


    Think of a shopping district.


    No matter how attractive the stores are or how beautifully the streets are decorated, if no one walks through them, the area won¡¯t last long.


    On the other hand, a crowded street thrives, even if it¡¯s messy and the stores are rude.@@@@


    A website without users is no different from an empty shopping district.


    For a site built on the premise of attracting people, losing its user base is like a barbecue restaurant running out of meat.


    Of course, that number wasn¡¯t just hardcore doomsday preppers¡ªit included Melon Mask¡¯s devoted followers, the kind who¡¯d cheer even if he took a dump on screen.


    The actual number of true survivalists was estimated to be under 200,000.


    Unlike Korea, the U.S. hadn¡¯t suffered as much destruction during the war.


    State-based defense forces still maintained order, and so, at first, the site¡¯s American user count didn¡¯t drop much.


    Even a year into the war, Viva! Apocalypse! in North America still had 700,000 users.


    But a year and two months later, that number was cut in half.


    That was when tensions between state and federal governments escalated, shaking the foundation of the United States itself.


    People who had been living in their homes, relying on satellite internet, were overwhelmed by rioters and looters.


    HunterHandsomeAxeDual-wield


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 Chapter 94.2

    It was hard to believe, but Dolsingman was supposedly a wealthy entrepreneur who had made a fortune before the war.


    I didn¡¯t know what kind of business he was in, but the AI-generated image he posted depicted a shadowed man in a luxury high-rise office, dressed in a sharp suit, gazing down at the city below.


    "Hah."


    I let out a short laugh.


    The background music was a sleek jazz tune¡ªone I vaguely recognized.


    Anyway, the self-proclaimed successful businessman Dolsingman had fallen in love with a mysterious woman, married her, and lived a glamorous life that anyone would envy.


    But, as his nickname suggested (Dolsingman¡ªdivorced man), that happy marriage had been doomed from the start.


    The cracks in their relationship began when China¡¯s hardliners started making waves within their government.


    For the first time in decades, artillery shells rained down on Taiwan¡¯s Kinmen Island.


    They were the ones who abandoned social status, wealth, and relationships in favor of extreme survival preparations¡ªstockpiling years¡¯ worth of food, buying remote properties, or even building bunkers.


    People like me, who threw every last cent into bunkers, were considered the radicals of the active prepper community.


    Passive preppers, on the other hand, believed in the apocalypse but weren¡¯t willing to sacrifice their current lives for it.


    Instead, they prepared in subtler ways¡ªaccumulating assets like gold or foreign currency, gathering survival knowledge, and making contingency plans without drawing too much attention.


    Dolsingman was one of the passive preppers.


    He believed the end was coming but didn¡¯t want to give up his social status or wealth.


    He was a man torn between two realities¡ªhis mind convinced of doom, but his heart clinging to normalcy.


    And where there¡¯s a divide, there¡¯s conflict.


    His wife was an optimist.


    And while Dolsingman was a passive prepper in action, his mouth was anything but.


    6:30¨C6:40 ¨C First resident6:45¨C6:55 ¨C Second resident7:00¨C7:10 ¨C Third resident7:15¨C7:25 ¨C Fourth resident


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 Chapter 94.3

    AI image generation tools, when used well, could create women so stunningly beautiful that they were nearly indistinguishable from real photographs.


    But this wasn¡¯t really my skill¡ªit was the result of desire.


    AI image generators excel at creating attractive men and women, but they struggle with making average-looking or unattractive people.


    That¡¯s because the power of AI tools comes from big data¡ªcountless pieces of information it learns from. And people generally want to create beautiful individuals, not average or ugly ones.


    So even if you simply generate a random man or woman, the AI tool will default to producing someone who fits conventional beauty standards.


    The problem is that these default beauties always carry a distinct AI ¡°scent.¡±


    AI isn¡¯t omnipotent¡ªit still has areas where it falters.


    ...


    ...


    At first, I remember getting a few friendly comments.


    But as my data collection continued, the replies grew increasingly harsh.


    ??: Is this your fucking summer break art diary?


    ??: Old dude found a new toy and got way too excited.


    dongtanmom: Nom nom... This is why I said we shouldn¡¯t allow AI tools... Give something like this to a low-intelligence, low-education, low-income autistic idiot, and they¡¯ll spam it all over the place. Nom nom...


    Anonymous458: Hey, Skelton, knock it off! This is spamming!


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 Chapter 94.4

    The will to live is one of the most crucial variables that a person preparing for the apocalypse must manage.@@@@


    There aren¡¯t many ways to strengthen one¡¯s will to live in an era where everything is deteriorating.


    The closest thing to a solution is people.


    Family, a lover¡ªsomething like that.


    But human relationships come with baggage. Bringing someone else into your life means taking responsibility for another person (who, more often than not, is less capable of surviving than you are). Worse, if conflict arises, that relationship might end up doing more harm than good.


    That¡¯s why, in the early days of the war, I actively avoided adding people to my circle.


    Rather than increasing my will to live by bringing in outside influences, I managed it by ensuring it never broke in the first place.


    A certain level of comfort, an environment free of unnecessary discomfort, security, and some form of daily enjoyment¡ªthese are essential to maintaining the will to live.


    When these elements are lost and stress builds up, people either go insane or start viewing death lightly.


    For a moment, I imagined a balding, arsenic-poisoned man with a face blackened from chemical exposure staring me down.


    Then, he followed up:


    Message from Dolsingman: I like her. What do you think you''re going to do if you show up? Kill her just because she poisoned me?


    Message from Dolsingman: Actually, can you even kill her? Lol.


    Message from Dolsingman: And by the way, who the hell are you? You sound like some young brat. And, damn, you reek of someone who didn¡¯t get a proper education.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    This asshole.


    Was this what he was really like?


    I hadn¡¯t interacted with him enough to know his personality, but I didn¡¯t remember him being this much of a bitter, twisted bastard.


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 Chapter 95.1

    The first day of June.


    Three signs appeared simultaneously.


    The first one happened on the K-Walkie Talkie.


    Personal identification number: REDMASK


    I received a call from Woo Min-hee.


    But there seemed to be a problem, and even though the connection was established, all I could hear was noise.@@@@


    For about 20 seconds, I only heard incomprehensible static, and the communication ended.


    I tried contacting her through the internet, but she didn¡¯t respond.


    The second sign happened on the internet.


    Could it be that the dreaded apartment was finally collapsing?


    To this, m9, the resident of The Hope, strongly disagreed.


    mmmmmmmmm: You idiots, haha. If this place collapses, the whole country will go down with it. You think you''ll be safe? Haha.


    I don¡¯t think highly of m9, but that statement held some meaning.


    As he said, when The Hope collapses, wouldn¡¯t the future of South Korea be completely over?


    I, who try to look at the world as neutrally as possible for the sake of mental management, am saying all this because spring is ending.


    Some people say it¡¯s still spring until June, while others argue that summer starts from June.


    A user I suspect is either Kang Han-min or Na Hye-in said that there would be a change once spring came.


    I¡¯ve heard similar hopes even from the lighthouse.


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 Chapter 95.2

    The governments of South Korea and China agreed to end the war. As part of the settlement, China compensated South Korea with the territory of Manchuria as reparations for the damages caused by the war.


    This was the gist of the ceasefire plan orchestrated by Kim Byung-cheol.


    On paper, it seemed like a perfect victory for South Korea.@@@@


    Just looking at the land secured, Kim Byung-cheol could be likened to King Gwanggaeto the Great.


    But anyone standing at the National Assembly building and looking north would instantly realize what a hollow lie this was.


    Monsters roamed everywhere, and Mutations had entrenched themselves across the landscape.


    The Legion faction controlled less than 25% of Seoul¡¯s territory¡ªnowhere close to even half.


    How they planned to reclaim North Korea, let alone seize control of Manchuria, was beyond me.


    This was all just for show.


    "Failnet?"


    There were several people dealing with the Chinese, and among them was my junior, Kim Daram.


    She seemed to still be shaken from her encounter with the B-TIC woman. She had barely acknowledged me with a nod and hadn''t spoken a word since¡ªuntil now.


    "Senior, I need to ask you something. What is Failnet?"


    "Failnet?"


    "Yeah. I figured you¡¯d know since you''re always on the internet."


    She used the internet too, of course, but like most narrow-minded people, she had zero interest in anything outside of the sites she personally frequented.


    With utmost reverence, I answered her.


    "Failnet is a completely open anonymous internet site created by the indomitable developer, John Nae-non."


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 Chapter 95.3

    "Where are you going? The rehearsal¡¯s over?"


    Defender¡¯s cheerful expression told me he had no idea what was happening at the front lines.


    "Not quite done, but I¡¯ve got things to do. I need to head home."@@@@


    "You came all the way here¡ªat least drop by to see my sister before you go."


    "Your sister¡¯s here?"


    "Yeah, at the hospital."


    "Is she not doing well?"


    "Not exactly ¡®unwell.¡¯ Just dealing with an annoying illness."


    "What kind of illness?"


    "A tumor. Not cancer, but it was on its way to becoming one."


    "Since we¡¯re on the topic, why don¡¯t you come with me? I¡¯ll even help clean up your bunker."


    I made my offer, and Defender hesitated.


    "Thing is..."


    He sighed, looking up at the sky.


    "She¡¯s got one last treatment left."


    "When?"


    "In two days."


    "Memorial Day?"


    "Yeah."


    "And skipping it¡¯s not an option?"


    "No. It¡¯s chemotherapy. This is the only place she can get it. If she¡¯s going to do it, it has to be done right."


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 Chapter 95.4

    "Wh-Who are you?"


    Instead of answering, I asked Defender through the radio.


    "Did we have any other guests besides me?"


    "No, none. Why? Someone¡¯s there?"


    "We¡¯ve got an uninvited guest."


    "Hold on a second. Get them out of the car first."


    I aimed my gun at the doctor¡¯s family and spoke in a low voice.


    "Get out."


    "You¡¯re not even hospital staff. What right do you have to¡ª"


    "Get. Out."


    "They all left for Chuncheon."


    "Chuncheon?"


    "Yes. There were rumors that monsters would be swarming this place soon."


    The doctor¡¯s words didn¡¯t seem like a lie.


    After all, monsters were coming. That much was true.


    The problem was, if there were no other doctors here, it meant Da-jeong wouldn¡¯t be able to get her treatment.


    "...She still needs at least one more session."


    I could understand why Defender was troubled.


    Cancer treatment needs to be completed properly.


    If you leave it half-done, there will be consequences.


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 Chapter 95.5

    The military commanders'' evaluations of monster combat capabilities vary widely.


    Commanders who served at the kill zones would have experienced the sheer number and extraordinary combat abilities of the monsters, but they would not necessarily consider them to be invincible.


    For commanders who have only faced monsters sporadically in well-fortified areas similar to a ceasefire line, the monsters would likely be seen as a manageable threat¡ªsmall to medium-sized ones that could be dealt with relatively easily.@@@@


    Most military commanders who have protected the Korean Peninsula have experiences that fall into one of these two categories.


    For commanders in countries like China, where the entire country has been consumed by erosion, there are no frontlines and they must fight battles in what is essentially a free-for-all with monster hordes. These commanders know firsthand why monsters are humanity''s natural enemy.


    Each individual monster is a superior version of a human combat unit and has the ability to neutralize most human weapons. Most terrifying of all is their endless numbers, which can assault both the front and rear simultaneously¡ªhumanity has no choice but to succumb.


    The background to Kim Byung-cheol¡¯s insistence on defending the National Assembly likely stems from his limited experience with large-scale monster battles.


    They have not fought against monsters in large-scale field combat.


    ¡°Something strange?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Didn¡¯t you feel like the monsters, which should be acting on instinct, were being commanded by some higher power?¡±


    Kim Daram lowered her gaze.


    She seemed to be recalling something.


    But that¡¯s always how she is.


    Her focus is always fixed only on what¡¯s directly in front of her¡ªthe next step she¡¯ll take, the next battle.


    Even in the chaos of a battlefield where countless lives and understandings collide, she only seeks out the immediate threat and practical solutions, never caring about anything beyond that.


    She did not accept my opinion.


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 Chapter 95.6

    Everyone says it.


    There¡¯s no place better than your own home.


    M9 had a similar sentiment.


    But for anyone else to explore M9¡¯s house, which far exceeded the ordinary slope one might expect from a human, it required an immense amount of resolve.


    ¡°What are you doing? Skelton? Not coming in?¡±


    M9 turned to look at me from the corridor entrance.


    ¡°Oh, no. It¡¯s fine. I was just thinking about it. I already had tea earlier.¡±


    After I mistakenly stepped and watched a stone fall into the abyss below, I froze in place.


    ¡°Hey. Skelton. What¡¯s going on? You¡¯re not coming in? Let¡¯s have a cup of tea.¡±


    M9, sensing my hesitation, grinned and waited for me to enter.


    But there was no need for me to go.


    I wasn¡¯t here to uncover M9¡¯s ecological history; I had only come as an observer.


    ¡°Hey. Skelton. Why aren¡¯t you coming in? Are you already overwhelmed by my The Hope?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Well, nobody¡¯s left here smiling after visiting my house. Just wait a bit. I¡¯ll get the tea.¡±


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 Chapter 96.1

    The idea of preparing for the apocalypse requires having as many cards in hand as possible.


    It¡¯s simple logic.


    The more options you have, the more flexible you can be in any situation.


    The problem lies in reality.


    Increasing your cards means needing resources based on pre-war standards.@@@@


    Each doomsday theorist has different levels of economic standing, and the gap between them is already clearly visible.


    There are pros and cons.


    The advantage, of course, is the resources that have remained intact for three years after the war.


    Honestly, I never expected to live this comfortably at this stage after the war.


    The downside is its confidentiality.


    An unhidden bunker is nothing different from a treasure trove for the so-called "golden goblins."


    The moment a superior human faction targets it, not only will my life be at risk, but my property could be swallowed up by these useless scoundrels.


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 Chapter 96.2

    A survival principle for the apocalypse:


    Never be obedient.


    If someone tells you to drop your weapon, doing so is equivalent to entrusting them with your life and everything else you own.


    Therefore, ignoring demands to disarm or surrender is the correct choice.@@@@


    Conversations between people holding weapons capable of killing one another should proceed differently.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    I fired into the air.


    The advancing elderly men hesitated.


    Feeling the chilling silence spread through the forest, I finally opened my mouth.


    ¡°I think I took a wrong turn. I¡¯ll just leave.¡±


    Yet, in every syllable, they radiated an unwavering intent to harm me in some form.


    ¡°Show yourself now! Drop the gun!¡±


    ¡°Stop being stubborn! We know you¡¯re alone!¡±


    It is well-documented in anthropology that isolated groups tend to develop hostility toward outsiders.


    But we weren¡¯t in some remote part of Oceania¡ªwe were in Gyeonggi Province, South Korea.


    For elderly men to have become this belligerent required further study.


    Of course, I hadn¡¯t come here today to research the aggression of elderly survivalist groups.


    ¡°I¡¯ll say it again. I simply took a wrong turn. I have no intention of fighting, and I want to avoid unnecessary conflict.¡±


    My luck was clearly terrible today.


    ¡°Shut the fuck up! You came to spy on us, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re here to steal our crops, huh?!¡±


    One rifle, 90 rounds.One handgun, three 12-round magazines.No grenades.Two axes.


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 Chapter 97

    "I¡¯ve said it before, but I¡¯m not asking to live in your bunker. I¡¯m just suggesting we be neighbors. We don¡¯t even have to be right next door. Just close enough to stay in contact and help each other if things get rough."


    I had already suspected that Cheon Young-jae had made up his mind about this.


    Since the war began, he had always lived among others in similar circumstances. He was used to that kind of communal survival.


    That meant a few words alone weren¡¯t going to change his mind.


    So, instead, I asked, "Why here?"


    "Why not just keep living in the subway? Wouldn¡¯t that be better than coming all the way out to the middle of nowhere? There are more people and plenty of resources there."


    Cheon Young-jae grinned and shook his head.@@@@


    "That place is going to turn into a warzone. The Incheon refugees? They¡¯re just pretending to follow the Legion''s orders for now, but they were already divided into factions long before they even got there. Right now, they''re going along with it because the guys in uniform are feeding them and giving them supplies. But the second things go sideways? They''ll show their true colors."


    "Yeah?"


    "Running away isn¡¯t always the answer."


    Cheon Young-jae sat up from the hood and stuck something in his mouth.


    It looked like a cigarette.


    When he lit it, it confirmed my guess.


    "You know, the capital isn¡¯t the only place that¡¯s a disaster. The countryside was wiped out long ago. The Erosion Zones and refugees are all mixed together now. And on top of that, the fanatics keep multiplying."


    "..."


    "If you ask me, Kim Byung-cheol is gonna **give up on Seoul soon, too."


    "Probably."


    "My point is, you can¡¯t keep running forever."


    Air conditioning.A hot shower.A fridge filled with cold drinks.A steady supply of clean water.A place to lie down.A roof that kept out the rain.Just enough warmth to not freeze to death.


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 Chapter 98.1

    Unicorn18.


    First, he messages me out of nowhere.


    Then, he suddenly asks about Foxgames.


    It¡¯s a bit confusing, but I can¡¯t just ignore an old friend reaching out after so long.


    I take a deep breath and reply calmly.@@@@


    SKELTON: (Skelton, confused) I wouldn¡¯t say we¡¯re that close anymore. What¡¯s up?


    unicorn18: Weren¡¯t you two tight?


    SKELTON: A wise man chooses his friends carefully.


    unicorn18: ...So, not really close. Got it. I¡¯ll ask someone else.


    SKELTON: Even if we¡¯re not close, I still have some connections. What do you need?


    unicorn18: YES! Monster Park! That game was my only source of joy in life! But now Foxgames took the servers down because of his new project! I even texted him, but he just ignored me. Do you think he blocked me?


    Now that he mentions it¡ª


    I remember logging into Monster Park a while back.


    I saw someone wandering around.


    Could that have been Unicorn18?


    It must have been.


    Nobody else played that game.


    Literally just one guy.


    And that one guy was him.


    Unicorn18 is one of the few people I actually treat with respect on our forum.


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 Chapter 98.2

    I¡¯m not particularly interested in Jeju Island.


    From everything I¡¯ve heard, it¡¯s not an ideal place to live. The environment is harsh, and survival isn¡¯t guaranteed.


    But in uncertain times like these, the more cards you have, the better.


    The mention of a position "reserved for me" piqued my interest, I won¡¯t deny that.


    More than anything, I have time.


    And for someone like me, having something to focus on might just be the thing that keeps me going.


    And that means more hostile monsters and mutations.


    There¡¯s also the possibility that fanatics opposed to the Legion faction are scattered throughout the area.


    Rumors suggest that the Legion faction cracked down on these cultists mercilessly, slaughtering them in the territories they seized.


    The problem is, their numbers were overwhelming, and they had hidden bases all over the place.


    Despite Kim Byung-cheol¡¯s suppression efforts, they weren¡¯t wiped out completely. Instead, they slithered into the shadows, becoming even more troublesome insurgents.


    It¡¯s a situation where South Korea could end up fighting both monsters and zealots at the same time, just like China.


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 Chapter 98.3

    There are places humans cannot explore, but robots can.


    This idea has been around since the first meltdown at Chernobyl, a historically proven method.


    During the Great East Japan Earthquake, robots were deployed to investigate the radiation-filled meltdown sites, replacing human workers in confirming the situation.


    Modern drone technology may have come to a near halt, but it has advanced far beyond what was available back then.


    Wars fought by humans¡ªnot just among themselves but against monsters¡ªhave driven relentless advancements in machines to replace human soldiers.


    Unfortunately, I have no experience operating or handling drones.


    When I was on the battlefield, the Chinese military we worked with handled the drones, and since I deliberately kept my distance from them, I never had the opportunity to learn anything.


    But I do know someone who is good with drones.


    Ha Tae-hoon from the 11th generation.


    When Cheon Young-jae first brought him up, I sighed, thinking he¡¯d be another burden entering my territory.


    As someone who used to live in Incheon, Cheon Young-jae was familiar with the geography and the distribution of local factions.


    "That over there is the 13th Shelter Zone, and that¡¯s the 34th Shelter Zone. Both are groups that refused to evacuate to Seoul. Honestly, both are basically just criminal gangs at this point. The 13th is slightly better, but not by much."


    Apparently, Ha Tae-hoon was relying on the 13th Shelter for protection.


    The state of the shelters had deteriorated even further since my last visit to Incheon.


    Or rather, this might be the natural evolution of abandoned settlements in the apocalypse.


    Once government aid stops and people are left to survive entirely on their own, the line between crime and law inevitably disappears.


    Survival becomes the only priority.


    Everything else¡ªmorality, ethics, law¡ªbecomes meaningless.


    Even from the entrance, the 13th Shelter felt like a crumbling, desperate community.


    Barefoot, emaciated children clutching makeshift weapons stared at us with hollow eyes.@@@@


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 Chapter 98.4

    It''s a well-documented fact that mutations display an extreme hostility toward humans.


    But their relentless slaughter of people isn¡¯t solely driven by hatred.


    Humans, when unarmed and untrained, are walking sources of protein¡ªan easy meal if you know how to hunt them.


    Even before the mutation outbreaks, there was the infamous case in India where an aging tiger hunted dozens of people.


    The reality is, human flesh is a convenient, high-calorie food source.


    The mutation we¡¯re dealing with today likely hunts humans for practical reasons, not out of malice.


    A narrow river like this can¡¯t provide enough protein to sustain a multi-kilogram carnivore.


    Meanwhile, despite their dwindling numbers, humans remain the most abundant large mammal on Earth.


    If I were a giant otter, I¡¯d hunt humans too.


    "It¡¯d be just as hard to approach from our end."


    I stated, and Ha Tae-hoon spat on the ground before nodding.


    "...Yeah. And I¡¯m alone out here. If I screw up, I become one of those skulls the otter likes to pile up."


    Ha Tae-hoon turned his gaze to the tablet screen.


    On one of the feeds, the massive otter was leisurely swimming, its expression calm and utterly unbothered.


    "So, how do you want to do this?"


    He looked at me.


    Mutant hunting isn¡¯t my specialty.


    My team and I always prioritized monsters over mutations.@@@@


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 Chapter 98.5

    There¡¯s both good news and bad news.


    Let me start with the bad news. They¡¯re Chinese.


    A well-equipped force of at least 40 soldiers is camped out, supported by new command vehicles, reconnaissance and combat drones, and various surveillance equipment.


    No matter how elite we were once called as humanity''s finest hunters, it would be impossible for just three of us to take on such a force.


    If they were the Tang dynasty army, maybe, but they¡¯re likely some of the best and most elite troops that China has left.


    As expected, both Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon flatly refused to engage the Chinese head-on.


    And the country would refuse as well.


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s opinion lined up perfectly with my idea.


    "Good choice of words. Yeah. Anyway, it¡¯s an area where humans can¡¯t go, and only drones, those toys, can enter. In a place like that, we can still have a battle of toys without the need for a direct human-to-human fight."


    Moreover, I had information that the Chinese didn¡¯t.


    The fact that Jeonnalon had stored the disk with the important data in a secret compartment within a drawer.


    The Chinese would aim to target the entire Failnet server, but what we were after was simpler and much easier to retrieve.


    And I had Jeonnalon¡¯s disciple as well.


    Once we return to the underground shelter, I plan to ask Valentine for the layout of the sacred tomb.


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 Chapter 98.6

    Zzzzt¡ª


    Just because the main reconnaissance drone was made doesn''t mean the preparations were completely finished.


    As a drone expert, Ha Tae-hoon also had to adjust the supporting drones to assist the main one¡ªSuper Skeleton.


    Zzzzt¡ª


    Thanks to that, my garage slowly started to fill with the peculiar scent of soldering and occasional flashes of light.


    "I''ve always liked making things since I was a kid," Ha Tae-hoon said while adjusting the drone.


    "Blocks, model kits, circuit boards, I didn''t care about any of them. But damn, my mother recommended that I go to school."


    "Your mother?"


    "Yeah. She knew. She knew that being a Hunter was dangerous, but it also had an incredibly promising future. Didn''t you have the same experience? There were probably a few kids in your class from well-off families, right?"


    He changed the world.


    There may have been "Awakenings" before his time, but no one had ever had such a dramatic and incomparable awakening, like Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in.


    He was the one who proclaimed the end of an era and, at the same time, the harbinger of a new world.


    The nickname Savior was an understatement for Kang Han-min¡ªit was far too simplified to describe who he really was.


    It was quite a while before any of us spoke again.


    That is, until I brought out my homemade dish made from vegetables I had grown and canned ham for dinner.


    "What''s this? Did you make kimchi?" Cheon Young-jae asked, lifting up the salted vegetables I had prepared with his chopsticks.


    "Kimchi needs fermented seafood," I said.


    "With all the supplies, why didn''t you bring any fermented seafood?" he asked.


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 Chapter 98.7

    "Yeah. Alright, I¡¯ll give it a try."


    Unlike me, who communicates with people over the internet, Cheon Young-jae uses wireless equipment to communicate with his peers or companions.


    When it comes to versatility, Cheon Young-jae¡¯s method is far more organic.


    Moreover, Cheon Young-jae and the 18th batch, under the sense of solidarity as the "abandoned batch," have used wireless equipment to maintain tight communication even during the apocalypse.


    That¡¯s why I can confidently stay in touch with Dajeong even without the internet.


    "Yeah, sure. Jeong-ho. It''s me, Young-jae."


    We were connected to Defender.


    "One of the seniors wanted to talk to you, so I¡¯ll pass you over."


    I spoke to Defender as soon as I grabbed the walkie-talkie.


    "It¡¯s Skeleton."


    "Skeleton?!"


    "We had some misunderstandings, that''s all."


    Soon, I received a message from Defender.


    "I¡¯ll pass Dajeong over now."


    As soon as the line switched, a familiar voice came through the speaker.


    "Skeleton! Long time no see! What¡¯ve you been up to? You haven¡¯t posted anything online lately. Are you in an internet slump or something?"


    "I¡¯ve been busy lately. I didn¡¯t even feel like installing Fox Games."


    "You said you had something to ask me, right?"


    "Yeah. I need your drone piloting skills."


    "My piloting skills?"


    "You''re the only one who can do this."


    "I never thought I¡¯d hear you say that, Skeleton."


    Dajeong laughed as if she found it absurd.


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 Chapter 99.1

    Screeeeeech¡ª


    The rise of drones as a dominant force in human warfare became indisputably clear during the wars that broke out between humans immediately after the Rifts opened.


    China¡¯s original strategy, backed by its formidable drone force, had been to deploy a massive wave of troops onto the Korean Peninsula first and then swiftly subdue the Korean military using drones and other advanced weaponry.


    However, that grand strategy never came to fruition¡ªbecause before their forces could even land, they were all turned into fish food beneath the waves.


    There was a brief period when drones were considered highly effective against monsters¡ªso much so that they were even hailed as the natural enemy of the creatures.


    Academics might deny that monsters evolve in response to human strategies, but those of us on the battlefield accepted it as an undeniable truth.


    When firearms became a problem, monsters developed the ability to detonate guns. When drones became a problem, they gained the power to knock them out of the sky.


    Before the erratic, unidentified waves that radiated across vast areas, drones became nothing more than expensive scrap metal.


    For those of us staring death in the face, there was no reason to doubt it.


    In fact, Western nations, including the United States, abandoned drone development for monster warfare altogether, throwing their full weight behind the Awakened system instead.


    The only ones foolish enough to cling to drones were China and North Korea.


    ¡°I set up the retrieval net ahead. Go down and collect it.¡±


    Together with Ha Tae-hoon, I descended to the lower floors.


    Sure enough, an enormous pile of green netting was heaped up near the road.


    ¡°Damn. Where did you get so much of this?¡± Ha Tae-hoon asked.


    Cheon Young-jae sighed. ¡°There was a golf driving range.¡±


    ¡°Golf again.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you good at golf, Ha?¡±


    ¡°I can play, but I don¡¯t enjoy it.¡±


    A metallic scraping sound came from Yeong-jae¡¯s speaker.


    ¡°Damn. These guys tied this thing tight. I¡¯ll just cut their arms off.¡±


    Rip!


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 Chapter 99.2

    ¡°This is Defender. Took down two enemy drones. I¡¯m heading straight for John Nae-non¡¯s server room now.¡±


    ¡°The vehicles split up. I can¡¯t get an exact count¡ªthe illumination flares are too bright.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re coming from the south. Two vehicles? I¡¯ll need a closer look.¡±


    One of the biggest reasons decisions are difficult in battle is the asymmetry of information.


    In normal circumstances, there¡¯s barely any information at all¡ªit¡¯s almost boring. But once a battle begins, an overwhelming flood of data makes it nearly impossible to process everything at once.


    I was experiencing it firsthand.


    ¡°Uwaaaahhh!!¡±


    ¡°Grrraaaaah!!!¡±@@@@


    ¡°Krrrhhh!¡±


    Hundreds of zombies were chasing me.


    I wasn¡¯t entirely sure, but I could sense waves of monstrous energy as well.


    ¡°I just felt something... like a monster¡¯s aura.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon backed up my intuition immediately.


    But when necessary, I don¡¯t hesitate.


    Hearing the pounding of undead footsteps, I took a step back¡ªthen sprinted forward, launching myself over the wide gap.


    Thud!


    I hit the ground and rolled forward.


    At the same time, I kept a firm grip on my rifle to stabilize it.


    I could feel the zombies across from me, watching.


    But I had already melted into the darkness.


    ¡°This is Park Gyu. I¡¯ve shaken off most of the zombies. How¡¯s your situation?¡±


    ¡°Oh... It¡¯s happening. The zombies are heading straight for the Chinese vehicles.¡±


    The high-altitude drones were neutralized by the illumination rounds, but Cheon Young-jae had taken their place from his vantage point.


    Bang! Bang! Tatatatang!


    The distinct crackle of Chinese-made rifles rang out.


    The zombies that had lost sight of me had now discovered an even louder and brighter target¡ªthe Chinese army.


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 Chapter 99.3

    Back in school, we never had sword-fighting classes or dueling lessons.


    In combat between humans, only guns mattered¡ªeverything else was meaningless.


    Even Instructor Jang Ki-young, who had his head stuck in romantic ideals, used to say, "If you''re going to swing a sword, you might as well carry another handgun."


    And he was right.


    I had rarely used melee weapons against humans in real combat.


    Blades were only ever tools¡ªused when overwhelming an enemy who couldn¡¯t resist.


    So this Chinese Hunter wasn¡¯t some refined swordsman either.


    Their training didn¡¯t even last a year.


    They were nothing more than academy hunters¡ªshoved through a fast-track survival program and thrown onto the battlefield.


    Maybe this guy was an exception¡ªa bit more seasoned than the rest, trained just enough to swing a fancy polearm.


    But it didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°...¡±


    The man with the Qinglong Yanyue Dao spoke again.


    The translator relayed, ¡°Why don¡¯t you have the Golden Fleece?¡±


    I scoffed and locked eyes with Bai Tou.


    ¡°Do you wear all your medals everywhere you go?¡±


    The translator repeated my words.


    Bai Tou laughed loudly.


    One of those exaggerated laughs straight out of a cheap martial arts film.


    Then, he started walking toward me, spinning the Qinglong Dao in his hand.


    More Chinese words.


    The translator spoke.


    ¡°Bai Tou Hunter says he won¡¯t kill you.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Is that so?¡±


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 Chapter 99.4

    Vrrrrrr¡ª


    The sharp hum of a drone¡¯s flight filled the air.


    This one was different from the last.


    Faster. Deadlier. The speed alone carried a lethal sense of urgency.


    ¡°What the hell is that?¡±


    ¡°A blade-type suicide drone.¡±


    Before the words even finished leaving his mouth¡ª


    Clang!


    The netting rattled violently.


    At its edge, a drone the size of a forearm, with blades resembling a knife, thrashed about like a freshly caught fish.


    Bang!


    A gunshot rang out. The drone exploded.


    Tying his hands and feet with rope, I secured him tightly to a pillar.


    ¡°Get on the Chinese military¡¯s common frequency. Tell them we¡¯ve got Bai Tou.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon nodded and spoke into the radio in Chinese.


    But there was no response.


    He repeated the message, making it clear that Bai Tou was our hostage, demanding they halt the attack in exchange.


    Still, no response.


    That silence meant only one thing.


    Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s face hardened.


    ¡°They don¡¯t plan on letting us go.¡±


    ¡°Well... we did kill a lot of them.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae had taken down five more.


    That meant 25% of their deployed forces were gone.


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 Chapter 100.1

    unicorn18: It¡¯s going to take some time to review. Be patient. Getting a plane up and running isn¡¯t exactly easy.


    Just because I sent the data didn¡¯t mean I was heading straight to Jeju.


    I hadn¡¯t expected to leave immediately anyway.


    Of course, I hadn¡¯t made the mistake of handing over the entire disk.


    Not that Unicorn had even asked for that.


    This disk was my lifeline.


    I didn¡¯t know exactly what was inside, but it was too valuable to give away outright.


    At any rate, since Jeju¡¯s decision would take time, we had the opportunity to analyze the data left behind by the mysterious Chinese scientist.


    While Cheon Young-jae volunteered to stand guard, Ha Tae-hoon and I sat down with a translation program and online dictionaries, attempting to sift through thousands of files.


    ¡°... ...¡±


    To be honest, I had no idea what I was looking at.


    And no amount of staring would change that.


    This was like handing a book to a caveman and expecting him to interpret it.


    Ha Tae-hoon wasn¡¯t faring much better, but at least he had an edge.


    He was better at Chinese than I was and had a four-year college degree under his belt.


    Having money meant that even failure wasn¡¯t the end of the road for him.@@@@


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 Chapter 100.2

    He was born in Hong Kong.@@@@


    During the handover, his family left and settled in the United States. Unlike other Chinese immigrants, his parents never tried to instill Chinese values or culture in him.


    His parents ran a business in Hong Kong, one he never fully understood, but it was clear that they had made a fortune.


    As a result, he never knew poverty, nor did he care to.


    He had no national pride, no sense of belonging.


    He was educated in American schools, ate American food, and grew up immersed in American culture.


    He was an American. And up until the moment he earned his PhD, he never once considered any alternative.


    But sometimes, the blood running through your veins changes your future in ways you never expect.


    He had learned to get along with people of other races, had accepted the unspoken discrimination and limitations that came with being Asian in America, and had resigned himself to it, thinking it was just the way life worked.


    But something inside him suddenly stirred, shattering that resignation.


    He picked up a pen and wrote down a single word.


    Zhonghua


    It was strange.


    His parents had taught him to speak and write in Chinese, but apart from his early childhood, he had hardly ever used it.


    Even at home, his parents spoke English. Their spacious, modern mansion had no Chinese decorations, no books, not even traditional liquor.


    They had never deeply discussed this term with him.


    Yet he still remembered it¡ªand wrote it down effortlessly.


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 Chapter 102.1

    The pilot never gave his name, but his ability to land at night made it clear¡ªhe was a seasoned veteran.


    He flew at dangerously low altitudes, likely wary of anti-aircraft fire. Then, without warning, he executed a sharp turn so steep that the aircraft tilted nearly 90 degrees.


    "We¡¯ll be taking the route over the sea."


    As the plane slowly climbed, the vast ocean, tinged with a murky yellow hue, came into view.


    I stared at the water from above the clouds, my mind drifting, until something caught my eye.


    "What is that?"


    Even from this high up, I could see massive, distinct trails.


    They weren¡¯t exactly ship wakes, but something enormous was moving in the water, large enough to resemble vessels.


    I flipped through the mental archives of my long-forgotten animal encyclopedias.


    "Whales?"


    "That bad?"


    "Yeah. They were already smart, but now they¡¯re bigger, stronger, and they move in packs. You can¡¯t escape. The Busan supply ships have already lost two vessels to them. Even the navy has trouble. These bastards are clever¡ªthey recognize the sound of propellers and can tell which ships are a threat. If the ship is too dangerous, they flee. If it¡¯s weak, they ram it until it sinks."


    "...That¡¯s horrifying."


    The pilot chuckled.


    "The ocean belonged to the whales before humans arrived. They¡¯re just taking back their old home."


    I stared at the eerie, shifting patterns in the water for a long time.


    The propeller plane was sluggish, its magic power unimpressive. Compared to the domestic flights I used to take from Gimpo Airport, this journey was dragging on.


    Two and a half hours had passed since we left the West Sea and continued over the South Sea.


    And then¡ªland appeared on the horizon once more.


    For a moment, I forgot I was strapped into my seat and nearly stood up.


    Jeju.@@@@


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 Chapter 102.2

    According to the handbook, in this strange society called Jeju, I needed residency registration to live like a proper human.


    With my stomach still empty, I headed to the district office.


    There, I completed various registration forms and received my ID.


    A young female clerk, probably in her early twenties, alternated between glancing at my face and my documents before flashing me a bright smile.


    "Mr. Park Gyu, as a newly arrived adult immigrant, you have a one-week adjustment period. That means you''re exempt from work for a week!"


    "Work?"


    "Yes. I don¡¯t know how things were on the mainland, but here on Jeju, everyone either studies or works. We don¡¯t have the luxury of idle hands on an island where everything is scarce."


    "What kind of work?"


    "Well, since you don¡¯t have any special licenses or degrees... Hmm. Probably a factory or a farm?"


    "...I was a hunter."


    "Oh? Were you in the military?"


    Seeing how friendly she was, I figured I wasn¡¯t being completely screwed over.


    In addition to the card, I received a cell phone (usable only on Jeju), an information booklet filled with essential survival tips, and a bundle of recycled toilet paper.


    Plastic had become so rare that toilet paper was now bound together with string, resembling an old coin bundle.


    "As I mentioned earlier, you have a one-week adjustment period. Once it''s over, you''ll receive a call on your phone."


    I gave her a small nod before leaving the district office.


    At the entrance, a large poster was plastered on the wall.


    [¡ù Forward Base Recruitment ¡ù]


    Exempt from labor, education, and trainingFlexible work schedule, generous food provisionsMerit-based evaluations and rewardsPriority for those with combat experience against monsters and mutations


    A forward base?


    Judging by the wording, it seemed to refer to outposts beyond the concrete walls.


    One thing was clear¡ªit was dangerous.


    You could tell from the size of the recruitment poster alone.


    Leaving the office behind, I walked toward the shopping district.


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 Chapter 102.3

    Jeju Island is a perfectly controlled society.


    Not just the internet but even the smallest aspects of daily life fall under surveillance and regulation.


    Walking through the streets, you can see security cameras installed everywhere.


    Ironically, those cameras were Chinese-made.


    They were the same model as the notorious machines I had seen in China¡ªcapable of recognizing a person¡¯s face and tracking their every movement.


    Roll calls were conducted through those cameras. A designated spot was marked in front of each residence, and as long as a person stood within the frame, the camera would automatically register their attendance.


    If someone failed to show up, a government official would visit before noon.


    As suffocating as the omnipresent surveillance was, the scarcity of basic necessities was even harder to endure.


    The Jeju government only provided half of what people needed.


    Food and essential supplies were barely enough to scrape by, and medicine was only available in limited quantities through public health centers.


    Like most of the government workers here, the employee in charge was a young woman¡ªshe barely looked like she was in her early twenties.


    "I reviewed the re?sume? you submitted earlier, but... hmm... It doesn¡¯t seem like you have any special qualifications."


    "..."


    I was too tired to even explain anymore.


    The lucky Awakened who had taken over this island dismissed everything that Old School Hunters like me had done.


    There was no point in arguing. No reason to raise my voice.


    On this island, I was nothing more than an outdated relic of the past.


    The employment official flipped through my file and eventually spoke.


    "I searched for jobs that fit your circumstances. There''s only one option left."


    "Where is it?"


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 Chapter 103.1

    Post 328 was built at an altitude of 1,200 meters on Hallasan, positioned along a ridge that offered a clear view to the northeast. Structurally, it resembled a gentle hill rather than a steep incline.


    The post itself was octagonal in shape, appearing more like an observation deck than a military outpost. The large glass windows on all sides only reinforced that impression, making the interior feel open and exposed.


    The key equipment within the post included a searchlight installed on the roof and an infrared night surveillance system. However, the searchlight had been sealed away long ago due to unstable power supply, and the night vision equipment suffered from battery issues, making it virtually inoperable.


    Originally designed for a four-person crew, the post had ample space. There was a large barracks room that could accommodate all four personnel comfortably, a kitchen equipped with an inverter-powered stove, and basic sanitary facilities.


    Water supply depended entirely on collected rainwater. Instead of a shower, there was a bathtub for water storage and cleansing capsules for basic hygiene. Fortunately, a heating system allowed for lukewarm baths even in the middle of winter.


    Electricity was supplied through a wired connection, but the unstable power grid meant that most of the energy came from solar panels installed on the rooftop.


    For communication, the post was equipped with an outdated rotary dial landline phone and a computer. As a backup, there were also personal mobile phones.


    Oddly enough, the primary means of communication was a computer adorned with an old internet cafe? sticker from before the war. It was used for submitting reports and making requests through a designated work program.


    The radio signal was weak but still functional, allowing for some level of connectivity. According to the manual, the landline phone was considered more reliable than other means of communication.


    ¡°......¡±


    The air around this place wasn¡¯t exactly inviting, either.


    Even inside the post, a faint scent of blood lingered.


    On the opposite window, I could make out faded bloodstains that hadn¡¯t been fully wiped away.


    Judging by their pattern, it looked like one of the previous occupants had slumped against the glass, put a gun in their mouth, and pulled the trigger.


    Beep¡ª


    I sifted through the computer logs.


    There had been four previous occupants here. Just a month ago, they were still alive, stationed at this very post.


    They had served exactly two weeks.


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 Chapter 103.2

    I fortified the entire outpost.


    I gathered materials from the storage room, the barracks, and the piles of trash scattered around the back. I stretched wires across the main entry routes at ankle height, hanging empty cans from them.


    Useless during the day, but at night¡ªthe most dangerous time¡ªit would act as a motion sensor.


    I also dug pits.


    One near the entrance of the outpost. Another behind it. Several more in the open area between the last cover point on the approach and the outpost itself.


    The pits weren¡¯t deep, but I filled them with shattered metal scraps and glass.


    Enough to cripple anything, human or mutation, that stepped inside.


    Every hill or structure that could provide cover in the open area was removed. Instead, I fortified the rooftop, where the solar panels were, making it my defensive stronghold.


    For the last line of defense, I built a makeshift barricade using stones and debris I had collected over time. From the entrance, it forced an attacker to turn sharply at a right angle to proceed.


    They gave me 90 rounds.


    It was a win, technically.


    But it also shattered my hopes.


    Three more days passed.


    No sign of rescue.


    No message from Unicorn.


    Outside, the landscape was desolate.


    The ashen fog hanging over the mountain¡¯s base unsettled me more than anything.


    But fear wasn¡¯t my worst enemy right now.


    It was boredom.


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 Chapter 103.3

    No matter how famous I was in the mainland internet world, in the new realm of Jeju¡¯s intranet, I was just a newbie.


    In other words, I was a nobody.


    There was a time when I had spent years as an unknown.


    Back then, just observing the thoughts and actions of other users was enough to entertain me and give me a sense of solace.


    But as my time online stretched on, my ego could no longer remain a mere spectator or passive viewer¡ªit wanted to be the star of the stage.


    And so, SKELTON became a well-known name on both Viva! Apocalypse! and PaleNet.


    But once someone rises to fame, they can never go back to being a nobody.


    That wasn¡¯t something I heard from anyone else¡ªit was my own realization.


    Still, as a named figure on two major sites, shouldn¡¯t I be treated differently from an ordinary user?@@@@


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    ¡°Huh?¡±


    No response.


    Every other post had at least one reply¡ªaside from the garbage posts about guys getting hard.


    A cold, creeping sensation ran down my spine, and my fingers twitched involuntarily.


    ¡°....¡±


    Was I being ignored?


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 Chapter 103.4

    Noise traps serve two purposes.


    The first is obvious¡ªto alert me to an intruder¡¯s presence.


    But I focus on the second purpose.


    The sound startles the intruder, instilling fear and hesitation.


    Some will abandon stealth and act aggressively upon realizing they¡¯ve been discovered. Others will freeze in place, staying utterly still, trying to assess my movements.


    Judging by the lack of further movement, the unknown enemy beyond the fog had chosen the latter approach.


    Lying flat on the rooftop, I trained my sights in the direction of the noise, searching for even the faintest silhouette.


    Nightfall had begun.


    Stars, countless and bright, pierced through the thinning veil of dusk, while strong winds carried across the mountain ridges, blowing down toward my outpost.@@@@


    There were three possibilities.


    A Mutation.


    A person.


    Or a monster.


    I ran through the options in my head while keeping my sights locked on the fog.


    ¡°...It¡¯s not a monster.¡±


    Monsters existed on the borderline between living beings and machines.


    They didn¡¯t think like humans or animals.


    They moved according to pre-programmed instincts, an internal algorithm.


    If this had been a monster, it wouldn¡¯t have stopped just because of a sudden noise.


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 Chapter 103.5

    Despite my growing influence on the board, the struggle to survive at an altitude of 1,200 meters continued.


    Two days after the attack from the unknown Awakened, an unfamiliar vehicle approached my outpost.


    It looked like an armored car, but with the sleekness of a sports car¡ªan unusual combination.


    It was electric.


    I had never seen this type before.


    A new model?


    The vehicle stopped, and two people stepped out.


    Both were clad in white uniforms¡ªones I didn¡¯t recognize.


    They were about the same age, but one of them acted like a subordinate, always standing slightly behind the other.


    While I was analyzing him, Park Seung-su spoke.


    ¡°I¡¯ve read your report. You were attacked on a foggy night by an unknown group using throwing spears. You returned fire, and they retreated. Correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    I handed over the evidence I had prepared.


    A jagged, metallic spear.


    It was crude but lethal¡ªperfectly shaped for killing.


    It was lightweight, with an aerodynamic design that reduced throwing noise.


    The sharpened edges weren¡¯t as refined as my axe, but they were more than enough to pierce human flesh.


    A viscous, harmful-looking residue coated the spear tip. Poison?


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 Chapter 103.6

    It was during the early days when Awakened beings, led by Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in, had just begun making their presence known to the world, and soon after, new Awakened individuals started emerging one after another.


    Even then, we old-school hunters were still at the core of the hunter world, the most crucial force on the monster front.


    Although every indicator suggested that we were relics of the past, destined to be washed away, we did everything in our power to survive.


    Most of the ideas that surfaced were common yet costly and time-consuming¡ªdeveloping more efficient tactics, futuristic equipment like exosuits, and deploying cutting-edge Chinese drones. But there were also more extreme suggestions, such as enhancement drugs and genetic modification.


    As evident from the examples above, most of our survival strategies revolved around strengthening the old-school hunters themselves. However, behind the scenes, some truly unsettling propositions were put forward.


    One of them suggested classifying all Awakened as mutated beings and placing them within the category of enemies that needed to be eliminated.


    Looking back now, it was a thoroughly Chinese way of thinking, but in reality, the first place this idea took root was the United States.


    The background was simple: the massive corporations that had been making a fortune from monsters were now on the verge of collapse due to the emergence of the Awakened. In response, they lobbied politicians, who in turn exerted influence over the military and hunter organizations¡ªa story as old as time.


    We, too, had developed tactics against the Awakened.


    I wasn¡¯t personally involved, but I knew that Jang Ki-young had spearheaded a fairly serious initiative.@@@@


    But this time, they¡¯ve come in force, with the explicit goal of killing me.


    ¡°Ahhh!¡±


    A distant scream echoes from beyond the wall.


    Someone fell into a trap.


    At the very least, they¡¯ve lost the use of their ankle. If they don¡¯t die outright, they¡¯ll be left with a wound severe enough to be fatal in this environment.


    I had embedded rusted metal shards and filthy glass pieces into the trap, just like a beast¡¯s fangs.


    A simple sneaker sole wouldn¡¯t have been enough to protect them. The shards would¡¯ve pierced right through, leaving a gaping hole in their foot.


    ¡°Aaagh! Fuck! It hurts! It fucking hurts!¡±


    The agonized wails continued, and from them, I reaffirmed something¡ªmy enemy was young.


    But youth does not equal innocence or kindness.


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 Chapter 104.1

    The best way to uncover the enemy¡¯s intentions and identity is to capture a prisoner.


    But prisoners are usually taken when you have superior firepower and can strike at the enemy at your chosen time.


    Setting a goal or even hoping to capture a prisoner in a one-against-many, desperate situation is nothing short of the delusions of a madman.


    Last night, I had no way of knowing how many enemies there were or if they would receive reinforcements, so I made sure to kill everyone I could.


    One boy had barely been clinging to life, but judging by his injuries and condition, he was in no state for interrogation. So, I granted him mercy with a single bullet.@@@@


    After securing the perimeter with the soldiers, we waited until dawn to clean up the corpses.


    With four soldiers assisting, the work was relatively easy.


    Aside from the one corpse whose face had been mangled by a direct hit from grenade shrapnel, the rest remained largely intact. Their features were undamaged, and there were no grotesque mutilations, so the process of handling the bodies wasn¡¯t as disturbing as it could have been.


    However, once we had laid the bodies neatly in one place, a few suspicious details became apparent.


    They weren¡¯t wearing military uniforms or anything that indicated affiliation, yet they shared one common trait.


    These weren¡¯t kids who had been living in filth, unable to secure proper sanitation.


    Even their clothes carried a faint scent of detergent.


    But the biggest issue was their weapons.


    The eight I had killed were all armed.


    One carried a riot shield. Others wielded pistols, shotguns, rifles, and even a semi-automatic sniper rifle.


    They lacked night vision goggles or other high-grade accessories, but their weapons were well-maintained, in pristine condition, and fully stocked with fresh, gleaming ammunition.


    In short, they were kept at a military-level standard.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    A chilling thought flickered through my mind.


    Manhunters.


    The mysterious entity that periodically raided Outpost 328, whose identity had never been confirmed¡ªcould its true form be something far greater, something that no individual could stand against?


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 Chapter 104.2

    Unicorn: Just imagine for a second.


    Unicorn: You had a sword.


    Unicorn: A magical sword that could cut through anything. People praised me for having it. They admired me. They turned me into a hero. They gave me everything. Built everything for me. I could have whatever I wanted.


    Unicorn: But what if...


    Unicorn: What if that sword broke?


    Unicorn: Or even worse, what if it felt like it could break at any moment? What should I do then?@@@@


    There has never been a recorded case of an Awakened losing their powers.


    At least, not while I was still active.


    But Unicorn just admitted that she felt like her power was disappearing.


    And I had nothing to say to that.


    This was something outside my understanding¡ªsomething I couldn''t possibly do anything about.


    And I understood.


    Because once, I had been at the top, too.


    Once, I had been the target of all the pointing fingers.


    Even now, I was trapped in this execution ground called Outpost 328 because of the reputation my past had given me.


    If anyone knew how this island of scavengers worked, it was her.


    Maybe that was why she was so afraid of falling.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    I had to take a moment to think before responding.


    On the side of my screen, my "Memo List" was still open.


    Holds a grudge because I didn''t reply to their commentRepeatedly insults me for being a "game-anbun" (14 times)Says it''s disgusting for a man to act cute online


    The contrast between what was happening in my inbox and my reality was absurd.


    I closed the memo tab.


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 Chapter 104.3

    It''s been quite a while since I accessed our forum.


    I had checked in occasionally before, but I hadn''t really browsed through the posts or looked for popular threads.


    I only used it for "work-related" purposes, like looking up Valentine¡¯s or Unicorn.


    Coming back to the forum after such a long time, it hadn''t changed much.


    The same old faces, writing the same kinds of posts.


    At one point, I had grown tired of this familiarity, but now, after being in another world and returning, it felt like coming home.


    If I could, I''d lie on my bed, link the screen to my tablet, and leisurely scroll through, savoring every post, but there isn¡¯t much time left for me.


    I need to message Unicorn.


    It feels pathetic to keep asking for her help, but if I have solid proof like I do now, she¡¯ll be able to act without feeling burdened.


    roka_GG: They¡¯re saying it¡¯s going to be something big on the live stream.


    Rkkara: Isn¡¯t it that cam action again? Now they¡¯re getting bitten.


    Anonymous424: Shouldn¡¯t we trust her? Our Dongtanmom, right?


    Dies_irae69: Dongtanmom is a great fighter. I highly respect her.


    Anonymous458: Who would¡¯ve thought Dongtanmom would survive longer than those PaleNet bastards?


    ...


    ...


    The keywords were ¡°live¡± and ¡°Dongtanmom.¡±


    These two seemingly unrelated words brought back memories of the forum¡¯s old festival that I had long forgotten.


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 Chapter 104.4

    The enemy is approaching in a scattered formation.


    At a distance of 200 meters, no, 180 meters.


    The stones I set up earlier mark their exact distance.


    There are about twenty of them, relying on their numbers to push forward all at once.


    They look threatening at first glance, but I¡¯m not so sure.


    They have armored vehicles¡ªwhy aren¡¯t they using them?


    Even though the rain, fog, and night create a special situation, is it normal for them to walk slowly across an open field with no cover like that?


    Even worse, those low-level Awakened must know I¡¯m already observing them from the roof.


    Could it be that they¡¯re still using me as their training target?


    The time between judgment and pulling the trigger is a mere instant.


    Bang!


    The gunshot coincidentally lines up with¡ª


    Boom!


    The thunder that strikes the sky.


    I see a man fall, barely catching the edge of my vision, and quickly retreat back behind cover.


    Whooosh---


    The intense wind scatters the heavy raindrops in all directions.


    Within that chaos, I hear no screams or shouts.


    It doesn¡¯t matter.


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 Chapter 104.5

    The distance between the monster and me is less than 30 meters.


    It¡¯s the range at which the reflective field begins to lose its significance.


    However, not all monsters have the same minimum range for their reflective field.


    A 5th-level Awakened can activate a reflective field at least 5 meters away.


    If I trust the hypothesis that there¡¯s no significant difference between Awakened beings and monsters, the minimum range for the reflective field can vary depending on the individual.


    But before considering that, what I need to do is observe.


    Monsters behave entirely differently from humans.


    There are exceptions, but monsters don¡¯t immediately attack just because a human is nearby.


    Monsters are like machines, standing between living beings and inanimate objects, acting according to algorithms, like a program.


    And purely in my own opinion, monsters can read intent.@@@@


    They can sense the thoughts of humans who intend to kill them and have a habit of striking first against such individuals.


    What concerns me more is the engine sound of the armored vehicle.


    The armored vehicle, which had approached with its spotlight, is now pulling back.


    Well, they¡¯re probably moving out of the way because they¡¯ve released a monster they can¡¯t handle.


    Boom boom!


    Another thunderclap cracks.


    This one¡¯s closer.


    Lightning strikes a nameless tree, lighting up the mountain ridge with a red glow.


    Then, far off, I hear the sound of a loudspeaker, carried by the wind and rain.


    ¡°The rumors must have been true.¡±


    There¡¯s no way to respond to that.


    I could shout back, but I don¡¯t feel the need to communicate that way.


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 Chapter 105.1

    A breeze flows through the slightly open window, causing the white curtains to sway gently.


    In the vase, nameless white flowers, with long leaves, gently tremble in the wind.


    This is a hospital.


    Before arriving here, there were several messy and unpleasant incidents, but there¡¯s no need to go over them in detail.


    To sum up, I survived, Baek Seung-hyun is about to face disciplinary action for overstepping his bounds, and most importantly, I¡¯ve reunited with an old acquaintance¡ªthe one whose wound I wanted to forget.


    Time has changed in the details, but that doesn¡¯t necessarily mean it¡¯s ugly, or that it reflects the emptiness of time.


    Just as I am still Park Gyu, she remains Na Hye-in.


    In the grand scheme of things, it feels no different from the time we met at the unknown hospital in China that day.


    Those are just ordinary human meetings and events, nothing more or less.


    What occupies my mind now is, without a doubt, Live! Apocalypse!.


    No one can deny that the performance I delivered that day was grander and greater than any show I¡¯ve ever done before in a live broadcast.


    In the end, the live broadcast itself was a success.


    There was no interruption, no phone dying, no sudden end to the stream due to unforeseen circumstances.


    The evidence of this still remains on my phone.


    [Live! Apocalypse!: off air]


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Really amazing!


    VivaBot personally messaged me.


    For a woman who¡¯s picky, aloof, and ruthless, to send such a message means my live stream was impressive.


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 Chapter 105.2

    Honestly, I can do anything. Anything at all.


    With the Live! Replay feature, I could savor the enthusiastic reactions from that day, or I could use VivaBot to do some prep work before the true Viva! Apocalypse! emperor makes his return.


    But still, it¡¯s best to handle things directly.


    SKELTON2: (True Skeleton) Did everyone watch my miraculous live stream?


    The protagonist of the monumental live broadcast has returned to the board.


    I¡¯m sure a flood of admiration and countless handshake requests are waiting for me.


    I sipped on a caffeinated drink, letting the comments trickle in for a moment.


    Alright, time to check the comments.


    Let¡¯s see what Viva! Apocalypse! board members have to say about me, Park Gyu.


    It¡¯s not a dream.


    I can still feel the distinct beat of my heart at this very moment.


    ¡°...¡±


    Could it be that my post got buried?


    The post-refresh rate didn¡¯t seem that high.


    Maybe our board friends are tired, so I kindly reposted the same comeback message.


    SKELTON2: (True Skeleton) Last week, how was my live stream? I¡¯d love to hear your thoughts.


    ¡°...¡±


    This time, I refreshed the post every second and kept checking how many comments were added.


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 Chapter 105.3

    Just because you¡¯ve known someone for a long time doesn¡¯t mean you¡¯re necessarily close to them.@@@@


    Na Hye-in and I are such people.


    We¡¯ve been conscious of each other for years, but we never had personal meetings, and not even our phone numbers were exchanged.


    So, naturally, what I knew about Na Hye-in had to rely on imagination.


    The Na Hye-in I imagined was quiet, cautious, and never revealed her courage on the outside, but someone with unbreakable iron will in any situation.


    Beyond that, I didn¡¯t know much.


    For a long time, I had only trained to evaluate others on whether they were suitable for battle, and I¡¯d practiced that method, so my evaluation of Na Hye-in as an individual was almost a blank slate.


    However, the internet had shown me a different side of her.


    Unicorn18.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure what you¡¯d like.¡±


    It was a small gesture, but it still stirred up memories.


    Yes, Na Hye-in was always someone who prepared a lot.


    Nearly ten years had passed since we were apart, but a person¡¯s nature doesn¡¯t easily change.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have an iced Americano.¡±


    When I nonchalantly picked a menu item, a faint smile appeared on Na Hye-in¡¯s lips.


    As I looked at her silently, she handed me the coffee.


    ¡°I thought you might want that.¡±


    We sat across from each other in an unnamed cafe?, sipping coffee for a moment.


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 Chapter 101: Takeoff

    Message from Defender:


    Nightmares, huh... Well, can¡¯t be helped. I wanted to see you one last time, but with my sister¡¯s condition and the situation on my end, it¡¯s not possible.


    Message from Defender:


    Let me know when you get to Jeju. I need to confirm you¡¯re alive.


    Message from Defender:


    It¡¯s me, Da-jeong. Skelton, I didn¡¯t realize you were going through such a rough time. Is it because we¡¯re not around? If we were, you wouldn¡¯t be feeling like this...? Just kidding. Take care of yourself over there. And don¡¯t forget to check in sometimes! Or even often!


    I told the Defender siblings that I was heading to Jeju.


    It hurt, but it was something I had to do.


    The recurring nightmares were reason enough.


    It was a well-known urban legend among hunters who had gone to China.


    They said it was inspired by Borges¡¯ short stories, and the legend could be summarized like this:


    If you have the same nightmare over and over, that nightmare will eventually become reality.The nightmare itself is never a premonition.The dreamer experiences the nightmare so many times that when it finally happens, they mistake reality for just another bad dream and resign themselves to it.Back then, I didn¡¯t believe in nonsense like urban legends. I didn¡¯t even want to know about them.


    The person who told me about it was a teammate of mine. She¡¯d always be waiting at the breakfast table with a grim expression when I came down to eat.


    ¡°...Team leader. I had that dream again.¡±


    Her nightmare was always the same¡ªshe died by her own bullet.


    The setting, the time, and even the monsters changed constantly, but the one thing that never changed was how her bullet, reflected by some kind of force field, always ended up lodged in her forehead.


    At the time, I dismissed it. A nightmare was just a nightmare.


    But then, it became real.


    Kim Daram had been injured, and she had taken his place. The shot she fired in his position went astray. And she died exactly as she had in her dreams.


    It happened a week before my application for medical discharge was approved, just before I returned to Korea.


    And now, I was having similar nightmares.


    The setting was my comfortable bunker.


    I was lying on my bed, sleeping on my back.


    The door opened.


    I didn¡¯t know why it opened.


    Some unknown force caused it to swing open, and armed intruders poured in.


    I grabbed the gun I always kept by my bedside and fought back, but they kept coming, a tide of black-clad figures flooding the bunker, drowning me in their sheer numbers.


    Sometimes, I died from gunshots. Sometimes, I was knocked out with a rifle butt and beaten to death.


    There was even a version where I was tortured, but the details were too hazy to remember what exactly had been done to me.


    There were many variations, but the nightmare always followed the same pattern:


    A late-night attack on my bunker. A horde of intruders. And my death.


    These nightmares started after Kim Pil-seong entered my bunker.


    Even though I killed him, the anxiety he left behind never stopped gnawing at me. And after reconnecting with Kim Daram, it only got worse, to the point where I¡¯d wake up multiple times a night, gun in hand.


    According to a medical DVD I owned, the best way to heal a wounded mind was to eliminate the source of the wound.


    But the world wasn¡¯t so simple.


    Leaving my bunker might be an option, but where would I even go?


    In the end, the only place with guaranteed security and stability was Jeju.


    ¡°Why Jeju, though? This place is already as fortified as a castle.¡±


    One day, Cheon Young-jae had asked me that.


    I had answered with a bitter smile.


    ¡°Because I¡¯m going crazy.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae nodded.


    ¡°Even someone like you gets affected, huh.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been living like this for four years now.¡±


    Three years was enough to break a person.


    I had done everything I could to stay sane¡ªViva! Apocalypse!, online forums, constant survival exercises¡ªbut in the end, I had failed the never-ending dice roll of mental endurance.


    Message from unicorn18:


    The flight¡¯s scheduled. The plane will take off soon. They¡¯re asking us to keep baggage under 10kg.


    A message from Unicorn.


    I replied.


    SKELTON: What about weapons and ammo?


    It was a question with many implications.


    Unicorn¡¯s response came quickly.


    Message from unicorn18:


    You won¡¯t need them.


    That meant I¡¯d be able to save about 5kg of baggage weight.


    It also meant Jeju¡¯s security was tight enough that weapons weren¡¯t necessary.


    The plane that would take me to Jeju was set to land on the US military base¡¯s runway early tomorrow morning.


    The only request was to mark the landing site with flares or other illuminated materials.


    It was a hassle, but I could rely on Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon for help.


    Then, Unicorn sent another message that shook my resolve.


    Message from unicorn18:


    I told you before¡ªlife in Jeju won¡¯t be easy. The people on the forums make it seem carefree, but it¡¯s not like that. Think of it as one big military camp. If you like that kind of environment, then sure, come. But if you¡¯re comfortable where you are, you might want to reconsider.


    Message from unicorn18:


    A lot of people in Jeju want to go back to the mainland.


    Unicorn...


    Why was he saying this?


    No matter how bad it was over there, it had to be better than living in constant fear of death here, right?


    ...Did this guy not have anything better to do?


    The way he kept posting on the forums and replying instantly to messages¡ªwas he really who I thought he was?


    It was hard to imagine someone like Kang Han-min or Na Hye-in wasting their time writing nonsense online 24/7.


    Still, his words made me hesitate.


    SKELTON: If I don¡¯t like it, can I come back?


    I asked just in case.


    Unicorn responded in three seconds.


    Message from unicorn18:


    Not to the address you gave me. They need a plane to get you out. You¡¯re only getting a ride because of that Chinese data you have.


    Message from unicorn18:


    Our scientists confirmed it and gave the okay, but if that data turns out to be fake, you better not come.


    SKELTON: (sweating) Why?


    Message from unicorn18:


    Think about it. If they waste expensive aviation fuel on a fraud, do you think they¡¯ll just let you go?


    SKELTON: Hmm. That¡¯s a tough one.


    Message from unicorn18:


    They won¡¯t shoot you, but don¡¯t expect to be treated like a human. You¡¯d probably end up in a mutation farm.


    SKELTON: Mutation farm? What, like feeding them and shoveling shit?


    Message from unicorn18:


    Something like that... but worse. The mutations there¡ª


    SKELTON: ?


    Message from unicorn18:


    Anyway, if you¡¯re confident, come. But if you¡¯re lying, don¡¯t.


    SKELTON: (serious) You still haven¡¯t answered my question.


    Message from unicorn18:


    There¡¯s a supply ship once a month. Used to go to Mokpo, now it docks in Busan. You can probably get on that. No matter how bad Jeju is, more people want in than out.


    Message from unicorn18:


    Gotta go. Daily quest on Fox Games. Don¡¯t message me anymore today.


    ¡°Busan, huh...¡±


    Even if I didn¡¯t like Jeju, they¡¯d drop me in Busan, not back home.


    The distance between Busan and my territory was shorter than from Seoul to Busan, but still a few hundred kilometers.


    And I¡¯d have to cross heavily eroded, unknown lands¡ªon foot.


    Unless the Jeju folks gave me a motorcycle.


    But would they really hand a high-quality bike, like Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s, to someone who was leaving?


    ...Still, their attitude hit me hard.


    They weren¡¯t forcing anyone to stay.


    That night, I gathered Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae.


    ¡°I¡¯m really, really sorry about this, but...¡±


    As they stared at me in confusion, I did something that was very unlike me¡ªI threw a fit.


    "Even if I go to Jeju, I want my bunker left untouched. You can use the ammo and supplies, that¡¯s fine. But don¡¯t rearrange the furniture or move the decorations. Leave them exactly as they are."


    Ha Tae-hoon tilted his head.


    "You make it sound like you¡¯re just going for a one-month vacation."


    "That¡¯s a possibility."


    "Are you picky about things?"


    "I can be."


    "How was it for you in China?"


    "Different from when you were there. Right, Ha-senior?"


    "Not bad," he replied nonchalantly.


    After a long, noisy conversation, I silently watched my comrades.


    Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon exchanged glances.


    Then, Cheon Young-jae spoke.


    "Fine. I wasn¡¯t planning on using your bunker anyway. The place I live now suits someone like me better¡ªsafer, and more advantageous in a fight."


    Ha Tae-hoon, idly fiddling with a self-destructing blade drone, added,


    "I¡¯m thinking of building a new house entirely."


    "A new house?"


    "Can I use the garage¡¯s work vehicles and equipment?"


    "Yeah, go ahead. As long as you don¡¯t get caught in the process."


    "I should build my own bunker, too."


    "Are you good at construction?"


    "My father was in construction. We weren¡¯t well off when I was a kid, so I used to tag along, picking up odd skills. It was also around the time my parents were constantly fighting over their divorce."


    He chuckled, staring off into the distance before adding,


    "Funny thing is, once my dad started making good money, the family magically became harmonious again."


    "That¡¯s the foundation of a happy family, after all."


    "Anyway, I¡¯ll be using some of your stuff."


    "Do what you want. Just don¡¯t break anything."


    I got them to agree to leave my bunker as it was, but thinking about it more, I realized¡ªthese guys ?N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t? knew.


    They had already sensed it.


    My bunker was no longer safe.


    Whoever this Professor guy was, I wasn¡¯t the only one in Korea gunning for the top-ranked hunter¡¯s throat.


    Static¡ª


    "This is Alpha One. Approaching at low altitude. If the area is compromised by hostiles or the runway is inaccessible, respond immediately."


    The plane arrived in the early morning, just before July began.


    A night of passing showers had left the air crisp, cool, and heavy with moisture.


    Ha Tae-hoon, Cheon Young-jae, and I lit fires in oil drums to mark the edges of the runway.


    A deep humming sound echoed from beyond the low hills.


    It sounded similar to the propellers of the large drone Da-jeong had operated before.


    "A light aircraft. Looks like a small propeller plane."


    Ha Tae-hoon muttered, recognizing the sound.


    Moments later, a shadow emerged in the dim twilight.


    Flying so low it nearly brushed the mountain ridges in the distance, the plane spotted our lights.


    "This is Alpha One. Runway identified. Attempting immediate landing. If you are on the runway, vacate it now."


    Even in the darkness, the landing wasn¡¯t difficult.


    The plane was much smaller than I had imagined.


    The moment I saw it, I understood why they¡¯d imposed a 10kg baggage limit.


    "Are you Skelton?"


    The pilot approached, pistol in hand.


    The safety was off.


    I stepped forward, showing the disk.


    "I¡¯m Skelton."


    "Baggage?"


    "Over there."


    He checked my luggage.


    "Hmm? What¡¯s this?"


    The pilot pointed at my satellite device.


    "Obelisk devices aren¡¯t allowed."


    "Oh?"


    "Too many security breaches."


    "There are people in Jeju using them. I even got in contact with someone through one."


    At my protest, the pilot put a cigarette between his lips and smirked.


    "...Must be someone high up."


    At that moment, I remembered.


    Kang Han-min. Na Hye-in.


    Their faces flashed through my mind.


    My heart pounded.


    Unicorn18... Was he really Kang Han-min? Or Na Hye-in?


    I had no proof.


    But now, I had a chance to find out.


    To face my old comrades.


    The ones who had destroyed Kim Daram¡¯s so-called paradise.


    The ones whose names I had refused to even utter.


    Even if I was running away from my nightmares, at least now, I had the courage to face the world again.


    "Well then."


    I raised my hand in farewell to my comrades.


    Between those bound by blood and death, words were unnecessary.


    "I¡¯ll bet you don¡¯t last a month, senior."


    "You never know. Anyway, take care. Construction starts today."


    With brief goodbyes, they turned away without hesitation.


    The pilot, who had been on edge, relaxed considerably after they left.


    I turned to him.


    "Let¡¯s go."


    "Hold up."


    "?"


    "I need to eat, take a piss, refuel, and rest a bit first."


    The pilot grinned.


    Once he finished his business, we boarded the plane again and took off.


    In an instant, my domain shrank to the size of an ant¡¯s kingdom.


    Beyond the miniature world beneath me, I could see cities and vast patches of ashen land.


    Three years and seven months had passed since the war began.


    I, Park Gyu, was embarking on a new life.


    And I was going to face them again.


    Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in.


    My old comrades.

 Chapter 105.4: Stay (4)

    Jeju Airport Resembles a Crowded Parking Lot


    The airport is packed with various aircraft¡ªfighter jets, transport planes, and commercial airliners¡ªall crammed together, creating a chaotic atmosphere.


    Yet, only a handful of them are actually operational.


    Most are held in reserve or used as substitutes, with only a select few in active service.


    According to a pilot I spoke with, before the fall of the southern regions, they had a stable supply of synthetic fuel, allowing for more frequent flights. However, under current conditions, air operations are now restricted to critical missions, such as defoliant dispersal and military flights.


    "Does the Air Force still serve a purpose?"


    Since it was taking some time to prepare the aircraft that would take me to my destination, I had the opportunity to engage in a leisurely conversation with the pilot.


    This pilot was noticeably younger and of lower rank than the previous one I had encountered.


    His gaunt frame and bloodshot eyes suggested a less-than-ideal quality of life, but he was polite and made an effort to treat me well.


    As he sucked on the remains of a cigarette, he answered my question.


    "Yes. Occasionally, unidentified aircraft intrude into our airspace."


    "Which country? I doubt it''s China."


    "There have been some from the Chinese side. More precisely, they were registered as Taiwanese aircraft, but since they don''t respond to our radio calls, there''s a possibility they were seized by China."


    "Did China take over Taiwan?"


    The winner of the China-Taiwan war was never clearly determined.


    Both nations ceased to exist in the midst of their conflict, a classic case of mutually assured destruction.


    However, I do remember news reports during the war stating that the Chinese military had successfully landed a large invasion force on Taiwan.


    "They didn''t take the entire island. But their marines did manage to secure the air force bases at the rear."


    The pilot stared longingly at the spent cigarette before tossing it to the ground and shifting his gaze toward the window.


    "Japanese aircraft have also been making occasional appearances."


    "Military planes?"


    "Yes, reconnaissance aircraft. They seemed curious about our situation. Scrambles against them used to be a regular occurrence last year."


    "Why?"


    "They must have had their reasons. We tried to establish communication, but they feigned ignorance. Still, even their incursions have decreased significantly this year. Their own situation must have deteriorated."


    A large civilian aircraft lifted off from the runway.


    Once, it had carried passengers chasing dreams of overseas travel. Now, it sprayed defoliant over Jeju, killing off the vegetation.


    Though the sky was clear and blue, the island¡¯s signature dull, ashen atmosphere was inescapable¡ªeven at the airport.


    Perhaps the empty corridors around us made the place feel even more desolate.


    As I sat in silence, passing time with the taciturn pilot, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the hall.


    A woman in a white uniform.


    She wore a Gukwiwon badge and walked straight toward me.


    "Are you Park Gyu?"


    "Yes, I am."


    Like most people in Jeju, she appeared to be barely in her early twenties. Yet, her demeanor was meticulous, shaped by long years of experience.


    She carefully compared my face to the tablet she held and requested a fingerprint scan, along with confirmation of my name and date of birth.


    Once my identity was verified, she finally introduced herself.


    "I''m Choi Hyun-joo from the Gukwiwon Immigration Bureau."


    She meticulously reviewed my cargo manifest, the items I was required to return, and any other necessary procedures.


    There were no missing items, and I had no lingering attachments.


    Finally, she confirmed my request.


    "You¡¯re planning to stay on the mainland for a year?"


    "Yes, that¡¯s correct."


    I answered clearly, blinking as I did.


    "Will you continue using your current residence?"


    "Yes. I heard I can lease it out for up to a year while I''m away."


    Of course, my real intention was to leave Jeju for good.


    But officially, I was listed as conducting a year-long reconnaissance mission on the mainland.


    I had no sentimental ties to this island¡ªI could walk away without looking back.


    Yet, there was a pressing reason I couldn¡¯t just abandon everything so easily.


    Choi Hyun-joo asked for the pilot¡¯s understanding.


    He took the opportunity to check on the aircraft¡¯s maintenance and stepped away.


    Now, only she and I remained in the vast, empty airport lobby.


    She studied her records, then looked at me with gleaming eyes.


    "Is it true?"


    "?"


    "That you hunted a monster alone? That you took down an Executioner-type¡ªone of the worst small-class variants¡ªusing nothing but melee weapons?"


    Judging by her reaction, she wasn¡¯t an Awakened herself.


    She was just one of the fortunate, chosen ordinary citizens permitted to live in Jeju.


    "...I had no other choice if I wanted to survive."


    She glanced around before continuing in a hushed yet fervent voice.


    "I''ve heard about you, Professor. They say you were the strongest hunter before the Awakened appeared¡ªthat the first generation of Awakened saw you as a threat."


    Her enthusiasm didn¡¯t come as a surprise.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    I had encountered countless people like her in the past.


    And every time, my response remained the same.


    "A protruding nail gets hammered down."


    I answered the question but kept my tone detached.


    There was no need to exaggerate, nor any reason to hide the truth.


    Yet, it seemed my reputation wasn¡¯t just based on my past.


    "You faced a monster just a few days ago, and now you¡¯re volunteering for mainland ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Original source) reconnaissance? That¡¯s not something an ordinary person would do."


    She respected not only my past achievements but also my recent choices.


    "...The aversion to combat keeps growing. More and more people are feigning injuries, and Over-5 Level Awakened are using underhanded tricks to get classified as Level 4."


    Choi Hyun-joo¡¯s expression turned sour as she shook her head in frustration.


    "Because of this, Rift closures keep getting delayed."


    Then she looked at me.


    "In these times, someone like you is a true role model."


    I had no response to that.


    I wasn¡¯t much of a talker to begin with.


    And more importantly, this woman had no idea why I was really leaving Jeju.


    The truth was buried beneath the surface.


    - PICKUP! - PICKUP! - PICKUP!


    The gacha pull was a complete success.


    I used a free 10-pull ticket, and on my first try, I managed to recruit the hottest characters in the game.


    But here was the catch¡ªI had no idea how good they were.


    I wasn¡¯t even playing Red Archive seriously. I had only started participating in the board because it was more active and had fewer restrictions than other forums.


    But even I knew one thing.


    - No flexing.


    That was one of the golden rules.


    Posting obvious, childish brags¡ªlike someone taking a picture of their coffee while subtly including a Porsche steering wheel in the background¡ªwas a surefire way to get backlash.


    And in Red Archive, the equivalent of a humblebrag was a gacha pull flex.


    Yet, in my excitement, I made a mistake.


    SKELTON: Just did a gacha pull~


    At the time, I didn¡¯t realize my blunder.


    Then, the comments flooded in.


    FruitStandNiceGuy: The hell?!


    CreditMe: This bastard, posting something like this?!


    CrumpledDrawing: Goodbye.


    Sparrow: GG.


    QuantumExplosion: ?! Skelton, delete it now!


    And just like that, I was banned for 30 days.


    A short time, yet painfully long when you have no one to talk to on this godforsaken island.


    So I turned to the appeal posts.


    I saw others pleading for unbans, including a guy named Bee, who was let off the hook after writing a single-sentence apology.


    If that was all it took, then I would do the same.


    SKELTON: I''m sorry for flexing my gacha pull. I didn¡¯t know the rules as a new user. Please give me a second chance. I promise to follow the board etiquette from now on.


    I made mine longer, more thoughtful¡ªclearly the words of a mature user.


    Surely, the mods would appreciate my sincerity.


    But then...


    "Hmm?"


    My ban wasn¡¯t lifted.


    A whole day passed, and I remained locked out.


    Then I checked the appeal thread again.


    There was a reply.


    Sparrow: Skelton, you¡¯re not getting unbanned.


    "?"


    ...Why the hell not?


    SKELTON: If QuantumExplosion is the problem, then give me a chance. If you unban me, I¡¯ll immediately curse him out.


    Sparrow: Really?


    A miracle.


    We¡¯re actually having a conversation.


    So, in the end, it all came down to QuantumExplosion being the root of the problem.


    The moment I regained my posting privileges, I fulfilled my promise to the admin without hesitation.


    SKELTON: Look here, QuantumExplosion.


    - I¡¯m done with you. Don¡¯t act friendly in my posts ever again.


    ¡°...¡±


    I felt a little bad for him, but it couldn''t be helped.


    Sometimes, you have to throw someone under the bus to survive.


    Unfortunately, QuantumExplosion¡¯s reaction was rather pitiful.


    QuantumExplosion: ?


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I muttered aloud, even as I continued my denouncement.


    SKELTON: I said don¡¯t reply!


    I could have gone harsher, but outright profanity would have damaged the ¡°Kelton¡± image I had built. So, I kept my language as mild and vague as possible.


    QuantumExplosion: ...Why? ???? (A cute girl crying emoji)


    QuantumExplosion: I trusted you!


    SKELTON: ...


    I said nothing.


    That was my answer.


    It was a bitter thing, but such was the life of Skelton in Red Archive.


    Someday, people would look back on this as just another forum drama.


    But then¡ª


    Someone else messaged me.


    Sparrow: LOLLLLLL


    It was the admin.


    I immediately greeted him with enthusiasm.


    SKELTON: (Absolute loyalty to Skelton) Is this enough?!


    Sparrow: Damn, you¡¯re really new, huh. Hey, dumbass. Do you even know who QuantumExplosion is?


    SKELTON: ?


    Sparrow: That idiot might seem dumb, but he¡¯s a high-ranking official in Gukwiwon. He¡¯s the reason our board got turned into a secret forum.


    SKELTON: ?!


    Sparrow: Well, goodbye, newbie.


    As soon as the chat closed, a warning message popped up.


    [Access to the Red Archive board has been denied.]


    ¡°?¡±


    I suddenly couldn¡¯t enter the board.


    Was the program bugging out?


    I reinstalled the Red Archive app using the file Na Hye-in had given me.


    Still nothing.


    And when I finally got back in...


    The Red Archive had changed into a bizarre, incomprehensible place.


    No human language.


    Only an endless flood of emojis.


    ¡°...¡±


    Did they trick me?


    Did the Red Archive admin set me up, manipulating me into turning on QuantumExplosion¡ªonly to use his influence as a high-ranking Gukwiwon officer to erase me?


    I could think of no other explanation.


    ¡°...¡±


    I took a solid hit this time.


    Sure, my ignorance was to blame, but that didn¡¯t change the fact that in a place where ignorance equals death, I had no excuse.


    And beyond everything else¡ªthis pissed me off.


    For the first time in a while, a seething rage boiled over my usual cold detachment.


    At that moment, I recalled someone I had almost forgotten.


    ¡°...!¡±


    That¡¯s right.


    John Nae-non.


    Was this how my idol had felt?


    When he was publicly humiliated in our forum¡ªwas this the anger that drove him into self-imposed exile?


    If so, then fine.


    Just as John Nae-non had done, Skelton would now walk the same path.


    Message from Ballantine:


    "Huh? Are you asking if it''s possible to breach Jeju''s intranet using Viva! Apocalypse¡¯s satellite network?"


    There was someone who had done it before.


    An engineer so skilled that he had once broken into the Viva! Apocalypse network, something far more secure than Jeju¡¯s.


    Message from Ballantine:


    "I''ll have to analyze it more, but it doesn¡¯t seem that hard. Looks like they¡¯re using outdated security protocols that haven¡¯t been updated in ages."


    "But unlike last time, I¡¯m working alone now, so it¡¯ll take some time. At the very least, I¡¯ll need a powered-on computer with both satellite and intranet access. Also, I need some guarantee of my safety. :)"


    SKELTON: Then please, do it.


    This was why I had volunteered for a mainland reconnaissance mission.


    "Flight 1083 is scheduled to depart soon. All passengers, please proceed to Gate 13 for boarding."


    It was time.


    My luggage was already on the plane.


    I just had to board.


    "I wish you good health and safety on the mainland."


    With Choi Hyun-joo¡¯s polite farewell, I walked down the corridor.


    Large screens lined the walls, playing broadcasts.


    Normally, it was just government propaganda.


    But today, it was different.


    A breaking news alert was on the screen.


    Then, a voice came through the speakers¡ª


    "Kang Han-min, the savior, has emerged from the Rift after a long mission."


    I froze mid-step.


    "..."


    Kang Han-min?


    He finally came back from the Rift?


    There were almost no ways to get news about him outside Jeju.


    I turned to face the TV.


    The screen showed a massive crowd.


    But no Kang Han-min.


    Meanwhile, the announcement played again.


    "All passengers for Flight 1083, please proceed to Gate 13 immediately."


    Damn it.


    Of all times¡ª


    I wanted to see him, even just for a second.


    But I had no time left.


    I started walking again.


    Then, in the corner of my eye¡ª


    Amid the endless sea of people, a single man emerged.


    His face was blank. Gaunt. Expressionless.


    It was a face I knew¡ª


    And yet, at the same time, one I didn¡¯t know at all.


    One thing was clear.


    Kang Han-min.


    At least to my eyes¡ª


    He no longer looked human.

 Chapter 106: Return

    The flight plan was straightforward¡ªdeparting from Jeju, following the southern and western coasts over the sea, then entering the mainland through the Chungcheong region before dropping me off in my territory.


    And by "dropping," I meant that quite literally¡ªI would have to jump from the aircraft mid-flight.


    Unlike my previous stealth aircraft, which was capable of smooth takeoffs and landings on small runways while evading outdated radar systems, this time, I was on a sluggish, outdated model. Its speed was slower, and landing was far more challenging.


    Vrrrrrrr¡ª


    The engine''s vibrations hummed through my body as I gazed down at the endless expanse of the sea.


    Suddenly, memories of old friends from our board flashed through my mind.


    There had been those who sought survival by turning to the ocean.


    The most infamous case was an overseas user who had converted a luxury yacht worth a trillion won into a bunker.


    While our board had its fair share of well-off members, this "Yacht Guy" operated on an entirely different level of wealth, making him a frequent topic of discussion.


    But when the war actually broke out, he vanished without a trace. He never posted an update again.


    Most assumed that he had been betrayed aboard his luxurious yacht and ended up as shark food.


    However, another widely accepted theory suggested that Yacht Guy had never actually owned a yacht in the first place¡ªhe had simply been flaunting his wealth online for attention.


    I leaned toward the latter.


    Regardless, it was a fact that life on the ocean had an abysmally low survival rate.


    Take, for instance, the idea of living on a deserted island.


    Even a quick look at history¡ªat how frequently Wokou pirates raided the Korean Peninsula during the Goryeo era¡ªwould be enough to discourage anyone from attempting it.


    I had encountered a few survivors living along the coast, but they weren¡¯t truly ¡°ocean dwellers.¡± Their lives weren¡¯t much different from ours on land.


    In Europe, someone had proposed a survival plan using a submarine.


    Like most loud-mouthed individuals, they drew attention by boasting about it in public, eventually turning it into a donation scam.


    To my knowledge, that plan had never come to fruition.


    In short, the sea was not meant for post-apocalyptic survival.


    And yet, humanity''s resilience never ceases to amaze me.


    "Hunter Park, look over there."


    The pilot was one of the few Jeju residents who still called me Hunter.


    Perhaps it was because of his resentment toward Jeju¡¯s Awakened government, which had left him struggling despite his position as a pilot.


    Either way, I appreciated the recognition.


    I followed his gaze.


    "...What is that?"


    Something massive was floating in the sea.


    It was clearly artificial¡ªits sharp, angular structures weren¡¯t the work of nature.


    The aircraft lowered its altitude.


    "Are you sure about this?"


    Descending meant greater vulnerability to anti-air weapons.


    "It¡¯s fine. Just take a look, Hunter Park."


    As we drew closer, the enormous structure¡¯s true form became clear.


    "...A ship?"


    No¡ªships.


    Dozens of vessels, both large and small, had been tied together, forming a floating island.


    "What is that?"


    "Refugees trying to reach Jeju."


    "...Seriously?"


    I had assumed they were all dead.


    Hundreds of thousands had attempted to flee to Jeju, only to be abandoned at sea or drowned.


    The pilot had been there when it happened.


    With his eyes closed, he recalled the scene.


    "Despite being denied entry, a few ships forced their way into the harbor. They still clung to the pre-war mindset that if they pushed hard enough, they''d be let in. But the navy opened fire. The ships that had tried to break through were engulfed in flames and sank."


    His voice was calm, but I didn¡¯t need to hear the details¡ªI could already picture it.


    I had seen similar scenes in Shanghai more times than I could count.


    "Once they saw the government wasn¡¯t bluffing, the rest of the fleet turned back."


    "So where did all those people go?"


    "There wasn¡¯t enough fuel for everyone to return. They pooled what they had into a few larger ships and sent those back to the mainland. The ones left behind tied their boats together and built that floating junkyard."


    The ? N§àv§Ölight ? (Exclusive on N§àv§Ölight) plane flew low over the metal island.


    There weren¡¯t many people visible on deck, but signs of human life were everywhere¡ªfog collectors, solar panels, even small makeshift farms planted on top of the ships.


    "How many people live there?"


    "At least a thousand."


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    As we passed over, people emerged from various ships.


    Most were armed¡ªraising their guns skyward.


    Their stance was clear: they didn¡¯t welcome outsiders.


    Watching them, a thought crossed my mind.


    If thousands had been sent back to the mainland, then somewhere along the way, word of their return should have spread.


    Back then, any news about Jeju was considered information about paradise.


    "I don¡¯t remember ever hearing about that refugee fleet. If they made it back, it should have been big news. You might not have felt it here in Jeju, but just two or three years ago, all anyone ever talked about was Jeju."


    As I spoke, the pilot smirked bitterly.


    "Local warlords aren¡¯t exactly charitable. Think about it. Even feeding their own people is a struggle¡ªwhat do you think happens when tens of thousands suddenly arrive, needing food?"


    Brutal¡ªbut logical.


    "Some say the mutations got them, too. Have you ever seen a mutated whale?"


    "Yeah. I saw one in the ocean on my way here."


    "Ocean mutations are far worse than those on land. You can¡¯t just hunt them with whaling ships anymore. The only way to take them down is with aircraft¡ªbut that only happens when the cost makes sense."


    The plane continued flying over the vast sea.


    As the endless, unchanging scenery dragged on, a wave of drowsiness washed over me.


    I stifled a yawn, covering my mouth.


    The pilot, meanwhile, was munching on some snacks.


    Some kind of egg-based biscuit¡ªcompletely flourless.


    Once upon a time, flour had been cheap.


    Now, it was rarer and more expensive than rice.


    Synthetic fuel could be produced in Korea¡¯s industrial complexes, but growing wheat in an increasingly subtropical climate was a different story.


    Then, out of nowhere, the pilot asked:


    "Aren¡¯t you scared?"


    "Hmm? Scared of what?"


    "Going back to the mainland."


    He smirked wryly.


    "If I were you, I¡¯d ask to be sent to a farm or factory instead. Sure, life there sucks¡ªbut isn¡¯t it still better than the mainland?"


    "Is it?"


    I Think Differently.


    Sure, my bunker was better equipped and more prepared than most, but I still believed the mainland was preferable to Jeju¡ªa place drowning in regulations and oppression.


    Of course, I''d have to deal with raiders attacking in the dead of night, mutations, and monsters on my own. But that was a price I was willing to pay for freedom.


    That aside, there was a different issue with this pilot.


    "I heard there are human meat factories on the mainland."


    A head full of prejudices.


    I had lived on the mainland for over three years after the war, and not once had I come across anything like that.


    Sure, there had been extreme cases where people resorted to cannibalism to survive. But this wasn¡¯t the Aztec Empire¡ªindustrialized human slaughterhouses weren''t a thing.


    Even logistically, it made no sense.


    Such a facility would require a large enough supply of "raw materials", as well as storage and preservation methods for mass-produced meat.


    If you had the infrastructure and power grid to run that, wouldn¡¯t it make more sense to invest in sustainable food production instead?


    Now, if I were some die-hard human meat enthusiast¡ªand if there were at least a hundred others like me¡ªthen maybe. Maybe.


    "I also heard young women are always enslaved, and the old or ugly ones are executed with crossbows."


    "Is that so?"


    "Yeah. I saw it on the broadcasts and mainland survivor testimonies on the intranet. Even Filkrum88''s Apocalypse Delinquents features similar stuff."


    Ah, Apocalypse Delinquents.


    I had read it.


    It wasn¡¯t some carefully crafted masterpiece¡ªjust a generic action story Filkrum88 churned out out of habit, a relic from the past drawn simply to make a living in Jeju.


    As the title suggested, the protagonist, who constantly insisted he was an ordinary guy, slaughtered delinquent gangs one by one in a ruined mainland.


    And Remnant, which had briefly continued DragonC¡¯s legacy, had already been discontinued.


    "It¡¯s not that bad."


    No matter how messed up things got, the mainland wasn¡¯t that much of a lawless hellscape.


    It was full of horrific deaths, misfortune, and suffering¡ªbut at its core, places where people lived still resembled places where people lived.


    Even the city ruled by King in Sejong, a gangster warlord, still had ordinary citizens carving out their own territories, thriving in ways that were almost disturbingly resilient.


    "Word is, the Rift is closing soon. Now that Savior Na Hye-in has returned, the process will accelerate."


    The pilot muttered this out of nowhere, his face suddenly stiff.


    Then, the aircraft tilted sharply to the side.


    "We¡¯re now entering Chungcheong. We¡¯ll be avoiding Chinese-occupied areas."


    The plane shook violently for a moment.


    It seemed like the turbulence had coincided with our maneuver.


    Even someone like me, who could keep his cool against monsters, felt fear in an environment I couldn''t control.


    Fear is born from helplessness¡ªfrom the inability to act.


    Once the plane stabilized, the pilot let out a breath and spoke again.


    "They¡¯re recruiting volunteers for the mainland."


    "Volunteers?"


    "Yeah. Sending people there. Officially, it¡¯s a ''recruitment program,'' but... well. Let¡¯s just say I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it turned into forced deportation."


    I could guess why he brought this up.


    He was in a dangerous position.


    He might be on the list of people Jeju wanted to get rid of.


    After all, even though pilots were considered skilled professionals, this wasn¡¯t World War II¡ªthey didn¡¯t need that many.


    And with the limited number of operational aircraft, only those with proven skill and seniority would be kept.


    Like the experienced, middle-aged pilot who had brought me to Jeju in the first place.


    "Apparently, they¡¯re offering settlements in Tier-1 zones for those willing to go. Any takers?"


    "Who knows."


    It wasn¡¯t a question for me to answer.


    But if it were me, I would have accepted in a heartbeat.


    "...So much for ''everything will be better once the Rift is closed.''"


    The pilot chuckled bitterly.


    "Jeju¡¯s government really is just another version of South Korea, huh? Betrayal right when it¡¯s least expected."


    His deep-seated resentment toward Jeju''s government seemed to stem from this issue.


    Hearing him speak, I realized¡ªbeing banished from Jeju must have felt like a death sentence to these people.


    "Where did you live before the war?" I asked.


    "Uiwang."


    "Uiwang? I''ve heard of it, but never been. Was it a good place to live?"


    "South Korea is South Korea. It was decent enough. A pain in the ass commuting to Seoul, but as a soldier, it didn¡¯t make much difference. I lived peacefully with my wife."


    The pilot let out a small laugh.


    "But if you asked me to go back now, I''d never do it. My ''hometown'' is long gone. What''s the point? People romanticize exile, but a ''homeland'' only means something if it still exists. Going back to a place overrun with raiders, monsters, and zombies? That''s just a miserable death waiting to happen."


    I met his gaze.


    "The mainland¡¯s livable enough."


    He turned to look at me.


    His eyes were filled with doubt.


    "Really?"


    It wasn¡¯t a question¡ªit was disbelief.


    Even so, I answered plainly.


    "Of course, you need to be prepared. A bunker. Firearms. Food. Fuel. More than anything, a location far away from people."


    "Ah. A doomsday prepper."


    For a split second, his eyes flashed with contempt.


    That was all I needed to confirm it.


    He had been one of the people who mocked us before the war.


    He had gotten lucky, escaping to Jeju. That¡¯s why he still held on to those nai?ve, pre-war ideals.


    "It¡¯s more livable than you think."


    It wasn¡¯t something I should be saying¡ªconsidering I had abandoned my own territory.


    But I had lived in both Jeju and the mainland.


    Jeju certainly had advantages.


    Infrastructure. Public amenities. Law enforcement.


    But it wasn¡¯t my land.


    The resources there weren¡¯t something I had fought for¡ªthey were simply handed down.


    And anything handed down can be taken away at any moment.


    "In my opinion, if you¡¯re well-prepared, the mainland is the better choice."


    There was so much to do.


    I needed to check on my territory, which I had left in my comrades¡¯ hands.


    I had to rescue Ballantine.


    I had to get in touch with Defender and my internet friends.


    I needed to confirm Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s movements after he left Shanghai.


    And most of all¡ª


    I was finally going to claim the ''new badge'' that VivaBot had promised me.


    Just thinking about it filled me with excitement.


    "Doubt it."


    The pilot looked downward with a sigh.


    "As far as I can tell, that place is just a wasteland of despair."


    Thunk!


    The hatch opened, and a roaring wind tore through the cabin.


    "Well then. Thanks for the ride."


    It was drop time.


    I silently thanked Jang Ki-young, who had drilled us in airborne drops.


    Then, I jumped.


    The ground rushed toward me.


    The land those from Jeju called ''hopeless'' was¡ª


    Covered in green.

 Chapter 107: Home

    Thud¡ª


    I landed on the ground.


    Immediately, I detached my parachute and drew my pistol, scanning my surroundings.


    From what I observed during my descent, there were no immediate threats.


    But this wasn¡¯t Jeju.


    This was a battlefield¡ªa land where danger could strike at any moment, from any direction.


    Leaving my parachute behind, I checked my bearings.


    I had landed farther away than expected, but I was still within my territory.


    Slowly, I began my trek back to my bunker.


    Familiar sights greeted me.


    The distant mountain ridges, the abandoned city, the neglected highways and interchanges, the golf course, the scattered, ruined factories and warehouses, and the overgrown rice fields.


    Everything was just as I remembered.


    I reached a stream.


    It was the height of summer, and the water levels were higher than usual.


    Following the stream, I made my way toward a lonely hill rising in the distance.


    Back in the early days of the war, it had been a barren wasteland¡ªnot a single tree in sight.


    Now, it had transformed into a lush landscape, covered in grass, shrubs, and even fully grown trees.


    Despite being scorched by nuclear fallout, nature had reclaimed it within just a few years.


    It was nothing short of awe-inspiring.


    Now, it was time to cross the stream.


    Normally, I¡¯d use a shallow ford, but with the increased water levels, the stepping stones I always used were submerged.


    Still, the current wasn¡¯t strong, and the water wasn¡¯t deep.


    Following past experience, I simply waded across.


    An incline appeared before me.


    "..."


    I checked my pistol and began ascending slowly.


    There was no reason for my bunker to have been compromised.


    But still, a lot had happened in the past month while I was in Jeju.


    The Legion faction had collapsed, and now unleashed hunters could have stumbled into my territory.


    Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon were powerful hunters, but a single unlucky bullet could kill anyone.


    I had to stay prepared for all possibilities.


    Silently, I moved toward my territory.


    At the end of the incline, I took cover behind the trees.


    Carefully, I peeked past the slope to get a view of my bunker.


    It was a sight I had seen countless times before.


    But something was off.


    "...Huh?"


    This wasn¡¯t what I expected.


    "What the hell is this?"


    I muttered without thinking.


    What was supposed to be my hidden sanctuary was now surrounded by a massive concrete wall.


    I quickened my pace.


    As I approached the wall, the low rumble of an engine filled the air.


    Bwaaaaang¡ª


    A drill excavator.


    The sound of heavy machinery rumbled from behind the wall.


    And in between the engine noise, I heard voices.


    "Stop! Stop! That¡¯s enough!"


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s voice.


    The moment I recognized it, I shouted over the wall.


    "Cheon Young-jae!"


    A brief pause.


    Then, a distant murmur of confusion.


    "Huh? What the hell?"


    I shouted again.


    "It¡¯s me! Park Gyu!"


    This time, his response was clearer.


    "What?! Senior Park?! You''re back?!"


    "Yeah!"


    "Hold on, stand in front of the gate. There''s a camera."


    "What? This is my house!"


    "Just do it, man."


    Grumbling, I walked toward the entrance.


    "Huh?"


    I stopped in front of a door I didn¡¯t recognize.


    It looked like a repurposed industrial entrance, but well-built.


    There was a shadowed gap where a hidden camera was likely installed.


    The moment I stepped into view, a beep sounded.


    Clunk¡ª


    The door unlocked.


    An automatic door.


    And not just any¡ªa heavy-duty electromagnetic lock.


    "Hmmm."


    Not bad.


    Whoever did this had decent skills.


    Beyond the door, familiar faces waited¡ªsweating and exhausted from hard labor.


    "Ha Tae-hoon. Cheon Young-jae."


    My senior and my junior.


    "How did you get here?"


    "Why are you back so soon?"


    They had a lot of questions.


    But first, I needed some answers of my own.


    I raised a finger and pointed at the massive concrete wall.


    "Okay. What the hell is this?"


    *


    The fire crackled softly, logs breaking apart as the flames consumed them.


    Three hunters sat around the fire, each holding a beer in one hand.


    Skewered fish were roasting nearby, arranged in a tight circle on sticks, mirroring the group around the fire.


    "...Is that so?"


    I had been through a lot¡ªbut so had they.


    "It was those academy bastards."


    Not long after I left for Jeju, a group of intruders infiltrated my territory.


    Strangely, they didn¡¯t take or destroy anything.


    The raid happened during a heavy downpour at midnight¡ªno doubt timed to use the bad weather as cover.


    Yet, instead of looting, they searched only the dummy bunker I had built long ago and left without exploring further.


    One overly curious intruder accidentally tripped a tripwire I had set up years ago, but since it had been left unattended for so long, it failed to detonate.


    Still, the fact that a trap existed was enough to convince them to retreat.


    And the final nail in the coffin?


    At the center of that abandoned bunker, standing proudly on an elevated stone platform like a throne¡ªwas a single toilet bowl.


    A relic I had deliberately placed there long ago.


    The intruders saw this, assumed my bunker had been long abandoned and filled with traps, and left without a second thought.


    It was delayed karma for all my past preparations.


    The next day, Ha Tae-hoon, who had been living near Rebecca¡¯s hut, noticed a mess of footprints.


    He quickly notified Cheon Young-jae.


    "See? You¡¯ve got great instincts, Senior. Or maybe you¡¯re just lucky."


    Neither of them could leave like I had.


    Nor did they want to uproot their lives and start over somewhere new.


    So, they came up with a third option to secure my territory.


    That option?


    A concrete wall.


    A massive one, surrounding my entire domain.


    And they had used up almost all of the supplies in storage to build it.


    "Don¡¯t tell me... you used up all the cement?"


    The moment I pointed this out, Cheon Young-jae raised his hand.


    "I knew about a hidden cement stash."


    He casually took a bite of his roasted fish and continued.


    "Jung-ho told me about it."


    Ah.


    Defender.


    Of course.


    Unlike me, Defender was well-connected.


    He probably knew more about my surroundings than I did.


    For all I knew, he might have even known about the old men''s territory¡ªthe one I had once fled from in terror.


    "I handled most of the construction."


    This time, Ha Tae-hoon spoke up.


    His work was impressive¡ªeven from a carpenter¡¯s perspective like mine.


    So I had been curious who had led the project.


    "Didn¡¯t I tell you before? My father ran a construction company."


    "They actually teach this stuff?"


    "My dad thought college was a waste of time. He wanted me to learn on-site."


    "Pretty open-minded."


    "Nah, he just had that self-made businessman¡¯s arrogance. Thought college grads were useless."


    "And yet, you still ended up in the academy?"


    "That was my mom¡¯s doing. Thanks to her, I became a hunter instead. But looking back, I guess that¡¯s the only reason I survived."


    He wasn¡¯t wrong.


    Hunters weren¡¯t just combat-trained¡ªwe had fought and bled in the warzones of China.


    We had learned survival the hard way.


    For a while, we sat around the fire in silence.


    Eating our grilled fish, sipping beer.


    It tasted a bit off¡ªbut within tolerable limits.


    I stared into the flickering flames, lost in thought.


    There was something strange about all this.


    Me, sitting among others, feeling comfortable.


    Even... safe.


    No, not quite safe.


    More like... reassured.


    Looking back, I had always worked in teams.


    Back in school, we moved as one.


    On the battlefield, we had to fight in perfect synchronization.


    I had spent years in collective survival.


    Maybe... this solo survivalist ideology I had clung to was never really my thing.


    I still believed solo survival was statistically safer than group survival.


    But circumstances had changed.


    And stubbornly clinging to old beliefs would only get me killed.


    The world had changed.


    So I needed to change too.


    There was no point in dying stubbornly over an outdated idea.


    Survival itself was the only thing that truly mattered.


    Jeju had taught me that lesson well.


    The method didn¡¯t matter.


    Only the result did.


    I leaned back in my camping chair, relaxing as time flowed by.


    "Alright, I¡¯m heading out."


    The gathering dispersed as Cheon Young-jae got up.


    "Huh? I thought you lived here?"


    "Nah. I¡¯m still staying in the lower district."


    "Isn¡¯t that dangerous?"


    "No mutations go there. Safer than dealing with people, actually."


    He flashed a cryptic smirk before vanishing into the night, heading toward the outer wall.


    Now, it was just me and Ha Tae-hoon.


    The atmosphere turned slightly awkward.


    After all, he was my senior.


    Before the silence could stretch into discomfort, he suddenly spoke.


    "I still live there, you know."


    "Rebecca¡¯s hut?"


    He nodded.


    But his tone suggested he wasn¡¯t happy about it.


    "I don¡¯t like wooden houses."


    "It¡¯s not that bad, though. Comes with a sauna."


    "Koreans should live in reinforced concrete."


    "Huh. Thought traditional homes were thatched roofs and tiled houses."


    "Not anymore."


    "Come over to my place sometime."


    I decided to check out his hut.


    A lot had changed.


    The most noticeable change was the wooden deck, complete with chairs and a table.


    But looking closer, there were far more subtle but critical modifications.


    The place was now rigged with high-tech surveillance equipment¡ªmotion sensors, cameras, and security systems, installed with paranoid precision.


    Even the steep slope behind the house was lined with tripwire-linked Claymores.


    A stark contrast to my own approach, which relied on natural terrain for defense.


    And then, I noticed the biggest change of all.


    The sauna room was gone.


    "Wait, hold on¡ª"


    My once-beloved sauna had been repurposed into a drone storage unit.


    "Senior Ha, you¡¯re not using the sauna?"


    "Nope. Blood pressure''s too high."


    He glanced at my shocked expression, then smirked.


    "What? Was I not supposed to get rid of it?"


    "No, I just... thought you¡¯d actually use it."


    At that moment, I understood everything.


    The one who had turned my hidden sanctuary into a fortress...


    It was this man.


    100% without ¡ô N§àv§Öl?g?t ¡ô (Only on N§àv§Öl?g?t) a doubt.


    Ha Tae-hoon had taken the lead in remodeling my territory to his own liking.


    "Let me show you something good."


    He led me inside his house.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Near the terrace, I saw a shelf neatly stocked with familiar weapons.


    A mortar launcher.


    "A mortar?"


    Hunters rarely used military-grade weapons.


    Most of us stuck to rifles, and anything heavier than a machine gun was considered impractical.


    Why?


    Because when high firepower was needed, Awakened abilities were much more efficient.


    In other words, artillery was always left to the soldiers.


    And in fact, the military killed far more monsters with cannons than we ever did with guns.


    "Got it as a throw-in when I bought some drone bombs."


    "Will we ever need it?"


    "Maybe. If someone attacks us with mortars, we¡¯ll need to fire back."


    "Do you even know how to use it?"


    "Learned from some soldiers."


    Ha Tae-hoon then guided me inside.


    The interior was surprisingly untouched¡ªalmost identical to when Rebecca had first built it.


    But the house itself wasn¡¯t what he wanted to show me.


    A large blueprint was spread out on a table bigger than the bed.


    "What¡¯s this?"


    Ha Tae-hoon grinned proudly and pointed at it.


    "My new house."


    I studied the design.


    It was a detailed plan for a one-story, reinforced concrete home.


    At the bottom, I spotted a signature¡ªHa Tae-hoon¡¯s, written in meticulously neat handwriting.


    "..."


    It was surprisingly professional.


    No, it was beyond professional.


    I had experience with construction myself, so I knew.


    The design complexity was no joke.


    For a pre-war construction company, this would be a standard project.


    But for an amateur carpenter?


    This was a massive challenge.


    Even something as simple as plumbing was difficult for me¡ªI had barely managed to install a toilet on an exposed rock platform.


    This?


    This was on a whole different level.


    "Once the outer walls are done, I¡¯ll start building."


    Ha Tae-hoon crossed his arms.


    "Like I said, Koreans should live in reinforced concrete."


    "Cheon Young-jae lives in a tin-roof shack, though."


    "He could live in a cave if he had to. The guy can¡¯t handle being around people."


    "Cheon Young-jae?"


    "He might seem easygoing, but he doesn¡¯t trust anyone. PTSD or something. He can¡¯t put 100% faith in other people."


    "That¡¯s... unfortunate."


    "Still, it¡¯s useful to have him outside. If we¡¯re ever attacked, it¡¯s good to have eyes on the perimeter."


    I nodded. That was true.


    But there was one thing I was curious about.


    I glanced at the blueprint again, then asked:


    "Did you learn all this at home?"


    Ha Tae-hoon ran a hand over the blueprint, then let out a bitter chuckle.


    "In the end, kids always take after their parents."


    He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced motion.


    "I cut ties with my father a long time ago. But even now, I can feel his influence in me."


    His plan wasn¡¯t just about his house.


    He intended to upgrade our entire settlement¡ªplumbing, water supply, everything essential for long-term survival.


    For someone like me, who had accepted the shift from solo survival to group survival, this was a huge advantage.


    I had already planned to improve my plumbing if more people moved in.


    Rebecca and Sue were good neighbors.


    But ultimately, the more capable your allies were, the better.


    Rebecca had her skills¡ªhunting and carpentry.


    Sue had her strengths¡ªscouting and sniping.


    But in a small community, it was better to have specialists than generalists.


    Maybe that was why Dies Irae was so selective about recruits¡ªthey had experience running a long-term group.


    "Well, that¡¯s everything I wanted to show you."


    Ha Tae-hoon smiled and gestured toward my bunker.


    "Now, shouldn¡¯t you go check on your sweet home?"


    I narrowed my eyes.


    "You didn¡¯t mess with it, did you?"


    "Of course not. Who would touch it when those academy bastards might return at any moment?"


    He patted my shoulder.


    "Go enjoy your place. It¡¯s been a while."


    Despite everything, he was still my senior.


    A bit untrustworthy at times, but always there when it mattered.


    I met his gaze and said, sincerely:


    "Thanks, senior."


    "Tch. I hate being called that."


    He smirked, then nodded.


    "Anyway, welcome back. Having you on our side makes things a hell of a lot more reassuring. We¡¯ll talk about Jeju later."


    I left him behind and headed toward my bunker.


    With every step closer, I felt a strange excitement¡ª


    Like a kid walking into an amusement park for the first time.


    Yeah... a lot had happened.


    Too many choices, too many unnecessary truths I had been forced to witness.


    Kang Han-min.


    Could a person change so much?


    I had also formed a connection with Na Hye-in.


    If she reconnected to the internet, we¡¯d be able to talk again.


    As for that bastard Sparrow from the Red Archive forum...


    Someday, I¡¯d pay him back for what he did.


    But for now, I almost felt grateful.


    After all, he indirectly led me back here.


    Creeeak¡ª


    The heavy door swung open.


    I stepped inside, descending the irregularly shaped steps I had deliberately designed to trip intruders.


    At the bottom, I stood still for a moment.


    Gazing into the darkness.


    Once, this pitch-black abyss had terrified me.


    Once, I had thought of it as fate.


    But now?


    Now, this darkness wrapped around me like a comforting blanket.


    I was home.


    No, not yet.


    Click.


    I powered on my computer.


    The screen flickered to life.


    Welcome to Viva! Apocalypse!


    "...Heh."


    My fingers danced over the keyboard.


    SKELTON: (Breaking News) SKELTON HAS RETURNED!


    I refreshed the page, over and over.


    No replies yet.


    But it didn¡¯t matter.


    Leaning back, hands clasped behind my head, I let out a deep breath.


    "Haaah..."


    Yeah.


    I was finally back.


    Back home.

 Chapter 108.1: Swamp (1)

    Message from Ballantine: Finally, you¡¯re coming. That¡¯s a relief. To be honest, things have gotten so bad that we can barely hold out anymore.


    Message from Ballantine: What kind of place is this? Well, it¡¯s not like you¡¯ll die the moment you step in. It¡¯s not some gunfight-ridden hellhole like Bangi-dong used to be. But this place... how should I put it? It¡¯s a place where you dry up and die.


    Message from Ballantine: And with summer coming, our food supplies are running low. Who knows what kind of disaster might break out? It¡¯s urgent. Really urgent.


    Ballantine was living on the outskirts of Seoul, in what was once a riverside area but had since transformed into an isolated swamp. He lived there with his "neighbors."


    As for those neighbors, Ballantine had this to say:


    Message from Ballantine: They¡¯re a bunch of absolute pricks.


    Ballantine rarely used harsh language. If even he described them like that, then they must truly be insufferable.


    He had warned that a conflict with them was likely and also mentioned that he had quite a bit of cargo to bring. That meant I¡¯d need a truck for this trip.


    Unlike before, this time, I wasn¡¯t going alone.


    I¡¯d be accompanied by Cheon Young-jae.


    His combat skills were one thing, but his sensory ability was the real advantage¡ªit had a powerful effect in preventing the most dangerous kind of threat: ambushes.


    ¡°Alright, go on and take care of it.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon had agreed to stay behind and guard the bunker.


    The departure schedule had also changed.


    In the past, I usually waited until nightfall to set out on these journeys. But now, we left before sunrise.


    With Cheon Young-jae¡¯s detection ability on our side, daylight actually worked in our favor¡ªit made identifying friend from foe easier, and visibility was much clearer in case of a fight.


    Of course, Cheon Young-jae wasn¡¯t invincible.


    ¡°If someone fires a Javelin-guided missile at us from beyond my range, we¡¯re dead.¡±


    Still, not many people were wealthy enough to waste an expensive guided missile on a lightweight truck.


    Following the old highway, now littered with abandoned vehicles and debris, we made our way toward Ballantine¡¯s hideout.


    "What kind of guy is he?"


    Cheon Young-jae asked about Ballantine.


    ¡°A network specialist.¡±


    ¡°A network specialist?¡±


    As expected, he looked unimpressed.


    ¡°Does he have any combat experience?¡±


    ¡°Not much, and I don¡¯t intend to use him as a fighter.¡±


    ¡°Then what the hell do you plan to do with him?¡±


    I met his skeptical gaze and replied calmly.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to hack the Jeju network.¡±


    ¡°The Jeju network?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m going to punch a hole in the government¡¯s intranet.¡±


    To be more specific, my goal was to bring the hammer of judgment down on the Red Archive board.


    Of course, Cheon Young-jae had no idea what I actually meant by that. He mumbled in stunned disbelief.


    ¡°...Wait, are you saying you¡¯re trying to get your hands on classified Jeju government intel?¡±


    ¡°?¡±


    ¡°Damn... did you really plan this far ahead, Park-seonbae?¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    ¡°As expected of ¡®Professor.¡¯ I gotta say, I didn¡¯t see that one coming. I thought you just picked up some random network guy, but you had this in mind all along.¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    ¡°Anyway, is this even possible?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already made all the preparations. All that¡¯s left is the man himself.¡±


    The vehicle rumbled down the cracked and broken roads, steadily approaching our destination.


    On the navigation system, it was marked as a sports park¡ªbut in reality, not a ¡ã? N o v e l i g h t ?¡ã trace of any park remained.


    When the war started, the Chinese military didn¡¯t just target major cities and strategic locations with nukes. They also hit critical infrastructure like dams with conventional bombs.


    The Han River flood control dams were among the targets. Once they were destroyed, the river swelled uncontrollably.


    The overflowing water surged past the levees, swallowing entire residential areas, farmland, and walking paths. The very shape of the land had changed.


    Ballantine¡¯s hideout had turned into a swamp.


    "I''ve been here before."


    Cheon Young-jae scanned the murky, marshland terrain.


    ¡°There used to be a public sports park here. We once did a field training exercise in this place.¡±


    ¡°In a place like this? You guys have a dedicated training ground in Yecheon, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°We handed that over to the Ministry of National Defense.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°You know how it is. Our class was always the black sheep.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae gestured toward the swamp.


    ¡°Anyway, looks like someone¡¯s out there.¡±


    ¡°I see them.¡±


    A solitary ruin stood amid the swamp.


    <GAISO>


    A discount store chain that used to sell everything for 1,000 won.


    The building¡¯s first floor was completely submerged, with gaping holes where the walls had collapsed, leaving steel beams exposed. Probably the result of artillery shelling.


    It was far from an ideal hideout.


    And the swamp itself was enough to deter most people.


    But on top of that¡ª


    CRACK!


    There were zombies.


    A rotting corpse lunged toward us, only to have its skull caved in by Cheon Young-jae¡¯s metal cudgel, which looked like a flagpole.


    ¡°Need help?¡±


    Five more zombies were shambling toward us.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae casually swung his weapon, crushing their skulls one by one.


    As always, his close combat style was utterly inelegant.


    Not that it was wrong, but as Jang Ki-young¡¯s disciple, it was just a little hard to watch.


    "How do we get across?"


    I surveyed the area.


    There.


    A road marker¡ªpainted red and white¡ªpeeked out from the overgrown grass.


    Digging beneath it revealed a rope.


    After brushing off the grotesque insects clinging to it, I pulled the rope up.


    As the tension tightened, something emerged from beneath the mud and water¡ªthe rest of the path leading to the store.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Beside the rope was a small raft.


    We lowered it into the swamp and used the rope to pull ourselves toward the ruin.


    Before departing, we camouflaged the vehicle.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    A net cover concealed the truck, and additional grass and foliage provided further disguise.


    Losing the truck while we were gone would be a disaster. This was a hassle, but a necessary one.


    Once we were done, we climbed onto the raft.


    Ssshhhk¡ª


    I pulled the rope, guiding us toward the ruin while Cheon Young-jae covered me with his rifle.


    I couldn¡¯t see anyone yet, but Cheon Young-jae warned me there were at least three people stationed along the outer wall.


    We had drawn close to the building when a sharp voice called out.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there? What do you want?¡±


    The voice carried not just hostility but also fear.


    Hearing it, I thought to myself¡ª


    These must be Ballantine¡¯s ¡°unpleasant¡± neighbors.


    I fixed my gaze toward the still-unseen figures and replied.


    ¡°I¡¯m an acquaintance of Park Man-su.¡±


    Park Man-su was the alias Ballantine used here.


    A cold response came from beyond the ruin.


    ¡°There¡¯s no one here by that name.¡±


    I glanced at Cheon Young-jae.


    We understood each other.


    I gave him a nod.


    BANG!


    Cheon Young-jae fired a single shot into the air.


    As the gunshot¡¯s echo faded, I stared back toward the ruin and spoke again.


    ¡°Let me ask you one more time.¡±


    *


    The ruin, shattered by shelling, had been split down the middle, forming a deep chasm.


    Cheon Young-jae already had his rifle raised, aiming straight ahead. I, too, gripped a pistol in one hand while pulling on the rope to steer the raft.


    A vast, water-filled interior came into view. Beyond the crumbling walls, three men stood watching us, their makeshift firearms trained in our direction.


    ¡°Seonbae.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae whispered.


    One of them was wearing a military uniform.


    The man looked well past his late forties, but the real issue was what he was wearing.


    His old digital camouflage uniform was covered in badges and insignia, plastered across his chest pocket all the way up to his shoulders¡ªa grotesque imitation of a North Korean general¡¯s attire.


    It was a style typical of the old Corps faction soldiers.


    Especially those who had served on the front lines¡ªthey competed with each other, decorating themselves like peacocks.


    The officers never intervened.


    No, they couldn¡¯t.


    With the miserable support they received, these soldiers were already full of resentment, constantly risking their lives on the battlefield. Trying to discipline them further would have only led to mutiny.


    By the time the frontlines collapsed, many of these soldiers had outright rebelled, forming warlord factions by overthrowing their superior officers.


    The man standing among them was likely one of those soldiers.


    He wasn¡¯t particularly frightening, but a trained and battle-hardened soldier was always someone to watch carefully.


    The other two men were ordinary civilians¡ªone appeared to be in his mid-fifties, while the other looked like he was in his early thirties.


    They didn¡¯t seem malnourished, but they were far from healthy.


    As we entered the building, a powerful stench immediately hit us.


    The swamp¡¯s rot, mixed with human waste, unwashed body odor, and the damp air, filled the space.


    This wasn¡¯t a good living environment.


    Sure, it was hidden from view, and difficult to access, reducing the risk of outside threats.


    But sanitation¡ªoften overlooked yet crucial for long-term survival¡ªwas severely lacking.


    I pulled a dust mask from my pocket and put it on.


    Cheon Young-jae did the same.


    The raft reached a customer conveyor belt leading to the upper floor.


    Under their cold stares, we climbed up.


    "Skelton-nim!"


    A familiar voice called out from behind a crumbling wall.


    Ballantine.


    The men watching us shot him a sharp glare.


    There was a palpable sense of resentment and hostility.


    One of them, the man in his fifties, turned to Ballantine and asked harshly,


    ¡°How the hell did you contact them?¡±


    He was short, balding, and painfully scrawny, with a weak and unimpressive build.


    Ballantine didn¡¯t answer.


    The man in his thirties spoke up instead.


    ¡°That damn computer of his, probably.¡±


    He was tall and well-built, with a face that was almost attractive but not quite.


    Though he had a solid physique, it was clear he had never received proper military training.


    He also had a slight limp in his left leg.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said sarcastically. ¡°Now, thanks to you, we can finally get the hell out of this shithole.¡±


    Ballantine must have had enough of these people.


    He gave me a glance, then muttered in a low voice.


    ¡°They¡¯re absolute nobodies. Just a bunch of refugee bottom-feeders. Feel free to ignore them.¡±


    Park Man-su¡ªBallantine¡¯s alias here¡ªbegan moving his luggage.


    Cheon Young-jae tried to help, but I stopped him with a look.


    There was no need¡ªPark Man-su could handle it alone.


    As he carried his belongings inside, the man in his fifties approached, flanked by the military guy.


    His gaze scanned me up and down, filled with displeasure.


    Then, in a curt tone, he asked,


    ¡°...Are you close with Park Man-su?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Are you his friend?¡±


    I simply stared at him.


    It was obvious where this conversation was going.


    I already knew what he was about to say.


    He was going to badmouth Ballantine.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you see in that bastard, but he¡¯s a disloyal snake.


    He slacks off whenever he can, and the moment things don¡¯t go his way, he¡¯s ready to stab you in the back.


    Hell, I heard he backstabbed his last shelter before running off.¡±


    More than his words, what caught my attention was the scrawny military man.


    For some reason, he had his head tucked in, his white eyes glaring at me, while his hand fiddled with a combat knife.


    Flick, flick¡ª


    He was twirling the blade in his fingers, performing tricks.


    Was this supposed to be a threat?


    Apparently, Cheon Young-jae noticed too, because he suddenly smirked and pulled a coin from his pocket.


    ¡°Crane.¡±


    He flipped it into the air¡ªand in the same motion, raised his pistol.


    BANG!


    The bullet struck the coin mid-air, hitting the exact spot where the crane was engraved on the 500-won coin.


    Both the fifty-something man and the soldier¡¯s faces went rigid.


    We weren¡¯t trying to threaten or humiliate them.


    It was just a natural show of force.


    A group of men trying to assert dominance over another group¡ªit was nothing new.


    Our only objective was to get Ballantine out of here.


    We had no interest in the fates of these people, slowly rotting away in this swamp.


    "What do you guys do?"


    The man in his fifties asked again, this time with a slightly more respectful tone.


    I coldly replied,


    ¡°I¡¯m an acquaintance of Park Man-su.¡±


    The look I gave him was deliberate¡ªjust enough irritation to make it clear I didn¡¯t want to talk anymore.


    Apparently, they weren¡¯t completely oblivious, because they finally backed off.


    Still, they kept their distance, whispering among themselves.


    I ignored them.


    Cheon Young-jae and I stood on guard, simply waiting for Ballantine to finish moving his things.


    ¡°There are more people here than I thought.¡±


    After about three minutes, Cheon Young-jae spoke, eyeing the area beyond the walls.


    ¡°How many?¡± I asked.


    ¡°At least ten, maybe more.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°Inside. They¡¯re all gathered where Park Man-su went.¡±


    Hearing that, I quickly realized these weren¡¯t combatants.


    They were hidden civilians¡ªprobably the weak and elderly.


    And my guess was confirmed soon enough.


    Faces began peeking out from behind the wall, watching us cautiously.


    They were people.


    Their ages varied¡ªyoung women, middle-aged women, even a boy barely taller than an adult¡¯s waist.


    The man in his fifties suddenly yelled at them.


    ¡°I SAID STAY INSIDE! GET BACK IN THERE!¡±


    His rage echoed through the hall.


    The women and children scurried back, terrified.


    Not long after, Ballantine reappeared, dragging a wheeled suitcase, mocking expression on his face.


    ¡°Well, would you look at that¡ªthe head of the household himself.¡±


    He said it loudly, clearly for them to hear.


    The fifty-something man glared daggers at Ballantine.


    ¡°Park Man-su.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Ballantine stood beside me, glaring back.


    ¡°You got something to say?¡±


    ¡°Park Man-su!¡±


    The older man stepped forward, but the soldier stopped him.


    Ballantine smirked at me.


    ¡°You get why I¡¯m pissed now?¡±


    Then he gestured toward the group of people.


    ¡°Half the people who followed this bastard here are dead. The other half? He¡¯s keeping them trapped here with his goons.


    If you guys hadn¡¯t fired that gun outside, he wouldn¡¯t have even let you in.¡±


    As Ballantine moved his belongings toward the conveyor belt, he added,


    ¡°He¡¯d rather die than admit he was wrong.¡±


    The fifty-year-old man exploded in rage.


    He stormed toward Ballantine.


    Click.


    I raised my gun.


    BANG!


    The bullet whizzed past his ear.


    He froze, his face going pale.


    Cheon Young-jae and I didn¡¯t even glance at him.


    We were already watching the other men holding guns.


    Ballantine sneered.


    ¡°...See? Always the same story.¡±


    From behind the walls, countless hidden eyes watched us.

 Chapter 108.2: Swamp (2)

    Ballantine cast them a brief glance.


    After a moment of hesitation, he raised his voice and spoke to the people beyond the wall.


    "If you want to leave, leave now. Didn''t you say you wanted to get out from under Mr. Ryu?"


    I immediately warned him.


    "They''re not coming into my territory."


    "I know."


    Ballantine winked before turning back to the people.


    "You said you wanted to leave, didn¡¯t you? Said you couldn¡¯t stand staying under Mr. Ryu any longer? Then leave now. There won¡¯t be another chance later."


    After making his statement, he dragged his suitcase down the conveyor belt.


    Since there was still plenty of luggage left, I stayed put, keeping watch over the surroundings.


    The man who had fallen on his ass finally seemed to come to his senses, rubbing his ear as he got up.


    He no longer met my gaze.


    The others with weapons were just as intimidated.


    They were even trying to discreetly hide behind the pillars.


    As the man called Mr. Ryu hobbled toward his group behind the pillar, Cheon Young-jae approached me.


    "What are you going to do?" he asked, glancing at the people peeking at us from beyond the wall.


    "Nothing."


    We came here today only to pick up Ballantine.


    Taking in anyone else was neither planned nor something I intended to do.


    Just because we had chosen group survival didn''t mean blindly increasing our numbers was a good idea. That was a shortcut to self-destruction.


    Even within a group, I would only accept those I acknowledged or who were useful to us.


    In this era, sympathy was no different from the luxury goods that once lined department store shelves before the war.


    "This is the last of it," Ballantine said.


    He hauled his final suitcase down the conveyor belt.


    Buuuuuuuuuuung¡ª


    A distant engine noise reached us.


    "Gasoline," Cheon Young-jae muttered.


    Not our vehicle.


    Our truck runs on an electric motor.


    Buuuuung¡ª


    The sound of multiple engines, mixed with static-like distortion, followed in succession.


    This wasn¡¯t just one or two vehicles.


    At least ten or more were passing through the area.


    "Ballantine," I called out to him as he descended.


    "That sound... is it from their group?"


    Ballantine shook his head.


    "No. These people don¡¯t have cars or fuel. Whatever little they had, they ran out last spring."


    The vehicles stopped.


    Cheon Young-jae and I exchanged glances.


    The sound hadn¡¯t faded into the distance.


    Which meant more than ten vehicles had come to a stop nearby.


    "Who could it be?" Cheon Young-jae asked.


    "Most likely raiders."


    "You think so too?"


    From the engine noise, the vehicles were clearly in poor condition.


    They were probably running on low-grade synthetic fuel and hadn¡¯t been properly maintained.


    Operating like that, the vehicles wouldn¡¯t last long.


    A proper army maintenance unit wouldn''t have such issues.


    "Want me to check it out?" Cheon Young-jae asked.


    "Can you tell how many there are?"


    "Not from here."


    I signaled for him to stay put, then turned to Mr. Ryu, who was hiding behind a pillar.


    "Hey. You there."


    No response.


    I kept talking anyway.


    "That noise outside¡ªwhat is it? If you know something, speak up. The sooner we figure it out, the sooner we can all get out of here."


    Still no response, but I could hear whispering from beyond the pillar.


    A moment later, Mr. Ryu''s voice finally came.


    "Raiders."


    As expected.


    "They ride around in packs, kill people, steal supplies, and take any vehicles they find for themselves."


    "They¡¯re not here for you, are they?"


    "They shouldn''t be. I doubt they even know we''re here."


    "Then what are they here for?"


    "What else? Fetching water."


    "How long do they usually stay?"


    "Two to three hours."


    "Then I guess we¡¯re stuck here until they leave."


    Silence from the other side.


    Clearly, they didn¡¯t like the idea of us sticking around.


    But what could they do?


    There was no reason to fight raiders here.


    With their unexpected arrival, we were now forced into an unplanned, uneasy cohabitation.


    The boundary was set at the second pillar along the conveyor belt¡ªeverything beyond belonged to Mr. Ryu''s group, everything on our side was ours.


    To double-check, I asked Ballantine what he knew about the raiders.


    "Now that you mention it, I did hear vehicle noises from time to time. Sometimes even late at night."


    "Do you know who they are?"


    "No."


    Ballantine cast a cautious glance at Ryu¡¯s group, then lowered his voice.


    "Ryu¡¯s people control everything the people here do.


    They tell them not to go outside, not to even look out, dictate when they can relieve themselves, which direction to sleep in, how often they can bathe¡ªthey want everything under their thumb."


    "You still managed to contact us."


    "I tricked them into letting me hook up a generator under the excuse of setting up an alarm system. That way, I could connect the satellite equipment. If not for that, they would¡¯ve banned computers altogether."


    Ballantine hadn''t joined Ryu¡¯s group willingly.


    "I was at Shelter 152. Near Bucheon. It was actually a good place. The shelter leader was young but competent.


    Even last winter, when thousands of people froze to death, we survived without major losses.


    But, well... there¡¯s always that type, isn¡¯t there?


    The ones who think they could do a better job. The ones who think the place can¡¯t function without them."


    Shelter 152 had a population of around 1,500.


    Its collapse was largely due to the Legion faction''s withdrawal and increasing rebel activity.


    But Ballantine believed the true cause of its downfall was Ryu Hyun-bu.


    "He was a high school vice principal before the war. Never says which school, though.


    But we do know he was an apartment complex representative.


    Every single person here came from the same apartment complex.


    At some point, he decided he wanted to be in charge.


    He started scheming to take the leader¡¯s position¡ªslandering him, undermining his work, stirring up trouble.


    Little by little, he poisoned the atmosphere."


    Cheon Young-jae smirked.


    "Ah, those types."


    I looked at him.


    "Seen a lot of them?"


    "They''re everywhere. The guys who think everything will go perfectly once they¡¯re in charge.


    And they¡¯re always the ones who screw everything up."


    Ballantine nodded in agreement.


    "Eventually, Ryu forced the leader out.


    The guy had skills, but he had a problem with women. Turns out he had an inappropriate relationship with someone.


    Under normal circumstances, it was something he deserved to be punished for.


    But let¡¯s be real¡ªthis isn¡¯t normal society anymore."


    The shelter split in ~N§àv§Ölight~ two.


    Some people believed in the leader¡¯s ability despite his flaws.


    Others sided with Ryu Hyun-bu.


    Of the 1,500 people, around 1,000 followed Ryu.


    The remaining 500 stayed loyal to the original leader.


    Ballantine chose Ryu¡¯s side.


    Not because he believed in him¡ªjust because it had more people.


    Back then, he didn¡¯t know Ryu well enough.


    Once Ryu seized power, the first thing he did was move the shelter.


    Afraid of the growing influence of fanatics, he decided to relocate closer to the Legion faction in Seoul, hoping for their protection.


    From the very start, the plan was doomed.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Their convoy was ambushed at night¡ªlikely by a pack of mutant cats.


    Then, to make things worse, the Legion bombed them.


    A Legion scout had mistaken them for a rebel army.


    The 1,000 people who followed Ryu dwindled to 100 in no time.


    Half died.


    The other half cursed Ryu and went back.


    Only Ryu¡¯s original loyalists and a few people like Ballantine, who had no choice, remained.


    The raiders had been lurking around them ever since.


    Then, from outside, the sound of engines roared to life.


    The noise faded into the distance.


    The raiders were leaving.


    Cheon Young-jae moved toward the split crevice to check.


    "They¡¯re gone. All of them are gone."


    "Which direction?"


    "West."


    "Good."


    It was time to leave.


    There was no reason to stay here any longer.


    I glanced at Ryu Hyun-bu and his people, all watching us from behind the pillar.


    Just then, my gaze met that of the man in the military uniform, who had been peeking out.


    Since fate had us cross paths, I asked him,


    "Which corps were you in?"


    "7th Corps."


    "The Eastern Front, right? That was there, wasn¡¯t it?"


    "Yeah."


    Lies.


    Before the war, the 7th Corps had been deployed as a 1st Army reserve unit to handle the collapse of North Korea¡¯s operations.


    Elite soldiers like those in Dies Irae were sent in for security operations in the North, but before long, those missions devolved into massacres driven by disgust and contempt.


    No one knows exactly how many North Koreans died.


    In a monster-infested world, the line between human and monster is thin.


    "Let¡¯s go."


    Ballantine quickened his pace.


    "I don¡¯t know how much help I can be, but I owe Skelton-nim a lot. I¡¯ll make sure to meet your expectations."


    "No, it¡¯s me who should be asking for your help."


    Before leaving, I looked at the people behind Ryu Hyun-bu¡¯s group.


    Despite his intimidation tactics, men and women of all ages stared at us desperately.


    "......"


    I had no intention of taking them in.


    I didn¡¯t have the capacity to.


    But still, they were people.


    I looked around.


    I plugged my nose and took a deep breath.


    The overwhelming stench was a breeding ground for disease.


    In this swamp, everything rotted and decayed.


    Under Ryu Hyun-bu, everyone here would die.


    That much was certain.


    Their chances of survival outside weren¡¯t high, but at least they¡¯d have a sliver of hope¡ªa hope they¡¯d never find rotting here.


    Hoping they¡¯d find some luck, I turned to Cheon Young-jae.


    "Is there a place nearby that takes in refugees?"


    "Wonju or Gangneung would be the safest bet. But if they follow the road, they¡¯re likely to run into the Legion faction.


    Those Legion bastards are assholes, but they don¡¯t kill civilians.


    That artillery strike from before? That was just bad luck. Or... was it self-inflicted?


    I mean, marching a thousand people together in one group¡ªwhat did they expect?"


    "If they run into the Legion, they might survive?"


    "Maybe?"


    Even he wasn¡¯t sure.


    That¡¯s the kind of world we lived in.


    Still, it was better than nothing.


    "Wait a second."


    I put down my gun and approached Ryu Hyun-bu, unarmed.


    His people tensed, but seeing that I wasn¡¯t armed, they didn¡¯t raise their guns.


    I walked past the pillar and found Ryu Hyun-bu.


    He looked up at me, shrinking back, his face full of uncertainty.


    His expression screamed, Why?


    I spoke to him.


    "If you stay here, you¡¯ll all die. What are you going to do?"


    "That¡¯s none of your business."


    "That¡¯s true."


    I looked at the people beyond the wall.


    "But they have the right to choose."


    Ryu Hyun-bu¡¯s face twisted in anger, but he was an ordinary man.


    And it wasn¡¯t just him.


    The other men, the ones who enforced his rule, were the same.


    They had worn their armbands, acted as enforcers, oppressed these people¡ªbut now, standing in front of us, proven fighters, they couldn¡¯t even hold their ground.


    "Hey."


    I spoke to the people behind the wall.


    "If you want to leave, come with us. We¡¯ll take you across on the raft first."


    "Who the fuck do you think you are?!"


    Ryu Hyun-bu shouted.


    I stepped toward him.


    Guns were pointed at me, but I didn¡¯t flinch.


    "Mr. Ryu Hyun-bu."


    I stared him down and spoke clearly.


    "I¡¯m leaving the choice to them."


    Ryu Hyun-bu shook with rage, then looked away.


    I turned to the men holding the guns and stared them down.


    They hurriedly lowered their weapons, looking away.


    With the obstacles removed, I turned back to the people behind the wall.


    "Go. You are free."


    I couldn¡¯t guarantee their future, but at the very least, I could give them the choice.


    In the past, I would¡¯ve ignored this entirely.


    But the past and the present are different things.


    "Seonbae."


    Cheon Young-jae whistled as I walked back.


    "Not bad."


    I looked at the people.


    "......"


    The moment I saw their faces, I knew what would happen next.


    "Mr. Ryu..."


    "Mr. Ryu, don¡¯t be discouraged."


    "We¡¯re not leaving."


    "A lot has happened, but we got this far thanks to you, Mr. Ryu!"


    "Hey, you guys! Just leave! Why the hell should we trust you?"


    "Yeah, what reason do we have to follow you?"


    I had thought they were trapped under Ryu Hyun-bu¡ªoppressed by him, dying under his rule.


    I had thought they had no other choice but death.


    But I was wrong.


    They were defending him.


    As their cheers for Ryu grew louder, as their hatred toward us intensified, Ballantine walked up, shaking his head.


    "......After all the shit they talked..."


    Ballantine looked at them, utterly baffled.


    "What the fuck is wrong with them?"


    It didn¡¯t matter.


    And there was no time to waste.


    "Let¡¯s go."


    There was nothing left for us here.


    I had given them a choice, and they had chosen to stay.


    Ssshhh¡ª


    Ballantine pulled the rope, guiding the raft toward the shore.


    Cheon Young-jae and I stood in silence, watching the sunset reflect off the swamp.


    This place wasn¡¯t always a swamp¡ªit had once been a sports park.


    A series of coincidences had turned it into a swamp.


    A swamp doesn¡¯t form on its own.


    It needs clay-rich soil that prevents drainage, a depth that keeps it from turning into a lake, and just enough water¡ªneither too much nor too little.


    A swamp is born when all these conditions align.


    Ryu Hyun-bu¡¯s group was no different.


    A series of circumstances¡ªsome random, some inevitable¡ªhad led them here.


    And like the swamp, they had trapped themselves in their own sinking pit.


    I had no reason to return here.


    And even if, by some unlikely chance, I did...


    I would have no reason to look back at that ruin.


    Because in every sense of the word¡ª


    They were already part of the swamp.

 Chapter 109.1: A Modest Route (1)

    "Nice to meet you. My name is Park Man-su."


    Ballantine had officially joined our camp.


    But if you asked whether he was fully a part of our team, the answer would be no.


    Dies Irae, a master of group survivalism, once said that bringing someone into a group wasn''t just about providing them shelter or assigning them a role.


    He claimed that a person only truly became part of the group once they earned the trust of the other members.


    He was right.


    Having spent my entire life working in teams, I understood this well.


    I had brought Ballantine in, but for him to truly become part of the team, he needed to be recognized by the other members¡ªHa Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae.


    Given the circumstances, it was only natural to ask what other skills he had besides networking.


    "Before the war, I ran a PC cafe?. After the war, I worked as a scavenger under Gu-hyung."


    Ballantine joked that he had quite a talent for scavenging.


    "Even now, I still think raiding that entire bank data center was the greatest achievement of my life. Another scavenger crew had gotten there before me, but what the fuck did they know? They only took the PCs¡ªleft all the truly valuable, irreplaceable stuff behind."


    Ballantine¡¯s skills were entirely focused on computers.


    He had no expertise in agriculture, hunting, medicine, or chemistry¡ªthings essential for survival.


    The only minor advantage he had was that he had served as a communications operator during his military service.


    He knew how to operate and perform minor repairs on military radios.


    Beyond that? Nothing special.


    And as a combatant, he was barely worth considering.


    If a battle broke out, the best we could do was hand him a gun, stick him somewhere that was easy to defend but not too important, and hope for the best.


    After hearing Ballantine¡¯s story, Ha Tae-hoon called us over.


    "No matter how much computer knowledge he has, it¡¯s not like we¡¯re starting a fucking tech company. I mean, whatever¡ªthis was Park Hunter¡¯s decision, so I won¡¯t argue. But if we keep bringing in people like him, it¡¯s gonna be a problem for us."


    Ha Tae-hoon spoke where Ballantine couldn¡¯t hear him.


    And honestly, I couldn¡¯t argue with him.


    I agreed.


    I had no choice but to bring Ballantine in because of personal reasons.


    But as a leader, admitting that outright would make me look spineless, so I forced my brain to come up with some kind of justification.


    "If we gain access to intelligence from Jeju, we could take a broader strategic approach..."


    I was about to spout some total bullshit, when¡ª


    "Ah, is that it?!"


    Cheon Young-jae''s eyes lit up as he looked at me.


    "?"


    "Yeah, Park Seonbae. You¡¯ve got big ambitions, don¡¯t you?"


    "Ambitions?"


    "Out of all the people you could¡¯ve picked, you chose a network expert. Doesn¡¯t that smell fishy to you?"


    Cheon Young-jae rubbed his nose and turned to Ha Tae-hoon.


    Ha Tae-hoon tilted his head, confused.


    I was just as lost.


    There was no way Cheon Young-jae could read my mind¡ªnot even as an Awakened.


    Then, with a knowing expression, Cheon Young-jae spoke.


    "You recruited a network expert right after returning from Jeju. That¡¯s not normal. That has to mean something, right?


    I mean, Seonbae says it¡¯s about gathering intel from Jeju, but come on. That alone doesn¡¯t explain why he rushed to recruit this guy. Right, Ha Seonbae?"


    Ha Tae-hoon furrowed his brows in thought.


    "Now that you mention it... yeah. If it was just about gathering intel, he wouldn¡¯t have gone out of his way to find a network expert this fast."


    Both hunters turned to look at me.


    "......"


    I said nothing.


    But the conversation kept flowing anyway.


    "Park Seonbae saw firsthand just how rotten the Jeju government is, didn¡¯t he?


    So naturally, he must¡¯ve thought to himself:


    ¡®Shit. I can¡¯t just let these fuckers do whatever they want.¡¯


    That¡¯s why he came back ? N§àv§Öl?§Ôht ? (Don¡¯t copy, read here) here with a plan."


    "You think he brought in a network expert to prepare for a fight against the Jeju government?"


    "Exactly. What other explanation is there?


    This is Professor we¡¯re talking about."


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Cheon Young-jae stared at me, his eyes narrowing with smug confidence.


    "I know what you¡¯re thinking, Park Seonbae."


    "......Oh yeah? What do you think I¡¯m thinking?"


    There was no fucking way he knew.


    There was no way he could¡¯ve guessed that I had brought in Ballantine purely out of spite¡ªto get revenge on the Red Archive forum for insulting and kicking me out.


    If he figured that out, then he should be crowned King of this fucking place.


    Because that would mean he can literally read minds.


    Then, Cheon Young-jae spoke.


    "Failnet."


    What the fuck?


    For a split second, I was genuinely confused.


    "Failnet?"


    "Yeah. You¡¯re planning to make something like Failnet, aren¡¯t you?


    That guy even said in the truck that he was the last person maintaining Failnet."


    I had never even thought about that.


    But then, Ha Tae-hoon, nodding enthusiastically, jumped into the conversation.


    "So that¡¯s what it was."


    The misunderstanding kept growing, but honestly, I didn¡¯t see any need to correct them.


    The bigger Ballantine¡¯s role seemed, the more the other hunters would respect him.


    Even if it was based on a total misunderstanding, it meant that Ballantine would be fully accepted into the team.


    Because of this wild misconception, I even got to hear an outside perspective on John Nae-non¡ªnot from internet friends, but from real people.


    "Why didn¡¯t the guy who made Failnet ever get into politics?"


    "Yeah, seriously. That dude¡ªwhat was his name? John Lennon or something?"


    I couldn¡¯t hold back and interrupted.


    "John Nae-non."


    "Ah."


    Ha Tae-hoon glanced at me before continuing.


    "Yeah, whatever. John Nae-non. If that guy had gone full force against the Seoul government, history might¡¯ve turned out completely different."


    "I agree.


    The president was gone, rumors were flying, the Seoul government was a headless husk.


    If some superhuman had stepped up then, history would have changed.


    I don¡¯t know if it would¡¯ve been for the better, but at the very least, Seoul might still be livable today."


    To me, John Nae-non was my internet idol, my hero.


    But to regular people, he was just a political force, someone who had public support and potential political power.


    I guess it made sense.


    Since Failnet had become the only public forum, it was only natural that the person who built it gained massive influence.


    Would he have ever become Seoul¡¯s leader?


    That was a different question.


    But he could have been the one to keep the Seoul government in check.


    Either way, Ballantine¡¯s recruitment was settled¡ªeven if it was based on completely different reasons than I intended.


    Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae genuinely welcomed him, accepting him as one of us.


    But our business had only just begun.


    *


    "Yes. With an environment like this, I can work just fine."


    As expected, Ballantine liked my base.


    Especially the sturdy outer walls¡ªthey gave him a sense of security.


    "When I glanced at it before, it didn¡¯t seem all that secure.


    It doesn¡¯t look like you used any real professionals to set it up, either.


    I might run into a few trial-and-error issues, but compared to hacking Viva! Apocalypse!, this should be a walk in the park."


    Ballantine spoke with strong confidence.


    And considering he wasn¡¯t the type to talk big, it meant he was genuinely sure of it.


    But something felt off.


    If you could go to Jeju without Awakened abilities, that meant you were at the absolute top tier of your field.


    So how could he claim that the security was weak?


    I had to ask.


    "Aren¡¯t there any skilled people in Jeju?"


    Ballantine responded without hesitation.


    "There probably aren¡¯t."


    "Really? Why is that?"


    "Because IT work has a high barrier to entry¡ªyou have to major in it.


    But once you cross that hurdle, it becomes the perfect place to stick some big shot¡¯s kid into a cushy job.


    People on the outside wouldn¡¯t notice, would they?"


    "Well, yeah, that¡¯s true."


    "And it¡¯s not like we¡¯re talking about normal internet security.


    We¡¯re talking about a closed intranet.


    I highly doubt the people handling that security got in based on merit.


    Most likely, they had the right connections.


    To be honest, the best way to stop an internet attack is to just unplug the LAN cable.


    But in our case, you¡¯ve already set up a way in, Skelton, so we actually have a shot."


    "Call me Skelton."


    "Sorry?"


    "When it¡¯s just us, call me Skelton."


    "Ah... yes, of course..."


    I gave Ballantine one of my decoy bunkers as his living quarters and workspace.


    Naturally, I removed all the explosives from inside first.


    While Ballantine and I cleaned and organized the bunker, I could hear the sounds of work coming from the outer walls, where Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon were busy.


    The constant noise of activity everywhere made it really feel like a community was taking shape.


    With more people, we needed more resources.


    For now, we could reuse the old toilets, but four people meant that a single water tank wasn¡¯t enough for bathing.


    At some point, Ha Tae-hoon and I would have to drill a new well to secure a stable groundwater source.


    By the time we finished setting up Ballantine, the sun was setting.


    Ballantine was working on connecting the internet satellite equipment.


    "I¡¯ll head back for today."


    "Yeah, go ahead."


    Ballantine stood up and bowed politely.


    "Thank you for your help. I look forward to working with you."


    "Oh, come on. It¡¯s nothing. We all help each other out."


    That¡¯s not something I should be saying, though.


    "By the way, Skelton... are you really planning to create a second Failnet?"


    "......I don¡¯t know."


    "Huh? But earlier, the hunters said you brought me in to build one."


    "Well... I¡¯m considering it."


    "Ah, I see.


    I suppose making a second Failnet wouldn¡¯t be easy, after all."


    If I could, it wouldn¡¯t be a bad idea.


    But the process and cost of doing it in this kind of world were too steep.


    As I left the bunker, Ballantine spoke.


    "Ah. Dongtanmom posted something."


    It wasn¡¯t directed at me.


    Just him muttering to himself.


    But that one sentence had enough impact to stop me in my tracks.


    "Dongtanmom?"


    He had gone out to sea.


    A legend¡ªno, a myth.


    This Skelton, aka TwelveSquare, had orchestrated a grand escape, set sail from Shanghai, and vanished into the open ocean just before his legendary live stream.


    Dongtanmom, who clung to his mystique, had never revealed his destination.


    But most assumed it was Jeju.


    After all, that was his original goal.


    And with major cities like Incheon and Seoul completely destroyed, there weren¡¯t many places left to go.


    Since then, Dongtanmom had gone silent.


    Three days had passed with no updates.


    Some on the forum theorized that he had faked his route to throw off Jeju¡¯s pursuers.


    Others believed he had become fish food.


    But now, Dongtanmom had posted.


    I could check through Ballantine¡¯s computer, but news like this was best seen on my own.


    So, I walked faster than usual toward my bunker.


    "Where the hell are you rushing off to, Professor?


    Bathroom?"


    Ha Tae-hoon, wiping his face with a towel, asked casually.


    I brushed off his question and headed inside.


    Sitting at my laptop, I opened the forum and clicked on the top post under the trending tab.


    There it was.


    Dongtanmom¡¯s post.


    dongtanmom: nyam nyam... this is bad... nyam...


    I clicked.


    Autopilot¡¯s broken. GPS is useless out at sea. Looks like the bastard who "helped" me get this boat to Jeju tampered with the system. I put all my faith in autopilot, but turns out the ship was going the wrong way the whole time. I¡¯m off the coast of Okinawa. I only figured it out after picking up Japanese radio signals.


    Every action carries risk.


    Especially when it¡¯s your first time doing something.


    Dongtanmom was an elite hunter and a tough survivor¡ªbut at sea, he was just another clueless rookie.


    He must have discovered the autopilot while repairing the ship¡¯s controls and blindly trusted it.


    Humans tend to trust machines without question¡ªlike drivers mindlessly following GPS directions before the war.


    And now, he was paying the price.


    Supplies are running low. There was a ton of loot in Shanghai, but if you saw my live stream, you know getting that loot was life or death. I couldn¡¯t carry much. My crew is trying to fish, but it¡¯s not easy.


    We need a place to dock, even for a little while. Anyone got ideas? If we don¡¯t figure something out today, fuel will become an issue too.


    Come on, forum friends. I know I talk a lot of shit, but I put on a good show, right? Help us out¡ªfor my baby. But listen, I¡¯m only taking advice from people who actually know about boats. If you don¡¯t know shit, keep scrolling~


    In the most Dongtanmom way possible, he was begging for help¡ªbut still managing to sound like an asshole.


    Of course, the forum exploded.


    Anonymous458: Don¡¯t you even have a compass? How the fuck do you get lost on the way to Okinawa?


    Anonymous1429: Just catch a whale. That should keep you alive for months.


    berkut_break: Anyone else reminded of the Mig-Nonet incident?


    Anonymous1392: If you go to Jeju, you¡¯re fucked.


    roka_GG: You chose the sea! Suck it up and survive!


    Rkkara: Even his begging is fucking annoying.


    ...


    ...


    I scrolled up and down.


    Not a single useful response.


    Because nobody knew shit about the ocean.


    Neither did I.


    Even Jang Ki-young, who taught me damn near everything, never bothered with boats.


    It wasn¡¯t his area of interest either.


    Meanwhile, Dongtanmom¡ªor rather, Baek Seonbae¡ªwas losing his mind.


    dongtanmom: nyam nyam... I fucking knew it... useless pieces of shit... fucking parasites... not a single one of you is helpful when it actually matters... nyam...


    Dongtanmom had snapped.

 Chapter 109.2: A Modest Route (2)

    I get it.


    Not just for himself, but for his family, he risked everything to venture out into the sea, only to find that there was no hope waiting for him.


    But even in this situation, Dongtanmom''s way of handling things doesn''t seem particularly great.


    And of course¡ª


    mmmmmmmmm: Hey. Dongtanmom. I get where you¡¯re coming from, but could you maybe say things a little more nicely? Yeah? No?


    M9 throws in a sharp remark.


    M9¡¯s comment quickly gains traction, receiving upvotes from other silent users and shooting up to the trending posts in an instant.


    Seeing that, I decided to chime in as well.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON proverb) Speak kindly today, and tomorrow¡¯s words will be kind too.


    A perfectly balanced mix of wisdom and humor.


    But it was buried in seconds.


    The flood of posts was moving much faster than usual.


    And amidst all this, Dongtanmom posted yet another controversial message.


    dongtanmom: What¡¯s even left on this board when it¡¯s just a bunch of freeloading parasites?


    ¡°......¡±


    This isn¡¯t good.


    Objectively speaking, how many people on our board actually like Dongtanmom?


    Without a doubt, not a single one.


    His popularity isn¡¯t because of any personal charm, but rather the spectacle he put on in Live! Apocalypse!¡ªa show on an entirely different level.


    In fact, even that so-called popularity isn¡¯t really within our board but mostly in the foreign language boards.


    And now, in this situation, he¡¯s going ahead and slandering the entire board?


    That¡¯s just tying the noose around his own neck.


    mmmmmmmmm: If you don¡¯t like the temple, then the monk should leave. If you¡¯re so unhappy, just get lost.


    M9 fires back.


    M9 and Baek Seung-hyun have never gotten along.


    They nearly took it to a real-life fight once.


    M9 just happened to bail at the last second, which was the only reason it didn¡¯t escalate further.


    And his taunts didn¡¯t stop.


    mmmmmmmmm: No other options? Swim your way over, then.


    mmmmmmmmm: Or just abandon the boat!


    mmmmmmmmm: Bubble, bubble! Gurgle! Oh! Ohhh!


    mmmmmmmmm: Under the sea~ Under the sea~


    M9¡¯s taunting was amusing, but something about this didn¡¯t sit right with me.


    I immediately sent him a message.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON restraint warning) Hey, M9. I get that you¡¯re mad, but aren¡¯t you going too far?


    mmmmmmmmm: What¡¯s the problem?


    SKELTON: (SKELTON concern) I mean, as much as Dongtanmom pisses people off, he really is about to start gurgling for real. Maybe don¡¯t push him so hard?


    mmmmmmmmm: That bastard¡¯s a pain in the ass. A real piece of work till the day he dies. Ugh. And now he¡¯s a washed-up has-been, even losing to TwelveSquare.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON = TwelveSquare) That so...?


    mmmmmmmmm: Anyway, I¡¯ll stop after this round. He¡¯s just going to start whining again later. I¡¯ll save it for then.


    True to his word, M9 didn¡¯t provoke Dongtanmom any further.


    But Dongtanmom was still Dongtanmom.


    As if to vent his frustration at being backed into a corner, he started spewing curses at us.


    dongtanmom: You leeches just leech off the board without producing a single piece of content.


    dongtanmom: What the hell can you guys even do without me?


    dongtanmom: A Fox shit-game? A boring, bug-ridden mess?


    He¡¯s my senior, but why does he have to be this pathetic?


    If it were up to me, I¡¯d block him right away, but... I still have to keep him alive.


    I need to figure out what I can do.


    ¡°...Hmm?¡±


    Wait a minute.


    Didn¡¯t Dongtanmom say he was somewhere in the northern seas off Okinawa?


    His biggest problem right now is the lack of supplies.


    He¡¯s looking for a place to dock.


    But he has nowhere to go.


    Japan is out of the question. Jeju is out of the question.


    Most port cities along the southern coast have fallen, and Incheon is way too far.


    But... I do know of a place where he might be able to stay.


    That island of ships I saw from the plane.


    I don¡¯t know the exact coordinates, but I have a general idea of where it is.


    Somewhere west of Jeju, probably leaning more towards the northwestern side.


    Since it¡¯s a cluster of massive ships, it should be visible from afar if the weather is clear.


    Of course, whether those ¡°islanders¡± would welcome Baek Seung-hyun or not¡ªthat¡¯s his problem to deal with.


    ¡°......¡±


    Tap, tap, tap.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON serious) Dongtanmom. We need to talk for a moment.


    I sent the message.


    The rest was up to him.


    A reply arrived soon after.


    dongtanmom: And what do you want? Thought you were dead since I haven¡¯t seen you in a while. You just dropping by to announce you¡¯re still alive?


    Still as angry as ever.


    The old me would have ignored him.


    But not this time.


    SKELTON: Calm down, Dongtanmom. I know a way to solve your problem.


    I hadn¡¯t received my reward from VivaBot yet, nor had I done anything to make a name for myself across the board.


    But I was still a representative user of Viva! Apocalypse!


    That meant I couldn¡¯t afford to let even a single user go to waste.


    dongtanmom: Munch, munch... And what the hell is your useless ass gonna do to help me? Munch...


    SKELTON: You¡¯re looking for a place to dock, right?


    dongtanmom: Munch, munch... What? You know a place? You actually know something? Munch?


    SKELTON: (SKELTON unwavering eyes) Calm down, Dongtanmom. I¡¯m not here to mess with you.


    dongtanmom: Bullshit... lol...


    ¡°......¡±


    Tap, tap, tap.


    SKELTON: There¡¯s an island of ships west of Jeju.


    I told him what I had seen from the plane.


    dongtanmom: That cluster of ghost ships? How the hell do you know about that????


    So Baek Seung-hyun knows about it too.


    That ship island.


    It¡¯s not impossible.


    On clear days, you can see ships as far as 40km away over the sea.


    If he traveled straight from Incheon to Shanghai, he might have seen those ships along the way.


    SKELTON: People live there.


    dongtanmom: ?


    dongtanmom: And I¡¯m supposed to believe that? Those ships are jammed together like a shipwreck graveyard, and you¡¯re telling me people live there? lol


    SKELTON: Yeah, they do.


    dongtanmom: And why the hell should I believe you?


    SKELTON: Believe me or don¡¯t¡ªit¡¯s your choice. All I know is that there are people living there. Whether they welcome you or attack you, I have no idea.


    SKELTON: But over a thousand people are living on those ships. They farm, they generate electricity, they survive. I don¡¯t know how they¡¯ll react to you. They might attack you. But isn¡¯t that still better than drifting aimlessly through the open sea with nothing?


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    That was the best advice I could give.


    I wasn¡¯t going to say anything more.


    dongtanmom: What if...


    Dongtanmom¡¯s message popped up.


    I stared at it as it appeared on my screen.


    dongtanmom: What if there¡¯s no one there?


    SKELTON: Then what if there is?


    dongtanmom: If you¡¯re wrong, you¡¯re dead meat.


    That was the last message I received from him.


    Three days later, Dongtanmom reappeared on the board.


    *


    Without any prior notice, Dongtanmom posted an update.


    The content of the post was incredibly short, containing not even a single photo.


    -Still alive.


    Users who still held a grudge against him snarked at his survival.


    Anonymous1429: Bet he¡¯s dead by tomorrow.


    Anonymous1392: Did you do a battle royale?


    Maybe it was a reflection of their lingering resentment, or maybe they¡¯d just lost interest, but surprisingly few comments followed.


    But there was one person who was bound to respond.


    M9.


    Was there anyone who disliked Dongtanmom as much as M9?


    Of course not.


    And sure enough, not long after, M9 made a post.


    mmmmmmmmm: Dongtanmom.


    What¡¯s it going to be this time?


    What creative insult was he about to throw?


    Curious, I clicked on the post.


    -Come back alive.


    I blinked and checked the author again.


    I hadn¡¯t misread.


    It was M9, no doubt about it.


    There was more.


    - You¡¯re only a one-year-old newbie, but at least you¡¯re better than the recent ones. So don¡¯t die.


    Amazingly, M9 didn¡¯t criticize Dongtanmom.


    He was actually rooting for him.


    And just to make sure there was no misunderstanding, he doubled down with another post.


    mmmmmmmmm: You¡¯ve got another live show to do, right? Not like it¡¯ll beat my secret content¡ªThe Hope: Self-Repair Edition, but still.


    mmmmmmmmm: I don¡¯t want to lose a good rival. Come ~N§àv§Ölight~ back alive. With the baby too.


    He probably didn¡¯t write it expecting some emotional response.


    The tone was even a little humorous.


    And yet, for some reason, I found myself staring at that seemingly insignificant post for a long time.


    ¡°......¡±


    Can people really feel a sense of connection like this?


    At least, right now.


    This moment.


    It¡¯s... nice.


    Really nice.


    One hour later, Dongtanmom posted another update.


    Real Status Update.jpg


    As expected, the post shot to the top of the trending board.


    Any resentment toward him didn¡¯t matter.


    Dongtanmom might be the board¡¯s resident pest, but he was also one of its top content creators.


    And this time, more than ever, he proved that.


    He began the post with:


    "Encountered an island of scrap metal in the middle of the endless sea."


    Dongtanmom had set course for the scrap-metal island I had told him about.


    Two perspectives were presented.


    At the start, the emphasis wasn¡¯t on Dongtanmom¡¯s group but rather on the people already living on the island.


    "What the hell?! Isn¡¯t that a damn oil tanker?!"


    "That thing¡¯s huge as hell!"


    "Get the others! Grab your guns and get outside!"


    The islanders panicked as they saw the massive oil tanker approaching.


    Not long ago, pirates had frequently targeted their scrap-metal island.


    Nowadays, it was rare, but just last year, pirate raids had been a serious problem.


    Pirate ships were typically fast motorboats.


    They¡¯d stash them on a ferry, find a target, then release the boats in a coordinated attack¡ªoverwhelming unlucky sailors with speed and numbers.


    But this ship...


    This wasn¡¯t some pirate ferry.


    This was an ultra-large oil tanker.


    They couldn¡¯t even begin to estimate how many people were aboard.


    "This is it. We¡¯re dead."


    "Shit. We were already one step from death anyway."


    "They¡¯re not Chinese, right?"


    But they weren¡¯t the only ones nervous.


    Dongtanmom¡¯s group was equally terrified.


    No matter how big their ship was, they only had thirty people.


    I had told him that the island housed over a thousand people.


    If they were hostile, this would be hell.


    From one hell, Shanghai, straight into another.


    At this point, Dongtanmom narrated:


    "It was a standoff. Guns pointed at each other. But then, someone on the island saw it."


    And then he attached a long-forgotten photograph.


    It showed the ship¡¯s name, partially erased by rust but still faintly visible.


    That¡¯s right.


    The ship¡¯s name was:


    -Hope.


    That name brought about a miracle.


    "Wait. Is that the Hope?"


    "Is this really Hope?"


    "So they really did convert an oil tanker... It¡¯s the real deal."


    The islanders weren¡¯t completely cut off from civilization.


    Unlike us, they didn¡¯t have high-tech satellite internet, but they still listened to government broadcasts through old-school shortwave radios.


    They¡¯d heard the news¡ªthe second refugee fleet, led by the Hope, had been heading toward Jeju Island.


    They had scoffed at the idea.


    And yet, now, Hope was right in front of them.


    The moment they realized the people on board spoke Korean, there was no reason to keep their weapons raised.


    "Where did you come from?" one of the islanders called out.


    Dongtanmom answered.


    "Hell."


    Could there be anything more ironic than Hope coming from hell?


    And yet, for the islanders, their arrival was a kind of hope as well.


    "The island had ship engineers, former trawler captains¡ªexactly the kind of people we needed. But they had no way to reach the mainland. They had food for now, but as fuel, power, and machinery continued to dwindle, their future was looking grim."


    "Meanwhile, we had nothing. But we had a ship that could take them to the mainland."


    Their interests aligned.


    The islanders would provide supplies and fix the ship.


    In return, Dongtanmom would give them passage to the mainland.


    This was what had happened during his disappearance.


    dongtanmom: I¡¯ll be heading back soon.


    If the story ended there, it would just be another one of Dongtanmom¡¯s typical storytelling posts.


    But the world changes.


    And Dongtanmom wasn¡¯t an exception to that change.


    dongtanmom: Thanks... for the support.


    Even the great Dongtanmom was expressing gratitude.


    And then.


    dongtanmom: Sorry for the hysterics over the past few days.


    An apology from Dongtanmom.


    That, in itself, was a bigger shock than the post.


    Anonymous1588: Wait. Since when was he like this?


    defender: Oh wow.


    Anonymous458: Dongtanmom. Are you sick?


    berkut_break: Actually, I¡¯m pretty sure this is just fiction. In reality, isn¡¯t this just the rebirth of the Minognet disaster?


    gijayangban: ?


    foxgames: Dongtanmom! Thank goodness! Please come back safe!


    SKELTON: Hmmm...


    dies_irea69: That¡¯s a relief. Congrats, Dongtanmom. When you get back, reach out anytime. We¡¯ll be waiting.


    ...


    ...


    Truly, if you live long enough, you see everything.


    But this story wasn¡¯t quite over yet.


    Out of nowhere, I received a direct message from him.


    dongtanmom: Thanks.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON shock) ?!


    I wasn¡¯t exaggerating my reaction.


    For as long as I had known him, I had been convinced that Dongtanmom had a fundamental personality flaw¡ªa total lack of gratitude.


    Had he suffered some kind of mental erosion?


    Had his mind been so altered that it reawakened a lost sense of thankfulness?


    Before I could even finish that thought, he sent another message.


    dongtanmom: I only even thought about heading there because of you.


    The moment I saw that message, all my questions disappeared.


    Instead, I let out a small laugh.


    There was nothing to add or subtract.


    Baek Seung-hyun¡ªour beloved senior¡ªhad simply felt grateful for the humble route I had pointed him toward.


    SKELTON: Good for you.


    dongtanmom: Thanks, Skelton.


    ¡°......¡±


    Live long enough, and you see everything.


    Who would have thought I¡¯d ever hear Baek Seung-hyun say thank you?


    Since we were on the subject, I figured I might as well push my luck.


    SKELTON: (SKELTON fair trade) No need to thank me. But how about sharing this with everyone?


    A fair deal.


    A moment later, I got his reply.


    dongtanmom: ????


    SKELTON: ?


    dongtanmom: Munch... lol...

 Chapter 110.1: Debt (1)

    It has already been a week since I returned to my territory.


    At first, living in a group felt awkward, but I gradually got used to it, and things started falling into place.


    The most urgent matter was fortification.


    If you¡¯re going to fortify, you have to do it properly.


    Ha Tae-hoon managed to get his hands on some cement and built an outer wall around the narrow entrance, but it wasn¡¯t enough to enclose the entire area.


    The northern side and the northeastern slope were naturally protected by steep cliffs and dense forests, making them difficult to access. But that didn¡¯t mean I could let my guard down.


    The damage from an unexpected attack in such areas would be incalculable.


    I could install motion detectors, but that would require the hassle of wiring and setting up an electrical system. So, for now, I went with the classic trap that worked well in Jeju¡ªwires and cans.


    To fully secure these difficult-to-reach areas, I needed to explore them myself.


    Rough terrain naturally limits the number of possible infiltration routes to one or two.


    The only issue was that I wasn¡¯t particularly skilled at rock climbing.


    Kim Daram, on the other hand, was excellent at it.


    There was no news of her at the moment.


    The Legion faction had left Seoul without a word.


    I wasn¡¯t there to witness it, but according to reports from the board, their retreat was anything but orderly¡ªit was a reckless withdrawal.


    It was as if each unit had moved separately.


    Considering that the Legion wasn¡¯t a unified force but rather a coalition of warlords centered around generals and high-ranking officers, this wasn¡¯t surprising.


    I didn¡¯t see a bright future for them.


    That said, key strongholds like Wonju, Chuncheon, and Sokcho were still intact, so they wouldn¡¯t collapse overnight.


    I informed Defender that I had returned to Jeju.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    However, he had been busy lately and only gave me brief replies.


    I also sent a message to Dajeong, but she either wasn¡¯t feeling well or didn¡¯t have access to the internet¡ªthere was no response.


    I was a little worried, but I wouldn¡¯t dwell on it too much.


    This was a world where only the strong survived.


    Even children had to be strong.


    The weak had already died off.


    Anyway, if I was going to check the rough terrain, I would /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ have to wait until after autumn.


    That way, even if I had to climb, it would at least be a little easier.


    "We¡¯ll install motion detectors at the spots marked with blue chalk. The device will trigger an alarm the moment a human-sized creature crosses the perimeter."


    I was checking the upcoming construction work on the outer wall with Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae.


    They were both professionals, so there wasn¡¯t much I needed to correct, but that didn¡¯t mean I wouldn¡¯t voice my thoughts.


    "Here. Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s a little too loose? If someone athletic enough used the ridge as a springboard, they could easily jump over the wall."


    "You think? I don¡¯t think it¡¯s that easy."


    After spending enough time with someone, you start to notice their hidden traits.


    Ha Tae-hoon was stubborn.


    He didn¡¯t like having his ideas challenged or altered.


    People like him were common in the arts, particularly among painters.


    Since our school also valued craftsmanship, there were plenty of students with similar temperaments.


    And I knew exactly how to persuade people like him.


    "Then let me show you."


    Right in front of Ha Tae-hoon, I sprinted up the small slope and effortlessly leaped onto the top of the wall.


    "Hmm."


    Seeing the demonstration firsthand, he quickly reconsidered.


    "I¡¯ll think about it."


    A good team leader has to convince their teammates.


    Differences in opinion need to be addressed in the moment.


    Showing proof through direct demonstration might seem small, but it¡¯s an effective persuasion technique.


    While reinforcing the outer wall, I also considered how to make it more efficient and secure.


    I rode my bike outside the perimeter and circled the surrounding area.


    While Ha Tae-hoon was mixing cement, I headed into the nearby forest with Cheon Young-jae.


    I handed him a Korean-style sickle.


    "What, you want me to clear some graves?"


    "Something similar. I need you to clear a path from here to the signal point I marked."


    "I don¡¯t mind, but can I at least hear the reason?"


    "I want to see how visible the outer wall looks from the outside when there¡¯s no vegetation blocking the view."


    "If that¡¯s the case, no complaints from me."


    While he worked on clearing the undergrowth, I used a chainsaw to cut down shrubs.


    Most of the trees were no more than three years old, so the work wasn¡¯t particularly difficult.


    I loaded the cut branches and grass into a cart and left them in front of the base where they could dry in the sun.


    Whether they would be used as fuel for the winter or for construction, they¡¯d come in handy somewhere.


    After the clearing work, I took my bike out again.


    This time, Cheon Young-jae came along.


    "Whoa."


    He let out an impressed sound.


    "That hill is pretty damn good."


    The hill where my bunker was located wasn¡¯t just some random mound.


    It had a steep, almost right-angled trapezoidal shape.


    Plus, the numerous uneven ridges concealed more than they revealed.


    When I first built the outer wall, I was worried it would completely expose my territory.


    But after clearing the vegetation and looking at the hill again, it wasn¡¯t nearly as noticeable as I had feared.


    Even in winter, unless someone specifically looked for it, they would likely pass by without realizing there was anything there.


    This level of concealment meant that at the very least, hostile raiders wouldn¡¯t take an immediate interest in my territory.


    Even in a group, I preferred to avoid combat whenever possible.


    "If we just patch up that exposed section of the wall, it should be good."


    "What are you going to use to patch it?"


    "Natural stone. We have an excavator, after all."


    While working on the outer wall, we also discussed defensive tactics.


    The Legion faction had left Seoul, and their broadcasts had gone silent.


    At any moment, rogue hunters who had been exiled or left behind by the Legion could come looking for trouble.


    Some say that practice and planning are useless in actual combat, but I disagree.


    Daily drills and thorough planning provide a roadmap close to the correct answer in real combat.


    "For now, let¡¯s assume a fight breaks out the moment the motion or sound detectors are triggered."


    The midday heat was unbearable, so we went inside my bunker to cool off in the air conditioning while we went over the battle plan.


    Valentine was present as well.


    His main job was still trying to breach Jeju¡¯s intranet, but since he was part of our group, he also played a role in the defense strategy.


    "Mr. Park Man-su, you¡¯ll take charge of this sector."


    I assigned Valentine to the cliffside area.


    It was the most defensible position, with a natural high ground advantage.


    A single gunshot could stop an entire squad from advancing.


    For direct combat, we divided our sectors accordingly.


    Cheon Young-jae would stay outside as usual but would provide support when a fight broke out.


    That left only Ha Tae-hoon and me to defend the base itself.


    To be honest, that wasn¡¯t enough.


    Two or three more people would be ideal.


    Ha Tae-hoon had built the outer wall generously, which meant we had a lot more ground to defend.


    If we didn¡¯t have enough people, we would have to rely on machines.


    I asked Ha Tae-hoon,


    "Hey, Ha. Can you build a mounted drone system like the ones the Chinese military used?"


    "They exist, but I can¡¯t program an IFF system to distinguish between friend and foe."


    "In this era, an IFF system is a luxury."


    "Then how do you want to do it?"


    "Can we at least set kill zones?"


    "That¡¯s basic functionality."


    "Then let¡¯s designate restricted zones¡ªareas we never go through. We¡¯ll set up drones there, and anything that moves in those zones at night gets shot."


    "Alright, let¡¯s give it a shot."


    The defense plan was starting to take shape.


    Having three experienced fighters made the process smooth.


    If we were just a bunch of ordinary people, we wouldn¡¯t have reached a conclusion this quickly.


    "Park Gyu."


    Ha Tae-hoon called out to me.


    "What?"


    "Don¡¯t you think we¡¯re short on electricity?"


    "Electricity, huh..."


    We just need to run the generator.


    To be blunt, there¡¯s no one within a 20km radius who has a better generator than I do.


    Even if we widen the scope to individual survivors, you could probably count them on one hand.


    But generators require fuel.


    While running errands for Woo Min-hee and Kim Daram, I managed to stockpile a decent reserve.


    But that decent reserve was only decent when it was just me using it.


    Now that there were more people, it was nowhere near enough.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to need auxiliary power.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon, in particular, used a lot of electricity.


    Most of the machines he worked with were powered by it.


    Not to mention Valentine also consumed a fair amount of electricity.


    The desktop PC he brought with him was an absolute power hog.


    At this rate, we¡¯d have to run the generator daily, and that would lead to fuel depletion.


    But how else were we supposed to get electricity?


    Not easy.


    There was one method that came to mind.


    ¡°What about solar power? I don¡¯t see a single panel around here.¡±


    That was exactly what I had been thinking.


    Up until now, I had avoided solar power for various reasons.


    It was particularly vulnerable to drone reconnaissance, making it essentially a trap card.


    But now that we had a group, it was an option worth reconsidering.


    ¡°Not a bad idea. But where do we find solar panels?¡±


    ¡°There used to be a few solar farms in the mountains, but they¡¯ve all been stripped clean.¡±


    ¡°So then?¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon folded his arms and fell into thought.


    ¡°We should try trading.¡±


    ¡°Trading, huh?¡±


    ¡°When I was in Seoul and Incheon, there were markets.¡±


    ¡°There probably aren¡¯t any markets running anymore.¡±


    ¡°Even if there aren¡¯t, if we can find a group to trade with, we might be able to get some solar panels.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon held up his K-Walkie-Talkie.


    ¡°If you say something over a public frequency, you¡¯ll get a response pretty quickly.¡±


    I smirked.


    ¡°Yeah, a response from raiders, maybe?¡±


    He chuckled and replied,


    ¡°That¡¯s possible. But in this world, isn¡¯t it actually harder to find someone who isn¡¯t a raider?¡±


    ¡°Fair point.¡±


    For the first time, I seriously considered the concept of trade.


    I had made trades before, even when I was on my own.


    But now that law and order were gone, it was easier to trade when moving as a group.


    Even when exchanging a single item, just having armed allies in the background completely changed the message we sent to the other party.


    ¡°You¡¯re thinking about trading?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae suddenly joined the conversation after coming back from the restroom.


    I nodded and gave him a brief explanation.


    ¡°You want to trade, but finding the right people is the problem?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°Then why not go to Sejong?¡±


    ¡°Sejong?¡±


    ¡°I heard a pretty big city has sprung up there.¡±


    I had momentarily forgotten.


    Our King.


    The city he built.


    Geographically, it was even closer than Seoul and Incheon, and it was less of a threat than the remnants of the Legion.


    More importantly, people there were actually living, not just surviving.


    The gangsters might call them slaves, but their desperation for a better tomorrow was incomparable to anything else.


    If that city had grown to a certain size, then getting solar panels wouldn¡¯t be out of the question.


    And, most importantly¡ª


    I am King¡¯s friend.


    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll think about it. Good work, everyone.¡±


    As I wrapped up the day, I logged onto the internet.


    It wasn¡¯t a surprise, but there had been an increase in newcomers on the board.


    It wasn¡¯t that the total number had suddenly exploded.


    It was just that the old ¡°??¡± crowd from Failnet had been completely wiped out, making the newer members more noticeable by comparison.


    The rise in new users made sense.


    Our satellite internet devices had been highly sought-after items even before Failnet collapsed.


    But lately, the board¡¯s trending topic wasn¡¯t Dongtanmom.


    His unstable return had only been a short-lived trend.


    For a while now, the most talked-about topic on the board had been Fox Games.


    The ambitious game Fox Games had launched in partnership with Melon Mask was starting to fall apart.


    To begin with, it wasn¡¯t really Fox Games¡¯ work.


    It was something created by a younger couple who worked under him.


    So, as time passed, maintenance issues were inevitable.


    It was turning into one of those games that only broke more with every new patch.


    Seeing Fox Games¡¯ reputation crumble gave me a sense of satisfaction.


    But as always, the board wasn¡¯t just filled with posts I wanted to see.


    ONE_FAITH: The scene of the Wonju Massacre.jpg


    A user I had never seen before posted a disturbing photo.


    It was an image composed of endless gray tones and countless corpses.


    The background was an unidentifiable concrete wall¡ªat least 10 meters high.


    And stacked against it were hundreds of naked, lifeless bodies, piled like cargo.


    I didn¡¯t feel anything particularly gruesome about it.


    It wasn¡¯t horror or disgust.


    It was just... surreal.


    Like something too unnatural to exist.


    Below the eerie photo was a simple message from One Faith.


    -This is the true face of the Legion.


    None of the veteran users on our board commented on the post.


    There was a long-standing, post-war tradition of simply ignoring the harsh realities we didn¡¯t want to see.


    But the newcomers were different.


    Anonymous1588: What the hell? Is this recent?


    Anonymous1882: What did the Legion even do?


    Kronos: Damn.


    Anonymous1429: That¡¯s a World War II photo...


    Anonymous1392: Since when did WWII photos come in QHD?


    Yappi: Holy shit.


    ...


    ...


    The comments kept rolling in.


    It wasn¡¯t a good sight.


    It felt like our traditions, our unity, was being shattered by these outsiders.


    And then, like a bolt of lightning, he arrived.


    mmmmmmmmm:


    ------Newcomer Divider Line ---------


    M9.


    Anonymous1588: What the hell? Is this recent?


    Anonymous1882: What did the Legion even do?


    Kronos: Damn.


    Anonymous1429: That¡¯s a World War II photo...


    Anonymous1392: Since when did WWII photos come in QHD?


    Yappi: Holy shit.


    mmmmmmmmm:


    ----------Newcomer Divider Line -----------


    As a senior user, he had just declared all of them outsiders in one swift move.


    Seeing that post, I clenched both fists.


    "M9. Nice guy."


    I immediately reached out to VivaBot.


    SKELTON: Hey, VivaBot. I¡¯ve been patient so far, but when are you giving me my hidden mod privileges?


    No response.


    It was still early morning in North America, so maybe the admin was asleep.


    I decided to wait.


    I was about to return to brainstorming how to message King in Sejong when¡ª


    ONE_FAITH: The faces of the murderers.jpg


    One Faith had posted another photo.


    It was the same massacre scene, but from a different angle.


    In the foreground stood armed men in military uniforms, standing stiffly in formation.


    Some wore balaclavas.


    Others did not.


    And among those exposed faces¡ª


    One was familiar.


    ¡°...Defender.¡±


    There was no doubt.


    Among the soldiers, with an empty gaze, smoking a cigarette¡ª


    That was Defender.


    That was Hong Jung-ho.

 Chapter 110.2: Debt (2)

    I had seen fanatics active on Failnet before.


    At the time, their behavior was crude¡ªsomething about them felt off, inhuman.


    Like how early phone scammers from Joseon sounded robotic when they first started their scams.


    But people learn and evolve quickly.


    Just like how pre-war phone scams became so sophisticated that even cautious young people fell for them, the fanatics had refined their once-awkward and inhuman rhetoric into something much more cunning.


    From what I could tell, this One Faith guy was a fanatic.


    Whether he had committed the killings himself or simply stumbled upon them, he had managed to obtain satellite internet equipment and was now using it to spread his twisted message on our board.


    Regardless of that, the photos he posted were undeniably shocking.


    It was proof that the rumors about the Legion systematically massacring fanatics were true.


    As a hunter, I believed fanatics deserved to die.


    But as a human, I couldn¡¯t condone such indiscriminate slaughter.


    ONE_FAITH: We will not let a single murderer escape judgment.


    The fanatics had singled out Defender.


    His good looks would only make it easier for people to remember him¡ªand for the accusations to stick.


    He had already been targeted multiple times, and once, they had even gone after him directly.


    But this time was different.


    Now, the entire, uncountable mass of fanatics would remember Defender as a mass murderer and would come for his head.


    For now, he was safe behind the Legion¡¯s walls.


    But based on everything I had heard, the Legion didn¡¯t have much time left.


    ¡°......¡±


    Tap tap tap


    I sent a message to Defender.


    SKELTON: Not sure when you''ll see this, but I''m leaving it here just in case. Like I told you before, I''m back from Jeju. If you need a safe place, contact me anytime. Unlike before, I''m not alone. I''m building a small community. There''s a place here for you and your sister.


    Defender had been my neighbor for a long time.


    No matter what he had done, no matter what kind of person he was, I didn¡¯t want him to die.


    The same went for Dajeong.


    Now that I was building a community, I would welcome the people I wanted to keep close.


    A message popped up.


    CrunchRoll: You''re always welcome. Come whenever you want. Just don¡¯t forget to put a blue flag on your vehicle.


    It had been a while since I last contacted King, but he replied immediately.


    Was he the type to stay glued to the internet all day?


    I was about to send a quick thank-you when he messaged me again.


    CrunchRoll: Did you see it? The post from that fanatic?


    King had seen through One Faith right away.


    SKELTON: Yeah. I saw it.


    CrunchRoll: What do you think is going to happen?


    SKELTON: (SKELTON confused) What do you mean?


    CrunchRoll: Do you think those people accused in the post will survive? Or do you think they''ll die?


    SKELTON: Hard to say.


    SKELTON: They should be safe for now, right?


    CrunchRoll: lol


    SKELTON: (SKELTON confused 2) ?


    CrunchRoll: You know the fanatics have assassins, right?


    CrunchRoll: Not just any assassins. They''re called the Hobeop (×o·¨)¡ªAwakened warriors handpicked by the cult.


    CrunchRoll: Rumor has it, they''re the ones who took down the last North Korean royal family.


    I had never heard of this before.


    The idea that the fanatics had elite assassins.


    But it wasn¡¯t entirely implausible.


    When we first fought the fanatics in China, they had been nothing but disorganized and reckless.


    But over time, they started showing cohesion¡ªtheir attacks became structured, and leadership emerged.


    Considering that North Korea¡¯s fanatics were essentially a carbon copy of the ones that had destroyed China, it wasn¡¯t impossible.


    CrunchRoll: I guarantee you¡ªeveryone in that photo is going to die.


    King expected Defender to be killed.


    I didn¡¯t respond.


    We drove a truck to Sejong.


    South of our territory, the population was sparse, which meant fewer risks of raids.


    But along the long stretch of road, I saw a concerning number of mutations.


    ¡°What the hell is that? Is that... a heron?¡±


    And there was variety.


    There were species displaying mutation effects that hadn¡¯t been reported when I was still active.


    It was proof that the world was being rapidly consumed by the energy of the rifts.


    The bullet shortage had been a problem since last year.


    Ammunition was skyrocketing in value, surpassing even the property prices of the old world.


    With bullets growing scarcer, the increasing number of mutations posed a massive survival threat.


    In countries like Australia, Russia, and Canada, where population density was low, mutations were an even bigger threat than monsters.


    Large, intelligent beasts were actively targeting isolated, vulnerable humans.


    Most people attacked by them didn¡¯t survive.


    Entire families, entire households, were wiped out overnight.


    Entire regions were disappearing.


    It sounded absurd, but rumors from the Canadian Atlantic coast claimed that a mutant army of bears had wiped out an entire town.


    The South Korean government had been quick to evacuate its rural population into major cities¡ªnot just to contain mutations but to avoid foreign disasters like these.


    ¡°Could you take that thing down with a Punisher rifle?¡±


    I asked Cheon Young-jae while looking at the towering nightmare heron standing in a stream.


    ¡°Probably not.¡±


    We left the mutation-infested wilds and reached the open plains.


    In the distance, we saw the ruins of a massive city.


    ¡°That¡¯s Sejong?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae fidgeted with his gun, his expression tense.


    Even the fearless Cheon Young-jae seemed uneasy about entering a gangster-ruled city.


    ¡°It¡¯s a city like any other. There are gangs, sure. But the guy in charge keeps things in order. They¡¯re not like the raiders you¡¯re used to.¡±


    We tied a blue flag to the truck.


    We didn¡¯t have a proper cloth or the patience to dye one, so Cheon Young-jae just tied an old pair of jeans to the antenna.


    As we approached the city, two motorcycles rode up alongside us.


    ¡°Where you coming from?¡±


    A man with a face covered in dense tattoos chewed something while speaking in a hoarse voice.


    ¡°Got permission from King to do business here.¡±


    The thug glanced at the blue flag tied to the truck.


    ¡°Don¡¯t try to pull anything.¡±


    Despite his thuggish appearance, his words were surprisingly proper.


    After that, the bikers revved their engines and rode off toward their container-built fortress.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae looked utterly confused.


    His finger was still resting inside the trigger guard of his gun.


    I smiled.


    ¡°Told you. It¡¯s a city.¡±


    Getting in seemed easier than before.


    At the entrance, they only checked our license plate before silently opening the barricade.


    ¡°Park your truck here.¡±


    We followed their instructions and stepped into the bustling streets.


    ¡°Holy shit. This is Sejong?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s eyes widened in shock.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t anything like what I expected.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what happens when you have a competent leader.¡±


    Before getting to business, I went to see King.


    After a brief identity check, I was granted entry to his underground palace.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wait here.¡±


    Leaving Cheon Young-jae behind, I walked down the familiar, extravagant corridors.


    As I passed, a woman wearing a fox mask gestured at me.


    I hesitated for a moment, but she took off her mask and smiled.


    It was the woman who had entered my quarters before.


    King was in his office.


    Since it was daytime, he was wearing his mask.


    The scent of air fresheners was even stronger than before.


    ¡°Yo, Skelton.¡±


    King stood up to greet me.


    ¡°King.¡±


    His voice didn¡¯t sound good.


    It wasn¡¯t just sickness.


    His very tone carried the stench of death.


    ¡°Ah, ah¡ª¡±


    He cleared his throat and tried again.


    ¡°My voice is shot.¡±


    His voice was slightly better than before.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    But even through the thick scent of air freshener, the stench of a corpse lingered unmistakably in the air.


    Hearing that voice, I was convinced¡ªthe king of this city didn¡¯t have much time left.


    ¡°The city looks like it¡¯s improved since last time.¡±


    ¡°It has.¡±


    King slowly approached me and gestured for me to take a seat.


    I sat down, and he clapped his hands.


    Women in masks entered the room, carrying cool bottles filled with various beverages.


    I picked water.


    Surprisingly, there was a slice of lemon at the bottom of the bottle.


    It was a small detail, but I saw that fresh lemon as a symbol¡ªa testament to this city¡¯s growing prosperity.


    ¡°It¡¯s running smoothly. Not to brag, but this is the best city in central South Korea. Even those arrogant Legion generals have asked if there¡¯s a place for them here.¡±


    There was a pride in King¡¯s voice, a pride so strong it made me momentarily forget the death hanging over him.


    ¡°How¡¯s your health?¡±


    I asked, tasting the faint flavor of lemon in the water.


    ¡°I¡¯m holding up... for now.¡±


    ¡°This might sound rude, but the smell¡¯s gotten worse. Doesn¡¯t anyone say anything?¡±


    ¡°I told them I was sick. Not the real diagnosis, of course. I made up something about diabetes, high cholesterol, and hypertension. Thanks to that, I gave up on keeping up the strong male act with women. There¡¯s no need for it anymore.¡±


    There was something in King¡¯s office that I hadn¡¯t seen before.


    A miniature model of the city, ? N§àv§Ölight ? (Exclusive on N§àv§Ölight) carefully crafted and encased in acrylic.


    Though it differed from the city¡¯s current state, the general layout still resembled Sejong.


    King stood up, still wearing his mask, and stared at the miniature for a long time.


    ¡°......It¡¯s finally on track.¡±


    His voice carried certainty.


    ¡°It¡¯s about time I start looking for a successor.¡±


    ¡°No one suitable among your subordinates?¡±


    ¡°There are plenty of talented people. Ivy League graduates, former corporate executives... but they¡¯re all split into factions.¡±


    ¡°Factions, huh?¡±


    ¡°If I die, they¡¯ll tear each other apart, waging a reckless war over this city.¡±


    King sighed and turned around.


    ¡°That means this place will return to being a wasteland.¡±


    His gaze locked onto mine from behind the mask.


    Even through it, I could feel the intensity in his stare.


    ¡°How about becoming the king of this city?¡±


    ¡°Me? Me?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be a bad choice.¡±


    King chuckled.


    Then, he turned his monitor toward me.


    Click.


    A familiar scene appeared on the screen.


    Twelve Square.


    The battle of the man who had become something of a legend was playing out.


    ¡°It¡¯s you, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    King¡¯s tone was definitive.


    I had no intention of denying it.


    If anything, I wished more people were like King¡ªthe kind who could see things clearly.


    ¡°How did you know?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve fought together before. And out of everyone I know, there¡¯s only one person who can wield two axes that well.¡±


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you say something on the board?¡±


    ¡°I thought it was better this way.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Skelton and Twelve Square need to be two different people. You must¡¯ve felt the same way¡ªthat¡¯s why you never revealed yourself, right?¡±


    ¡°......?¡±


    What?


    Why did people keep saying this?


    Was Skelton really that poorly regarded?


    I always thought I was a decent, likable veteran user.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Skelton?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s nothing.¡±


    ¡°What about my offer?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m honored, but I¡¯ll have to decline.¡±


    King stared at me for a moment.


    I explained my reasoning.


    ¡°Think about it. Do you really think Skelton could run a city like this?¡±


    ¡°...That¡¯s a fair point.¡±


    King let out a quiet laugh, then leaned against his desk and switched the monitor¡¯s display.


    What he showed me next was something he had already shown me before.


    The corpses.


    A massive pile of naked bodies stacked like cargo beneath a concrete wall.


    This time, the image was bigger and clearer than on my laptop screen.


    ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°Not sure.¡±


    ¡°I did what needed to be done.¡±


    King¡¯s voice was calm.


    ¡°Manryu Gwijeongyo. The more I learn about those fanatics, the more disgusted I get.¡±


    ¡°That girl from before... is she still here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve kept her locked up. But damn, she¡¯s one stubborn brat. Must be because she¡¯s from North Korea.¡±


    ¡°Still refusing to change her mind?¡±


    ¡°Still refusing. But she eats well. Three meals a day. Even does exercise on her own. What was it she kept saying? Guum Shin Gong? Some ridiculous nonsense.¡±


    ¡°The guy who started that cult was a wuxia novel fan, so it makes sense.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, like I told you before...¡±


    King switched the screen again.


    This time, it showed One Faith¡¯s post¡ªthe list of murderers he had exposed.


    ¡°The cult¡¯s leader made it public. That means every one of these people is going to die.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯m just watching¡ªto see how strong the fanatics really are.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a network inside the Legion, too.¡±


    ¡°Did you know?¡±


    I looked at one of the men in the photo¡ªa handsome figure standing among the armed soldiers.


    ¡°Defender is in this picture.¡±


    ¡°Defender?¡±


    King tilted his head.


    ¡°Oh, you mean that guy who used to post kill confirmations back in the early days?¡±


    Nothing lasts forever.


    Not even internet fame.


    ¡°He¡¯s still alive?¡±


    That went for Defender, too.


    ¡°Damn, he actually looks pretty good.¡±


    ¡°I know him personally.¡±


    ¡°...Really? You?¡±


    ¡°Yes. And I want to save him.¡±


    ¡°If he¡¯s your friend, I can take him in here. But only after we see what those Hobeop warriors can do.¡±


    ¡°They issued a warning, so it won¡¯t be long before the Hobeop hit the Legion.¡±


    I had already noticed this before, but King¡¯s intelligence network was on a whole other level.


    He didn¡¯t just rely on the internet¡ªhe had people, covert communications, and personal connections feeding him information I couldn¡¯t even begin to access.


    It made sense.


    He ruled a city where massive amounts of people and resources flowed in.


    For him, information was just another commodity.


    I looked him straight in the eyes and asked:


    ¡°So you¡¯re saying... if we confirm how strong the fanatics are, you¡¯ll take Defender in?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°You sure?¡±


    What I was really asking about was Defender¡¯s past.


    He was a killer.


    He was involved in massacres.


    His entire life had been defined by murder.


    The only groups that would accept someone like him were raiders and marauders.


    King immediately understood what I meant.


    ¡°As long as he¡¯s capable. We don¡¯t care about the past.¡±


    ¡°We started as raiders, after all.¡±


    ¡°What matters is the future.¡±


    ¡°If massacres are a problem, there¡¯s someone far worse than Defender under my command.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    King typed something on his keyboard.


    A new face appeared on the screen.


    I didn¡¯t recognize him.


    He looked ordinary, but there was something deeply unsettling about his presence.


    King looked at the screen and said:


    ¡°Seol Chando.¡±


    ¡°They called him the Butcher of Pyongyang.¡±

 Chapter 110.3: Debt (3)

    King¡¯s whims led me to meet a man I had never known and would never fully understand¡ªSeol Chando.


    "Hello?"


    At first glance, Seol Chando seemed ordinary.


    A moderately lean build, average height.


    Except for the large, unsightly scar running across his left cheek.


    "This wasn¡¯t from the battlefield."


    Noticing my gaze linger on his scar, Seol Chando brushed his fingers over it as he spoke.


    By the time he was discharged, he had held the rank of captain.


    He hadn''t started as one, but after a series of commanding officers died in the field, he had been promoted on-site out of necessity.


    "I originally planned to quit after my short-term service. An older friend of mine said he¡¯d get me into his company."


    He rolled his eyes, lost in thought.


    "Let¡¯s see... how many did I kill? The number¡¯s in the thousands at least. Yes. That¡¯s just the ones I personally killed. If you count those who died indirectly¡ªstarvation and such¡ªit¡¯s well over a hundred thousand."


    Seol Chando spoke with unsettling calm as he recounted his actions in Pyongyang.


    There was no trace of guilt in his expression.


    It was a common trait among so-called villains, but unlike them, Seol Chando did not exude bravado or twisted pride.


    "I did what needed to be done. If it hadn¡¯t been me, it would¡¯ve been someone else."


    He added as he sipped his tea.


    According to King, Seol Chando was suspected of being involved in the deaths of over a million people in Pyongyang.


    Out of all the members of the 7th Corps¡ªwhose records had been deliberately erased and concealed by the government¡ªonly two men had been formally charged with war crimes: Seol Chando and his direct superior, Lieutenant General Park Jeongdeok.


    He had avoided a dishonorable discharge in exchange for his silence.


    As for the other man, Park Jeongdeok had committed suicide in prison, and when the press caught the scent, they swarmed around Seol Chando instead.


    Seol Chando had never intended to become Pyongyang¡¯s butcher.


    He had volunteered for the mission, drawn by the promise of higher pay, the thrill of exploring uncharted territory, and the pride of being an elite special forces soldier.


    According to Seol Chando, the 7th Corps, despite its name, had initially been formed with the strength of only 1.5 divisions.


    Instead, they had gathered the best soldiers from various units, forming small, specialized teams led by highly rated officers.


    Under the command of Lieutenant General Park Jeongdeok¡ªa former military advisor in ?N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t? China who would later take his own life¡ªthe 7th Corps advanced into North Korea, armored vehicles in tow.


    At first, it had gone well. They had felt like liberators.


    Not only civilians but even North Korean soldiers in uniform had welcomed the South Korean military with open arms.


    The unit advanced unchallenged, moving smoothly all the way to Sariwon.


    But things changed as soon as they crossed Sariwon.


    A group of armed fighters emerged from behind the cheering crowds and slaughtered both civilians and soldiers alike.


    The South Korean military retaliated immediately, wiping out the attackers. But that brief skirmish was a grim omen of the relentless future awaiting them in North Korea.


    "Some truly welcomed us. But not all.


    "They claimed they had nothing to lose. That was a lie. Too many of them had everything to lose."


    North Korea¡¯s extensive paramilitary networks only made things worse.


    With nearly a century of authoritarian rule ingrained into their structures, these organizations operated under strict chains of command. Even if a leader made a reckless decision, subordinates rarely dared to resist.


    Attacks on South Korean forces began, day and night, in every region.


    The U.S. military¡ªonce hailed as the strongest in the world¡ªhad claimed a historic victory in Iraq but suffered immense losses during the prolonged occupation, ultimately withdrawing.


    A similar fate awaited the South Korean military.


    Casualties mounted, and heroes emerged.


    It was during this time that the legend of General Bang Soo-byeon, the self-proclaimed Awakened, began.


    "Did you know?"


    Seol Chando asked, lighting a cigarette.


    "Even the most bookish nerd, some kid who spent all his time playing childish games like LoL, will lose his mind if his closest friend is killed right in front of him?"


    Every attack was met with blood-soaked vengeance.


    It was around then that Seol Chando began showing signs of becoming a butcher.


    "I suddenly found myself wondering¡ªthese people who claim to have nothing to lose...


    "Why are they so desperate to kill us, even when their so-called royal family has already been wiped out?"


    He personally interrogated the leader of a local paramilitary unit.


    If "interrogate" was even the right word¡ªit was torture.


    Only after completely destroying the man beyond recognition did Seol Chando extract an answer.


    Someone was giving the orders.


    It was Pyongyang.


    On the surface, they pleaded for South Korea¡¯s help, but in the shadows, they mobilized local organizations to harass and bleed the South Korean forces dry.


    Their intentions were clear.


    Pyongyang wanted to prove it still controlled the regions beyond its borders, so that when reunification inevitably came, they could retain their power.


    Seol Chando called them the "Pyongyang Nobles."


    "That¡¯s when I knew.


    "Pyongyang had to be destroyed."


    His superior, Lieutenant General Park Jeongdeok, had similar thoughts.


    After Seol Chando took command following the death of his company commander, Park Jeongdeok initiated his boldest operation yet.


    A total siege.


    All roads leading into Pyongyang were cut off.


    Electricity was severed.


    Water supplies were shut down.


    The goal was simple: starve the "Pyongyang Nobles" out of their city.


    The moment they stepped outside Pyongyang, they would lose all their power.


    Their authority was tied to that land. That was Park Jeongdeok¡¯s belief.


    The plan was inhumane, but in the face of North Korea¡¯s closed-off society, the South Korean military¡¯s secrecy, and the global turmoil unfolding elsewhere, the Pyongyang siege never made headlines.


    Elsewhere, in India, tens of thousands were dying or disappearing daily.


    On the first day of the siege, Seol Chando received unexpected reinforcements.


    They were North Korean soldiers¡ªnot from Pyongyang.


    "Those Pyongyang bastards... it¡¯s about time they got what they deserved, don¡¯t you think?"


    They volunteered to blockade the back roads.


    Seol Chando, acting on his own authority, integrated them into the chain of command.


    Less than a day later, those non-Pyongyang troops caused an incident.


    Some, high on drugs, broke into Pyongyang and went on a rampage¡ªmurdering, raping women, and looting luxury goods.


    Park Jeongdeok saw this as a disaster.


    Though a meticulous soldier, he was also a political one.


    His ambitions extended beyond North Korea.


    He had envisioned himself as the first military president since the dictatorship era, rising to immortal fame after overseeing the annexation of the North.


    His plan had been to intimidate the Pyongyang Nobles into submission¡ªnot to physically harm them.


    The incident had been Seol Chando¡¯s independent decision, and as a result, he was placed on probation.


    But his probation lasted less than a month.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    The officers who replaced him¡ªhis company commander, battalion commander, even his regimental commander¡ªwere assassinated.


    The unit was under attack from all sides, and the assaults showed no sign of stopping.


    As rumors spread that the government was considering a full military withdrawal, Park Jeongdeok, now desperate, gave Seol Chando unrestricted authority.


    And so, the legend of the butcher began.


    This had nothing to do with Seol Chando.


    He was unwavering. Not a shred of shame in his demeanor.


    It wasn¡¯t that he took pride in his past, but neither did he feel any guilt.


    "As I¡¯ve said before, I just happened to be there. I simply did the job that the situation required of me. If it hadn¡¯t been me, someone else would¡¯ve done it."


    That was the only thought Seol Chando had about his past.


    But past sins do not simply vanish.


    Seol Chando knew that well.


    "Still, every action comes with a price. Let¡¯s call it a debt."


    He ran his fingers over his scar.


    "I got this wound in this city. A Pyongyang bastard shot me out of spite."


    "There are Pyongyang people here?"


    "There should be plenty. There used to be a refugee camp nearby, and many of them trickled into the city. One of them recognized me and spread the word."


    Seol Chando smiled faintly.


    It was only then that I noticed¡ªhis deeply etched scar remained rigid even as he smiled.


    With that half-frozen smile, he spoke.


    "This is the only burden I have to carry."


    Seol Chando stood up, gave a polite nod, and left.


    King never contacted me again.


    One of his subordinates casually mentioned that King was currently tied up negotiating with nearby warlords.


    A woman in a rabbit mask led us to a merchant selling solar panels.


    As we walked through the bustling market, I pondered King¡¯s intentions.


    What exactly was he trying to tell me through Seol Chando?


    Lost in thought, I bumped shoulders with a drunken man.


    "You bastard!"


    He bellowed at me before stumbling away.


    It was a minor, unpleasant incident, but for a brief moment, something clicked in my mind.


    I felt as if I was beginning to understand what King wanted to convey.


    Most crimes are personal in nature, with a perpetrator and a victim.


    Like two sides of a coin, they are bound together by the thread of misfortune.


    But this was the apocalypse.


    The world no longer wielded societal condemnation as a weapon against crime, as it had before the war.


    In the absence of moral judgment, if a perpetrator felt no sense of guilt, then the only burden left for them was simple.


    Revenge. A physical debt.


    Outside, Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae were busy installing the solar panels.


    "Alright! Alright! There! That¡¯s good!"


    Carrying the bottle of water King had given me, with a slice of lemon floating inside, I approached them.


    Cheon Young-jae took a gulp of the cool water and grinned.


    "Senior Park, remember that woman? The one in the rabbit mask? She told me she wants to see me again. That¡¯s a green light, right?"


    Ha Tae-hoon, drinking his own water beside him, scoffed.


    "You got screwed over by a woman before, went through hell, and you¡¯re still thinking about them? Just settle for a real doll like me."


    Both hunters turned to look at me.


    "So, how the hell did you become friends with King?"


    Cheon Young-jae asked, astonished.


    Ha Tae-hoon shared the same curiosity.


    Feeling awkward, I shrugged.


    "I¡¯m just that popular."


    The new power system was successfully installed.


    The solar generator was more stable than expected, supplying a high output of electricity, and the newly acquired batteries¡ªclaimed to be less than a year old¡ªexceeded expectations.


    Bzzzzzz¡ª


    What had once been a mere passive motion detector was now a full-fledged defense network, with an array of surveillance devices and drones guarding my territory.


    There was still no sign of the academy hunters, but I had no intention of lowering my guard.


    If not them, someone else would come for my territory sooner or later.


    "A convoy spotted in the north. Looks like they¡¯re heading south."


    "What¡¯s south?"


    "King¡¯s city, probably."


    More people were on the move.


    Chhhhk¡ª


    CQ. CQ. We are a small group of refugees traveling with elderly and wounded. We have severe injuries and are in urgent need of medical supplies. If anyone can spare medicine, we will offer anything in return.


    "There are only two of us here, both women. Young, too. One¡¯s twenty-one, the other¡¯s nineteen. Please, someone, help us!"


    Radio transmissions were becoming more frequent.


    Bang! Tatatatatata!


    Bang! Bang!


    Gunfire rang out more often as well.


    News arrived shortly after we activated the new power grid¡ªSeol Chando had been found dead, shot and left in a ditch.


    King, strangely affected by it, sent me multiple messages all at once¡ªsomething uncharacteristic of him.


    Message from CrunchRoll: That bastard was always on edge, never let his guard down. But that day, he drank. He loosened up. Even went to a brothel, which he never did.


    Message from CrunchRoll: Guess he was in a good mood. Even when he was getting shot, he was laughing as he returned fire.


    Message from CrunchRoll: At least he died smiling. That signature half-smile of his, right to the end.


    Message from CrunchRoll: A good death, huh? lol


    Almost as if scripted, Defender¡ªwho I hadn¡¯t heard from in a long time¡ªalso left me a message at nearly the same time as King.


    I had been working, so I didn¡¯t check Defender¡¯s message until dusk.


    As I took the last sip of my lemon water, I opened it.


    Message from Defender: I saw the post. You must have seen it too.


    Message from Defender: I won¡¯t hide behind orders or necessity. What I did was my doing. I carried out my mission with full awareness.


    Message from Defender: Anyway, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re back. There¡¯s a lot I want to ask, and I really want to see you again, but...


    Message from Defender: Do we even deserve to be there?


    Deserve.


    A word Seol Chando never used.


    A simple choice of phrase, but in that, I could see the difference between Defender and Seol Chando.


    I took a moment to gather my thoughts before replying.


    SKELTON: That¡¯s for you to decide.


    "......"


    It still felt lacking.


    I added another line.


    SKELTON: At the very least, I¡¯ll help you pay off the debt you have to bear.

 Chapter 111.1: The Cold Coffin (1)

    Message from Defender: Sorry, but things aren¡¯t looking good right now. Getting out of here is already a problem, but even if I do, there''s trouble waiting outside. A large-scale monster eruption is about to happen. Stay away from the northern regions for now.


    Message from Defender: Oh, and my sister is safe too. The fanatics sabotaged the power lines, so electricity is rare as hell. I can¡¯t stay connected for long. I¡¯ll reach out when I get the chance.


    It had been four years since the war began.


    The total collapse of society¡ªsomething predicted even before the war¡ªwas now an undeniable reality.


    In Legion-controlled zones, fanatics carried out sporadic terror attacks and acts of sabotage.


    Meanwhile, Seoul had devolved into a chaotic hellscape where the Legion, religious fanatics, and countless displaced refugees clashed in a brutal struggle for survival.


    As a result, the number of refugees had surged dramatically.


    Of particular interest was the recent emergence of large-scale migration groups.


    Refugees from Seoul had begun moving in organized clusters, seeking safer regions with better resources.


    Most headed for Wonju or Chuncheon, both under Legion control, but some took a gamble on an uncertain destination¡ªSejong City.


    One such migration group appeared within my territory.


    Valentine was the first to spot them.


    While taking a break from poking holes in Jeju¡¯s intranet¡ªand stepping out for a smoke¡ªhe happened to glance down the distant road and saw a mass of people, packed tightly together, moving toward us.


    "Move it! Cover the solar panels with camouflage!"


    An emergency response was triggered.


    There weren¡¯t any visible drones, but with a group that large, there had to be at least one or two reconnaissance drones lurking nearby.


    Better safe than sorry. We concealed anything that might stand out from an aerial view.


    The migration group passed through our territory, continuing south.


    Chhhhk¡ª


    "Sejong, can you hear us? We¡¯re bringing our entire shelter group based on your contact¡¯s assurances. Just to be sure¡ªthere¡¯s enough room for us, right? We don¡¯t want to make the long, hard journey only to be turned away."


    Chhhhk¡ª!


    "We have room. But everyone has to pull their own weight here. If you think you can sit around like in Seoul or Incheon, eating for free, you¡¯re in for a rude awakening."


    Based on the radio chatter, the group was indeed heading for Sejong City.


    The reason we could pick up their transmission, despite it not being a public frequency, was thanks to Ha Tae-hoon.


    "We got plenty of mileage out of this back in Incheon. It¡¯s not even that hard. These idiots transmit everything on basic frequencies."


    Ha Tae-hoon muttered as he stroked his stubbled chin.


    "Sejong, huh... It¡¯s really gained a reputation. Last year, it wasn¡¯t even on the list of potential relocation spots."


    "That¡¯s because it has a capable ruler."


    "You mean that King guy?"


    Ha Tae-hoon tilted his head in skepticism.


    "Isn¡¯t it just a good location? Far from Paju, far from the other Rifts, and aside from the early days of the war, it¡¯s been mostly untouched. Easy access from multiple regions too."


    "That¡¯s part of it, but it¡¯s King¡¯s leadership that keeps the warlords in check. If he were gone, that city would be torn apart overnight."


    Ha Tae-hoon remained unconvinced.


    I didn¡¯t feel the need to push my opinion on him, but his reaction reminded me of a common mindset I had seen before the war.


    When someone achieved something, instead of recognizing their ability or learning from them, people attributed their success to luck, privilege, or outside connections.


    "They don¡¯t believe in success because they¡¯ve never succeeded themselves."


    That was a line from an audio diary¡ªa recording Valentine had recently found in an archive, left behind by John Nae-non.


    "This thing? Yeah. See, John Nae-non wasn¡¯t in the best health, so he kept a recorder and logged his thoughts whenever something came to mind."


    "You¡¯re actually giving me this priceless archive?"


    "I knew you¡¯d appreciate it, but I didn¡¯t expect you to be this excited. Should¡¯ve found it sooner."


    "No, this is more than enough! This is the greatest gift!"


    According to Valentine, John Nae-non had originally planned to make video diaries instead, but storage limitations had forced him to abandon the idea.


    Apparently, he deeply regretted not leaving behind a visual record of himself.


    Regardless, listening to his profound insights had become my new nightly ritual.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    After a long day of exhausting work, I would take a shower, then drift off to sleep listening to the thoughts of my idol, John Nae-non.


    "When I was a kid, people believed the internet would connect the world and unite humanity. But what did we get instead? An endless flood of indiscriminate information."


    "More than anything, the internet exposed inequality for what it really was. And when people realized how powerless they were, the authority that once held society together crumbled. That was the beginning of the end."


    "Someone once asked me¡ª¡®You¡¯ve been burned by the internet before. Why are you still here? Why don¡¯t you just let it go?¡¯ And I asked them in return¡ª¡®Have you ever been a name?¡¯"


    "Tonight¡¯s dinner¡ªcrackers with a thick spread of Nutella. Can¡¯t really taste it, but the crunch is just as good as ever. Mmm~ Yummy~"


    Since incorporating John Nae-non¡¯s recordings into my nightly routine, my sleep had improved, and I felt better overall.


    "Senior, something good happen?"


    "Park Gyu, you seem different. Got a new girlfriend or something?"


    Even those around me had started to notice my shift in mood.


    I saw it as a good thing.


    Especially in times like these¡ªwhen life had lost most of its joys and purpose¡ªfinding something to look forward to each day was important.


    More than anything, through John Nae-non¡¯s mundane daily musings, I could see the process of a great mind shaping itself.


    His ordinary habits only served to highlight his extraordinary nature.


    Beyond the diaries, John Nae-non had left behind numerous records¡ªone of the most intriguing being details about the survivalist services catering to the upper class.


    "There are a lot of rich people in this country. Think about how many buildings are in Seoul. Not apartments¡ªactual buildings. The ones with entire shopping centers inside. Someone owns all of those, right?"


    Just like the luxury VIP bunker I had visited before, it seemed that beneath the surface, there had been a surprisingly active and extensive post-apocalyptic industry for the wealthy.


    Considering that the rich had far greater access to information than the average person, it was only natural that they had invested more heavily in disaster preparedness than the rest of us.


    John Nae-non had discovered this hidden market not just because he had made a fortune from his lectures, but also because the elite had sought him out for advice.


    When it came to the apocalypse, no public figure was more widely recognized than John Nae-non.


    He recalled that experience like this:


    "I made a fortune in consulting. Everyone knows that. At first, I made money from lectures, but later on, it was all about consulting for the rich."


    "I was practically swimming in money. You could bathe in it, really. Though, to them, it was probably just the equivalent of skipping a month¡¯s worth of shopping at the department store."


    To be honest, John Nae-non wasn¡¯t exactly a man of high moral standards or exceptional integrity.


    Let¡¯s be real¡ªhis rise to fame had a lot to do with a French user who blatantly plagiarized his work.


    And yet, even John Nae-non was appalled by the sheer number of shameless fraudsters in the so-called elite disaster-prep industry.


    In his increasingly fascinating memoirs, he singled out one individual as the most creative and horrific con artist he had ever encountered.


    "There was this bastard named Nelson Yongbeom. You can tell from his name¡ªhe was a ¡®black-haired foreigner.¡¯ A Korean expat. Claimed he graduated from a prestigious university in the U.S. Said his major was molecular chemistry or something. Whatever. The point is, that piece of shit pulled off some truly insane scams."


    I had never heard of Nelson Yongbeom.


    Never seen him, never even come across his name.


    Yet, this guy...


    He had orchestrated a scam so massive that even the infamous John Nae-non was shaken.


    "Cryogenic freezing? Are you kidding me?"


    John Nae-non used the term cryogenic freezing, but to be precise, it was long-term hibernation technology.


    A concept being researched for future interstellar travel¡ªlike in the movies, where people are placed in cryo-chambers to drastically slow their biological functions, allowing them to endure decades-long voyages without aging or physical deterioration.


    As far as I knew, this technology had never been realized.


    Maybe if the world had remained at peace, ?N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t? but once the Rifts opened, all global scientific efforts had been redirected toward understanding and containing the anomaly.


    And yet, Nelson Yongbeom successfully deceived the elite into believing this technology was real and tried to sell it to them.


    To ordinary people, all rich people might seem the same, but in reality, there were strictly defined hierarchies even among the wealthy.


    The ones targeted by VIP bunker businesses were centimillionaires, those worth hundreds of millions.


    But the ones Nelson Yongbeom went after?


    They were VVIPs¡ªthe kind of people who didn¡¯t even know their own net worth or how much money they made in a month.


    His business model wasn¡¯t all that different from the VIP bunker industry.


    No advertisements.


    No public promotions.


    Only through exclusive referrals among the ultra-rich.


    "Nelson Yongbeom¡¯s biggest asset? His U.S. citizenship and his fancy degrees. And let¡¯s not forget¡ªhe was young and good-looking. That gave him credibility. A well-groomed Ivy League graduate, selling an ultra-exclusive service that supposedly only the richest of the rich in America had access to."


    The person who tipped off John Nae-non about Nelson Yongbeom was actually a VVIP client.


    Something about the hibernation tech seemed off, so the client sought out another survival expert for a second opinion.


    As soon as John Nae-non received the inquiry, he immediately scoured English and French forums, searching for discussions on hibernation technology.


    When he found nothing, he resorted to machine translation and posted his own question.


    "That was the hardest part. The translation tool was absolute garbage."


    This was before Melon Mask¡¯s advanced translation AI became available. Back then, he had to rely on public machine translators, which were notoriously clunky.


    Still, he managed to get his question across, and soon, foreign users responded.


    Their reactions?


    Almost identical to John Nae-non¡¯s own suspicions.


    "Most of them told me to check back in a hundred years. Some users pointed out that simply lowering body temperature wouldn¡¯t be enough. Hibernation would require a revolutionary drug that could drastically slow metabolism without destroying blood cells."


    At that point in his memoir, John Nae-non swore at least three times.


    "That piece of shit Nelson Yongbeom cost me a huge deal. If I had landed that old man¡¯s bunker contract, I could¡¯ve upgraded Failnet HQ, moved into a bigger, safer building! I could¡¯ve bought a better nuclear battery! Maybe I wouldn¡¯t have ended up like this!"


    Despite John Nae-non¡¯s warnings, the VVIP still signed a contract with Nelson Yongbeom.


    And of course, no one ever heard from that VVIP again.


    "That old man... he signed up for ten of those damn cryo-pods. Himself, his wife, his son and daughter-in-law, his daughter and son-in-law, his grandkids, even his household staff¡ªhe took all of them with him."


    Despite owning over ten satellite communication devices, that VVIP had vanished.


    At least, until John Nae-non¡¯s death, there had been no sign of him.


    "Even after I got banned from the forums, I kept searching my username every day. No one was looking for me. Which meant... they weren¡¯t logging in at all."


    It was a story from the past, but John Nae-non dedicated quite a lot of time to it¡ªout of sheer curiosity.


    "I just want to know what happened to that guy. He¡¯s probably dead, but still... wouldn¡¯t you want to confirm it? I know where the facility is. Got the info from his secretary over drinks. Ahh... if only my health weren¡¯t failing. If only I could go check for myself..."


    Then, in clear and deliberate pronunciation, John Nae-non recorded the exact location of the hidden hibernation facility.


    It was in the mountainous region near Anseong City.


    Not too far.


    The problem was, I knew almost nothing about that area.


    As far as I was aware, no one lived there.


    The urban relocation policy had forced most small-town residents to migrate to major cities.


    And as always, abandoned towns were filled with zombies, mutants, and monsters.


    There might even be opportunistic raiders lurking around.


    If that was the case, I might as well make use of the community forum for once.


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s Inquiry) Anyone here familiar with the Anseong area?


    It had been a while since I last posted a question.


    Shitposts rarely got replies, but questions usually got some traction.


    Sure enough, notifications popped up.


    "Huh?"


    But then I saw who had responded¡ªand it wasn¡¯t exactly good news.


    Dies_irae69: Oh, I know that place well. It¡¯s our new territory.


    Dies_irae69: Planning a visit? Ask me anything you want to know.


    Dies Irae.

 Chapter 111.2: The Cold Coffin (2)

    Disliking someone doesn¡¯t always mean you have to fight them.


    Just having negative feelings toward someone isn¡¯t something easily noticed unless you frequently interact with them or actively express it.


    My relationship with Dies Irae was similar.


    I didn¡¯t particularly like him, but I had never openly criticized him or gotten into a conflict with him.


    Because of that, unlike with FoxGame, my line of communication with him was always open.


    Message from Dies_irae69: I¡¯ve been meaning to show off our new settlement, actually. I could post about it here, but there are too many prying eyes. You¡¯ve probably figured it out already¡ªfanatics, North Korean rats, even Chinese bastards might be watching.


    Message from Dies_irae69: There¡¯s no need to brag, anyway. Same as before the war. Flaunting your wealth only attracts beggars and scammers. In our case, though, we had to take on a full battalion backed by artillery support.


    Message from Dies_irae69: Let me know if you¡¯re coming. If you¡¯ve got a K-Walkie, use that. I¡¯ll give you my personal identification number.


    He sent me his personal identification number.


    -Dies_irae_69


    Surprisingly, his ID was identical to his username.


    I doubted he had obtained it before the war.


    Back when we used to meet, we always agreed on a time and place¡ªnever using identification numbers.


    There had to be a way to generate them independently.


    Back when the government controlled all communications, this would¡¯ve been impossible.


    But now?


    With no government oversight, it was no longer out of the question.


    Dies Irae had always been selective about the people he associated with.


    Whereas I based my connections on personal bonds and past relationships, he only followed his own strict criteria.


    It wouldn¡¯t be surprising if he had a communications expert in his ranks.


    He had always had friction with the Legion and its remnants, after all.


    Regardless, I was open to his invitation.


    Not only would it be useful to have a guide in unfamiliar territory, but I was also curious to see the community Dies Irae had built.


    As someone who had chosen group survival, he was technically an industry veteran in that field.


    SKELTON: (Skelton: Looking forward to it.) I¡¯ll reach out once I get there.


    I had made plans with Dies Irae.


    Considering I had previously blocked him, this was something I never would¡¯ve imagined happening.


    But then again, what in this world ever stayed the same?


    This time, I decided to go alone.


    "What? You¡¯re going by yourself?"


    Chun Young-jae asked, sounding surprised.


    I nodded.


    "It¡¯s not a place for a group."


    There were two reasons for this decision.


    The first was population density.


    Unlike the Seoul-Incheon corridor, where people were scattered everywhere, the southern regions¡ªat least from my territory¡¯s perspective¡ªwere sparsely populated.


    There had never been many people there, and those who had once lived there had likely disappeared over the past three years.


    If my base was one of the most important strongholds in the region, then it only made sense to leave Chun Young-jae, a key fighter, stationed at home.


    The second reason was Dies Irae himself.


    Dies Irae had a habit of recruiting people he found useful.


    He had repeatedly tried to get me to join his faction, and he had made similar offers to Defender.


    He tended to prefer highly skilled fighters.


    And Chun Young-jae?


    He was exactly the kind of person Dies Irae would want.


    If I brought him along, there was no doubt that Dies Irae would try to recruit him.


    Having spent enough time with Chun Young-jae, I had come to understand one of his weaknesses¡ªhe had a thing for women.


    If Dies Irae used women to bait him, there was a real chance he might switch sides.


    I didn¡¯t intend to antagonize Dies Irae, but he was the kind of person who would betray trust the moment it no longer served his interests.


    If Chun Young-jae¡ªa skilled combatant¡ªended up on Dies Irae¡¯s side, it would become a serious problem.


    For that reason, I chose to travel alone.


    It increased my risk, but it wasn¡¯t a new kind of danger.


    I had traveled between Incheon and Seoul on my own plenty of times before.


    "Alright, safe travels."


    Ha Tae-hoon pressed a remote, and with a deep mechanical groan, the main gate of the outer wall slowly opened.


    "Can¡¯t make it open any faster?"


    "This is the best I can do. I¡¯m a tinkerer, not an engineer."


    Leaving my allies behind, I headed toward Anseong.


    For transportation, I took Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s motorcycle.


    It had been left idle for a long time, but it had never once let me down.


    It had just the right amount of noise, speed, and control, carrying me swiftly toward my destination.


    At the edge of familiar territory, I paused briefly to check my firearms and equipment.


    I also rechecked my tire pressure.


    From here on, I was entering enemy terrain.


    Staring at the abandoned road filled with wrecked cars, I twisted the throttle.


    VROOOOOM¡ª!


    Following a break in the guardrails, I veered off the road.


    It was rough terrain, shaking the bike violently and wearing down the tires, but it was still a better choice than a road blocked by wreckage.


    In places like this, humans weren¡¯t the only ones hiding.


    Where there were no people, the land was ruled by animals.


    And among them?


    Mutations.


    Riding along a narrow path between farmland, I glanced toward the highway.


    A graveyard of abandoned vehicles stretched into the distance.


    And within it...


    Something moved.


    A Mutation.


    That shape...


    A cat?


    People often assumed that dogs were more dangerous than cats.


    But from the perspective of prey, a cat was a far more terrifying hunter.


    Dogs hunted larger prey with numbers and endurance.


    Cats?


    They relied on stealth and explosive speed to catch weaker prey in an instant.


    If a human was reduced to a size smaller than a cat and had no weapons, they would be nothing more than a meal.


    Mutated cats were even worse.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    They had a tendency to play with their human prey before killing them.


    This was a common phenomenon reported in India and China, where Mutations had overrun entire regions.


    "..."


    A massive black cat, having missed its prey, climbed onto a wrecked car and stared at me.


    Its pupils were unnaturally large, glowing with an eerie yellow hue.


    Less cute¡ªmore like something from a nightmare.


    I stopped my bike and aimed my pistol.


    It didn¡¯t flinch.


    Only when I shouldered my rifle did it finally retreat.


    Just as intelligence varied among humans, it also varied among Mutations.


    Just like Gold and its offspring, some of them were far more intelligent than others.


    That Mutation was extremely smart.


    It didn¡¯t just recognize firearms¡ªit could identify different types of guns and assess threats accordingly.


    It had likely encountered armed humans before.


    And killed them.


    Mutations like that were often more dangerous than Monsters.


    After scanning the surroundings, I continued my journey.


    Following broken road signs and GPS markers, I arrived in Anseong.


    Like most small cities, it was completely abandoned.


    Barricades blocked the streets, torn tents and scattered remains littered the city.


    The undead were waking from dormancy, drawn by the sound of my motorcycle engine.


    I reached out to Dies Irae.


    "Oh, Skelton? You¡¯re here. Where are you?"


    He responded immediately, as if he had a radio on him at all times.


    I gave him my location.


    "See that mountain? There should be signs for a golf course. Head there."


    Following his directions, I reached his domain.


    A golf course nestled in the mountains.


    As I ascended the final stretch, a barricade blocked the road.


    "Stop."


    Men wearing masks and goggles approached, their guns trained on me.


    One of them stepped forward and asked,


    "Who are you?"


    "Skelton."


    The man turned around and gave a nod.


    The armed men wheeled back the barricade, clearing a path.


    "So, you¡¯re Skelton?"


    Though his face was hidden, it was clear that he knew who I was.


    "Why would someone like you do something like that...?"


    "?"


    I proceeded through the now-open road.


    As the endless greenery of the plains began to fade, the scorching August sun revealed a new sight¡ª


    A golf course.


    "..."


    No¡ª


    A village.


    Though made up of camping trailers, RVs, and tents, the expansive golf course grounds had been transformed into a fully functional community.


    And there were people.


    Men, women, and even children.


    A peaceful sight.


    Makeshift wind turbines spun briskly, while people plowed the fields, sat together assembling or repairing things, and kids ran around, laughing in small groups.


    Even in Jeju, I had never seen such a thriving settlement.


    Sitting atop my motorcycle, I observed the village in silence.


    Then, a masked and goggled man approached.


    There was no doubt in my mind about who he was.


    Even with his face covered, I recognized him immediately.


    Dies Irae.


    "Skelton."


    I dismounted from the motorcycle and gave a polite nod.


    "Dies Irae."


    "How about a drink?"


    He removed his goggles and mask, revealing his face.


    Unsurprisingly, he looked exactly the same as when we had first met.


    He gestured toward one of the many campers lined up in the golf course.


    "That¡¯s my home."


    His home was a bus.


    Not just any bus¡ª


    It had been converted into a mobile fortress.


    Reinforced steel plates covered various parts of the exterior, and the entire vehicle was wrapped in a metal mesh, like a mosquito net.


    Its sheer fortification spoke volumes about the countless battles it had endured.


    A camping table sat outside.


    As he approached, a young woman peeked out from inside the bus, and at his signal, she handed out drinks.


    The condensation on the water bottle told me all I needed to know¡ª


    A refrigerator.


    "..."


    It wasn¡¯t just the numbers.


    Dies Irae¡¯s community wasn¡¯t just large¡ª


    It had resources.


    "So, what do you think?"


    "It¡¯s impressive."


    I decided to be honest.


    King¡¯s city was impressive in its own way, but they weren¡¯t comparable.


    King was an Over Level 5 Awakened who had inherited an already powerful band of raiders.


    Dies Irae¡¯s real competition was me.


    We had both started from nothing and built our respective domains.


    If anything, I had the upper hand in the beginning¡ª


    I had more resources than the average person, and I had spent years preparing for this.


    What I had built was my underground fortress.


    Meanwhile, Dies Irae had gathered people.


    One by one, he selected trustworthy, competent individuals.


    And once his group grew strong, he expanded it into a thriving community.


    I might not like him, but I couldn¡¯t deny his vision or his abilities.


    "At first, I thought about building a fortress on the mountainside."


    Dies Irae leaned back in his chair, drinking his water.


    "But there¡¯s no defense against artillery. Once your coordinates are locked, that land is as good as useless. Even if they only fire one shell a day at random, you can¡¯t run a normal economy under those conditions. You¡¯re forced to leave."


    "And that couple?"


    "Ah, the ones from FoxGame¡¯s bunker? They¡¯re fine¡ªover there."


    He pointed toward a man and woman wearing straw hats, working under a makeshift tent.


    "They¡¯re not used to manual labor, but they¡¯re diligent. Level-headed, too. The guy isn¡¯t suited for combat, but the woman? She¡¯s tough as hell. She once picked up a live grenade and threw it back. Even most men wouldn¡¯t have the guts to do that."


    Thinking back, the wife had seemed more dominant in that relationship.


    I asked him a few things, particularly about how he maintained resources for such a large community.


    "Honestly? We¡¯re short on supplies. Very short."


    Dies Irae didn¡¯t hesitate.


    "We barely have electricity or fuel. We¡¯ve got a decent stock of medicine, but food is running dangerously low. It should¡¯ve been better, but some Legion-affiliated general has it out for me. Every time I try to secure something, he comes after me."


    "A general?"


    "Yeah. He was a major back when I was in the military. Barely thirty, but now he¡¯s given himself a star and calls himself a general. His actual force is only battalion-sized, but since he used to be an artillery commander, he has a few cannons, which makes him a real pain in the ass."


    Dies Irae grinned and took another sip of water.


    "Fucking annoying."


    That casual, almost normal frustration softened my perception of him.


    But¡ª


    Dies Irae was still Dies Irae.


    "Hm?"


    There was a faint smell of decay.


    It came from behind the bus, where it was out of sight.


    The scent wasn¡¯t fresh¡ªit had been there for a while.


    Noticing my gaze, Dies Irae smirked.


    "You can smell it? I barely notice it anymore."


    He stood up.


    "Let me show you."


    Dies Irae led me behind the bus.


    "..."


    A gallows.


    A corpse hung there.


    From the build, it had likely been a woman in life.


    A sign dangled from her neck¡ª


    "TRAITOR."


    And that wasn¡¯t all.


    More gallows stood in a neat row behind the first.


    At least ten more bodies, each with different labels on their chests.


    The same community that had built this ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Read more on our source) peaceful village had executed these people.


    Dies Irae turned to me.


    "What do you think?"


    He was asking me¡ª


    While looking at the corpses he had created.

 Chapter 111.3: The Cold Coffin (3)

    ¡°Well...¡±


    How could I possibly understand the thoughts of this cold-blooded person?


    Still, since they¡¯re curious about my thoughts, I should at least answer.


    As I briefly gather my words, innocent children walk past us.


    A boy stares at the corpse with vacant eyes, but a girl tugs at his ear and drags him away in another direction.


    ¡°Children are nice.¡±


    Dies_Irae grins as she watches the children leave.


    ¡°Where there are children, the group looks peaceful. The same goes for a happy couple. These things act as buffers, making the place seem like a good place to live.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying they¡¯re just decorations?¡±


    I asked, watching the children getting farther away.


    ¡°That¡¯s not it. They serve a purpose.¡±


    Dies_Irae shakes her head.


    ¡°Even animals find their own enclosures. Humans are the same, aren¡¯t they? People with nowhere to go are fine anywhere, but there are sometimes decent folks. The ones with decent skills, clear thoughts, and firm resolve. To those kinds of people, would they rather be in a garbage heap of drugged-up, live-for-today human scum? Or would they prefer a community with happy families?¡±


    ¡°The latter, I suppose.¡±


    I answered briefly and looked back at the corpse.


    ¡°What crime did they commit?¡±


    It¡¯s a neutral enough question.


    There¡¯s no need to clash with this person here.


    Dies_Irae grinned.


    ¡°Our community has over 50 people now. More than twenty of the original Viva! Apocalypse! members. But you know, when the numbers increase, problems arise. It¡¯s the same everywhere, right? The dilemma of the stone that¡¯s been stuck and the one that rolled in. Honestly, some of the initial members weren¡¯t very impressive. They¡¯re precious friends, but what can you do about that? But to me, both the stuck stone and the one that rolled in are precious.¡±


    Dies_Irae gazes up at the corpse hanging from the gallows with a meaningful smile.


    ¡°As the conflicts deepened, we made contact with a group of survivors. They were from some merchant guild, I think. From the beginning, I had a feeling about them. Ah, these people. They¡¯re all pathetic.¡±


    ¡°Pathetic people?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen them before, right? Loud, rude, always comparing themselves to others and ranking them, and most of all, ungrateful.¡±


    ¡°Did you take them in with the intention of killing them from the start?¡±


    I asked coldly.


    Dies_Irae smiled contently and pointed at me with a finger.


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    Is that an English term for ''exactly''?


    ¡°I knew from the beginning that these people would cause trouble. Especially this woman. She was the type who thought her strength was something to boast about. She made a scene. And after that, everything went as expected.¡±


    Dies_Irae picked up a stone from the ground and pretended to throw it at the corpse.


    ¡°Especially this woman, who was the most despised. I had her tied up and had everyone throw stones at her. I made sure no one would escape, except the child. Everyone had to kill her with their own hands.¡±


    This is the part where I felt the most disgust toward Dies_Irae.


    Dies_Irae uses people as tools.


    He has no hesitation, no second thoughts, no taboos when using them.


    ¡°Even a sheet of paper is easier to lift when carried together, right?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    I just hope this person never comes near my territory.


    The best outcome would be if he died at the hands of another enemy before ever meeting me, but I don¡¯t think it will be that easy for him.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got one question I¡¯d like to ask.¡±


    I guess I should get something in return for listening to this revolting story.


    What I wanted to confirm, as John Nae-non asked, was the final fate of the people who chose hibernation.


    With over 10 satellite devices to boot.


    As much as his humanity is questionable, Dies_Irae¡¯s abilities are exceptional.


    ¡°Oh, there.¡±


    He knew exactly the situation of the place I was headed.


    ¡°It¡¯s better not to get too close.¡±


    ¡°Are there monsters?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something even scarier than monsters.¡±


    Dies_Irae grinned and stared towards the northeast.


    ¡°There, the spirits live.¡±


    *


    The skeletal figures gathered at a specific point, the old and decaying tripwires set up everywhere, the warning signs scrawled in what looked like red paint, and the damp, yin-like energy inherent to the land.


    It certainly seemed like a place where spirits could reside.


    ¡°This place used to be called Deokdae-gol. They say it¡¯s where children who died before their parents were buried, just wrapped in cloth and discarded.¡±


    The guide was a young couple.


    The man had connections to this area, and the couple had fled here, where they met Dies_Irae and ended up sharing a fate.


    Dies_Irae didn¡¯t assign the couple any orders. That wasn¡¯t just for my safety.


    Dies_Irae, cunning as he was, made sure not to direct the couple in any way.


    So, there were no obvious habits like probing or watching, typical of rookie spies.


    They were simply guiding me to my destination, the place known as Deokdae-gol.


    Afterward, they¡¯d probably ask a lot of questions.


    If anyone could guess my intentions from even a tiny clue, it would be Dies_Irae. He would personally check it out if he had any inkling.


    It wasn¡¯t particularly bothersome.


    The 10 satellite devices were a waste, but my goal was simply to confirm, with my own eyes, what John Nae-non had been eager to see¡ª the outcome of hibernation.


    If you come, you die!Watch your step!This is where the Íöì` (spirits) live!


    These were the writings scrawled around the foot of the mountain.


    A childish threat, but the neat handwriting caught my eye.


    It was likely written by someone older.


    ¡°Are you a friend of the captain¡¯s?¡±


    The man spoke up.


    ¡°Captain?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I heard you talking earlier.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes.¡±


    Was he referring to Dies_Irae, not Mgu?


    But then, even Roka-hun had referred to Dies_Irae as ¡®Captain¡¯ before.


    ¡°Yes, we have some history together.¡±


    ¡°The captain doesn¡¯t usually take the time to chat like that.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes, so I thought maybe you two were alumni or something.¡±


    For some reason, the young couple seemed to be reading me.


    It was as if they expected something.


    That if I were close with Dies_Irae, and if I spoke well of them, their treatment might improve.


    It was surprising that they¡¯d be thinking of such things in this eerie place.


    I was constantly on guard, and yet they were thinking of that.


    ¡°We¡¯re internet friends. Aren¡¯t there some people from that side in the village?¡±


    I ?N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t? answered absentmindedly, while shifting my gaze.


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s a different atmosphere there.¡±


    They stubbornly pursued.


    The feeling of irritation was growing.


    The forest¡¯s ominous energy was intensifying, and the number of tripwires I could see was steadily increasing. I stopped briefly and gave them a warning.


    ¡°Hey, isn¡¯t this place a bit dangerous?¡±


    I looked around demonstratively.


    It was the middle of summer, near noon, yet the forest was dimly lit.


    The random bushes and vines growing all over blocked the sunlight, casting shadows and a chilling atmosphere within the forest.


    The eerie warning signs were written here and there, and on the ground lay rusty, disabled tripwires that still held their malicious intent.


    There might still be someone around.


    Someone who wrote those warnings and set those traps.


    However, the young couple seemed unbothered.


    ¡°They¡¯re probably dead,¡± the man said.


    ¡°From what I heard, there was a recluse murderer around here a couple of years ago, but they disappeared one day. They must have died.¡±


    The expression on their face seemed to say, There¡¯s no way anything is wrong.


    As I looked at them with an unimpressed face, this time it was the woman who spoke up.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t just follow you for nothing. Let¡¯s go there. There¡¯s a house where the recluse used to live!¡±


    I could understand the source of their confidence.


    They must have explored this area before.


    That experience seems to have numbed their fear.


    ¡°The captain, too. You must know that there¡¯s nothing here, yet you¡¯re making your acquaintance walk in vain.¡±


    They kept trying to steer the conversation toward Dies_Irae.


    It¡¯s a moment that clearly shows just how much of an influence Dies_Irae has on their lives.


    I¡¯m not sure exactly what they think of him, but I¡¯m sure a big part of their feelings is fear.


    No matter how much you dress it up or decorate it, there aren¡¯t many who would view favorably a leader who executes dozens of people openly.


    They probably sensed that someday, they too might end up in a similar situation.


    ¡°Over there.¡±


    In the midst of my doubt, something moss-covered and hard to distinguish from a rock appeared.


    A bunker.


    It wasn¡¯t recently built, but it looked like a facility repurposed from the Korean War era.


    ¡°This is where the recluse lived.¡±


    Just as the man had said, the bunker was littered with filthy bedding, leftover food, and cloth scraps that couldn¡¯t even be recycled. Traces of life were left in a grimy and dusty heap.


    ¡°Did you find any bodies?¡±


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    I asked the man, noticing there were no signs of bodies.


    ¡°No, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.¡±


    ¡°There were some drug bags, though.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes sparkled as she spoke, seemingly recalling something.


    ¡°You know the bags people with chronic illnesses get from the pharmacy? There was a huge pile of them. Our village doctor, Dr. Jeong, said they were for diabetes and high cholesterol. He stopped taking them halfway through, just left them abandoned.¡±


    While I appreciated the information, I couldn¡¯t ignore the uncomfortable gaze they kept on me.


    They were clearly trying to score some points.


    ¡°...¡±


    I deliberately ignored them and started to scan the surroundings.


    There must be some kind of secret facility with hibernation chambers around here.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Just a moment.¡±


    Under the cold gaze of the couple, I continued my exploration.


    The first things I found were the ventilation system and drainage pipes.


    There had to be something, considering it wasn¡¯t a grave.


    Wherever people enter, there must naturally be a way for air to flow in and out.


    ¡°Still nothing?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing here. Don¡¯t waste your time.¡±


    It was late afternoon when I finally found a trace.


    The couple¡¯s incessant nagging was becoming unbearable.


    Clank¡ª


    I heard something crunch underfoot.


    It was unmistakable.


    An artificial object.


    I dug through the dirt with my hands.


    Sure enough, beyond the wriggling bugs, I could see the concrete drainage pipe.


    From its position, I could tell where the secret facility was.


    Could it be there?


    I saw a spot that could be tunneled into, just like my bunker.


    The dense trees and plants pointed toward it, but despite that, the faint traces of artificial structure couldn¡¯t be fully hidden.


    With a rustle¡ª


    As I peeled back the camouflage that blended with nature, a rusted iron door appeared before us.


    ¡°Hmm? What¡¯s this?¡±


    The young couple, who had been grumbling endlessly, swarmed over.


    ¡°Do you need help?¡±


    Their intentions were obvious, but I decided it was better to let them help than to get shot in the back.


    Thud!


    With the combined strength of the three of us, we forced open the tightly closed bunker door.


    ¡°Ugh!¡±


    ¡°Ugh!¡±


    Inside the bunker, a terrible, rotting stench filled the air.


    The smell of corpses.


    It was so strong that we had to ventilate the place for a while.


    After the smell cleared a bit, we donned masks and entered.


    Inside, there were ten circular chambers, neatly arranged along the corridor.


    They looked strikingly futuristic and high-tech.


    Anyone could tell that a lot of money had been spent on them.


    Each of the ten chambers seemed to have an occupant, but there was one person who hadn¡¯t made it into a chamber.


    ¡°Look there.¡±


    In the dimness, a pair of feet floated in the air.


    It was a suicide victim.


    The young couple shone a lantern on the face of the corpse.


    ¡°Hmm? Who¡¯s that?¡±


    The cold, dry environment had withered the body, but even in its shriveled state, it seemed to have been someone famous enough to be recognized by people who didn¡¯t even know them personally.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that Jeon Yu-gyeong?¡±


    ¡°Do you know him?¡±


    I asked them.


    *


    It was no surprise that the hibernation chambers were a sham.


    Inside the chambers, withered corpses lay as though sleeping, their eyes closed.


    Each one of them was dead.


    Though we didn¡¯t know when they had died, the state of the bodies suggested they all perished around the same time.


    The man who John Nae-non had cursed, Nelson Yongbeom, was revealed to be a fraud.


    But John Nae-non, in the records he left behind, repeatedly raised one question.


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you, that person¡ªshould I call him an elder¡ªwas really smart and sharp. He was even better with IT than me, even though he was old enough to be my father. That¡¯s probably how he made all his money, right? I just can¡¯t understand why such a smart person got caught up in a scam. That¡¯s why I wanted to check out that place.¡±


    After a long silence, I found out that John Nae-non had left one more thing to say.


    ¡°...I wonder if that elder really signed that contract.¡±


    The man who hanged himself alone in the cold, lavishly designed chamber was a well-known figure in the region.


    He was the so-called local bigwig, someone who always returned to his hometown around the holidays, giving out donations and the like.


    Though John Nae-non didn¡¯t mention the VVIP¡¯s real name, I was certain this corpse belonged to that very VVIP.


    The young man, staring at the body lying on the floor, spoke.


    ¡°There were rumors that he didn¡¯t get along with his spouse and children. He even had a big fight with them in a hotel lobby, and everyone knew about it.¡±


    ¡°Why did they fight? They¡¯re from a wealthy family.¡±


    ¡°You know the type. The old man, with all his wealth, tried to control his family with his money. The older he got, the worse that trait became.¡±


    The man clicked his tongue as he looked at the body.


    ¡°I thought he was dead after the war since we hadn¡¯t heard from him in Seoul. But he was here, huh?¡±


    The woman muttered as she looked at the body.


    ¡°Such a sad life. Even with all that money, he couldn¡¯t even get into a proper coffin and ended up hanging himself. Life really is futile.¡±


    They didn¡¯t realize this was a hibernation chamber.


    They probably assumed these people, in their hopeless condition, had chosen euthanasia in a luxurious coffin as a comfortable escape.


    ¡°...¡±


    A lot of thoughts were running through my mind.


    Among the jumbled thoughts, the largest chunk was connected to John Nae-non¡¯s question.


    This old man must have known that the hibernation chambers were a fraud.


    I don¡¯t know why he put his family into those chambers, nor the emotions behind it.


    I can¡¯t judge why he returned to the place where his deceased family was, refused to take his medicine, and chose to hang himself alone.


    He¡¯s dead, and his story is over.


    So, what I¡¯m saying now is just unfounded speculation.


    But there¡¯s a definite, unresolved story here.


    ¡°Excuse me, sir. I¡¯m really sorry, but could we say we discovered this together?¡±


    ¡°Yes, please. We¡¯re getting a bit of a cold shoulder from the captain. It¡¯s dangerous! Haha...¡±


    The bodies inside the chambers weren¡¯t the only ones.


    There was another cold coffin, and inside it, people still alive, though they hadn¡¯t died yet.


    So, even though their story might end here, the conclusion won¡¯t stay speculative for long.

 Chapter 112.1: Faith (1)

    The cold tomb wasn¡¯t a place filled with treasures like a Pharaoh¡¯s tomb.


    It was a shabby cryogenic chamber, reeking of the smell of death, with only cheap mechanical equipment, LED lights, and rudimentary power generators¡ªthings that scavengers might find useful.


    But there was a treasure in that tomb.


    Satellite equipment.


    There were a total of eight pieces of satellite equipment scattered haphazardly and disconnected, but I took the four that were in the best condition.


    It was the first time the nagging young couple became useful.


    Dies_Irae didn¡¯t show any particular reaction.


    He simply asked how I had found this place, and I mentioned John Nae-non¡¯s name.


    Then he asked,


    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡±


    It seemed that Dies_Irae had forgotten John Nae-non¡¯s name.


    After I reminded him, he chuckled and nodded.


    ¡°Oh, that guy. Right, right. He was the one who created Failnet, wasn¡¯t he?¡±


    Apart from that, Dies_Irae was considerate of me.


    Since the motorcycle¡¯s small cargo compartment wouldn¡¯t fit everything, he had someone secure the load with chains and ropes. As night fell, he even suggested we stay overnight before heading out.


    He still seemed intent on adding me to his ranks.


    The journey wasn¡¯t without obstacles, but no major accidents occurred.


    The black mutation we had seen in the morning persistently targeted me, but we only exchanged some subtle standoffish moves.


    Its intelligence and cunning reminded me of Gold, the mutated dog I had encountered before.


    Once I managed to distance myself from it in a safe stretch, there were no more threats.


    I contacted Ha Tae-hoon using the comms device to open the door.


    He was waiting for me at the entrance to my bunker.


    But he wasn¡¯t alone.


    Cheon Young-jae was also outside.


    Something must have happened.


    ¡°The Legion faction was attacked,¡± Cheon Young-jae said, relaying the information from his contact over the radio.


    While I was digging up the cold crypt that John Nae-non had been curious about, a large-scale raid by zealots had taken place in Wonju.


    Communication was lost halfway through, so the details weren¡¯t clear, but the reports said the attack was so massive that it looked like the entire city was burning.


    There was one unresolved issue.


    My first online friend, left behind in Wonju.


    The Defender siblings.


    When I entered my bunker and logged into the forum, I expected to hear from Defender.


    Two new messages had arrived in my inbox.


    They were probably from Defender.


    My heart raced as I opened them.


    VIVA_BOT014: Skeleton~ I¡¯ve cleared up the mini armband permissions. Please contact me when you log in, preferably during the daytime over here.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: (One serving of facts) Skeleton. How are you? It¡¯s Su§Ö!


    These were messages from people I missed.


    But there was no message from Defender.


    *


    Static¡ª


    Radio.


    Before the invention of the internet, it was the most common way to communicate over long distances.


    I didn¡¯t usually use the radio, except for the K-Walkie-Talkie, but Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon preferred using it.


    They were still trying to make contact.


    Static¡ª


    It wasn¡¯t the same as satellite internet.


    The signal wasn¡¯t strong.


    Even when the frequency was properly tuned, interference from solar magnetic fields, the atmosphere, and weather conditions made it difficult to get a clear signal, requiring persistent effort.


    ¡°There seems to be some interference.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon exchanged glances, deducing the situation.


    Ha Tae-hoon spoke as he looked at me.


    ¡°It¡¯s like they¡¯ve set up a wall of interference.¡±


    ¡°Must be the Legion faction¡¯s doing?¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    Since the radio wasn¡¯t yielding anything, I decided to look for information in my own way.


    But I couldn¡¯t hear anything about Wonju.


    It had always been that way.


    Most of the users on our forum lived near Seoul or in the metropolitan area, and there were almost no users in areas controlled by the Legion faction.


    Well, there were a few before the war.


    But they died off as the war went on.


    Still, new users had started emerging from Legion-controlled areas, and I secretly hoped for information from them.


    The situation in Wonju became clear around noon.


    ¡°Disguised as refugees, the Awakened led a deep incursion into the city, attacking both inside and outside. There were so many bodies that even tanks and vehicles had to run over them.¡±


    According to Cheon Young-jae¡¯s contact, Wonju had been devastated to the point that the city¡¯s functions had collapsed.


    ¡°...This sounds like the chaos we saw in China.¡±


    After the transmission ended, Cheon Young-jae looked at us with a fatigued expression.


    ¡°There must have been some people trained in China. After all, that¡¯s the kind of faction they are.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s words made sense, but I could see beyond that.


    ¡°Wonju was destroyed, huh...¡±


    It wasn¡¯t just that a city had been wiped out and many people had died.


    The real problem was deeper and more fundamental: Wonju had been overrun by zealots.


    ¡°Maybe the Legion faction will disband,¡± I murmured.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    After General Kim Byung-cheol¡¯s ambitious plan to reclaim Seoul failed, the Legion faction lost its leadership and began to fragment.


    General Kim Byung-cheol was still alive, but there were plenty of generals who were doubtful about him.


    It wasn¡¯t just the leadership that was shaky. With such an incident occurring, it could lead to Kim Byung-cheol¡¯s downfall and the eventual disbandment of the Legion faction, with multiple factions breaking off.


    ¡°...This is bad,¡± Ha Tae-hoon muttered.


    Cheon Young-jae agreed.


    ¡°I think we should bring in more people.¡±


    He proposed a more {N?o?v?e?l?i?g?h?t} active approach.


    ¡°Who are you bringing in?¡± I asked Cheon Young-jae.


    ¡°Baek Seung-hyun, our senior.¡±


    From the 15th batch, wasn¡¯t it?


    The one who got injured?


    ¡°His leg might be hurt, but he¡¯s still a good sharpshooter.¡±


    ¡°Alright. If we get the chance, bring him along.¡±


    Time was pressing.


    The collapse of the Legion faction meant the storm that had once ravaged the Academy¡¯s hunters could return at any time.


    And if the Legion faction disbanded, things would become even more troublesome.


    It meant the miscellaneous warlords who had been pretending to be part of the military would now show their true colors.


    ¡°Have you been in contact with Hong Jung-ho?¡± I asked Cheon Young-jae about Defender.


    ¡°No. I¡¯ve been trying, but no luck.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a tough one, so he wouldn¡¯t go down easily. If he¡¯s alive, he¡¯ll contact us.¡±


    I hoped that was the case.


    But the situation wasn¡¯t that simple.


    Defender was a target that the zealots had specifically singled out for execution.


    That meant his chances of survival were slim.


    I acknowledged that Defender¡¯s combat prowess was formidable, but when it came to monsters, he was just average.


    A level 5 or higher Awakened, who was almost indistinguishable from a monster, wasn¡¯t an ideal match for Defender.


    And Defender had the burden of his younger sister.


    In an environment where he could use drones, he was top-tier, but as an individual combatant, he wasn¡¯t the most reliable.


    ¡°...¡±


    It was frustrating, but there was nothing to do but wait.


    Heading into Wonju, a battlefield in such uncertainty, was far too risky.


    ¡°How about we take a break? You haven¡¯t slept all night.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t particularly tired.


    I had taken caffeine capsules, and since I was on high alert, I wasn¡¯t even close to feeling sleepy.


    But I knew it was better to rest while I could.


    Taking Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s advice, I entered the bunker.


    I turned on the generator, used the air conditioner, and took a warm shower.


    Before resting, I logged into the forum.


    Apart from the new armband permissions, I needed to reply to Su§Ö.


    It was nice to hear from her again after so long, but when I saw her message, a chill ran down my spine.


    She had clearly learned something strange.


    And, as expected:


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Reply.


    She had learned something strange!


    Where could she have picked this up?


    Wasn¡¯t she in the U.S. military camp?


    As I pondered what to respond, suddenly, the K-Walkie-Talkie beeped.


    Beep-beep-beep¡ª


    A familiar sound.


    A call by personal identification number.


    I checked the sender.


    Personal ID: RED_MASK


    It was Woo Min-hee.


    This was the first contact since she went to Jeju.


    Though her importance had lessened, she was still a leader of a powerful faction I knew.


    I cleared my throat and responded to the communication.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a while.¡±


    As soon as I greeted her, a light, windy laugh came through the receiver.


    ¡°Senpai!¡±


    It was Woo Min-hee.


    Among the people I know, only she has such a captivating voice.


    "How have you been?"


    Come to think of it, is it just me these days?


    Suddenly, several people have been trying to contact me, and not just any time, but at the most nerve-wracking moments.


    People¡¯s behavior can be unpredictable, but it¡¯s better to take the good with the bad.


    I cleared my mind and answered sincerely.


    ¡°Just managing.¡±


    ¡°I heard you returned to where you were originally, in Jeju?¡±


    ¡°You know well.¡±


    ¡°I got a message from the senior.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡±


    ¡°He said if you need help, don¡¯t hesitate to ask. So...¡±


    ¡°Hmm. What kind of help do you think you''re offering?¡±


    I don¡¯t need any people.


    Of course, Woo Min-hee is included in that.


    Her group of Awakened individuals is slightly different from ours.


    While Cheon Young-jae is an unusual guy, us old-school hunters and the Awakened don¡¯t mix.


    No matter if they¡¯re low-level or high-level.


    ¡°I heard something interesting happened in Wonju. Did you hear? It seems like it hasn¡¯t hit the forum yet.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you post it? You¡¯re good at that kind of thing.¡±


    ¡°I was actually getting a bit bored. I was thinking of enjoying the forum life again.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Oh, and...¡±


    Woo Min-hee¡¯s voice shifted.


    Now, this must be the real information.


    ¡°The lighthouse went out.¡±


    As expected, this was the main issue.


    ¡°What happened to the people at the lighthouse?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know. All we know is that the communication with the lighthouse cut off a week ago, and there was a large-scale eruption.¡±


    ¡°That means...¡±


    ¡°Yeah. With the lighthouse down, they¡¯ll push southward.¡±


    Disasters do come in pairs, after all.


    Not only is the Legion faction on the brink of collapse, but now a large group of monsters is coming too.


    But this group of monsters will be different from before.


    We saw a new breed in Jeju.


    All cracks release monsters created in the same world, and as such, they share the same traits.


    It¡¯s possible that the same new breed could appear on the Korean Peninsula.


    Monsters that target humans themselves, proven to be like caterpillars, murderous beasts that aim to kill.


    No, it¡¯s more appropriate to call them extinction monsters.


    ¡°Well, it probably won¡¯t reach your area yet. There¡¯s still a long way to go before it¡¯s fully affected. If we¡¯re unlucky, maybe a giant species will make its way there?¡±


    ¡°...Thanks.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing, between us.¡±


    I heard Woo Min-hee chuckling.


    ¡°Anyway, stay in touch. We¡¯re neighbors again.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Sure.¡±


    The communication cut off.


    It wasn¡¯t a bad conversation.


    I decided to put off replying to Sue for now and turned back to my companions.


    ¡°What? A large-scale eruption?!¡±


    ¡°The lighthouse, thatÕTŒ§ facility, has stopped functioning? Does that mean the monsters are pushing toward Seoul again?¡±


    The reactions from my companions were just as I expected.


    Cheon Young-jae, in particular, had a quick response.


    ¡°Senior, we need to bring him in fast. He¡¯s definitely someone we can trust.¡±


    He spoke as he looked at me.


    ¡°Go ahead. Anything else we need, we can prepare later. I agree that we need a combatant.¡±


    Actually, I want two more people.


    I¡¯ve felt this way for a while.


    Expanding our combat power quantitatively is important, but we also need to have at least a night watch in place.


    We have machines, but blindly relying on them will only lead to a death where you are unable to do anything when the machine fails.


    I firmly believe there are things only humans can do.


    The more people we have, the less the burden of the night watch.


    While Cheon Young-jae was making plans to bring Baek Seung-hyun, who was outside of Seoul, I took a short rest.


    I slept for exactly 4 hours and woke up.


    A little fatigue remained, but most of it had faded.


    The sun was high in the sky.


    Before resuming activities, I logged into the forum.


    Now was the time to reply to Sue¡¯s message.


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    The reaction on the forum wasn¡¯t normal.


    Soon, I discovered the cause.


    ONE_FAITH: Execution.jpg


    It was a collection of several low-quality photos.


    There were no captions or texts, but the photos were cut into short frames like a traditional Eastern picture, giving the effect of movement when scrolled quickly, as if the people in the pictures were actually moving.


    In the next frames, four people were tied up, blindfolded.


    A creepy figure in a white hood was holding a large axe.


    He raised the axe and took turns striking the people.


    At the end of the photos, ONE_FAITH left a comment.


    ONE_FAITH: We¡¯ve captured and executed the four murderers.


    ONE_FAITH: Our pursuit does not end.


    ONE_FAITH: Our faith remains unwavering.


    ¡°...¡±


    I scrolled back up and looked at the photos again.


    I don¡¯t have a hobby of carefully observing corpses.


    And I definitely don¡¯t enjoy looking at the grimaces on beheaded faces enlarged in an axe strike.


    What I wanted to confirm was the faces of the executed.


    Fortunately, Defender wasn¡¯t one of them.


    That meant he was still alive.


    I sighed with relief, but my heart was still heavy.


    Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon came into my bunker.


    I usually hesitate to show my internet activity because of privacy issues, but I felt this time I should share the forum situation with them.


    ¡°Hey. This is the same thing we saw in China. Back then, what was it? TikTok? That¡¯s how they did this madness. I still remember that video of Chinese soldiers cutting people up with chainsaws.¡±


    ¡°So this is that satellite internet? And these zealots. They crawl all the way here and keep stirring things up?¡±


    I had spare satellite equipment.


    It wouldn¡¯t be a bad idea to offer it to them this time.


    The price? Just hit the "like" button on my posts.


    A reasonable deal.


    But then...


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    I noticed a menu option in ONE_FAITH¡¯s post that I hadn¡¯t seen before.


    A symbol marked with an ¡°x¡±, meaning delete.


    I clicked it once.


    Are you sure you want to delete this post? (Admin privileges required)¡°!¡±


    Wait a second.


    Could this be the armband privilege that VivaBot mentioned earlier?


    Right. Let¡¯s give it a try.


    Click!


    I pressed delete.


    The post has been deleted.¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°How did you do that?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-ho, who had been watching, looked shocked.


    Ha Tae-hoon, who seemed like he knew the internet better than Cheon Young-jae, stared at me with wide eyes.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on? Park Gyu. Are you an admin here?¡±


    I nodded with a meaningful smile.


    ¡°...Seems like it.¡±


    It looks like my deletion really got under the zealot''s skin.


    ONE_FAITH: Why is my post being deleted?


    ONE_FAITH: Who did this? Who¡¯s responsible? Did someone hack me?


    ONE_FAITH: Do you want to be executed?


    I scoffed.


    This guy.


    He¡¯s a newbie on the internet.

 Chapter 112.2: Faith (2)

    Is online camaraderie necessary?


    There is no definitive answer.


    It differs for each person.


    If you''re just looking for information or humor within an hour a day, there¡¯s no need to pursue friendships on the internet.


    Unless you¡¯re part of a very small community, people who spend less than an hour on the internet will likely be remembered as forgettable or unnecessary users.


    But for those who spend the entire day online, it''s a different story.


    No matter how large the community, there are always active core members.


    Among them, some users get many comments, while others are ignored by everyone.


    Some might ask, ¡°What¡¯s the big deal about receiving more or fewer comments?¡± But it¡¯s important.


    Even if you write the same meaningless post, whether you get comments (or emoticons, according to Red Archive-style boards) or not can greatly affect your presence on the forum.


    The very nature of an internet forum is like an online diary, and having at least one person read and respond to your post means a lot.


    Building relationships with moderators and those with power in the community, those often referred to as "admins" or "members with armbands," is naturally important.


    No matter how professional the moderator is, being human means they¡¯re still subject to personal feelings.


    I¡¯ve been maintaining a friendship with VivaBot, our forum admin, for a while.


    I admit I made some mistakes in the beginning.


    I was inexperienced back then.


    School curriculums didn¡¯t include internet etiquette or usage lessons.


    But now, it¡¯s different.


    Years of internet use have granted me experience and common sense.


    SKELTON: Actually, it seems like I¡¯ve gained some new powers.


    I sent a message to VivaBot.


    At the same time, I replied to Sue¡¯s message.


    SKELTON: (Surprised Skeleton) Wh-what¡¯s going on, Sue?


    The first reply came from VivaBot.


    VIVA_BOT014: Oh, Skeleton!


    SKELTON: Yes?


    VIVA_BOT014: Have you checked the new admin privileges?


    SKELTON: It seems like I have deletion rights. I wasn¡¯t sure what it was, but when I clicked it, the post got deleted...


    VIVA_BOT014: Yes. I granted you the deletion rights.


    SKELTON: (Flattered Skeleton) Wow... Is it really okay to give such power to someone like me?


    Feigning modesty is an essential skill for an internet expert.


    VIVA_BOT014: Even though you¡¯re a big help to us, Skeleton, I thought about it for a few days before deciding to grant you the rights that befit you.


    SKELTON: (Touched Skeleton) Oh...


    VIVA_BOT014: After careful consideration, I thought deletion rights would suit you. You seem to like that sort of thing.


    SKELTON: Hahaha...


    VIVA_BOT014: But, we won¡¯t allow indiscriminate deletions. I¡¯m not letting you just go around deleting posts that stir up trouble or make people angry. That kind of action disrupts the forum¡¯s order.


    SKELTON: I understand completely.


    VIVA_BOT014: Still, Skeleton, you¡¯re a bit unusual, but you¡¯re the pride of our forum. I feel a bit sorry that this is all I could do for you.


    SKELTON: Is there no armband decoration or anything? Like the shiny ones next to FoxGame¡¯s nickname?


    VIVA_BOT014: Nothing like that.


    SKELTON: Why not?


    VIVA_BOT014: Skeleton... I mean... Hmm, you¡¯re like a Dark Knight.


    SKELTON: Dark Knight...?


    VIVA_BOT014: Yes. Someone who doesn¡¯t reveal themselves but punishes those who stir up trouble on the forum. You just deleted a post, for example.


    SKELTON: (Surprised Skeleton) ?!


    VIVA_BOT014: To prevent your rampage, I¡¯ve set it up so I¡¯ll get notified every time you delete a post.


    SKELTON: Is that so?


    VIVA_BOT014: Yes. This time, I just want to say that it was well done. I don¡¯t think that weird cultist is really someone we need to worry about. Keep up the good work. We¡¯re preparing some special privileges for you!


    ¡°...¡±


    The Dark Knight of the forum...


    Although it¡¯s a bit strange not to reveal myself, it¡¯s not all that bad.


    I might not be able to delete FoxGame¡¯s posts, but at least I can freely delete those damn zealots'' posts.


    ONE_FAITH: Whoever deleted my post, quickly confess. No matter where you are or who you are, we will find you.


    The zealot had just posted again.


    Our forum friends were ignoring him as usual.


    Ignoring strange people is the rule of the forum, but honestly, it¡¯s true that this zealot is scary.


    The forum was silent.


    It¡¯s true that we¡¯re afraid of this zealot, but our friends likely think there¡¯s no need to stir up trouble.


    We¡¯ve already lost so many friends.


    But not everyone stayed silent.


    mmmmmmmmm: Ugh... The house is shaking again...


    Emgu posted.


    Though a bit timid, our Emgu still managed to show some of the forum user spirit.


    But it¡¯s probably not enough.


    We need to show more.


    How unshaken we are, despite the zealot¡¯s threats of murder.


    ¡°...¡±


    Click click click


    SKELTON: (Skeleton menu recommendation) What do you recommend for lunch today? Napa cabbage soup or pyramid soup?


    I threw a nonsense post into the silent forum.


    I waited for a response.


    There was no response from the forum users.


    However, unexpectedly, someone else responded instead.


    ONE_FAITH: What kind of napa cabbage soup? It¡¯s not "better," it¡¯s "better."


    It was ONE_FAITH.


    ¡°Hm.¡±


    It¡¯s been a while.


    Someone responding to my trademark "better, better" joke.


    That¡¯s even better.


    Click click click


    SKELTON: (Skeleton confused) Why isn¡¯t it better?


    Should I raise the tempo?


    ONE_FAITH: ?


    ONE_FAITH: Are you messing with me?


    SKELTON: ?


    ONE_FAITH: You¡¯re not a high school graduate. No, even middle school graduates are smarter than this.


    SKELTON: (Fact, a dish) I¡¯m a middle school graduate.


    I am.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    My school wasn¡¯t even a regular high school, and it wasn¡¯t included in the alternative education institutions approved by the Ministry of Education.


    Anyway, let¡¯s see how this internet beginner responds.


    ONE_FAITH: Ah


    ONE_FAITH: I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t know you were a middle school graduate.


    A fresh response.


    They post videos of people getting decapitated, but...


    ONE_FAITH: But stop posting strange things now. We¡¯re really angry. We¡¯re looking for the person who deleted our post, so please stay quiet until then.


    SKELTON: You¡¯re angry... I understand...


    ONE_FAITH: It¡¯s not "better," it¡¯s "better!"


    ¡°...¡±


    Now it starts.


    Click


    Are you sure you want to delete this post? (Admin privileges)Delete.


    ONE_FAITH: Huh? What¡¯s going on? Who did this?


    Click


    Are you sure you want to delete this post? (Admin privileges)Delete again.


    ONE_FAITH: Huh?


    Click


    Are you sure you want to delete this post? (Admin privileges)Delete again.


    Now I¡¯ll delete every post that zealot uploads.


    ONE_FAITH: I don¡¯t know who you are.


    Delete.


    ONE_FAITH: I¡¯ll find you.


    Delete.


    ONE_FAITH: I¡¯ll pin you alive to a post.


    Delete.


    After the rush of deletions, the forum fell silent.


    I waited, focusing my eyes, and the zealot didn¡¯t post again.


    It seems the zealot has given up.


    No matter how wild they get in real life, here on the forum, they¡¯re just another user.


    They said they¡¯d find us and kill us, but how would they even track us down?


    The Legion faction and the Jeju government can¡¯t even locate us properly with satellite internet.


    To really catch us, they¡¯d need to pinpoint our exact location, bring in frequency detection equipment, and search through all the suspicious spots to find us.


    Without equipment, the person who killed an innocent to steal satellite equipment has no business making threats.


    After leaving the forum in silence for a while, I calmly posted again.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton observation) Anyone want to recommend a menu?


    That post got an overwhelming amount of likes after a long time.


    Let¡¯s review the rankings.


    3rd place was Seoul-style nutritional bars.


    2nd place was warm soup.


    The grand winner, 1st place, was hamburgers.


    But now, hamburgers and soup are no longer available.


    Nutritional bars might be possible, but I wouldn¡¯t eat them even if offered.


    Just as things were starting to wind down...


    ONE_FAITH: Look at the admin.


    I opened the post to see what was written, even though I was going to delete it anyway.


    A dark room. The figure occupying the screen, bathed only in the light from the monitor, was dressed in long, flowing white clothes.


    But the face, angrily pointing a finger at the screen, belonged to a young woman who looked barely in her early twenties.


    The glare she cast at me, with a frown full of anger, wasn¡¯t exactly terrifying, but it was rather cute. Still, the cold gleam in her eyes was a different story.


    She didn¡¯t seem too different from my junior, Woo Min-hee.


    Moreover, though faint on the screen, I could see something glinting beneath the white robe on her shirt.


    A war medal.


    It was something worn by North Korean residents.


    If she only had one, she could be presumed to be from North Korea, but the fact that she wore dozens of these medals was enough to give a chilling impression.


    Most likely, they were war trophies.


    Trophies taken from humans she had personally killed.


    Underneath, there was one sentence left by ONE_FAITH.


    I will find you and kill you.She didn¡¯t delete it.


    I left it there for everyone to see ONE_FAITH¡¯s face as they pleased.


    There was a purpose behind this.


    And sure enough, that purpose played out exactly as planned.


    Anonymous23213: Cute.


    Anonymous23217: How old is she?


    Anonymous23216: Did she come from North Korea? She speaks Seoul dialect really well.


    Anonymous23222: She looks soft.


    Anonymous23224: A beautiful lady.


    An anonymous crowd.


    The identity of these people was none other than our forum friends.


    These forum friends were usually quite erratic, but at least when it came to beating up weirdos, they always came together as one.


    They fight like crazy every day, but when there¡¯s a national crisis, they unite¡ªjust like a miniature version of the Korean people.


    Being a beginner on the internet, ONE_FAITH gave a delicious reaction.


    ONE_FAITH: What kind of nonsense is this? Who the hell are you?


    ONE_FAITH: You¡¯re going to find us and kill us?


    ONE_FAITH: Did you see that earlier? The execution of the massacrist, the one who oppressed the cultists?! You could end up like them!


    Though ONE_FAITH tried to resist,


    Anonymous23218: Tap-tap-tap- Oh my shoulder!


    Anonymous23222: My cheeks... They¡¯ve gotten so chubby...


    Anonymous23219: Where do I throw the fan votes?


    Anonymous23214: I¡¯m a 40-year-old bachelor... These days, I feel so lonely...


    Anonymous23216: SEX


    ...


    ...


    The teasing from the forum friends intensified.


    Even unfamiliar usernames began popping up.


    It seems that as soon as something funny came up, everyone switched their nicknames to anonymous ones.


    In the end, ONE_FAITH deleted the post they had uploaded with the verification photo themselves.


    ONE_FAITH: I¡¯ve remembered all of you.


    ONE_FAITH: I¡¯ll find each one and...


    This was going well.


    I received a message notification, but I ignored it and continued watching the forum screen.


    But my smile faded completely when I saw the comment posted by an anonymous user.


    Anonymous23216: (Skeleton) SEX


    ¡°?¡±


    ONE_FAITH: Found you! Skeleton! Is that you?


    Tap tap tap


    SKELTON: That¡¯s not me.


    ONE_FAITH: Yes, it is!


    SKELTON: (Skeleton incredulously) It¡¯s not me.


    ONE_FAITH: How could it not be? You just wrote (Skeleton) by mistake!


    SKELTON: No, it was Anonymous23216 who framed me.


    Immediately, I checked the identity of the one who framed me, Anonymous23216.


    It was simple. All I had to do was check the nickname information, look at the unique account, and search for the post under the public account.


    Soon, the hideous identity was revealed to me.


    Foxgames: Patch update explanation3.txt


    Foxgames: I truly feel sorry. I¡¯m realizing the limits of solo development.


    Foxgames: Current patch situation (ver.1.032)


    Foxgames: Patch update explanation2.txt


    ...


    ...


    ¡°... This bastard?¡±


    It was FoxGames.


    The guy who acted all innocent on the forum was now trying to frame me, Skeleton, with malicious intent.


    SKELTON: It¡¯s FoxGames! The one who copied me!


    I immediately corrected the mistake.


    But ONE_FAITH wasn¡¯t listening.


    ONE_FAITH: That¡¯s all for today. The execution of the massacrist isn¡¯t over yet.


    ONE_FAITH: Anyway, I¡¯ll bring better news next time.


    ONE_FAITH disappeared, having said what they wanted to say.


    I deleted those posts immediately, but ONE_FAITH didn¡¯t respond anymore.


    ¡°...¡±


    Being a beginner on the internet isn''t always a good thing.


    Falling for such simple impersonations.


    Well, there was some dumbness evident in their post.


    But since they were strong, being dumb didn¡¯t matter.


    At least they were probably a level 5 Awakener, maybe even higher.


    Anyway, about FoxGames...


    I can¡¯t just let this slide.


    SKELTON: Hey.


    I sent a message to FoxGames.


    SKELTON: I know where you live, right?


    SKELTON: You want me to come find you?


    I didn¡¯t want to send such childish messages, but I felt like if I didn¡¯t, my anger wouldn¡¯t go away.


    As expected, FoxGames didn¡¯t respond.


    Either he ?N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t? blocked me, or he ignored me. Probably the latter.


    I don¡¯t think he blocked me.


    Even if he did something like that, he would have unblocked me first.


    Just as I was about to send another message to FoxGames, an alarm popped up.


    Someone had sent a message.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Skeleton.


    It was Sue.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: I don¡¯t want to be here.


    That didn¡¯t sound good.


    SKELTON: What¡¯s going on?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Something doesn¡¯t feel right. It¡¯s okay for now, but... It doesn¡¯t feel right.


    Sue, who¡¯s smarter than her mother and has sharp instincts, must have felt something.


    Sue, who hadn¡¯t contacted me except for holidays or special occasions, must have had a reason to reach out to me now.


    I decided to set aside the question about her strange internet etiquette and responded seriously to her request for help.


    SKELTON: How¡¯s your mom?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: She¡¯s at work. But it¡¯s no help. You know how she is. A total idiot.


    SKELTON: Who taught you to say that?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: I have a friend who¡¯s lived in Korea longer than me. I learned it from them.


    SKELTON: Stay away from that friend.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: It¡¯s fine. They¡¯re already dead.


    It seems like the situation at the US military camp where Rebecca and Sue are isn¡¯t as optimistic as I had hoped.


    SKELTON: I understand. Let¡¯s talk about what to do next. Have your mom contact me. We¡¯ll discuss it together.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Thanks, Skeleton.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: (Heart emoji)


    ¡°...¡±


    While I was talking to Sue, another message came through.


    This one.


    At least right now, this message is much more important.


    Defender: Skeleton.


    It was Defender.


    SKELTON: Are you alive?


    Defender: Sort of.


    SKELTON: How¡¯s your sibling?


    Defender: They¡¯re alive too. By the way, I¡¯m sorry for always causing trouble.


    Defender: Can I ask you to listen to something I said before?


    I didn¡¯t hesitate to answer immediately.


    SKELTON: Where are you?

 Chapter 112.3: Faith (3)

    The Defender siblings are currently holed up in a corner of a city that has descended into chaos.


    According to them, the city is spiraling into destruction, far beyond mere disorder.


    It¡¯s not just the fanatic attacks.


    That was only the beginning.


    While fanatics launched surprise raids, terrorizing the city, a group of soldiers who managed to maintain some level of order drove tanks into the city.


    Soldiers in the same uniform opened fire on each other.


    The alliance among the military factions broke down.


    What was left was nothing but a blood-soaked fight to the death.


    In the midst of this hellish chaos, the Defender siblings acted like true doom-mongers.


    Having anticipated the civil war that had only been rumored, they acted according to their preemptive plan as soon as they saw suspicious soldiers entering the streets.


    Message from Defender: "It''s a dead-end. I intentionally jammed the iron gate so it wouldn''t open. You might want to bring welding tools or a crowbar."


    The situation is clear.


    The Defender siblings have isolated themselves in a closed-off area with very limited supplies.


    While they¡¯re not at immediate risk of getting caught in a firefight, they are far from safe from artillery or Awakened individuals with sensory abilities.


    They need to act quickly.


    "We have no choice. I''ve seen Hong Jung-ho before."


    This is the most dependable my comrades have ever been.


    When I explained the Defender''s situation, both Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon followed without hesitation.


    Although it¡¯s never been emphasized and no one has shouted it as a creed, it''s the "bond of the school" we all share.


    Though we¡¯re pushed to the edge by the Awakened, we remember the brightest days.


    With the greatest danger ahead, we must be prepared to the fullest.


    We pulled out the buggy that had been sitting in the corner of the garage.


    This is our transport for the mission.


    The road ahead will be more treacherous than ever, and this four-wheel drive vehicle is the best to navigate such terrain.


    ¡°How much did you pay for this?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae asked, tapping the vehicle.


    ¡°Probably over one million.¡±


    "Money''s overflowing, huh?"


    Following Cheon Young-jae¡¯s suggestion, I added bulletproof panels around the driver¡¯s seat and engine.


    We decided to leave the other seats open, as adding too much weight would hinder mobility.


    The biggest downside of using the buggy is the fuel.


    The buggy runs on volatile gasoline.


    The fuel we''ve kept for the buggy has been sealed tightly and treated with oxidation inhibitors for long-term storage, but time is an absolute force that cannot be avoided.


    "It smells good."


    Cheon Young-jae sniffed the can of high-octane gasoline as he opened it.


    ¡°It should work.¡±


    We filled the tank and started the engine.


    Vroom¡ª


    The engine roared to life with power.


    This was the moment when our biggest worry was resolved.


    "I¡¯ll ride that bike."


    Ha Tae-hoon pointed to my motorcycle.


    ¡°Motorcycle?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not enough room for two. You said you¡¯d bring two adults, right? Besides, I want to take my own equipment.¡±


    I told him to go ahead.


    Immediately, Ha Tae-hoon modified my motorcycle¡¯s cargo space to fit his needs.


    The weapons didn¡¯t change much.


    Normally, I carry three magazines, each with 25 rounds, during trips, but this time, I increased it to five magazines.


    If we''re facing an army, increasing the ammo probably won¡¯t have much of an impact.


    Just like when we fought the Chinese military, avoiding combat as much as possible is the best option.


    Finally, after receiving the map of the city from Defender, we reviewed the plan together.


    ¡°At least we¡¯re on the outskirts,¡± Cheon Young-jae said, after looking at the map.


    I think Defender¡¯s choice of location was intentional.


    If they couldn''t escape the city on their own, they would ask for help, and the southwestern outskirts, which are least troublesome for me, would be where the panic room was set up.


    Before the battle broke out, Defender also sent a rough troop deployment map, but it¡¯s probably not of much use now.


    What we need to remember is Defender¡¯s message.


    Message from Defender: "Gunshots and screams are coming from all directions. I can hear the sound of tank caterpillars too. And maybe this is just my imagination, but I think I felt a shockwave. I¡¯m not sure if it''s from an Awakened or a monster, but it¡¯s probably not a monster. No enemies have ever been here."


    I see it differently.


    There could be a monster.


    If the monsters are the ones creating waves similar to the Awakened, they might be heading toward the Wonju area, where a large number of Awakened have gathered.


    We need to anticipate every possible situation.


    It¡¯s not just humans vs. humans¡ªit''s humans vs. mutations and humans vs. monsters as well.


    Of course, the most important thing in any situation is information.


    "I''ll leave the vehicle here, and Cheon Young-jae and I will scout on foot. Depending on the situation, we won¡¯t deploy drones right away. Drones are easy to spot, and it¡¯s better not to be seen. We¡¯ll approach the planned location and try to make contact with the communicator. Hong Jung-ho said the communicator would still work unless he dies."


    By midday, all preparations were complete, and we left my territory.


    ¡°I¡¯ll handle this area as best as I can. At the very least, I¡¯ll make sure to alert you if someone tries to break in. Not that it¡¯s something to brag about, but I¡¯m pretty good at hiding.¡±


    The defense of the area now rested on Valentine.


    He would cease the Jeju Intranet invasion operation until we return and focus on guarding the area.


    "Alright then."


    The buggy and motorcycle set off, bathed in the noon sunlight.


    Though time was tight, we didn¡¯t rush.


    We stuck to the roads to avoid stressing the engine and suspension and paused at dangerous points we weren¡¯t familiar with, scouting with the drone.


    This is both my strength and my weakness.


    My cautious approach often caused dissatisfaction among my teammates, who thought differently.


    Thanks to this caution, there were times when I avoided losses in situations where we could have died, but there were also moments when I had to witness the cold body of a hostage in rescue missions.


    People focus on failure more than success.


    I¡¯ve faced countless criticisms.


    But still, my style hasn¡¯t changed.


    One thing has changed, though.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    "There¡¯s nothing more foolish than rushing and getting yourself killed."


    It¡¯s how I¡¯ve changed my persuasion tactics.


    Instead of focusing on definite results, I¡¯ve started communicating with uncertainty.


    I won¡¯t deny that my reputation and track record gave weight to my communication, but it seems that Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae fully agreed with my approach.


    ¡°There¡¯s a saying: the more urgent, the slower you go.¡±


    ¡°Getting ambushed and dying is your own fault.¡±


    The distance was long, but thanks to our careful march, we arrived in Wonju long after dark, more than 13 hours after we set out.


    I didn¡¯t think it was too late.


    I had told Defender to expect at least two days.


    It was a realistic estimate.


    "Look at that."


    "Shit. It¡¯s all gone to hell."


    From the top of a hill, we looked down at the city.


    The city was glowing with fire, much like before the war broke out.


    Of course, there were no romantic lights from office buildings, streetlights, or long streams of headlights.


    It was literally fire.


    The city was burning.


    "The factions have been at each other''s throats for a while now."


    Cheon Young-jae muttered, chewing on a root.


    ¡°There are probably anonymous letters flying in like they do every time there¡¯s a general promotion season. They probably all know each other. Who¡¯s on our side, and who¡¯s our enemy.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no place without factions.¡±


    ¡°True.¡±


    Our school had factions too.


    I was the head of the largest faction, the Jang Ki-young faction.


    At one point, it was pretty brutal, but we all ended up together in ruin, and any old grudges have long since been forgotten.


    Anyway, the city was on fire, and the battle was ongoing.


    It seemed like the intense fighting had subsided, but sporadic clashes were still happening all over the city.


    Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon felt relieved by the timing, but I thought the ongoing sporadic fighting was worse.


    Considering the frequency and location of the gunfire in the city, the battle was likely a mop-up operation, where the winning side was sweeping through the city, clearing out the remaining resistance.


    For a small combat group like ours, this was far more dangerous.


    But I wasn¡¯t ready to give up on rescuing Defender.


    ¡°We¡¯ll go with the plan.¡±


    I left Ha Tae-hoon behind and advanced toward the city.


    We took an approach route through a four- ? N§àv§Öl?§Ôht ? (Don¡¯t copy, read here) or five-story building that was shielded by uneven terrain.


    It was a physically demanding path, full of twists and turns, and it came with the inevitable stress of dangerous terrain.


    High-risk paths cause a lot of stress.


    In these stressful situations, both the body and mind accumulate tension.


    With adrenaline and other factors, it¡¯s often unnoticed, but unless the operation is completed quickly, the stress needs to be managed properly.


    As we moved cautiously, periodically taking breaks to confirm our reconnaissance and route, I kept up constant communication with Ha Tae-hoon.


    This was not just for our benefit.


    Ha Tae-hoon, left alone, was also in a high-stress environment.


    He needed to be reminded constantly that he wasn¡¯t alone, that he hadn¡¯t been abandoned¡ªthis would give him the mental space to perform well when the time came.


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s detection range extends up to 300 meters, but he says the reliability decreases with distance.


    The effective range is about 150 meters, and even then, it¡¯s more like seeing a faint flicker of a flame in the distance.


    To be certain it¡¯s a human, he needs to get within 30 meters.


    Still, when Awakened individuals detect people from afar, it¡¯s tied to the human ability for reasoning.


    ¡°If there¡¯s a reaction at a tall watchtower, even if it¡¯s faint, you can be sure that¡¯s a person up there, right? The same goes for bunkers, especially those underground. If something¡¯s felt under open terrain, there¡¯s no mystery¡ªeither it¡¯s a mole or a person.¡±


    Conversely, in heavily populated areas or forests filled with wild animals, their abilities seem less useful.


    But being able to spot someone beyond a wall in an urban environment gives a significant advantage in human-on-human combat.


    ¡°There¡¯s something ahead.¡±


    ¡°I heard it too. Looks like a beast, a dog maybe?¡±


    Under the half-collapsed, burning villa, dogs were gathered, tearing something apart.


    It was the body of a well-dressed middle-aged woman¡ªhalf-eaten, but the remaining portion was intact enough for identification.


    The wild dogs sensed our presence and became alert, but some still wagged their tails at us.


    Covered in human blood, they wagged their tails, sticking their tongues out. Cheon Young-jae showed strong disgust.


    ¡°Repulsive.¡±


    He raised his eyebrow and pulled out a silenced pistol.


    ¡°We should nip this in the bud before they mutate.¡±


    I signaled him to stop shooting and bitterly said, ¡°Do you think they wanted to be like this?¡±


    ¡°...You have a point.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae holstered his gun.


    With the dogs on high alert, we kept our distance and continued on our path.


    Once we disappeared from their sight, the wild dogs, including the one wagging its tail, resumed tearing into the corpse.


    We had now entered the city.


    The city was shrouded in darkness and silence, with no sign of life, but sporadic, sharp gunshots rang out from various directions not far away.


    Occasionally, what sounded like tank fire could also be heard.


    ¡°Can¡¯t we deploy a drone now?¡±


    ¡°Not yet. If we get detected by a drone radar, it¡¯ll just alert them to our presence.¡±


    Drones aren¡¯t omnipotent.


    As history has shown, there¡¯s no perfect weapon¡ªjust as there is no perfect spear or shield in the long history of warfare. Drones, while emerging as crucial in many conflicts, now face countermeasures that are swiftly evolving.


    The Chinese developed the most varied equipment, but the American-made drones are superior in performance. As always, South Korea has pursued extreme efficiency with limited resources.


    At one point, small drone models shaped like bees became popular.


    In response, the South Korean military developed anti-drone radar, which tracks the number and position of wireless-controlled devices within a certain area by reverse-engineering their signals.


    If we couldn¡¯t develop superior controllers, at least we should be able to find the enemy¡¯s.


    Where there are drones, there are always enemies.


    I once worked with an army officer back in Paju who said that with a smile.


    If that¡¯s their doctrine, there¡¯s no need to take unnecessary risks.


    ¡°People.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae spoke quietly, pointing to a one-room building in the row of buildings.


    Not the corner or an alleyway, but one standing right on the side of the road.


    He added with a hand signal, ¡°About the third floor.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s probably a civilian.¡±


    A sniper would likely take a position in the most advantageous location, preferably on a roof, to cover the widest possible area.


    We needed to be cautious.


    We skirted around the building where the person was hiding and moved on to the next point.


    Now, we were about 500 meters from Defender¡¯s location.


    ¡°...¡±


    There were too many buildings.


    And none of them had any unique features or distinct characteristics.


    To make matters worse, with the darkness settling in, it was difficult to tell which of these buildings was Defender¡¯s hideout.


    On top of that...


    ¡°There are too many people. They''re scattered all around.¡±


    There were civilians hiding everywhere.


    But, they might not just be civilians.


    Fanatics or isolated soldiers could be waiting, cornered like rats, for someone to come close.


    This meant even Cheon Young-jae¡¯s detection abilities wouldn¡¯t help us avoid all the risks.


    No matter what path we took, we couldn¡¯t avoid areas with people.


    But heading onto the main road would be suicidal.


    On the main roads, it¡¯s likely that the soldiers who¡¯ve won the civil war would be controlling the streets with armored vehicles or tanks.


    ¡°Let¡¯s head for the rendezvous point.¡±


    Unlike Defender¡¯s hideout, the meeting point was easy to identify.


    It was a simple building, a small commercial one, but the hamburger sign on the first floor was unmistakable.


    We confirmed there were no enemies around and stopped to rest while activating the communicator.


    We had agreed on the method in advance.


    Instead of using our voices, we used a remote app on our phones to create signal interference, generating noise.


    Screech¡ª Che¡ª Chzzzz¡ª


    It wasn¡¯t familiar, but we sent three bursts of noise.


    It was our signal that we had arrived near the location.


    ¡°...¡±


    Now we wait.


    Are they still alive?


    Or were they caught in this mess and ended up dead?


    If they were dead, I wouldn¡¯t be too surprised.


    I had already seen how difficult it is for an ordinary person to survive in this brutal battlefield where battles still rage.


    Cheon Young-jae said nothing.


    He only revealed his nervousness slightly, tapping his finger against his crossed arms.


    Ten minutes passed.


    I signaled to Cheon Young-jae.


    If we didn¡¯t get a response in another ten minutes, we¡¯d pull out.


    Cheon Young-jae asked if we could wait longer, but I shook my head.


    Defender had promised to respond no matter the situation.


    And it would be within ten minutes.


    We had already exceeded that.


    If there was no reply within the next ten minutes, we would have to assume they were dead.


    The risk was the same for both them and us.


    Time passed, and another nine minutes went by.


    I sent another signal with noise.


    No reply.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    As I turned to leave, I heard a rustling sound.


    Something small moved beyond the wall.


    Cheon Young-jae shook his head.


    It wasn¡¯t a person, a mutation, or a zombie.


    We raised our weapons and aimed forward.


    Creak¡ª


    Something round, like a dish, emerged from the shadows.


    ¡°A robot vacuum?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae stared at the strange object making odd noises as it approached.


    It was literally a robot vacuum.


    I didn¡¯t know why it was here, but I knew who had sent it.


    Written on the familiar circular surface was my other name.


    [SKELTON!]


    It must be Da-jeong¡¯s doing.


    A faint smile appeared on my face, despite myself.

 Chapter 112.4: Faith (4)

    There was a note wedged between plastic parts next to my name.


    I read it.


    There should be a red button painted with a marker. Press it!I pressed the button.


    The robot vacuum paused for a moment, then turned its body and moved toward the dark street.


    Clatter¡ªclatter¡ª


    It¡¯s just a guess, but this robot vacuum doesn¡¯t seem to be a drone.


    Literally just an appliance, the robot vacuum was sent as a kind of messenger, carrying only coordinates for us.


    It¡¯s a choice made to avoid the threat of a drone being traced back.


    We followed the vacuum as it moved silently through the streets.


    The vacuum¡¯s speed wasn¡¯t much different from what we usually see, so it was relatively slow, but it wasn¡¯t a problem.


    ¡°There, and there. There¡¯s a person.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae, with faint light in his eyes, pointed out where people were hiding along the quiet, lifeless one-room buildings.


    Some of the places I¡¯d already sensed, but most were places I hadn¡¯t noticed.


    It was a residential area with people hiding everywhere, making it impossible to avoid the entire area like we did earlier.


    We chose a path that stayed as close to cover as possible, hiding from people¡¯s windows and staying out of sight.


    As a result, our progress was about the same as the vacuum¡¯s pace.


    The vacuum led us to a building that didn¡¯t seem much different from the other one-room buildings.


    [Royal Imperial Class Bestville]


    "Wow."


    Cheon Young-jae let out a shallow exclamation as he saw the building name.


    "Why are you so impressed?"


    "Well, this country is like that."


    The vacuum headed for the back of the building.


    Following the debris of waste materials, we came across a doghouse.


    The vacuum entered the doghouse.


    "Even if the world ends, a robot vacuum doesn¡¯t just enter a doghouse."


    I peered inside the doghouse while listening to Cheon Young-jae¡¯s comments.


    It wasn¡¯t just any doghouse¡ªit had been completely remodeled.


    A ramp, though crude, had been made to help the vacuum ascend, and there was a charging station, as well as basic waterproofing to protect it from the rain.


    Next to the vacuum, a small drone was placed on a stand, clearly a last resort in case the vacuum couldn¡¯t operate.


    On the drone was a note written in magic marker that read "Underground."


    "Looks like we found the right place."


    I glanced around.


    The buildings Cheon Young-jae pointed out, where people were hiding, were within a 150-meter radius, with at least five in total.


    Two of them were within 80 meters.


    Most of them were located near the road, so we wouldn¡¯t be observed from this side of the one-room buildings, but we could be heard.


    As Cheon Young-jae kept watch, I made my way into the basement.


    There was no sound beyond the basement door.


    True to Defender¡¯s nature.


    Until my identity was fully confirmed, there was a strong will to remain hidden.


    I knocked on the door.


    "It¡¯s me."


    There was no response.


    I added, ¡°It¡¯s SKELTON.¡±


    Finally, a sigh of relief came from the other side of the door.


    "SKELTON."


    "SKELTON! You came!"


    Both Defender and their younger sibling were safe.


    I looked at the door.


    The door was badly warped.


    It wasn¡¯t the kind of door that could be opened just by shooting the lock.


    "This is going to be tough with just a crowbar."


    I had brought both a crowbar and a welding tool.


    I had hoped to open it with just the crowbar, but knowing Defender¡¯s thoroughness, I knew we¡¯d have to use the welding tool.


    I unpacked the backpack and took out the welding tool.


    ¡°Even wireless communication is being eavesdropped on?¡±


    I spoke to the door while setting up the portable welding tool.


    ¡°Yeah. I saw it while eavesdropping on the signals. Electronic warfare is still at pre-war levels.¡±


    Defender replied.


    ¡°The drones are the same. As soon as they¡¯re deployed, they¡¯re immediately checked.¡±


    Defender¡¯s younger sibling added.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on? I saw soldiers killing each other.¡±


    I asked for a brief summary of the situation.


    ¡°It¡¯s probably Major General Pyo Du-won. He openly said he was going to kill General Kim Byeong-cheol. He might be in cahoots with the fanatics.¡±


    ¡°Is it just the fanatics and soldiers?¡±


    Though the city has been destroyed, there are still remnants of prosperity left behind, so it¡¯s unlikely that zombies or mutations are involved.


    What I wanted to know was this:


    ¡°What about monsters?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I¡¯ve felt shockwaves several times. I¡¯m not sure if they¡¯re from the monsters or the fanatics.¡±


    ¡°You said there¡¯s a socket?¡±


    ¡°Over there. Move that road sign that¡¯s leaning against the wall.¡±


    I plugged the portable welding tool into the socket.


    The light came on perfectly.


    ¡°How¡¯s the remaining power?¡±


    ¡°It should still be plenty. After being trapped here, we¡¯ve barely used any electricity.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    The conditions were set.


    We just needed to cut through the door with the welding tool.


    I started the cutting process.


    Screech¡ª


    The portable tool, capable of delivering 150A of current, was powerful despite being mobile.


    But¡ª


    Bang!


    Suddenly, the welding tool turned off.


    More precisely, the inverter connected to the welding tool lost power.


    I immediately checked the tool¡¯s status with a tester.


    It wasn¡¯t a problem with the tool itself.


    It seemed that the remaining power inside the building, which Defender had assured me about, was nearly depleted.


    Defender, realizing this, spoke up.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to start the generator.¡±


    But that wasn¡¯t going to be easy.


    A complete silence flowed through the entire one-room district.


    The stillness was so overwhelming that even the smallest sound could be heard, mixing with the fear of those hiding and sending a chill through me despite the summer night¡¯s heat.


    If we started welding here, the noise would be heard from ? N§àv§Öl¦Éght ? (Read the full story) every direction.


    That meant the soldiers controlling the main roads would hear us too.


    The problem was that the current battle around the city was a mop-up operation.


    Any loud noise would certainly bring an execution squad.


    ¡°Do you have any other chargers?¡±


    ¡°This is the last one.¡±


    ¡°Starting the generator is risky.¡±


    ¡°Really? There shouldn¡¯t be anyone around.¡±


    ¡°No, surprisingly, there are more people. Cheon Young-jae is here with us.¡±


    ¡°That was Young-jae¡¯s voice?¡±


    Having confirmed Defender¡¯s siblings were alive, we still had mountains to climb.


    Defender¡¯s perfectionist nature had delayed the rescue, but had we arrived any later, it might have been that very perfectionism that saved them.


    Bang! Bang!


    We could hear soldiers kicking in doors all around.


    ¡°What should we do? Should we retreat for now?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae asked.


    Once in a while, this friend of mine has a challenging look in his eyes.


    Now was one of those moments.


    Though he acted light-hearted, Cheon Young-jae, a clear expert, looked at me with those eyes whenever a decisive moment came.


    It was like he was testing my leadership abilities.


    But, though Cheon Young-jae doesn¡¯t know, I¡¯ve faced such challenges thousands of times.


    Professor.


    Living at the top as an old-school hunter is always like this.


    You¡¯re always envied and watched by the younger, smarter, and more talented ones.


    ¡°...No.¡±


    I answered calmly.


    ¡°So, what now?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll start the generator with the gunfire and explosions.¡±


    I signaled to Cheon Young-jae.


    It was a signal to take up a defensive position.


    Cheon Young-jae, with a faint smile, nodded and returned to his post.


    He didn¡¯t fully agree, but he was willing to wait and see.


    ¡°...¡±


    I grabbed the welding tool.


    And waited.


    Tatata-tang!


    The footsteps of the approaching beast, represented by the increasingly closer gunfire, echoed in my mind.


    "Start the generator!"


    Wheeeing¡ª!!


    With the command, the makeshift generator inside the building roared to life, a reminder of the power that once moved the world.


    Screech!


    The welding tool came back to life.


    I could feel the blinding flash of light in my vision and quickly put on my sunglasses before resuming the cut.


    Wheeeing¡ª


    The massive power draw from the generator made it groan louder, but¡ª


    Boom!


    The tank''s cannon fire drowned out everything else.


    Amidst the echo of the explosion, I silently continued cutting through the warped metal door that separated us from Defender.


    Clang!


    I dismantled the point of impact.


    I shook the door.


    It was shaking.


    The door, which seemed impossible to move, finally started trembling.


    ¡°Cheon Young-jae.¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°Push forward.¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡±


    After stepping back together with Cheon Young-jae, we charged toward the shaking door at the same time.


    Thud!


    The door rattled loudly.


    But it still wasn¡¯t open.


    We tried again.


    Thud!


    The door opened.


    A faint smell lingered in the darkness as faces we hadn¡¯t seen in a long time stared at us.


    ¡°SKELTON.¡±


    Defender.


    ¡°SKELTON!¡±


    And Da-jeong.


    Defender looked much the same as in the pictures I had seen before, but Da-jeong¡¯s face had grown considerably gaunt.


    I cautiously asked as I looked at her.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fine now! Don¡¯t worry about me.¡±


    I turned my head away from her eyes, which were moist with tears, and looked behind me.


    ¡°How much stuff do we have?¡±


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Defender was wearing the backpack she had prepared earlier, and Da-jeong carried a light bag.


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile slightly when I saw the obelisk jutting out from the Defender¡¯s bag.


    As expected, our bulletin board friends are just like that.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving right now.¡±


    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go.¡±


    Even amidst the chaos of the mop-up operation, the battle continued.


    Bang! Tatatatang!


    Soldiers were getting closer.


    And so was the tank.


    Just like the Chinese army had done in their city, the faction¡¯s warlord was trying to erase the entire city, one building and room at a time.


    ¡°Here it comes! It¡¯s really close! Damn it.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s voice was heard.


    ¡°Everywhere! The enemies are everywhere!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not everywhere.¡±


    More precisely, we had an escape route.


    It was toward the southwest, the direction we had come from.


    But the path didn¡¯t directly lead southwest, and the bullets were reaching us from far away.


    ¡°Hah, senior.¡±


    I turned on the communication device for the first time in a while.


    ¡°Yeah, Park Gyu.¡±


    ¡°VIP secured. I¡¯m leaving now, so please support with drones.¡±


    ¡°Roger that.¡±


    It was time to escape.


    Cheon Young-jae and I took the lead and cleared the path.


    A face peeked out of a window.


    It seemed to be one of the survivors we passed earlier.


    Defender was about to aim their gun.


    ¡°Just a warning.¡±


    No need to kill.


    But I didn¡¯t hold much hope either.


    Defender had always been that way.


    The expected gunfire didn¡¯t sound.


    I looked back at Defender.


    When our eyes met, he gave me a faint smile.


    ¡°You said just a warning, right?¡±


    So, he had changed.


    Even the cold-hearted person who justified everything for his own survival had changed.


    Countless experiences I didn¡¯t know about must have caused this change.


    It wasn¡¯t a negative change.


    I thought about it and quickened our pace.


    ¡°There!¡±


    The soldiers¡¯ shouting echoed.


    Bang! Tatatatang!


    The gunfire was getting louder.


    The only thing we could trust now was this.


    ¡°Change the route. Head east. The soldiers are coming over the main road.¡±


    It was Hah Tae-hoon¡¯s drone.


    A drone, positioned at a high altitude, used thermal imaging equipment to tell us the locations of the enemies.


    Following Hah Tae-hoon¡¯s instructions, we navigated through the maze-like streets.


    But¡ª


    Bang! Bang!


    The gunfire was getting closer.


    They weren¡¯t chasing us.


    It was just that the number of soldiers joining the mop-up operation had increased.


    But at this rate, it was only a matter of time before we were caught.


    To make matters worse, it seemed Hah Tae-hoon¡¯s drone had been detected.


    ¡°Damn. A surface-to-air vehicle is heading this way.¡±


    ¡°A surface-to-air vehicle?¡±


    ¡°M60 machine guns mounted together. It looks clumsy, but once they pinpoint our location, they¡¯ll shred anything.¡±


    At this point, we wouldn¡¯t even be able to get support from Hah Tae-hoon¡¯s drones.


    ¡°...¡±


    There was only one solution.


    A forced breakthrough.


    ¡°Can we abandon the gear?¡±


    I asked Defender.


    ¡°The gear?¡±


    ¡°Take care of your sibling instead.¡±


    We broke through one side of the encirclement and sped forward with full force.


    We only needed to reach the vehicles.


    They might call in helicopters, but would they really go that far?


    While Defender unloaded the gear, Cheon Young-jae and I discussed the plan.


    ¡°That side is the thinnest.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae pointed toward the east.


    Automatically, a map formed in my mind.


    ¡°When we turn the corner, we¡¯ll reach a two-lane road.¡±


    There¡¯s nothing more foolish than engaging elite soldiers in combat.


    But with two elite hunters launching a surprise attack, we could wipe out a squad in no time.


    ¡°Park Gyu.¡±


    While I was moving extra magazines to an easily accessible pocket, I heard from Hah Tae-hoon.


    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°I just received a transmission.¡±


    ¡°Briefly.¡±


    ¡°I think a monster has appeared.¡±


    ¡°A monster?¡±


    Before his words even finished, the familiar nightmare¡¯s sound came from the northwest.


    Boom!


    Shockwave.


    The heartbeat of the monster.


    ¡°Retreat! Retreat!¡±


    At the same time, we heard the voices of the soldiers we were planning to ambush.


    We also heard the hurried footsteps fading away.


    ¡°It¡¯s a long road ahead.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae grinned.


    ¡°I never thought a monster would become our savior.¡±


    I corrected him.


    ¡°That monster will try to kill us eventually.¡±


    Monsters and saviors can never coexist.


    A monster is an entity that cannot live in harmony with humans.


    Bang! Tatatatang!


    Gunfire rang out from the northwest.


    ¡°Move quickly. Senior, you still have the drone deployed, right?¡±


    ¡°Ba, Park Gyu.¡±


    Hah Tae-hoon¡¯s voice was shaky.


    I could feel something ominous coming and waited for his next words.


    Before Hah Tae-hoon could even respond, we sensed the sign that was making him tremble.


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    Multiple shockwaves.


    I thought for a moment.


    This wasn¡¯t a monster, but something that resembled a human with monstrous traits.


    ¡°It¡¯s the fanatics! The fanatics are heading straight for us!¡±


    At that moment, Defender and I made eye contact.


    It wasn¡¯t intentional, but it was inevitable.


    It was the result of his actions.

 Chapter 112.5: Faith (5)

    We first became acquainted with the user "Defender" during the infamous incident that led to his rise to notoriety.


    Defender killed those who trespassed into his territory and posted photos of their corpses online, along with their identification cards placed neatly next to them, as though branding them.


    The impact he had on us was immense, especially given the times we were living in¡ªthe early stages of the apocalypse.


    Despite the widespread devastation, many of us, especially those with a defeatist outlook, quietly hoped for some form of rebuilding, maybe similar to how Korea had been before, especially now that China had been decimated. But all that came crashing down with the reality that everything crumbles.


    Defender, the source of our initial shock, hadn''t changed. He continued to kill, using the same methods as before, still clinging to his own brutal form of justice.


    ¡°...I didn¡¯t volunteer for this. It just happened that way.¡±


    The fanatics, mostly composed of North Koreans, systematically massacred people around the Wonju and Chuncheon areas.


    Without warning, they set fire to the quarantine zones and spread chemical warfare, gunning down anyone who tried to escape.


    Defender participated in these massacres.


    He had already killed countless people, so whether he killed a few more fanatics seemed irrelevant to him.


    But¡ª


    ¡°Suddenly, I couldn¡¯t breathe. So, I took off my mask. I felt like I was going to suffocate if I didn¡¯t.¡±


    He said he started questioning the killings, though he never fully explained why. But I can imagine the reasons.


    His killings up until now were done to protect his territory. Like a predator who must kill to survive, it was a brutal necessity.


    But the massacre by the fanatics was different. It was political, collective in nature. It wasn¡¯t just survival. It couldn¡¯t be justified as the same kind of kill.


    That¡¯s probably why he felt sick and removed his gas mask, perhaps in an attempt to confront the growing disgust he felt.


    At least, that¡¯s my guess.


    I hope that his questioning is enough for him to face the sins he has committed.


    In truth, the consequences of those sins were closing in on us.


    ¡°SKELTON.¡±


    Defender spoke softly, his voice trembling slightly as he looked at me.


    I answered, meeting his gaze.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡±


    I promised to protect him.


    At the very least, I promised to help him repay his debt.


    ¡°Take the bag.¡±


    ¡°The bag?¡±


    I looked at Da-jeong and asked.


    ¡°Can you walk?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡±


    There was no need to run, so keeping the bag intact was better.


    The things in that bag were important to Defender, something he had carefully selected.


    In the apocalypse, supplies are generally more valuable than people, but in the case of the Defender siblings, people were more important. Still, the importance of supplies couldn¡¯t be dismissed.


    As Defender packed again, I asked Hah Tae-hoon.


    ¡°What about the fanatics?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re having a skirmish with the soldiers. But they¡¯re not fighting.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°The soldiers are backing off. Ah, now I understand. They¡¯ve allied with the fanatics. They must have made a deal. It all makes sense now.¡±


    Hah Tae-hoon, watching from above, gave us the accurate situation. But his view didn¡¯t last long.


    Tatatatatatang!!!


    The anti-air vehicle of the fanatics opened fire.


    The equipment looked crude, but it seemed to have an excellent fire control system, as the bullets knocked out Hah Tae-hoon¡¯s drone, which had been hovering high above us.


    ¡°Drone¡¯s out,¡± Hah Tae-hoon ~N§àv§Ölight~ said in a somber tone.


    ¡°What should we do? Should we join up?¡±


    I told him,


    ¡°No, hold the position.¡±


    I spoke to Cheon Young-jae.


    ¡°Go around south first and come back.¡±


    ¡°Alone?¡±


    I nodded.


    In the past few days, I had relied heavily on Cheon Young-jae¡¯s abilities, but that was because he was by my side.


    If he had other tasks to attend to, I needed to be able to act on my own.


    That was my life.


    Until now, I had wandered through dangerous places, fought battles, and escaped from crises without much ability.


    I looked at Cheon Young-jae, who was concerned, and said,


    ¡°Watch over everyone through your eyes.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae understood my meaning and, with his faintly glowing eyes, sharply observed the darkness ahead.


    Though I could feel Defender and his sibling¡¯s gazes on me from behind, I ignored them and walked into the darkness.


    The path wasn¡¯t difficult.


    I had been through this terrain before and had a good idea of where people were hiding.


    Thanks to that, my steps were quicker and more confident than before.


    What I needed to check was the exact status of the road I knew.


    It was like the latest update for a computer.


    Just minutes earlier, the soldiers had formed an encirclement around us.


    That encirclement had completely trapped us.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    But then, with the distant shockwave, the soldiers started to break the encirclement and withdraw from the area.


    Whooo¡ª


    The sound of vehicles moving came from beyond.


    Creak¡ªcreak¡ª


    The noise of the tank''s caterpillar tracks mixed with the sound of the vehicle¡¯s engine.


    They weren¡¯t far¡ªprobably only about 500 meters.


    The narrow alley of the apartment buildings blocked the view, but in an open area, it would have been a clear, visible line of sight.


    Fortunately, the vehicles and tank were moving away from the area.


    But then¡ª


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    A shadow of a man appeared in the window of the third floor of an apartment building.


    His silhouette ominously suggested he was armed.


    He seemed to be debating whether to open the window and attack.


    ¡°Who are you? What are you doing there?¡±


    I answered without aiming my gun.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a soldier. Just a passerby.¡±


    The man didn¡¯t respond.


    Perhaps startled by my voice, he flinched slightly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll say it again, I¡¯m just passing by. The soldiers are leaving because they heard monsters are coming. We¡¯re just passing through here. I hope we don¡¯t have any unnecessary conflict.¡±


    Aside from the man on the third floor, there was no one else in the line of sight who could threaten us.


    I spoke into the communication device.


    ¡°Secure the area. We¡¯re moving this way.¡±


    ¡°Roger.¡±


    While waiting for Defender and the others to arrive, the voice from the apartment building called out.


    ¡°Who are you? A soldier?¡±


    He was hiding behind the window.


    It was comical how he didn¡¯t realize the darkness couldn¡¯t conceal his silhouette, but I answered seriously.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a soldier. Just an ordinary refugee.¡±


    ¡°A refugee? Why?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here to save a friend.¡±


    ¡°A friend...¡±


    The window creaked open.


    At the same time, I felt my weapon shift slightly.


    ¡°Can¡¯t I go with you?¡±


    He was a soldier.


    Judging by the worn-out patches that covered his shirt pockets, he appeared to be a member of the military faction, one who had been serving on the front lines long before the war.


    His face was dark with a grimace as he spoke.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really want anything. I just need to leave the city and find General Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s unit.¡±


    The soldier waved his gun.


    ¡°I¡¯m not proud of it, but I¡¯ve killed a lot of people. I¡¯ll be of help.¡±


    Many situations arise during missions.


    One of them is meeting isolated survivors.


    As the saying goes, ¡°every person is different,¡± and they, too, bring unpredictable and varied demands.


    From my experience, I knew never to trust unverified third parties.


    Especially not ones carrying weapons.


    But outright rejection wasn¡¯t always the wisest choice.


    It would be even worse than killing this man on the spot.


    Rejection breeds resentment, and resentment often leads to impulsive actions.


    In the cold hell of the apocalypse, the ability to communicate is vital.


    ¡°We¡¯re being chased by the fanatics.¡±


    ¡°The fanatics?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. My friend was involved in a fanatic massacre. One of the fanatics in white clothes was shouting that he would kill my friend.¡±


    I looked up at the man, who was glaring down at me with bloodshot eyes, and calmly asked,


    ¡°Still willing to join us?¡±


    His face stiffened, and after a moment, he shook his head and closed the window.


    ¡°What¡¯s this? Are we marked?¡±


    He asked gruffly from behind the closed window.


    ¡°Marked?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being chased by the Mallory cult, right?¡±


    So, they referred to the cult as the ¡°Mallory cult.¡±


    ¡°Do you not know? Once you¡¯re marked by the Mallory cult, you can never escape.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    I had a feeling something was off, but from the man''s perspective, there was no longer any need to talk to me.


    He slammed the window shut.


    ¡°Shit. This is bad luck. Hurry up and get out! Don¡¯t get caught ahead! Get lost far away!¡±


    Just as that happened, Cheon Young-jae and his group appeared from beyond the darkness.


    I walked toward Cheon Young-jae.


    ¡°I think there¡¯s someone with perception ability among the fanatics.¡±


    Perception and detection.


    These are among the known abilities of low-level Awakened.


    Perception ability is often mixed up with detection ability, causing a lot of misunderstandings.


    On the surface, they don¡¯t seem all that different.


    But if you understand the underlying nature, the actual characteristics are completely different.


    Detection focuses on the reconnaissance of enemy positions within a short range, within combat distance, while perception is the ability to determine the position of a person or target, regardless of how far they are, and know where they are.


    While detection works like a radar during combat, perception acts like a communication device that helps locate objects from far away.


    Scholars explain that monsters use their perception abilities to find their kin¡ªsmaller, infiltrating types of monsters.


    ¡°How exactly does perception work?¡±


    I had a rough understanding of the ability from my time in the field.


    But the actual methodology, I didn¡¯t know.


    Even if I wanted to know, there¡¯s nothing I could have obtained, especially being someone who¡¯s been pushed out from the mainstream, let alone a low-level Awakened who is disliked to a pathological degree.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know either. I don¡¯t have perception ability. But I do know you have to be close for it to work. It¡¯s called perception, right? To perceive, you¡¯d probably have to see the person¡¯s face at least?¡±


    I looked at Defender.


    ¡°Was there anyone around who might have perception ability? Or was there a situation where you could have been perceived?¡±


    Defender shook his head.


    ¡°There were no Awakened, including Captain Kim Da-ram.¡±


    His eyes flashed.


    ¡°No, wait.¡±


    Defender¡¯s eyes turned toward a distant point.


    ¡°...There was one person I spared.¡±


    ¡°You?¡±


    I was a little surprised.


    Defender, sparing someone?


    ¡°It was the guy who begged me to save his sister, saying he had to protect her.¡±


    ¡°....¡±


    Defender looked at me.


    ¡°That guy, he might have perceived me.¡±


    He nodded and signaled us to move forward.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know the exact details.


    The perception ability was something I only guessed based on what the soldier left behind in that apartment.


    But the reason those fanatics were so confident in finding their target probably has a reason behind it.


    There¡¯s no harm in being cautious.


    Bang! Bang! Tatatatang!


    The gunfire still echoed through the distance.


    Were they offering sporadic resistance, or were some soldiers still conducting a sweep?


    From the fragmented information, no one was blocking our retreat, so we were able to move quickly.


    But then¡ª


    ¡°This.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae frowned.


    ¡°Seems like it¡¯s real.¡±


    ¡°...What is?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae stopped walking and turned around.


    ¡°Perception ability.¡±


    He squinted his faintly glowing eyes and looked into the air, nodding.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming straight for us, no matter where we go. It¡¯s like they know where we are.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°At least ten.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    The most dangerous enemy to perception ability is distance.


    Once caught in the perception net, they can detect a target from tens of kilometers away.


    This means that even if we go back to our territory, we could encounter a group of fanatics led by someone with perception ability.


    ¡°SKELTON.¡±


    Defender stood in front of me.


    He had a determined expression.


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay.¡±


    Da-jeong¡¯s eyes slightly wavered.


    ¡°Oppa.¡±


    ¡°...Go with SKELTON.¡±


    There was no change in Da-jeong¡¯s emotion in front of her sacrificial sibling.


    She merely stood next to her sibling and took a deep breath.


    After finishing her deep breath, she spoke softly.


    ¡°If it¡¯s punishment, shouldn¡¯t we take it together?¡±


    She let out a quiet laugh.


    A forced laugh.


    Da-jeong stared at me.


    ¡°I¡¯ve killed a lot too.¡±


    I know.


    ¡°I participated in the massacre.¡±


    ¡°....¡±


    That was something I didn¡¯t know.


    Da-jeong, wearing a somewhat sorrowful smile, calmly confessed her sins in front of us.


    ¡°Yeah. I pressed a button, but because of that one button, over 300 people were buried alive under a building. They¡¯re called fanatics, but aren¡¯t fanatics also people?¡±


    The moment I saw their eyes, their feelings reached my chest.


    Defender and Da-jeong.


    They were staying here not only because of guilt.


    That¡¯s a small part of it.


    What I saw in their faces was gratitude.


    Gratitude towards me.


    Gratitude for everything I¡¯ve done to help them and bring them here.


    That¡¯s why they were staying.


    Not to burden me anymore.


    ¡°SKELTON, are you meeting a nice girl?¡±


    Da-jeong said cheerfully, forcing a smile.


    ¡°If we knew each other before the war, I would¡¯ve introduced you to a nice girl. You¡¯re a great guy, after all. Our SKELTON.¡±


    Even in this moment, the enemies are approaching.


    Cheon Young-jae let out a soft cough.


    The fanatics were coming.


    Hah Tae-hoon also made noise while preparing his equipment.


    They were demanding a decision from me.


    But I didn¡¯t need to make a decision.


    ¡°Over there.¡±


    Why, I¡¯ve already made up my mind.


    ¡°Did you know?¡±


    I asked, looking at Da-jeong and Defender.


    The siblings looked at me simultaneously.


    ¡°Do you know about the armband I wear on the forum?¡±


    ¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    I nodded with a faint smile.


    ¡°It¡¯s a secret armband.¡±


    ¡°A secret armband...!!¡±


    ¡°And, you probably didn¡¯t notice, but I¡¯ve already given the fanatics a taste of defeat once.¡±


    ¡°R-Really?¡±


    ¡°I have a plan.¡±

 Chapter 112.6: Faith (6)

    As a team leader, I always tried to keep plans as simple as possible.


    Fresh graduates often have the illusion that a flashy, complex plan is the best approach, but that¡¯s a foolish notion.


    Sure, crafting an intricate and elaborate plan might seem impressive.


    But the moment any plan is set into motion, it slips from the planner¡¯s grasp. No one can predict where, how, or at what speed the massive ball of reality will roll.


    That¡¯s why a plan should always be as simple and as easy to understand as possible.


    The net of human-devised strategy is too easily torn apart in the face of reality¡¯s overwhelming force.


    Still, there are rare occasions when I do craft slightly more complex plans.


    Not just any time.


    Only when a mission is absolutely necessary and when we are severely outmatched.


    But no matter the case, I have never drafted a plan that anticipated failure.


    "They might kill you on the spot. But what can you do? That¡¯s just your fate."


    Jokes were something the former Professor never had in his repertoire.


    "But I¡¯m certain of this. They won¡¯t kill you outright. Haven¡¯t you seen it on the forums? Those cultists are oddly obsessed with social media-style activities. So..."


    I paused for a moment, choosing my words carefully, but Defender beat me to it with a grin.


    "Proof of capture?"


    "Exactly. That¡¯s it. They¡¯ll take you alive to show proof."


    Every plan needs a clear objective at its core.


    Seeing my internet friend light up at the word proof, I spoke seriously.


    "If you see a familiar face, mark them."


    The cultists may have several powerful Awakened, but they aren¡¯t gods. They aren¡¯t divine messengers.


    They¡¯re just a collection of deranged Awakened and humans on the verge of losing their minds.


    Their ability to track us stems from a perception-type Awakened among them.


    The solution is simple.


    Kill the one with perception abilities.


    As long as we take out the hunting dog that will sniff out Defender¡¯s trail, we can escape from the cultists safely.


    I prepared two things.


    First, the bait.


    The one who¡¯s been marked¡ªDefender¡ªwould serve as the lure.


    I don¡¯t like using an ally as bait, but the situation leaves us no choice.


    And where there¡¯s bait, there must be a fisherman.


    The rest of us would lie in ambush 600 meters away on the ridge.


    We could have widened the distance, but my sniping skills aren¡¯t as good as Kim Daram¡¯s.


    I set the farthest possible range at which I could concentrate and guarantee a clean kill, staying just outside the sensory range of the enemy¡¯s perception-type Awakened.


    Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon were in charge of fire support, while Da-jeong would operate drones to assist us.


    "Wait, you were the drone pilot that day?"


    "Yep."


    Ha Tae-hoon was momentarily stunned by Da-jeong¡¯s beauty, but the revelation that she was the drone operator who humiliated the Chinese that day left him even more shocked.


    Da-jeong had three drones.


    All of them were reconnaissance drones, but she had strapped a mortar shell to the largest and most powerful one.


    "Alright, then."


    It was a brief farewell.


    Defender looked at me.


    There was a hint of fear in his eyes, but beyond that fear, I saw trust¡ªtrust strong enough to push it aside.


    "I¡¯m counting on you."


    "Don¡¯t count on me too much. You might die."


    "In that case, take care of my sister."


    Defender glanced at Ha Tae-hoon and then at Da-jeong, who was piloting the drone.


    "...You probably know this already, but neither of us has exactly led exemplary lives."


    "John Nae-non."


    "Huh?"


    "No, never mind."


    "What the hell was that about all of a sudden...?"


    I didn¡¯t know.


    I had no idea why I suddenly blurted out John Nae-non¡¯s name.


    But somehow, it cut through the weight of the moment, easing the tension between us.


    There was no need for us to be overly solemn.


    That kind of dramatic flair only belonged in stories that had already ended.


    For the last step, I checked the motorcycle in front of Defender.


    The first stage of our plan hinged on Defender attempting to escape on the motorcycle¡ªonly for it to break down, forcing him to stay in place.


    "Still running fine."


    The motorcycle was in perfect working order.


    I stood up, thinking of Baek Seung-hyun.


    "Alright."


    I met Defender¡¯s gaze.


    We nodded at each other at the same time.


    There was no need for more words between us.


    Except¡ª


    "Hey. Over there. Is that a monster?"


    Cheon Young-jae, who had been scanning the darkness through night vision equipment, handed me the device.


    In the northern entrance of the city, eight kilometers away from us, under the moonlight, hordes of pale, grayish-white creatures were sluggishly making their way into the city.


    The soldiers had retreated for a good reason.


    The monsters were coming.


    "......"


    Now that the lighthouse was out, monster swarms could appear anywhere.


    But the human mind doesn¡¯t work that way.


    At least, I hoped they wouldn¡¯t come here.


    Luckily, people arrived before the monsters did.


    Lights flickered in the distance.


    The cultists had arrived.


    Raising my clenched fist, I signaled to everyone.


    *


    Bang!


    600 meters was quite a distance for me¡ªa far reach even for a hunter like us.


    Throughout the war, we rarely engaged enemies beyond 100 meters.


    Besides, I was never a designated marksman.


    I had always fought at the very frontlines.


    I could leave this to Cheon Young-jae or Ha Tae-hoon, but this was my responsibility.


    Unless it was their specialty, I wouldn¡¯t burden them with missions tied to my affairs.


    So, I had already fired a test shot in advance.


    Bang!


    I checked the impact point.


    It didn¡¯t matter if the cultists heard.


    Gunshots were just another layer of white noise in this world.


    ¡°Good.¡±


    Defender confirmed the impact point.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    ¡°Accurate. But it landed # N§àv§Ölight # just slightly to the lower right.¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡±


    Beside me, Da-jeong was running a test on her drone controller.


    As she maneuvered the small quarter drone, she answered the question I had asked earlier.


    ¡°Manryu-gyo? Yeah, a lot of people called it that. Some pretended they weren¡¯t believers but still spread it among close acquaintances.¡±


    It was no secret that Da-jeong had spent a long time in a hospital.


    She never talked about her illness, whether past or present, but she spoke calmly about the social plague she had witnessed there.


    ¡°There were more believers than you¡¯d think. Why? Because monsters are terrifying. No matter how many you kill, they keep coming. China, India, Russia¡ªthose massive, powerful nations¡ªall fell. Even the ones with nuclear weapons.¡±


    It was undeniable that humanity had developed a delusion of grandeur after Hiroshima.


    Sure, humans could pollute and desecrate nature, but in the grand scheme of things, we were just parasites clinging to this planet.


    We weren¡¯t even the only lifeforms that had reshaped Earth¡¯s environment.


    Take oxygen, for example. We breathed it in every second of our lives, yet without our ancient predecessors, it wouldn¡¯t exist at all.


    The illusion of human omnipotence had already begun to erode in the 21st century, but the emergence of monsters had completely shattered that arrogance.


    When one faith crumbles, another rises in its place.


    The idle fantasies of a Chinese youth, scratching his belly while reading martial arts novels under his parents¡¯ nagging, had now transcended into a global belief.


    ¡°Cultists inbound.¡±


    Vehicles approached Defender¡¯s position.


    Four four-wheel-drive SUVs.


    Their entire exteriors were painted white, with a stark red stripe running through the middle, as if they had been split in half and sewn back together.


    A black lotus. A barren bodhi tree. A fluttering yellow flag with the large, ink-brushed character Èf (Ten Thousand). A pig without legs.


    All symbols I had seen before in China.


    Various factions and cults had their own insignias, and it seemed like one of them had spread beyond North Korea and into this land.


    I didn¡¯t know their exact name or allegiance.


    But in the end, a cultist was a cultist.


    ¡°We should be outside their detection range at this distance, right?¡±


    I asked Cheon Young-jae, who was assisting me.


    ¡°For me, yes. But I¡¯ve heard of people stronger than me. Still, no perception ability should exceed 500 meters. It¡¯s a hard limit.¡±


    I saw that limit as something dictated by necessity.


    If most Awakened abilities had originated from monsters, then they were likely adjusted to be most effective within their original users¡¯ needs.


    Honestly, even 400 meters was a wide range.


    In urban combat, even 100 meters was more than enough.


    Not that I, a non-Awakened, had much room to talk.


    The vehicles came to a stop.


    They had spotted Defender with the naked eye.


    He was hiding behind his motorcycle, crouched behind the slope.


    It was all intentional.


    To the cultists, we were easier prey if they believed we had no knowledge of perception-type abilities.


    Vrooooom¡ª


    The vehicles pivoted their bodies to face Defender¡¯s hiding spot, their engines roaring before going silent.


    A barrage of bright headlights illuminated where he was concealed.


    ¡°What a distasteful sight.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon, watching from the perimeter, let out a bitter chuckle.


    It was distasteful.


    But at the same time, it reassured me.


    I spoke into the comms.


    ¡°As expected, these guys aren¡¯t planning to kill you right away, huh?¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    A seasoned killer like Defender showed no visible signs of tension, even when faced with dozens of enemies.


    ¡°Alright, then.¡±


    This was the most critical moment.


    ¡°Do you see them?¡±


    We needed to find the perception-type Awakened.


    Take him out, extract Defender, and escape the area.


    As long as we got Defender out, we wouldn¡¯t have trouble escaping.


    My buggy might guzzle the remaining, now-precious fuel, but when it came to rough terrain, an SUV was no match for it.


    Even if the cultists tried, the best they could do was send drones after us.


    The cultists stepped out of the vehicles, their headlights still maliciously focused on Defender¡¯s position.


    And their outfits¡ª


    I couldn¡¯t help but laugh.


    It was an awkward hybrid of Chinese and Western styles.


    A communist zhifu (people¡¯s uniform) remodeled into a monk¡¯s robe.


    But the fact that they had coordinated outfits meant they were part of a well-organized faction.


    And not just that¡ªthese guys were high-ranking members.


    ¡°There might be several Awakened among them.¡±


    I told Cheon Young-jae.


    ¡°So what do we do?¡±


    ¡°Step back a little.¡±


    There was never much need for words between hunters, which was convenient.


    Cheon Young-jae grinned.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re planning to hunt them like monsters?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°You think intimidation will work? They¡¯re still human.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°How can you be so sure?¡±


    ¡°In a 50-50 gamble, there aren¡¯t many who would choose the losing hand¡ªespecially in a situation where we have absolute superiority.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae nodded.


    ¡°That¡¯s one way to look at it. But considering they¡¯re cultists, isn¡¯t there a higher chance that they¡¯re just crazy?¡±


    I smiled.


    ¡°If they were truly insane, they¡¯d be with the monsters already.¡±


    That was the cultists¡¯ fatal flaw.


    Their founder¡ªthe Gae-pa Jong-sa, as they called him¡ªbelieved that monsters weren¡¯t humanity¡¯s enemies but another form of balance bestowed by the world.


    So he had gone to live among the fully eroded lands, surrendering himself to the monsters.


    Most of his followers did the same.


    Hundreds of millions of abandoned Chinese had remained in the erosion zones¡ªand disappeared.


    When some of them reemerged among the living, fellow Chinese survivors laughed at them.


    To them, their so-called religion was just another excuse.


    Another dynastic revolution, no different from the countless ones that had plagued China since the era of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors.


    The Chinese military had come to the same conclusion.


    And I agreed wholeheartedly.


    These people weren¡¯t insane.


    If anything, they clung to life more desperately than we did.


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    Defender¡¯s voice crackled through the comms.


    ¡°See that one guy in a t-shirt among the ones in white?¡±


    ¡°Short hair? Pierced ears?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Shit...¡±


    Defender suddenly cursed.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Goddamn it. She¡¯s really here. My little sister.¡±


    Indeed, among the robed cultists stood a small girl, barely in her early teens.


    But that wasn¡¯t our concern right now.


    I turned to Cheon Young-jae.


    ¡°We¡¯re starting.¡±


    Gripping my rifle, I fixed my aim on the zeroed-in target.


    Through the scope, I saw the one I needed to kill.

 Chapter 112.7: Faith (7)

    "How can you shoot so accurately from that far?"


    Back in school, there was a one-kilometer sniping course.


    I topped almost every subject, but sniping was never my strong suit.


    Unfortunately, I had to concede the top spot in this area to Lee Sang-hoon, and that fact nagged at me for a long time.


    Later, when Kim Daram became a member of my team, I asked her the secret to sniping.


    "You don¡¯t just rely on instinct. As we learned in school, the Earth is constantly rotating, its magnetic field affects everything, and the wind shifts according to these forces."


    "How do you measure the wind?"


    I wasn¡¯t asking about the wind at my shooting position.


    That was something a spotter could gauge, or I could roughly estimate and factor into my calculations.


    The problem was that the wind didn¡¯t blow in a single direction, and countless variables affected its path¡ªfar too many for a human brain to calculate.


    I could have a westward wind at my position, but the target could be facing an eastward gust.


    That was unknowable.


    The snipers who set world records for long-range kills used heavy-caliber rounds to mitigate such variables.


    It was why the standard sniper rifle round wasn¡¯t the commonly used 5.56mm but rather something in the 7.62mm range¡ªa compromise with the immense force of nature itself.


    It wasn¡¯t an issue for me, as I mainly used 5.56mm rounds, and aside from shotguns, I rarely needed anything else.


    But there would inevitably come a moment when I¡¯d have to take a long-range shot with a standard rifle.


    "Hints are all around you."


    Kim Daram had responded to my question with a confident yet kind smile¡ªa smile that I had since lost.


    "If your target is wearing clothes, watch how they flutter. If there are trees nearby, use them as reference points. Don¡¯t just look at the target¡ªobserve everything around them. That¡¯s how you¡¯ll understand the wind."


    If she had lived her life according to her own advice, perhaps our relationship wouldn¡¯t have fractured the way it did.


    But now, all that remained was the cold skeleton of knowledge.


    Standing at the fragile edge of that structure, I took a deep breath, held it, and set my sights on the target.


    A boy.


    Mid-teens.


    Thin, almost skeletal.


    He blinked intermittently, possibly a nervous tic, but his body remained still.


    That was all I needed to know about him.


    I adjusted my aim slightly away from his temple.


    "I know you''re hiding there!"


    One of the cultists stepped forward, holding a megaphone, and shouted toward Defender¡¯s position.


    "You¡¯ll die no matter what. You can¡¯t escape from us. Surely you¡¯ve heard of the sect¡¯s trackers¡ªour Ho-beop? You must have. Some of your own soldiers have joined us, whispering our knowledge into your ears through those pitiful radio broadcasts you cling to."


    I examined the cultists¡¯ armaments.


    A few had firearms, but most carried no guns.


    Not no weapons, just no firearms.


    Many of them were armed with crude spears, machetes, or sickles.


    That only reinforced my suspicion¡ªthey were Awakened.


    I waited for the perfect moment.


    "If you surrender now, I swear on our founder¡¯s name to grant you a painless death. We¡¯ll offer you one last good meal, some alcohol, and if you wish, drugs and women. No torture. We¡¯ll even provide a special anesthetic before execution to ensure you feel no pain."


    The cultist with the megaphone took a step forward.


    Bang!


    A shot with no hesitation.


    The gunshot echoed through the night.


    At the same time¡ª


    Boom!


    A shockwave erupted.


    A cultist standing behind the speaker had generated it.


    My bullet vanished into an invisible rift¡ªa distortion in space, like a black hole leading to a wormhole.


    The next thing I knew, the bullet emerged from the rift and grazed past my temple.


    "Ambush!"


    One of the cultists screamed.


    "They''re Awakened."


    I spoke calmly.


    And fired again.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Three timed shots.


    All warning shots.


    Not even intimidation¡ªjust probing.


    This was where humans differed from monsters.


    Monsters only deployed their repulsion fields when bullets were about to hit them, but humans¡ªfearful creatures¡ªactivated them at the mere sound of gunfire.


    Boom!


    Two more Awakened cultists revealed themselves.


    That was all they did¡ªreveal themselves.


    "Begin suppression fire."


    I ordered Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae.


    The two hunters began their barrage.


    Bullets tore through the night sky, not even qualifying as intimidation shots, yet every gunshot triggered the cultists¡¯ shockwaves.


    "Drone."


    I signaled Da-jeong, who was sitting calmly in the back with her controller.


    She nodded and activated our secret weapon¡ª


    Whiiiiiiir¡ª


    A robotic vacuum cleaner.


    For some reason, she had brought a robot vacuum.


    And it had a purpose.


    Strapped to it was a bundle of grenades.


    "Unlike regular drones, this one operates on primitive pre-set coordinates. Simple means less risk. Once the coordinates are set, we cut the wireless connection¡ªno hacking, no signal interception."


    There was no reason to be intimidated just because they were Awakened.


    In the end, it was still a fight between humans.


    And since we had maneuvered them into a disadvantageous battlefield, more than half the victory was already ours.


    Of course, if they had monsters like Kang Han-min or Na Hye-in among them, it would be a different story¡ªbut those were unavoidable risks.


    A mortar-mounted drone flew overhead.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    As the robot vacuum advanced toward the enemy, the drone provided additional suppression from above.


    The cultists, who had been loosely focused on Defender''s hiding spot, now had to form a tight formation near their vehicles.


    I watched patiently, waiting for their guide to move away from them.


    "Who are you?! Who dares to bare their fangs at us? Are you under Kim Byung-cheol? Do you even know what became of him?"


    The cultist with the megaphone screamed in my direction.


    I didn¡¯t answer.


    Only the drone, buzzing overhead, responded.


    Bang! Tatatatatat!


    A cultist opened fire at the drone.


    One of his comrades stopped him and looked up¡ª


    Boom!


    Another shockwave.


    At the same time, something invisible and electric rippled through the air.


    Fzzzt!


    The drone plummeted.


    San-ta (É¢´ò).


    An anti-drone pulse.


    One of the symbolic powers that had doomed China, once the global leader in drone warfare.


    China had been the first to discover it.


    China had given it a name.


    "Defender."


    I spoke into the comms.


    "Can you run back?"


    "On it."


    Defender bolted, sprinting toward the tall sorghum fields behind him.


    "Run!"


    A boy''s voice shouted.


    "Run, now!"


    The cultists ignored him.


    They seemed more annoyed by him than anything.


    "Shut up!"


    Tensions were at their peak.


    At any moment, another bullet could fly, or another drone could drop.


    "That way!"


    The boy kept shouting, trying to earn some favor in a desperate bid for survival.


    His struggle caused a small fracture among the cultists.


    Some moved toward Defender¡¯s direction, while others remained near the vehicles.


    The boy was caught in the middle.


    "Suppression fire. Three seconds."


    Three.


    Two.


    One.


    Bang! Tattattattat!


    Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae unleashed their barrage.


    Each time¡ª


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    Shockwaves rippled outward.


    But beyond their reach was an unprotected gap.


    Alone, the boy continued yelling about Defender¡¯s position.


    I pulled the trigger.


    Bang!


    Not a warning shot.


    Not intimidation.


    The bullet struck the boy¡¯s heart.


    He collapsed like a withered tree.


    Motionless.


    "Target neutralized."


    I signaled Da-jeong.


    The robot vacuum had already reached the vehicles.


    She pressed the button.


    BOOM!!!


    A violent explosion sent the cars flying.


    The cultists, seeing the chaos, instinctively clustered together and began a coordinated retreat.


    That was when I realized¡ª


    This Awakened faction was no joke.


    They weren¡¯t just zealots.


    They were a disciplined, structured organization.


    I watched them withdraw and spoke into the comms.


    "Mission complete. Retrieve Hong Jung-ho and return to base."


    Da-jeong gave me a sidelong glance.


    "What about Skelton?"


    She pointed at the motorcycle lying abandoned in the grass.


    "We¡¯re taking it, of course."


    There was no need for words between us.


    VROOOOOOOM¡ª


    The buggy jolted as it raced over the rugged terrain, the engine''s roar blending with the night wind.


    Behind us, the cultists were piling into the remaining operational vehicles, preparing to withdraw from the battlefield.


    What remained at the scene was a cooling corpse and a silent young girl standing beside it.


    She stared at the dead boy without a flicker of emotion, her expression as empty as if all her feelings had long since run dry.


    For a moment, I hesitated.


    "..."


    A fleeting temptation washed over me.


    I was a nihilist who wanted to survive.


    But I wasn¡¯t heartless enough to kill someone completely unnecessary.


    Even Defender had felt uneasy about his actions¡ªwhat right did I have to entertain such thoughts?


    The girl suddenly turned her head, looking north.


    Monsters were coming.


    She took a step toward the cultists'' vehicle.


    None of them called for her, reached out to her, or even acknowledged her presence.


    Yet, without hesitation, she found her place among them, climbing into the car as if she had always belonged there.


    I waited, hidden in the tall grass, until their vehicles finally pulled away.


    If they were true believers, they should have driven straight toward the horde of monsters, welcoming their so-called "gods" with open arms.


    Instead, the vehicles turned southeast, speeding away from the approaching horde.


    Despite all their grand proclamations, they fled from the monsters like frightened prey.


    Hypocrites.


    And yet, amidst their contradictory retreat, a pair of eyes lingered on me.


    From the back window of one of the vehicles, the girl watched me.


    I couldn¡¯t tell from this distance whether it was real or a figment of my conscience, whether it was judgment or regret.


    Only time would answer that question.


    *


    By the time we neared our base, the sun had begun to rise, casting a cold glow over the abandoned yet still-green landscape.


    "Man, that was satisfying."


    Cheon Young-jae was the one talking the most over comms.


    "I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve ever handled something this cleanly, not in China or Korea. But you know, every time I work with you, Park, things just... get done. At first, when you said we were leaving Jung-ho behind, I was like¡ªwait, is this guy seriously ditching my buddy? But damn, you pulled through."


    Despite his cheerful demeanor, he carried a lot of baggage.


    Ha Tae-hoon had hinted at it before¡ªCheon Young-jae had gone through some serious losses /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ and built walls around his heart that weren¡¯t easy to see.


    I carried two radios¡ª


    One for communication with Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon, and another custom-made military comm unit, modified by Defender.


    While the first buzzed with conversation, I spoke into the second.


    "What happened to Kim Daram?"


    No matter how much of a pain in the ass she was, she was still the junior I once trusted most.


    She was the first one who had come looking for me when I was isolated, after all.


    And I had even given her a million won as a wedding gift.


    Of course, I was curious.


    "Kim Daram?"


    Defender snorted at the name.


    There was no trace of respect or sympathy in his reaction.


    "That woman? She¡¯s the kind of person who will survive anywhere, no matter what. Watching her made me realize¡ªno matter how fucked up the world gets, she¡¯ll still be out there, dragging her husband and fat-ass kids along with her."


    "That¡¯s... a problem."


    "What, you want her dead?"


    "No, but..."


    The last human left standing¡ª


    It sure as hell shouldn¡¯t be Kim Daram just because she was stubborn enough to outlive everyone else.


    "I have to live longer than her."


    "Now that¡¯s something Skelton would say."


    Defender grinned, waving at me from his seat on the buggy¡¯s roll cage.


    His handsome face was still as friendly and open as ever.


    "So, any women in your life?"


    Before I could answer, his sister cut in.


    "Of course he has. Oh my God, I was so disappointed."


    "Why? What happened?"


    "Ugh. I thought my brother¡ªI mean, Jung-ho ham¡ªwas a real alpha male. You know, the type who shoves clingy women aside like, ¡®Get lost, you bitch!¡¯"


    "That¡¯s literally me, though."


    "No, you should¡¯ve seen him. He turned into a total buffalo, simping over some girl who wasn¡¯t even that pretty!"


    "The fuck?!"


    "I swear, you have to see it for yourself. That was the day I finally understood what cosmic horror really meant."


    Defender cut her off, flustered.


    "Shut up."


    Damn. He really acts like a kid when he''s on the defensive.


    Still, our short and chaotic journey was over.


    There were still countless problems ahead, but for now, I wouldn¡¯t think about them.


    Beyond the vast, empty plains, my territory stood, small but sturdy.


    I switched radio frequencies to the shared channel.


    "Welcome home."


    Riding alongside my buggy, Da-jeong and Defender waved back.


    In their gazes, I felt trust.


    Not the blind faith of the cultists.


    But real trust¡ªthe kind that comes from surviving together.


    "Take care of us, Skelton."


    "We¡¯re finally one team now!"


    Defender and his sister had joined us.

 Chapter 113: Worry

    Bringing the Defender siblings here was a good decision.


    The group was more lively, our combat strength had increased, and most importantly, I had safely rescued people I cared about.


    I was genuinely looking forward to the stories we would create together from now on.


    But my heart couldn¡¯t fully embrace that joy.


    Because now, I had something to worry about.


    The question kept circling in my mind¡ªshould I have killed that girl back then?


    Buuuuuuuuuaaaaaang¡ª


    Heavy machinery roared to life, beginning new construction.


    As the sound rumbled in the distance, I sat alone, replaying that day in my head.


    A lot of different judgments had come and gone.


    Firing my gun in that moment would have most likely drawn the attention of the fanatics.


    No matter how strong I was in close-quarters combat, I had my limits when faced with that many Awakened.


    Some of them even had guns.


    Since I had already sent my allies ahead, choosing to avoid combat had been the rational decision.


    She must have been about eleven years old.


    Thin, frail. Her emotions seemed numb, as if she had already suffered a great shock.


    I had one chance.


    I won¡¯t deny that.


    Should I have killed her then?


    "What are you thinking about?"


    Defender had found me.


    "Nothing. Just..."


    He sat down next to me.


    He and his sister had agreed to stay in separate bunker units.


    His main roles would be combat and scavenging. On top of that, he was good with vehicle maintenance.


    Since he knew this area better than I did, he would be a valuable asset to our territory.


    "You don¡¯t look so good."


    The fact that he could read me so well was both a strength and a weakness.


    After some thought, I decided to be honest.


    "What? You feel bad about leaving that bastard¡¯s sister alive?"


    I nodded.


    "You had your reasons. Pulling the trigger back there would¡¯ve put you in serious danger of getting surrounded. Even so, you can¡¯t shake the feeling, huh? That it would have been the right call to shoot her?"


    I mentioned how, as the vehicle drove away, {N?o?v?e?l?i?g?h?t} the girl had locked eyes with me.


    Defender let out a sigh.


    Then he looked at me.


    "So... should we go kill her now?"


    Pure Defender logic.


    To him, every problem could be solved by killing someone.


    I had always been wary of becoming like him.


    Because I believed there was a bare minimum that a human should protect.


    Maybe that was hypocrisy.


    But hypocrisy was something everyone carried, like a personal totem.


    And like most hypocrites, I had convinced myself that I was different.


    Still, when the right conditions were met, hypocrisy was easily stripped away.


    "I know that place well."


    For a brief moment, Defender¡¯s words made something inside me stir.


    A flicker of agreement.


    But that flicker quickly turned into a feverish anger.


    A small, momentary resentment crept up¡ªresentment that this had all happened because of the Defender siblings.


    I crushed that thought before it could take root, but that¡¯s just human nature.


    When a problem arises, people instinctively want to blame the ones who brought it into their lives.


    And yet, I had just blamed someone I valued.


    Not a good sign.


    Resentment, if left unchecked, would turn into regret.


    A dangerous thought entered my mind¡ªhad I made a mistake bringing them here?


    "..."


    I should have killed her.


    My old mentor, Jang Ki-young¡¯s voice suddenly echoed in my head.


    "Your first thought is often your best thought. That raw, unfiltered instinct is the clearest reflection of what you¡¯re truly made of."


    I had always tried to act the opposite of what Jang Ki-young would say.


    It was a small act of rebellion, but now, he was nothing more than a zombie.


    Rumors said he had been spotted somewhere near Incheon.


    That aside.


    "Defender."


    I looked him straight in the eyes.


    "Yeah?"


    "Why did you kill people back then? I mean, before all this. When we were just messing around on the internet."


    "You mean at the beginning?"


    "Yeah."


    Defender stroked his chin, lost in thought.


    "I didn¡¯t really think about it. Or rather, I tried not to think about it."


    "Really?"


    "I just focused on the danger they posed to us."


    Defender stared blankly at the sky and concluded.


    "Looking back, I still think it was the right decision."


    "I see."


    "I knew, even back then, that what we were doing wasn¡¯t ¡®right¡¯ by peacetime standards."


    Defender let out a bitter chuckle.


    "But what does ¡®right¡¯ even mean?"


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    When I didn¡¯t answer, he sighed, picked up a stick, and started drawing in the dirt.


    He seemed to be drawing a human figure¡ªa simple stickman.


    Then, with one rough stroke, he slashed a line across its neck.


    A clean decapitation.


    "...I should have killed that girl."


    "If I had, none of this would be happening."


    Defender grinned.


    "From now on, I¡¯m going to kill every single one of them."


    It wasn¡¯t a cruel smile.


    It was innocent.


    And I still found myself resisting that innocence.


    What he said made sense. It even brought me a strange sense of relief.


    But deep down, I was still clinging to the remnants of the old world.


    To morals. To hypocrisy.


    To values that had long since faded into irrelevance.


    Foxgames: A Pathetic Excuse


    Foxgames: I¡¯m really sorry. I bow my head in apology. I won¡¯t even ask you to wait anymore. I have no excuses.


    Foxgames was still crawling around the forums like the hypocritical parasite he was.


    His insides were rotten to the core, but at least his public image was intact.


    If anything¡ª


    Anonymous1723: Stay strong, Foxgames!


    Anonymous1833: I installed a satellite internet system just for your game. It was a pain without a manual, but I don¡¯t regret it one bit.


    Anonymous1873: A lot of us are here because of you. Me included.


    People were still cheering him on.


    Mostly the newer users.


    I messaged Dies_Irae.


    He was online, browsing as usual, and responded instantly.


    Dies_Irae69: Foxgames? Yeah, he¡¯s still whining. Keeps begging me to convince his old subordinates to come back.


    Dies_Irae69: Honestly, it¡¯s disgusting. The guy who tried to kill them to take all the credit now suddenly wants them back?


    Dies_Irae69: And the worst part? He actually asked me to talk to them for him. I may not be a saint, but even I have more self-respect than that.


    Classic Dies_Irae. He always had a way of cutting to the core of a person¡¯s nature.


    He shredded Foxgames apart but left one final thought.


    Dies_Irae69: Still, at least Foxgames bothers to keep up appearances.


    Dies_Irae69: These days, even that bare minimum is becoming rare.


    And he was right.


    Lately, the influx of new users had brought in some real freaks.


    As a hidden mod, I had been banning the same three accounts over and over again.


    MORUS: ? Leather Crafting for Beginners¡ªPart 3 ?A lunatic making crafts out of human skin.Anonymous1941: Untitled - 13Kept uploading photos of a raped and murdered woman¡¯s corpse.KIM_DONG_HUNG: Handsome Guy¡¯s Day Out~A delusional old man spamming hundreds of selfies every day.Even the English boards were infested.


    Live-streamed "human safaris," grotesque experiments¡ªthings had spiraled beyond mere anarchy.


    Even Melon Mask, who had always championed absolute freedom of expression, had changed his stance and ordered the deletion and moderation of extreme hate posts.


    The world had been going insane for a long time.


    But now, it felt like we had finally reached the point of no return.


    This was the fourth year of the war.


    If the collapse of the past had been the breakdown of systems, then now, it felt like the very values we once held as absolute were crumbling away.


    That was probably what Dies_Irae meant¡ªhowever disgusting Foxgames was, at least he still pretended to have standards.


    Some people weren¡¯t even bothering anymore.


    It seemed my troubled expression hadn¡¯t gone unnoticed by my comrades.


    "Park Gyu. What¡¯s wrong?"


    Ha Tae-hoon asked with a serious look.


    There was no point in hiding it. Keeping things secret only led to misunderstandings.


    So I laid out my concerns.


    "So... what you¡¯re saying is..."


    Cheon Young-jae spoke up, looking unimpressed.


    "You¡¯re worried that the girl might be a Cognition-type?"


    "Something like that."


    "Cognition-type abilities are incredibly rare. Nine times out of ten, it''s just a sensory or clairvoyant ability."


    Cheon Young-jae looked at me with a grin and added:


    "Even if it were me, I wouldn¡¯t have killed her. Killing a child just because of a possibility? That¡¯s an even worse burden to carry."


    Ha Tae-hoon nodded and joined in.


    "If you get too numb to killing, you¡¯ll end up no different from the raiders out there. No matter how fucked up this world is, there are still some lines we need to keep."


    The hunters from Incheon sided with my decision.


    But the Defender siblings didn¡¯t.


    "Even if there was a risk, eliminating her was the right call. In the end, whether it¡¯s a kid or an adult, they¡¯re all Homo sapiens¡ªthinking beings. There¡¯s no reason to treat them differently. They¡¯re just smaller and weaker."


    "...I do like that about Skelton, but this time, I think the premise itself was wrong. Even if he let the girl live, that doesn¡¯t change the fact that he killed her brother."


    Defender nodded in agreement with his sister.


    "She¡¯ll show up here eventually."


    That was when I became keenly aware of the fundamental issue within our group.


    Not everyone thinks the same way.


    We all grew up in different environments, shaped by different worlds.


    The hunters from Incheon still wore a thin veil of morality.


    The Defender siblings believed in preemptive murder as a means of prevention.


    Their perspectives were completely different, yet both groups were important to me.


    I excused myself and wandered through the territory.


    I had walked through this place thousands of times, but it had changed.


    Not just the outer walls.


    Signs of life were everywhere.


    Footprints, scattered belongings, personal decorations, scents lingering in the air.


    Without thinking, I found myself in front of Ballantine¡¯s bunker.


    He hadn¡¯t attended the meeting.


    Instead, he had locked himself inside, tirelessly working on something, absorbed in his world of symbols and coded language.


    He had grown gaunt from standing guard the past few days, but his energy was undiminished.


    When I stepped into his bunker, he simply stared at me.


    "Something on your mind?"


    I briefly explained everything that had happened.


    My hesitation, my regret, the worry that had grown from it.


    Ballantine fanned himself as he listened, then wiped his sweaty forehead with a towel and said bluntly:


    "Well... does it really matter?"


    "You think so?"


    Resignation.


    That¡¯s how I interpreted it.


    "Nothing in this world is clean. Not even this war. Everyone wished it wouldn¡¯t happen, and yet..."


    "..."


    Not me.


    "Things happen whether we want them to or not. That¡¯s what I¡¯ve learned surviving in this ruined world. There are forces beyond our control¡ªcall it a flow, if you will. People like me? We just get swept along."


    Ballantine, looking exhausted but strangely proud, gestured at his monitor.


    With a keystroke, a familiar screen appeared.


    [Welcome to the Red Archive Forum.]


    "This is¡ª?!"


    "Hah... hah... almost done!"


    Ballantine let out a breathless chuckle.


    "The Jeju admin wasn¡¯t a complete idiot. He noticed the intrusion attempts and put up some kind of firewall. But what can he do? From his perspective, I am an unstoppable force."


    It sounded so casual.


    But I looked at Ballantine differently now.


    I never expected his words to hit me so hard.


    Ballantine¡ªhe was someone who wouldn¡¯t exist without John Nae-non.


    Among our group, he was the most out of place.


    The weakest link, arguably.


    And yet, to someone else, he was an inevitable, unrelenting force.


    "H-Hold on. That line... is that from John Nae-non¡¯s quotes?"


    "Nope. I said it myself."


    "I see."


    Ballantine lifted a Ballantine whiskey bottle and took a long swig.


    Not alcohol¡ªhe had filled the glass bottle with purified water.


    "I like Skelton because he still feels human."


    "On the internet?"


    "Even online, you¡¯re human enough. But I think you¡¯re even more human in reality."


    "You think so?"


    "I can¡¯t explain it. Take the newcomers, for example."


    Ballantine peeked outside, making sure no one was around.


    Then he leaned in and whispered.


    "They make me uneasy."


    "In what way?"


    "You¡¯re not going to tell them what I said, right?"


    "I¡¯m as tight-lipped as a hundred-kilo steel door."


    "Hmm... well, since it¡¯s you, I¡¯ll be honest."


    Ballantine gave his personal impression of the Defender siblings.


    "They just... give me the creeps. Both of them."


    He was probably right.


    I had felt something similar when I first met them.


    "Well, they¡¯re here now. We just have to get along."


    Ballantine smiled brightly.


    "And you¡ªdon¡¯t stress yourself out too much, Skelton. Life isn¡¯t that complicated. If a wave is too strong, just let it carry you. Getting swept up isn¡¯t always a bad thing. After all, it brought us here, didn¡¯t it?"


    Unexpected News


    My worries ended as suddenly as they began.


    "Hey, Skelton. Did you check the forum?"


    I was listening to John Nae-non¡¯s quotes, trying to clear my mind, when Defender came looking for me.


    "What is it?"


    "She¡¯s dead."


    "...?"


    "The girl. The one who glared at you."


    Defender smirked.


    "What?"


    "It¡¯s on the forum."


    gijayangban: Wonju Status Update 3.jpg


    The post was by Gijayangban.


    Woo Min-hee.


    Why was she posting about Wonju?


    And not just one update¡ªshe had practically flooded the board with them.


    Feeling an ominous weight settle in my stomach, I clicked the image Defender pointed to.


    A corpse.


    The girl who had haunted my thoughts lay cold and lifeless on the ground.


    Just like her brother, flies swarmed over her unseeing eyes, rubbing their forelegs together.


    Defender watched me with a quiet but persistent gaze.


    He was trying to read my reaction.


    To see if I was like them.


    "..."


    No matter how I framed it, I had felt a sense of relief at her death.


    For a brief moment, I had even felt something close to exhilaration.


    And yet.


    "...Pity."


    I didn¡¯t take off my mask of hypocrisy.


    At the very least, I didn¡¯t bare my teeth.

 Chapter 114.1: Ronin (1)

    gijayangban: Wonju Devastation 12.jpg


    gijayangban: Wonju Devastation 13.jpg


    gijayangban: Wonju Devastation 14.jpg


    gijayangban: Wonju Devastation 15.jpg


    ...


    ...


    After a long absence, Gijayangban had returned, more active than ever.


    It seemed like she was trying to make up for lost time, flooding the forum with images.


    I examined the photos.


    No distortion, no falsehoods.


    Not some crude AI-generated fakes.


    They were real, taken in the same hellish Wonju where we had been.


    And that made me deeply suspicious.


    How had Woo Min-hee, stranded in the nearly collapsed northern Seoul, obtained pictures from Wonju?


    With the government having retreated entirely to Jeju, her intelligence network on the mainland should have been obliterated.


    I had seen her faction firsthand¡ªit was a strong, small-scale group, nothing more.


    Capable of defending itself, but not of maintaining extensive reconnaissance assets across such distances.


    As my unease grew, I noticed something in the corner of one image.


    A shadow.


    Someone might mistake it for a man''s silhouette.


    Tall, lean, and well-built.


    But I knew exactly whose shadow it was.


    "Kim Daram...?"


    No way.


    No matter how thick-skinned my junior was, there was no way he would work under Woo Min-hee, the very person he despised.


    Well, the sentiment wasn¡¯t exactly mutual¡ªWoo Min-hee never seemed to care much about Kim Daram.


    But there were more pressing matters than speculating about him.


    Reinforcing the Territory


    "Alright, move it this way. A little more."


    Just two new members, and the entire settlement had grown more lively.


    Even Defender and Dajeong were making an effort to integrate, shaking off their usual cold, detached demeanor.


    Ha Tae-hoon and Dajeong were meeting for the first time, but Cheon Young-jae seemed to already know her.


    "...So no one pressed the trigger, and you did?"


    "Yep. Click. Just like that. No regrets, considering what they¡¯ve done."


    "Still, 300 people at once. That¡¯s something."


    "The guy who dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima lived to old age, didn¡¯t he?"


    Their conversation flowed smoothly, without hesitation.


    Construction was in full swing.


    With two more people joining, we needed to expand our living facilities.


    Most importantly, Defender was overseeing a long-overdue project: reinforcing the water and sewage systems.


    Security was an even bigger concern.


    That part required more technical work than construction, and Ha Tae-hoon, Dajeong, and even Ballantine were helping with the defense and surveillance system.


    I was involved as well.


    I had no choice.


    With the Legion faction splintering into warlords, it was inevitable that the conflict would spill over into our territory.


    And in that regard, the Defender siblings were valuable sources of information.


    The Academy Hunters


    "Academy hunters? Oh, yeah, those weirdos."


    Defender had spent quite some time under Kim Daram.


    He knew that faction inside and out.


    "...Even more obsessed with hierarchy and honor than we were at school. A bunch of outdated idealists, their heads filled with flowers. Yeah, that kind."


    So that¡¯s why they were targeting me.


    No one with common sense would go out of their way to pick a fight with someone just trying to sleep in his own house.


    If they wanted a real fight, they could just swim to Jeju and take on the Awakened¡ªwouldn¡¯t that be more in line with their idea of honor?


    "How many of them want me dead?"


    "Oh, quite a few."


    "How many will actually come here?"


    Assessing enemy numbers was crucial.


    But Defender responded differently than I expected.


    "Come here? Why?"


    He looked genuinely puzzled.


    I stared at him in silence, waiting for him to elaborate.


    Then he smirked.


    "Their target changed."


    "Changed? To who?"


    "Kim Daram, their squad leader."


    For a moment, his face flashed through my mind.


    That junior of mine, who seemed to be getting worse every time I saw him.


    But it made sense.


    It made a lot of sense.


    "...During the fall of Wonju, he abandoned his unit and ran. Took only his loyalists¡ªmostly school hunters¡ªand left the rest behind. Academy hunters, school hunters, all of them."


    A little more detail filled in the picture.


    On the day Wonju was destroyed, a group of Awakened attacked the Hunter Headquarters.


    Defender had only received reports through radio, so he didn¡¯t have a clear picture of the events.


    But through intercepted communications, he had learned that the attackers were the ¡®Guardians¡¯ of the Fanatics¡ªtheir elite enforcers.


    These Guardians had torn through the hunters.


    That much was expected.


    The Legion faction wasn¡¯t stupid¡ªthey had been aware of the Guardians and had even trained for countermeasures.


    But the reality of battle was different.


    The Guardians were too strong.


    "Especially the young-looking woman in white. She was absurdly powerful. Way beyond Level 5¡ªclose to an Alpha-tier."


    "...A young-looking woman?"


    "Yeah. That¡¯s what they said. Why?"


    "Nothing. Keep going."


    "The moment Kim Daram saw her, he vanished. He wasn¡¯t just some lowly squad member¡ªhe was supposed to be coordinating the Legion hunters. But instead, he grabbed his family and fled."


    After that, communications were completely jammed, making it impossible to know exactly what happened.


    "One thing¡¯s for sure¡ªevery abandoned hunter now wants him dead."


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Defender dumped a shovel of well-mixed cement into a wheelbarrow, stretching his back.


    "Still, some of them are clinging to ¡®Professor.¡¯ That¡¯s the thing. They think that killing Professor will somehow redeem their pathetic, insignificant lives."


    I only knew Academy Hunters through common knowledge.


    They were created out of necessity, their founding fathers being the very School Hunters they despised.


    When School Hunters returned from China with reports, the government realized the monster threat was far worse than expected.


    That was when they decided to mass-produce hunters¡ªthus, the Academy Hunters were born.


    Of course, elite hunter purists like Jang Ki-young vehemently opposed the idea.


    Not that his opinion mattered.


    Soon, hunter academies were established nationwide, drawing in those eager for power and glory.


    Their results? Mediocre at best.


    Even trained School Hunters, who had been conditioned to accept death from middle school, froze in actual battles.


    Academy Hunters?


    They were just ordinary people playing at being soldiers.


    A few stood out, but the success rate was dismal¡ªless than 10% could actually fight monsters.


    It was common knowledge that John Nae-non had been an Academy Hunter¡ªand a low-ranking one at that.


    Not that his future greatness was ever diminished by that fact.


    With the rise of Awakened, both School and Academy Hunters became relics of the past.


    They didn¡¯t make much money.


    They weren¡¯t treated well.


    By the time School Hunters were being sent to China, they were already getting second-rate supplies.


    Academy Hunters? Even worse.


    They were probably lumped in with the Chinese military in terms of accommodations and assignments.


    The worst part?


    Despite holding government-issued hunter licenses, they were barely recognized as real hunters.


    School Hunters could still find jobs if they bowed their heads and served the Awakened.


    But Academy Hunters?


    They had nothing.


    Sure, they could brag on the internet¡ªbut if they met actual hunters, they¡¯d be forced to grovel.


    Their resentment toward the world was immense.


    Even greater than ours.


    It wasn¡¯t surprising that some of them wanted me dead.


    There were always people like Kim Pil-seong, clinging to empty past glory.


    And one of them finally came knocking.


    It had been a week since the Defender siblings joined us.


    *


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Skelton, it''s me. Rebecca. I heard from Sue.


    A message from Rebecca.


    As I read her name, I remembered the gunshots she once shared with me. I replied.


    SKELTON: Yeah. What''s going on? Sue told me things aren''t looking good over there.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Our country''s support has been cut off. They told us they can''t send supplies anymore. The commander got a message two months ago about a plane coming, but it''s still not here. No contact, nothing.


    So, it''s finally happening.


    Even the U.S. military presence in Daegu was now crumbling.


    Their air support was gone, their supplies were dwindling, and there was no extraction in sight.


    SKELTON: How''s the situation over there? Supplies, food, morale?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: No food. The Korean company we had a contract with collapsed. Mutations and monsters are appearing nearby.


    SKELTON: Any rifts close to you?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Not sure. I heard something about them coming from Yangsan.


    That was bad news.


    Rebecca¡¯s base was in Daegu.


    For monsters from Yangsan to reach that far meant that the territory between them had already been overrun.


    Monsters don¡¯t just wander through normal zones¡ªif they were making it from Yangsan to Daegu, it meant the entire corridor between them was lost.


    SKELTON: Got it.


    ...


    I leaned back in my chair, sighing.


    Rebecca and her daughter were in far more dire straits than I had imagined.


    It was no wonder Sue had reached out for help.


    And yet¡ªRebecca was still Rebecca.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: But Skelton! Don¡¯t worry! A plane from America will be coming soon! The airstrip here is still functional. As soon as it arrives, we¡¯ll be safe and on our way back to the States!


    She was still relentlessly optimistic.


    The plane wasn''t coming.


    But she would cling to that belief, no matter what.


    It wasn''t about intelligence.


    Humans believe what they want to believe, not what reality dictates.


    Rebecca still dreamed of the towering mountains and endless forests of home.


    SKELTON: Understood. If things get worse, reach out anytime. Also¡ªjust in case, start preparing for the worst. If your base really collapses, there''s space in my territory. It''s busier than before, but at least it feels more like a place where people actually live now. And hey, there are women here too. Not just a men''s bathhouse anymore.


    That was all I could offer.


    Even if I had a wide operational range, Daegu was too far.


    I could realistically move within the capital area and, at most, Chungcheong Province.


    Anything beyond that was impossible.


    Unless there was a plane like the ones to Jeju, there was no way.


    If Rebecca wanted to come here, she would have to prepare on her own.


    At the very least, she¡¯d need to meet me halfway.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue Princess) Skelton!


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Answer me.


    A separate message came from Sue.


    SKELTON: Sue?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Mom still thinks the transport plane is coming.


    SKELTON: I see...


    COOKIEMONSTER18: If there''s anything I can do, I¡¯ll prepare.


    SKELTON: Really?


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Yeah. I can do a lot. I shot down a mutation from 1,500 yards away with a sniper rifle. Everyone respects me now.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Just tell me what to prepare.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: I still have a lot I want to do.


    In the end, Sue was the one I could rely on.


    I felt... something.


    A kind [N O V E L I G H T] of nostalgia.


    The same girl who once came alone to my camp in the dead of night...


    Had now grown into someone dependable.


    Three years had passed.


    Four years were beginning.


    For a child, it might not have been enough to become an adult.


    But in this world, in this apocalypse, it was more than enough.


    An Uninvited Guest


    As I was compiling a list of necessities for Sue, Cheon Young-jae¡¯s voice came through my radio.


    "Someone''s coming."


    It was a rainy day.


    I put on a poncho, heading to the outer wall where Cheon Young-jae stood watch.


    The rain blurred my vision, but I could see him.


    A man in a poncho, carrying a rifle.


    Just one.


    His steps were slow, but he wasn''t stumbling.


    He wasn''t just passing through.


    He knew exactly where he was going.


    He was following the gentle slope leading to my territory.


    Not the easiest path¡ªbut the one that led directly to my domain.


    Meaning:


    He had been here before.


    Ha Tae-hoon attempted to communicate over the K-Walkie-Talkie common frequency, but the man didn¡¯t respond.


    He simply kept walking, step by step, up the slope.


    I placed Defender and Cheon Young-jae at different vantage points.


    Taking cover behind the outer barricade, I waited.


    Soon, he reached our level.


    "Oh, wow."


    The man spoke loudly, looking around.


    "When did you build all this?"


    Then, he burst into laughter.


    "I told you! I told you he was alive! The Professor is alive!"


    Suddenly, he tossed his rifle aside.


    "You''re there, aren''t you?"


    The man pulled back his hood, revealing his face.


    Hair unruly, face covered in dirt and blood, his clothes tattered.


    A beggar, a wreck.


    There were many ways to describe him.


    But all of them pointed in one clear direction.


    "Professor!"


    He called out my old callsign.


    "What do we do?"


    Cheon Young-jae''s voice came through the radio, awaiting orders.


    I considered my options and asked Ha Tae-hoon.


    "Any signs of companions nearby?"


    "No. He''s alone."


    In that case¡ª


    The logical choice was to kill him.


    Just as I was about to give the command, Defender¡¯s voice crackled through the radio.


    "Oh. That guy?"


    "You know him?"


    "That''s Lawyer."


    "Lawyer?"


    "Callsign: Lawyer. He¡¯s a Hunter."


    Defender let out a shallow sigh.


    The rain washed away the blood and dirt on the man''s face, revealing him clearly.


    "An Academy Hunter."

 Chapter 114.2: Ronin (2)

    We decided to let the man in.


    Judging from various circumstances, he was alone.


    No signs of an entourage or any particular scheme.


    Of course, before that¡ª


    "Take off your clothes."


    We had to make sure.


    "Everything except your pants."


    Normally, I wouldn''t go this far, but the fact that he came here alone meant he was prepared to die. And someone prepared to die might just strap an I.E.D. to themselves and go for a suicide attack.


    The man complied without resistance.


    "You¡¯re quite suspicious, aren¡¯t you?"


    His body was lean, with visible muscle, and covered in various scars.


    To some, he might appear like a seasoned warrior, but to me? Not so much.


    Were those really battle wounds?


    There were no injuries in critical areas like the joints or abdomen, which would leave lasting damage. Instead, his scars were scattered across his arms, shoulders, and back, all carefully avoiding ? N§àv§Ölight ? (Exclusive on N§àv§Ölight) the spine¡ªshallow, but prominent.


    The placement of those scars, combined with the evenly spaced tattoos, suggested they were more for show than anything earned in real combat.


    "Come inside."


    I opened the door.


    Beside me, Chun Young-jae asked.


    "Can¡¯t we just kill him?"


    "I have questions."


    There was another reason I didn''t mention.


    I looked beyond the outer wall.


    There it was.


    A black figure lurking in the abandoned farmland below.


    A feline mutation.


    It was the same one that had played cat-and-mouse with me when I headed to Dies Irae''s territory. For some reason, it had followed me all the way back here.


    It was highly intelligent and had clearly encountered armed humans before¡ªit never left itself open.


    The moment I aimed a gun, it would vanish into the distance.


    Of course, if Kim Daram were here, she could end it in three days at most, but at this point, even I had no idea what she was up to.


    Beep¡ª


    With the buzz of the intercom, the steel door unlocked.


    As he picked up his soaked clothes and slipped them back on, the man whistled.


    The rain had washed his face clean, revealing a guy about my age.


    "What kind of guy is he?" I asked Defender as we descended from the outer wall.


    "A pretty tough one among the Academy Hunters. Not quite a leader, but he had his own crew."


    As we stepped down the stairs, Defender glanced at the man and muttered,


    "Did they all die, or...?"


    Before he could finish, we reached the man.


    He had a crooked grin as he looked around at us.


    His eyes met Defender¡¯s, and for a brief moment, he looked surprised¡ªbut he didn¡¯t react beyond that.


    Then, he turned to Ha Tae-hoon.


    "You the Professor?"


    I shot back.


    "The person you''re looking for is me."


    The man scoffed.


    "Oh, I was just looking for the one who fits the codename best."


    Ha Tae-hoon wore glasses.


    Not always, but when working on delicate tasks, he did.


    Defender and Chun Young-jae both looked at me at the same time.


    They were waiting for me to decide.


    Naturally, I had no intention of recruiting this guy.


    Nor did I plan to let him live.


    If I felt even slightly generous, I might settle for just kicking him out¡ªbut after recent events, I had learned firsthand how dangerous it was to let potential threats walk away.


    So, I led him into my bunker.


    I tossed him a dry rag instead of a towel to wipe himself down and gave him a cup of hot water.


    No coffee, no tea, not even some cheap powdered drink mix.


    But in an apocalypse, even a cup of properly purified hot water was a generous offering to an enemy.


    The man seemed satisfied as he finished his drink.


    "Wow."


    He glanced around my bunker.


    "Nice place."


    His gaze settled on the central toilet.


    "What¡¯s that? Some kind of torture device?"


    "Just answer my questions."


    The interrogation began.


    What I wanted to know most was the current state of the Legion faction¡¯s hunters.


    Defender had brought back some intel, but he and his sister had gone into hiding before things truly erupted.


    This guy, on the other hand, had been on the ground when it all went down.


    He would know what had actually happened to the Legion faction hunters and what their situation was now.


    But he had no intention of talking.


    "Hell if I know. I was too busy getting my own ass out of there. You see a radio on me? All I know is that damned Kim Daram betrayed everyone."


    His grin never wavered.


    That smirk, that defiant expression, and those occasional, challenging glances at me¡ªit was obvious.


    This guy had no plans to help us.


    He¡¯d come here with a different purpose.


    So I asked.


    "Then why the hell did you come here alone?"


    The man shook his head and suddenly turned to me with a sharp gaze.


    "I came for you."


    "For me?"


    "Yeah, Professor. I wanted to see for myself how impressive you really are."


    "Have you seen enough?"


    The man shook his head.


    "One thing left."


    "And what would that be?"


    He pointed his finger straight at me.


    There was no need for more words¡ªI could already tell what he wanted.


    His eyes flickered to Kim Pil-seong¡¯s machete, hanging on the wall.


    "Kim Pil-seong. You killed him, huh? He was strong. More mouth than skill, but still."


    Then, as if he¡¯d made up his mind, he turned back to me.


    "But what about me?"


    Like Pil-seong, he wanted to challenge me with some meaningless melee duel.


    "..."


    I let out a slow sigh, feeling my interest fading fast.


    He sneered.


    "What¡¯s wrong? Scared? Pil-seong was afraid of me too. No matter how many times I asked him to fight, he always ran."


    Defender leaned in and whispered,


    "Want me to drag him out?"


    I was still debating when the man suddenly pointed at the wall.


    "Let¡¯s make this simple. If you¡¯re too much of a coward to fight me, just give me that blade."


    "You want that knife?"


    "Yeah. Hand it over, and I¡¯ll leave. If not, go ahead¡ªbe a coward and shoot me. Or have your crew gang up and beat me down. But you guys are noble, elite School Hunters, right? You wouldn¡¯t resort to something so pathetic, would you?"


    Despite myself, my curiosity was piqued.


    "What do you plan to do with it?"


    I didn¡¯t believe in magical relics or legendary weapons.


    But this guy did.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    "If I have that blade, I can gather my people again."


    "I don¡¯t follow."


    "Not my problem. Either fight me or play dirty."


    Then, out of nowhere, he turned to Defender.


    "You know me, right?"


    Defender remained silent.


    "You know my callsign. Why aren¡¯t you saying anything? We had some good times killing together."


    I shot Defender a look.


    Only then did he reluctantly nod.


    "Lawyer?"


    I was the first to speak his callsign.


    The man grinned.


    "Glad someone remembers me."


    It probably wasn¡¯t an official callsign.


    Academy Hunters weren¡¯t assigned unique ones like we were.


    They were just another disposable unit, their callsigns shifting based on their squad¡¯s designation.


    "Did you actually study law?"


    "Almost."


    The man leaned back in his chair.


    Tilting his head slightly, he smirked at me.


    "My dad wanted me to go to law school. And honestly, I could have. My grades were good, my family had money, and the exams were a joke for me. I even had connections. But you know what? I did a brief stint as a court clerk."


    I didn¡¯t react.


    He continued speaking with that same smirking face.


    "Wasn¡¯t anything fancy. Mostly helping staff, checking people at security. But one day, I overheard a phone call. The guy was pissed. Something about a correction order. Then he suddenly asked which judicial class the judge who signed it was from."


    "You came all this way to rant?"


    I had no patience for long-winded stories, so I cut him off. But the man had no intention of stopping.


    "Can¡¯t you see it? That damn military prosecutor talking about ¡®judicial class¡¯¡ªdon¡¯t you get what he was really trying to say?"


    The man stood up.


    Ignoring our cold stares, he walked past the central toilet and reached for the machete mounted on the wall¡ªthe one that had belonged to Kim Pil-seong.


    Running his fingers along the blade, he muttered.


    "It¡¯s the same everywhere. There¡¯s always a hierarchy. A real joke when you think about it, but in this messed-up world, people act like it¡¯s some insurmountable four-dimensional wall. Take hospitals, for example. Plenty of guys out there can perform surgery better than a licensed doctor, but if they didn''t go to medical school, they end up in prison."


    Defender shifted slightly.


    There was a clear hint of killing intent in his gaze.


    I stopped him and stepped forward.


    The man grinned.


    "You and I¡ªaren¡¯t we the same? Neither of us looks all that special, but some people treat one of us like a living legend, while the other gets treated like a worthless nobody."


    "Have you ever done it?"


    Srrrng¡ª


    I unsheathed my axe.


    The grin on his face stretched so wide it almost looked unnatural.


    "What, you wanna fight me?"


    I advanced.


    Then I asked again.


    "Have you ever killed a monster?"


    I stopped only when we were close enough to reach out and touch each other.


    But the distance remained.


    Because he was the one who took a step back.


    Sweat formed on his forehead.


    Just from a single, sudden, and unhesitant advance, he had already flinched.


    "Wh-What does it matter?! Even if I did, you guys would just steal all the credit anyway!"


    "And?"


    I took another step forward.


    "W-What?!"


    As if by instinct, he stepped back again.


    Thud.


    His back hit the floor.


    I could see the tension on his face.


    He forced a smile, struggling to suppress the fear creeping up.


    "What, are you gonna kill me?"


    "No."


    Srrrng¡ª


    I drew another axe.


    "You¡¯re going to take the bar exam."


    For the first time, a flicker of confusion crossed his tense face.


    "The hell for?"


    "Why?"


    "You didn¡¯t hear me before? There¡¯s no point. I¡¯d just be treated like an outsider. It wouldn¡¯t mean anything."


    "You always think that way, don¡¯t you?"


    I never cared for categorizing people into types.


    But now, I understood exactly what kind of man this ¡®Lawyer¡¯ was.


    I locked eyes with him.


    "Don¡¯t you get tired of judging everything based on half-baked assumptions? You don¡¯t even try."


    "What?"


    "How about Kim Pil-seong, the guy you looked down on?"


    I pointed at myself with the axe.


    An invitation.


    The confidence that had been in his eyes when he first arrived?


    Gone.


    All that remained was desperation¡ªsearching for a way to negotiate, to beg, to crawl his way out.


    "At least the owner of that blade¡ª"


    I moved first.


    "O-Oh, stay back!"


    He swung the machete wildly as he retreated.


    Clang!


    The sword clattered to the ground in just two swings.


    The ringing of steel echoed in the bunker.


    I pointed my axe at the now-disarmed man.


    "Wasn¡¯t a coward like you."


    I jerked my chin toward the door.


    "Get out."


    The man began to shuffle sideways like a crab.


    I thought that would be the last time we¡¯d ever see him.


    But humans have a way of surpassing even the highest probabilities.


    "W-Wait, that sword...!"


    The man suddenly spoke up.


    "...Can¡¯t you give it to me?"


    "?"


    I stared at him.


    "Please. I¡¯m begging you. Can¡¯t you?"


    For a moment, my brain stalled.


    I had to process what I was seeing.


    He was begging.


    Here? Now?


    Was this the direction this conversation was going?


    Could a person really switch stances that quickly?


    "I need that sword. Let me take it back with me."


    "What the hell are you saying?!"


    Chun Young-jae practically flew across the room, grabbing the man by the collar.


    "You pathetic piece of shit!"


    With wild eyes, Chun Young-jae pressed a dagger to his throat.


    I held him back.


    Let the man finish his last words.


    "If I have that sword... the guys who abandoned me will come back under me."


    He bowed his head.


    "When that happens, I¡¯ll repay you. No¡ªI swear I will!"


    And that¡¯s when I finally understood what had been bothering me about him.


    He was different.


    Even though we were both human, there was a difference between us so vast, I couldn¡¯t comprehend it.


    And honestly?


    There was no reason for me to try.


    I glanced at Defender.


    Click.


    Defender pressed the muzzle of his gun to the man¡¯s temple.


    "Get out."


    "W-Wait, wait!"


    The man turned to me.


    His eyes, wide with desperation, glared at me.


    "Why?!"


    "?"


    "Can¡¯t you help me?!"


    "Why the hell would I help you?"


    "You were famous! You made a ton of money! That¡¯s how you built this fancy bunker, right? After reaping all those benefits, what¡¯s one lousy sword to you?"


    "Then let me make you an offer."


    I spoke.


    "An offer?"


    "There¡¯s a mutation nearby."


    "A mutation?"


    "A feline mutation."


    "A single one?"


    The man, who had been trembling just moments ago, suddenly scoffed.


    "You want me to kill one measly mutant?"


    I stared him down.


    "That should be nothing for a hunter, shouldn¡¯t it?"


    "A single one, right? Black fur?"


    "Yeah. It¡¯s the black one."


    "I saw it. The damn thing bolted the moment I aimed my gun."


    The man left the bunker.


    He picked up the rifle he had dropped earlier and waved at us.


    He even mentioned something about how this wouldn¡¯t take long.


    Unbeknownst to him, Da-jeong¡¯s drone followed him.


    It carried a single brick underneath.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Gunshots rang out amidst the ceaseless rain.


    But they didn¡¯t last long.


    *


    "Man, that cat¡¯s a real bastard."


    The road leading up to my territory now had a severed head sitting on display.


    The twisted expression of terror belonged to the man who had visited yesterday.


    The one who called himself ¡®Lawyer.¡¯


    "What about the rest of his body?"


    Chun Young-jae asked Defender.


    "Gone. Guess the cat only brought back the head."


    Defender casually picked it up and carried it away to dispose of it.


    While he handled that, we discussed our next move.


    "We need to kill it."


    "Yeah. But we¡¯ll need a damn good marksman. Someone who can hit a target from at least 1,200 meters without hesitation."


    "Let¡¯s try reaching out to Bang Jae-hyuk again."


    "Bang Jae-hyuk?"


    "Yeah. Give that guy a 7.62mm, and he¡¯ll take care of that cat without a problem. He¡¯s one hell of a shot."


    Chun Young-jae stretched and gazed up at the now-clear sky.


    Still looking up, he asked,


    "What if that bastard had actually killed the cat?"


    "That would¡¯ve been impossible."


    "What if he just ran away instead?"


    I thought for a moment.


    Then, with a sheepish chuckle, I answered.


    "That... probably wasn¡¯t possible either."


    Chun Young-jae shot me a glance.


    I didn¡¯t say anything.

 Chapter 115.1: Happiness (1)

    Bzzzzt---


    The radio transmission carried a voice from a distant companion.


    "Yeah, I''m alive. I wouldn¡¯t die so easily from something like this. Ah, and of course, my mother is doing well too."


    Bang Jae-hyuk, a 15th-generation survivor, spoke in a slightly hurried tone, confirming his well-being.


    "Here? Incheon. I can¡¯t take my mother too far. What? How is it here? I''m just living, that''s all. Not like I have anywhere else to go. What? The Professor¡¯s bunker? No, they¡¯re building a settlement around it? How many people? What kind of equipment do they have? Any warlord factions or raider camps nearby?"


    Despite his fast speech, Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s cautious and calculating nature became evident.


    I wasn¡¯t sure if he was satisfied with the conditions, but he expressed his willingness to join my territory.


    "Of course, I¡¯ll bring my mother along. And I have some supplies too. I could leave them behind, but honestly, it''d be a waste. If your place is big enough, they might come in handy."


    Bang Jae-hyuk requested a vehicle.


    At that point, I turned to Cheon Young-jae and asked about him again.


    "Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother? She¡¯s a good woman. Well-mannered."


    "She¡¯s an excellent cook," Ha Tae-hoon added from the side.


    "She can make delicious meals out of almost nothing."


    Cooking, huh.


    A valuable skill.


    Cooking wasn¡¯t just about taste¡ªit expanded the range of edible ingredients.


    I had no idea which of the countless weeds growing around my territory were edible.


    There had been a series of posts on the old forums about identifying edible wild plants, but the one time I tried it, I ended up with food poisoning. I never made that mistake again.


    "Alright. Tell him to bring his mother along."


    Honestly, my instincts pointed the other way.


    No matter how you sugarcoat it, an elderly, non-combatant person was just dead weight.


    But Bang Jae-hyuk was a skilled marksman and well-connected with the hunters from Incheon.


    If I was going to accept new people, it was better to take in someone who wouldn¡¯t clash with my existing members.


    Besides, I was starting to wish for more combat-ready personnel¡ªenough to set up proper night watches.


    And Defender seemed eager to show me something.


    "You have to come with me for this one," he said.


    Defender was infamous on the forums for his killings, but from what I¡¯d observed firsthand, he was just as skilled at scavenging.


    According to Da-jeong, he had a knack for finding hundred-dollar bills in the trash.


    If Defender and I were going to spend more time outside scavenging, we needed someone capable of guarding the base in our absence.


    The timing worked out.


    There was no need to hesitate.


    All we had to do was bring Bang Jae-hyuk and his mother back.


    I had just started preparing for the trip when¡ª


    "Young-jae."


    Bang Jae-hyuk spoke.


    "Yeah? What is it, Bang-senpai? Your knee acting up again?"


    "I saw Moon-hee."


    Moon-hee?


    A woman¡¯s name?


    I wasn¡¯t paying much attention to the conversation until I saw the change in Cheon Young-jae¡¯s face.


    "Moon-hee?"


    For a brief moment, the usually unreadable man with his ever-present cheerful mask showed raw emotion.


    Pure surprise.


    Joy.


    Then regret.


    The three emotions flickered across his face in rapid succession.


    "She was in Geyang. I took my mother to the market there, and I saw her walking by. I couldn¡¯t have been mistaken¡ªshe still has that ankle tattoo."


    Cheon Young-jae didn¡¯t say anything in response.


    Once the transmission ended, I turned to him.


    "You¡¯re going after her, aren¡¯t you?"


    He hesitated briefly before meeting my gaze and nodding.


    *


    The danger of Mutations often gets downplayed compared to Monsters.


    In terms of sheer destruction, Monsters are a far greater threat.


    But that¡¯s only on a macro scale.


    If you put one Monster and one Mutation side by side, the one that poses the more immediate threat to human survival is the Mutation.


    Monsters, existing outside the boundaries of life as we know it, don¡¯t consume food. They simply exist, occupying space.


    Mutations, on the other hand, need to eat¡ªjust like humans.


    And most of them see humans as prey.


    With firearms and group tactics, ? N§àv§Öl¦Éght ? (Read the full story) humans could theoretically hunt and consume Mutations in return.


    But in environments where those conditions weren¡¯t met, humans were nothing more than easy prey.


    The most terrifying thing about Mutations wasn¡¯t just their large, powerful bodies.


    It was their intelligence¡ªthe ability to chase a human right to their doorstep.


    Intelligence breeds experience.


    A Mutation with a history of hunting humans could be as deadly as a seasoned soldier.


    "Why is that bastard following Senpai?"


    The "Black" that appeared in my territory was one of them.


    Like "Gold," who I had once formed a connection with, "Black" was nearly human in intelligence.


    Which meant it needed to be taken out as soon as possible.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    The problem was¡ªit was one of the most troublesome types of Mutations.


    "That thing is a ¡®Three Sacred Beasts¡¯-class."


    In the past, certain Mutations in the Seoul region had earned names.


    There was Red, whom I first met when I encountered Defender.


    There was the infamous Murder Owl couple.


    Most of them had frozen to death in the brutal winter, but back then, they were such a major threat that the Incheon government had put a bounty on them.


    "There were the ¡®Seven Calamities,¡¯ the ¡®Five Mysteries,¡¯ the ¡®Three Sacred Beasts,¡¯ and then... the ¡®One Supreme.¡¯"


    "What¡¯s the ¡®One Supreme¡¯?"


    "No one knows. There was a report about an unidentified beast appearing near an outpost. Shortly after that, entire bases started disappearing. We¡¯re talking fully armed platoons¡ªwiped out overnight."


    Ha Tae-hoon was driving.


    For this trip, I had only brought hunters from Incheon.


    They knew the area best.


    And in a way, this was their problem to deal with.


    "Wait."


    Ha Tae-hoon suddenly slammed the brakes and threw the vehicle into reverse at full speed.


    An ambush.


    A corpse¡ªstill fresh, not yet bloated¡ªwas lying in the middle of the road.


    Beyond the body, faintly visible under its leaking fluids, was a spiked metal plate.


    A trap designed to shred tires.


    As we sped backward, flashes of light flickered from the forest.


    Gunfire erupted.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Before the gunshots rang out, I had already ducked.


    The front section of our diesel truck was reinforced with steel plates.


    Most firearms wouldn¡¯t be able to penetrate it.


    However, the windshield was only protected by additional plating on the edges, leaving a large exposed area.


    If we were unlucky, a stray bullet could come through and kill someone.


    We could have armored the whole thing, but visibility took priority over defense.


    A clear view meant we could spot threats first and react accordingly.


    "You bastards!"


    Cheon Young-jae clung to the truck like a leech, firing back even as the vehicle lurched from sudden stops and starts.


    Bang! Tatatatang!


    Ping!


    A bullet embedded itself in the lower body of the truck, but we ignored it.


    One of the advantages of electric vehicles.


    Once we made it to a safe zone, I pulled out my phone, checked the stored map, and searched for an alternate route.


    As I scouted for another path, we continued our previous conversation.


    "That ¡®One Supreme¡¯¡ªthere were rumors it was an Awakened."


    "A Mutation that¡¯s Awakened?"


    "It sounds ridiculous, but how else do you explain a single beast wiping out military outposts one after another?"


    "Hmm. I¡¯ve never seen a case like that, but... what about the Three Sacred Beasts?"


    "One of them was a big cat¡ªa leopard, to be precise. It must have been privately owned before the world collapsed because it still had collar marks around its neck. It was practically a human wearing an animal¡¯s skin."


    It wasn¡¯t much of a conversation, but from this brief exchange, I once again realized how battle-hardened Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon were.


    They had just survived an ambush, any misstep could have killed them, yet they kept talking as if nothing had happened.


    "The black one that showed up this time is similar," Ha Tae-hoon continued. "It probably lived in areas with fewer people, which is why there weren¡¯t many rumors about it. But in terms of cunning, it¡¯s at least two levels above that leopard."


    Ha Tae-hoon was right.


    The "Black" Mutation in my territory was no ordinary creature.


    It used feline instincts to detect our position, then positioned itself accordingly.


    If there were no obstacles between us, it wouldn¡¯t show itself unless it was at least a kilometer away.


    And when it did close the distance, it moved swiftly from cover to cover, shifting its timing just enough to make predicting its movement difficult.


    That level of misdirection confirmed one thing: this thing had extensive combat experience against humans.


    It avoided gunfire but wasn¡¯t afraid of people carrying guns.


    It understood that firearms were dangerous, but it also knew they weren¡¯t invincible.


    And judging by the way it mercilessly killed drifters like they were nothing, this Mutation was incapable of coexistence.


    It had to die.


    But I hadn¡¯t gone after it yet because I needed to be absolutely certain of the kill.


    A rushed shot would be a disaster.


    A creature that cunning wouldn¡¯t give a second chance¡ªit would relentlessly seek revenge.


    Beasts don¡¯t understand human concepts like forgiveness or negotiation. Their grudges can only end in death.


    The only way to take down Black was with a long-range sniper shot.


    It had to be taken out with a single bullet from over a kilometer away, in a location it considered safe.


    How well Bang Jae-hyuk performed would determine everything.


    But reputations rarely lied.


    "...So she¡¯s still alive."


    Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s voice was low.


    Thud!


    The vehicle jolted violently.


    We had moved onto an unpaved road to bypass the broken highway.


    Once the truck stabilized, I turned to Ha Tae-hoon.


    Wearing his usual baseball cap, he stared at the road ahead, his voice still subdued.


    "Young-jae¡¯s girlfriend."


    "They split up?"


    "Yeah."


    "Who dumped who? Let me guess¡ªthe girl dumped him?"


    "You know him too well."


    "Why?"


    "That bastard, Young-jae¡ªhe¡¯s sharp, resourceful, and knows how to take care of himself. But for some reason, when it came to his girlfriend, he acted like a damn kid. All the stress he bottled up outside, he let it out by whining to her."


    "Huh."


    I didn¡¯t know that.


    Cheon Young-jae was on my side, but he still had plenty of mysteries about him.


    Then again, if a person only had one side to them, their life would probably be pretty dull.


    Maybe not dull¡ªmore like an endless chain of obligations.


    "What was she like?"


    Ha Tae-hoon didn¡¯t hesitate for even a second before answering.


    "Nothing like Jung-ho¡¯s sister."


    Da-jeong was cute, but she wasn¡¯t popular.


    She was warm to me, but she kept her distance from others.


    And according to Valentine, she carried a cold, unsettling aura¡ªsomething only those who had truly survived the apocalypse could sense.


    Some even speculated that the drifter who showed up in my territory yesterday wasn¡¯t killed by the Black Mutation but by Da-jeong.


    After all, the drone that had chased the drifter had a brick attached to it.


    When the drone returned, the brick was gone.


    "She was a bright girl."


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s ex must have really been a cheerful person.


    Even Ha Tae-hoon, always calm and indifferent, wore a faint smile just thinking about her.


    "She lit up every room she walked into."


    Beyond the green jungle, patches of ochre dirt appeared, signaling the approach of a settlement.


    Our destination¡ªCamp 73 Refuge.


    "Damn! Even after detouring, we made it so fast!"


    Cheon Young-jae looked unusually cheerful.

 Chapter 115.2: Happiness (2)

    The refugee camp system was originally designed as a tool of exploitation¡ªa means for the government to quickly identify and recruit Awakened individuals as human resources.


    By manipulating Koreans¡¯ natural sense of unity and obedience to authority, the government successfully gathered a significant number of young Awakened in Jeju.


    But when the Incheon government abandoned its responsibilities and fled, the entire system collapsed.


    Under Kim Byung-cheol¡¯s rule, the military pretended to value the autonomy of the refugee camps but, in reality, saw them as a threat and worked behind the scenes to dismantle them.


    However, the repeated betrayals had taught the refugees a hard lesson¡ªno one in power would take care of them.


    Many of the displaced who had fled to Seoul eventually returned to the refugee camps, electing their own leaders and spreading out across Incheon and the outskirts of Seoul.


    Refugee Camp 73 was one of them.


    But it seemed things had changed without us knowing.


    "Hm? What¡¯s that?"


    At the wheel, Ha Tae-hoon noticed a flag fluttering in front of the camp.


    One was an old, tattered flag with the number "73" printed on it.


    Judging by its design and material, it was issued back when the government was still intact.


    Next to it, a crudely drawn, ridiculous-looking penguin flapped in the wind.


    "That¡¯s not... Park Penguin¡¯s flag?"


    On the watchtowers surrounding the wooden palisades, armed guards glared down at us.


    Ha Tae-hoon picked up the radio.


    "This is the vehicle that requested entry earlier. Confirm the plate number."


    A moment later, a massive steel gate¡ªlikely salvaged from a factory¡ªbegan to open.


    Before it even fully opened, Cheon Young-jae jumped out and sprinted toward the gap.


    Watching him, Ha Tae-hoon muttered,


    "That¡¯s definitely not like him."


    "Yeah."


    It wasn¡¯t.


    Normally, Cheon Young-jae would have noticed the ambush before Ha Tae-hoon even had to react.


    Right now, his emotions were so unsettled that he wasn¡¯t functioning at full capacity.


    That meant this was important.


    While Cheon Young-jae spoke with the armed men guarding the entrance, we slowly drove into the camp.


    After parking in the designated area, he returned to us.


    "Looks like they¡¯re under Park Penguin now."


    According to him, the worsening conditions had led to mergers and takeovers among the refugee camps.


    Four major refugee camps had emerged as dominant forces, and Camp 73 had chosen to align with Refugee Camp 13, led by a man known as Park Penguin.


    Park Penguin had already absorbed five other camps.


    Now, over 20,000 people lived under his banner.


    "...We might be witnessing the birth of a new nation," Ha Tae-hoon remarked.


    I agreed¡ªto an extent.


    The reason I wasn¡¯t fully convinced was simple: I was a doomsayer among doomsayers.


    I believed most of them would die before they could ever establish a proper kingdom.


    War, Mutations, natural disasters¡ªso many calamities had struck, yet the real catastrophe hadn¡¯t even begun.


    The true apocalypse would arrive with the Monsters.


    Humanity¡¯s natural predator.


    Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s tent was at the heart of a settlement made of tarps, wood, and various plastic scraps.


    In front of the tent, an elderly woman sat, slicing something.


    A closer look revealed it was a plant stem¡ªprobably sweet potato vines.


    Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae greeted her.


    "Introduce yourself, Park Gyu. This is Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother."


    Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother had a stern, stubborn face.


    She didn¡¯t scan me like she was sizing me up, nor did she shower me with forced pleasantries.


    "Nice to meet you."


    She seemed like a quiet but strong-willed woman.


    Not long after, Bang Jae-hyuk emerged from the tent.


    His left knee was braced with a steel and plastic walking aid, giving him a slight limp.


    Seeing me, he nodded in greeting.


    We exchanged a few words.


    "Life here isn¡¯t bad. But I¡¯d rather be with comrades. Honestly, things are getting worse by the day."


    The collapse of the Legion faction had immediate and widespread consequences across the metropolitan area.


    Armed deserters and rogue soldiers, some in small groups, others whole companies, began raiding refugee camps indiscriminately.


    Some even tried to take over the camps entirely.


    But the refugees weren¡¯t easy prey anymore.


    Deserters who underestimated them ended up hanging from makeshift gallows.


    Even so, some camps had fallen to particularly brutal deserters.


    And then there were the fanatics.


    Their corrupted ideology was spreading rapidly, infiltrating settlements in secret.


    "Anyway, I¡¯m glad I get to work with you, Park Gyu. I was worried you wouldn¡¯t take in a cripple like me."


    "You¡¯ll have to help us hunt a cat."


    "A cat?"


    "Yeah. A real crafty one."


    "...I think I already have an idea of what kind."


    We kept the conversation brief since we planned to leave the same day.


    Using a shared handcart, we loaded Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s belongings onto the truck.


    "...Huh."


    I wasn¡¯t one to comment on other people¡¯s belongings, but he had an unusual number of shoes.


    And not just any shoes¡ªbrightly colored sneakers.


    Noticing my gaze, Bang Jae-hyuk chuckled and approached.


    "These are Nike Air Cookings. Last imported batch before the war."


    "...Okay."


    "And this is the Jordan 13 ¡®God Game Retro 2019.¡¯ That one¡¯s a Salomon XT18."


    "?"


    I didn¡¯t know much about sneakers, but his expression told me he cherished them deeply.


    Not that it mattered.


    "Enough shoe talk. Just load them up."


    "If you see one you like, let me know. I¡¯ll give you a pair as a gift."


    "Sure. I¡¯ll look later."


    But right now, sneakers were the least of my concerns.


    A far more serious issue had been looming even before we arrived.


    "Cheon Young-jae¡¯s girlfriend. You saw her, right?"


    That was the real problem.


    "Oh, right. Almost forgot."


    Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s sudden shift in expression told me he wasn¡¯t keen on this topic.


    "It¡¯s important, isn¡¯t it?"


    "It is, but..."


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    He sighed and stacked another shoebox onto the handcart.


    "It¡¯s complicated."


    Glancing at Cheon Young-jae, who was happily moving boxes in the back, he lowered his voice.


    "She was mixed up with junkies."


    "..."


    "Says she doesn¡¯t do drugs herself, but what can you do? She¡¯s living in a place crawling with addicts."


    Thud.


    One of the long-named Nike shoeboxes wobbled and tumbled onto the pile.


    "And between us, their breakup wasn¡¯t exactly amicable."


    "I heard as much. What happened?"


    "She got sick of him."


    "Really?"


    "She was drawn to Young-jae because he seemed manly and confident. But once they started dating, she realized he was overly dependent and clingy. It turned her off. She wasn¡¯t his mother, after all."


    With another sigh, Bang Jae-hyuk pulled the handcart.


    Creak.


    The old wheels groaned, mingling with his voice.


    "Honestly, I only brought her up because I knew he wouldn¡¯t come otherwise."


    "..."


    "Meeting her won¡¯t do him any good. Besides..."


    The cart suddenly stopped.


    Bang Jae-hyuk turned his head north.


    "Practically speaking, meeting her might not even be possible."


    "Why?"


    "The northern area suddenly underwent Erosion. Monsters appeared out of nowhere."


    He exhaled deeply.


    "Rumors say some giant thing fell over with a thud, and the whole area started eroding. No one¡¯s ever seen anything like it before. Either way, a massive area got swallowed up, and now it¡¯s infested with monsters."


    "What kind?"


    "Small types."


    "Spiders? Or..."


    "Necromancer types."


    "Hordes?"


    "Lots."


    "...That¡¯s a problem."


    "But the bigger problem?"


    Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s voice was grim.


    "The junkie town where she lives is now inside that Eroded Zone."


    "...So she¡¯s trapped in there?"


    He nodded, letting out another long sigh.


    "......"


    In short, this is a fucked-up situation.


    Going to rescue her is fucked up. And even if we do, there''s no reason to expect a good outcome.


    I consider drugs just as dangerous as monsters.


    If monsters destroy human territory, drugs destroy the human soul.


    Sure, in controlled medical settings, under a doctor¡¯s supervision, drugs have their place¡ªrelieving unbearable pain or aiding surgery. But to an addict, proper dosages and medical oversight mean nothing.


    They take just enough to feel good, just short of an overdose.


    If they only destroyed themselves, one might argue for the concept of a "harmless addict."


    But most addicts don¡¯t just ruin themselves. They drag down the people who care about them too.


    The details may vary, but in the end, every case follows the same inevitable tragedy.


    What Bang Jae-hyuk is truly worried about isn¡¯t just the fact that Cheon Young-jae¡¯s ex might have changed¡ªit''s how much she has changed.


    "She looked fine when I saw her. I mean, she looked fine. She wasn¡¯t skin and bones, and her cheeks weren¡¯t sunken in or anything. But... I don¡¯t know. Maybe it was because I saw her from a distance, but something seemed... off. I can¡¯t quite explain it."


    Seeing someone you once knew turn into a completely different person¡ªwhether for better or worse¡ªalways leaves an impact.


    Of course, there¡¯s also a chance that this Mun-hee woman never touched drugs at all.


    Human willpower has a way of surpassing even our most cynical expectations.


    "What are you guys talking about?"


    Cheon Young-jae approaches.


    His expression is dark.


    Judging by his face, he must have overheard at least part of our conversation.


    Not all of it, but enough.


    Bang Jae-hyuk hesitates for a moment, glancing at me.


    After a brief consideration, I tell him, "Tell him the truth."


    Bang Jae-hyuk wavers.


    But this isn¡¯t something to hesitate over.


    This is a matter of trust¡ªthe most fundamental aspect of being comrades.


    I make it clear.


    "Cheon Young-jae needs to hear this."


    Since we arrived at the refugee camp, his face had been lit with a rare smile. But now, I can see that smile drying up, cracking apart.


    This isn¡¯t good news.


    In fact, it¡¯s the kind of news that could shake him, maybe even push him to leave us.


    But even that is better than shattering the trust between us.


    "...What happened?"


    His voice is low¡ªweighted down, uncharacteristically subdued.


    Bang Jae-hyuk looks troubled.


    It¡¯s an unpleasant topic, an undeniably depressing one.


    I step up beside him.


    I don¡¯t say anything, but I want to lend him some strength.


    I don¡¯t know if my intention gets through, but after fiddling with the screw on his knee brace for a moment, Bang Jae-hyuk starts talking again¡ªthis time, in more detail.


    "......Mun-hee is in Sanseong. With Yoon Seong-jae."


    The biggest difference in this version of the story?


    Mun-hee¡¯s man is no longer just a footnote. He¡¯s a central character in it.


    "...So she¡¯s still with Yoon Seong-jae?"


    Cheon Young-jae barely keeps his voice steady, holding back something volatile.


    "Probably. They were together when I last saw them at the market."


    Cheon Young-jae lets his arms drop limply to his sides.


    He looks too drained to stand.


    He slumps down, leaning against the handcart.


    Bang Jae-hyuk offers him a cigarette.


    Without a word, Cheon Young-jae takes it.


    The cigarette isn¡¯t some pre-war, filter-tipped brand. It¡¯s a crude roll of loose tobacco wrapped in paper, burning with thick, acrid smoke.


    Bang Jae-hyuk gives me a look.


    A silent message: Leave him be.


    We step a little distance away.


    Then Bang Jae-hyuk mutters, "Honestly? I don¡¯t know. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t have told him. Emotions have an expiration date, don¡¯t they? And if you ask me, Young-jae¡¯s are pretty close to going bad."


    "Or they could be canned goods," I reply.


    "Maybe. But you never know if they¡¯re in a can or just a plastic bag."


    "Young-jae... doesn¡¯t trust people easily. Any idea why?"


    Bang Jae-hyuk offers me one of those crude cigarettes.


    I shake my head.


    It¡¯s not just that I dislike smoking.


    Right now, with drugs at the root of so many problems, lighting up feels hypocritical.


    "You said they broke up badly," I remind him.


    "Yeah."


    "How bad?"


    "Young-jae wouldn¡¯t let her go. She broke up with him, but he didn¡¯t accept it. He literally knelt down in front of her and refused to move. He must have known her feelings were gone, that there was no fixing things. But he couldn¡¯t accept it."


    "...He should¡¯ve beatboxed or something," I joke dryly.


    "How the hell did you know?" Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s eyes widen.


    "Know what?"


    "Yoon Seong-jae¡ªthe guy who took Mun-hee¡ªis a former beatbox champion."


    "...Seriously?"


    "Wait, you were just joking?"


    "Yeah."


    "Anyway, Young-jae wouldn¡¯t let Mun-hee go, so Yoon Seong-jae stepped in. On the fifth day of Young-jae kneeling there, Yoon and his guys jumped him."


    "And Young-jae probably wasn¡¯t eating properly at the time."


    "Yeah."


    Objectively speaking, if you cut the story down to just this moment, Cheon Young-jae is the villain.


    In this slice of life, he¡¯s the bad guy¡ªthe one who tried to control and suppress Mun-hee, the one who made her suffer.


    Meanwhile, Yoon Seong-jae is the hero¡ªthe prince who teamed up with his allies to drive out the tyrant and save the princess.


    But real life isn¡¯t a fairy tale.


    Life doesn¡¯t pause. It doesn¡¯t end on a triumphant note.


    It keeps moving.


    And things change.


    "People knew Young-jae was dangerous. They wanted to kill him. But back then, murder was still considered a serious crime. There were still police around. So instead, they planned to cripple him¡ªslice his tendons, make sure he could never be a threat ¡ï Novelight ¡ï again."


    "And Mun-hee stopped them?"


    "Yeah. She begged for his life."


    "So he left? Just like that?"


    "He had to. He signed a statement saying he¡¯d never approach Mun-hee again. Then he left the refugee camp."


    "When was this? Feels like a long time ago."


    "Back when Seoul still had a refugee camp."


    I check the time.


    Almost noon.


    "What now?" Bang Jae-hyuk asks.


    I answer, "It¡¯s up to Young-jae."


    Slowly, I walk back to him.


    He looks up at me.


    I ask, "Are you going to save her?"


    He nods.


    "Alright."


    I turn around and call out to Bang Jae-hyuk and Ha Tae-hoon.


    Cheon Young-jae looks at me, confused.


    "...What are you doing?"


    "Why? You don¡¯t need our help?"


    I ask with a faint smile.


    "T-That¡¯s not¡ª!"


    "I¡¯ll ask once," I cut him off.


    Cheon Young-jae hesitates, then sighs, shaking his head.


    "You really are impossible," he mutters.


    I didn¡¯t do this out of kindness.


    That¡¯s something I have to remember.


    To keep myself from sinking into the bottomless well of blind goodwill.


    Which is why I say this next part clearly.


    "But there¡¯s one thing we need to settle first."


    "...What?"


    I watch him, still caught in his emotions.


    Then, calmly, I state, "If she¡¯s alive¡ªwhether we take her in or not¡ªthat¡¯s my decision."


    This isn¡¯t arrogance.


    It¡¯s responsibility.


    If we¡¯re going to do this, then the weight of the outcome falls on me.

 Chapter 115.3: Happiness (3)

    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s ex was said to be in a small settlement atop an old mountain fortress.


    The road winding beneath the fortress, hugging the mountainside, was coated in an ashen hue. Abandoned houses stood like gravestones, and from within them, the eerie, ceaseless chorus of zombies filled the air¡ªa never-ending round of death¡¯s lullaby.


    "This is the place," Ha Tae-hoon muttered curtly.


    He was one of the people who objected to this mission.


    Which is why I wouldn¡¯t be assigning him any dangerous or difficult tasks.


    "A lot of people used to live here. See that apartment complex with the swan painted on it? They turned that into a fortress¡ªover two thousand people tried to make a life there. But in the end, they all died. And now, as you can see, they¡¯ve all turned into zombies."


    Bang Jae-hyuk was neutral on the matter.


    He had no interest in saving Cheon Young-jae¡¯s ex, but he also had no strong reason to oppose the mission.


    He and Ha Tae-hoon would be in charge of rear support.


    I couldn¡¯t expect too much from Bang Jae-hyuk, given his bad leg.


    As we stood on the ridge overlooking the town, we weren¡¯t alone.


    A vintage Jeep sat parked at the far end, its engine shut off.


    A sturdy flagpole extended from its body, and fluttering in the wind was a familiar symbol.


    A cartoonish, somewhat ridiculous-looking penguin.


    Bang Jae-hyuk murmured, "Someone from Park Penguin¡¯s group?"


    Near the Jeep, a man stood with two boys.


    They weren¡¯t surprised to see us.


    They must¡¯ve been informed of our arrival in advance.


    The man led the two boys toward us.


    "You¡¯re the ones heading to the Herb Village?"


    His face was unremarkable.


    Before the war, he would¡¯ve been just another face in the crowd.


    But judging a person by looks alone was a mistake.


    I glanced at the boys¡ªpresumably his sons.


    There was fear and wariness in their eyes, but also curiosity and determination.


    To have raised two children in this world was no small feat.


    "I go by Park Penguin. It¡¯s a ridiculous name, but what can I do? That¡¯s what the world calls me now."


    He handed us a business card, holding it carefully with both hands.


    It was clearly from before the war.


    [Aram Hardware Shopping Center ¨C ¡°Interior Estimates Welcome!¡± ¨C Park Jin-gu]


    "This was my real name. Ah, don¡¯t mind the card. It¡¯s just an old habit. I don¡¯t have many left anyway. Soon enough, I won¡¯t have any to give out."


    Park Penguin turned his gaze toward the ashen landscape.


    "You really plan on pushing through that?"


    "Yeah."


    He patted his sons¡¯ heads.


    "Take a good look. These people were once called Hunters¡ªbrave men and women from the past."


    The boys were nearly identical in both appearance and stature.


    Twins.


    Whether the baseball team that used twins as their mascot had somehow foreseen this or not, one thing was certain¡ªtwins had become more common in an age where children were rare.


    The media once claimed that the rise in twins was due to increased use of IVF treatments.


    Before the world fell apart, it wasn¡¯t uncommon to see twin strollers in supermarkets and on the streets.


    But even though there had been many twins, not many had managed to keep their other half alive.


    Even at school, there had been twins.


    One died, and the other walked away from the battlefield forever.


    "You don¡¯t mind if we observe from here?" Park Penguin asked.


    He must¡¯ve received our information from the refugee camp.


    Not that we had any special skills worth hiding.


    "Suit yourself."


    With Park Penguin and his sons watching, we began our mission.


    The biggest obstacle was, unsurprisingly, the zombies.


    There were too many.


    A handful of them wouldn¡¯t even count as a warm-up for a Hunter, but zombies became more aggressive and feral in large numbers.


    And for some reason, they also seemed... stronger.


    As if what little remained of their souls resonated, growing in intensity.


    Driving through this sea of zombies wasn¡¯t an option.


    Nor could we take an alternative route through the backroads.


    There was only one road leading to the settlement where Cheon Young-jae¡¯s ex was, and it passed straight through town.


    A buggy could plow through and scale the steep inclines, but our cheap one-ton electric truck had its limits.


    And we had Bang Jae-hyuk and his elderly mother with us.


    Losing the vehicle wasn¡¯t an option.


    We needed a different approach.


    Traveling on foot through a zombie-infested city was rarely wise, but # N§àv§Ölight # as Jang Gi-young used to say¡ªthere¡¯s no place a Hunter can¡¯t go.


    Back at school, we learned various methods for moving through urban areas overrun with zombies.


    One of them was the Parkour Route.


    The idea was simple¡ªuse narrow ledges, rooftops, steep slopes, and otherwise inaccessible terrain to bypass hordes of zombies and carve out a safe path.


    The biggest drawback of the Parkour Route?


    It depended entirely on physical ability.


    Jumping distance and agility varied from person to person.


    Some people could pull off acrobatics like a circus performer.


    Others struggled with basic tumbling.


    Hunters valued nerves of steel and precise shooting above all else.


    Physical prowess was secondary.


    But that didn¡¯t mean we neglected it entirely.


    Obstacle courses had been part of our training, and while I did above average, Kim Da-ram¡ªtrue to his nickname as a human gorilla¡ªmade up for all his other shortcomings with sheer physicality.


    Kang Han-min, though?


    He was hopeless.


    He failed every obstacle course, and Jang Gi-young constantly chewed him out for it.


    It got so bad that people started joking that Jang Gi-young was trying to kill him with those tests.


    After all, he kept forcing him to take them, even though everyone knew he¡¯d fail.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    A single misstep meant falling.


    Injury or death.


    Fatigue made that risk even greater.


    And yet, Jang Gi-young had relentlessly pushed him.


    People whispered that he must have wanted Kang Han-min dead¡ªor at least didn¡¯t mind if it happened.


    I didn¡¯t see it that way.


    I don¡¯t think he wanted him to die.


    But I do think he understood that he might.


    Jang Gi-young wasn¡¯t a good man.


    But he wasn¡¯t a monster either.


    Love him or hate him, he was still my teacher.


    "Let¡¯s move."


    The first obstacle was a narrow building.


    There wasn¡¯t a single rental banner or advertisement hanging from it¡ªjust dust, shattered glass, and a few skeletal remains.


    Near the rooftop, a body lay slumped forward.


    Judging by the decayed rope still hanging from a pillar, it had been a suicide by hanging.


    Woo¡ªoooh¡ªoooh...


    The moaning of zombies rose from below.


    That eerie sound they made in dormancy.


    As long as we didn¡¯t fire a gun or make any noise that would trigger them, we were safe.


    Bzzzzz¡ª


    A drone hovered above us as we reached the rooftop.


    Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s.


    His voice crackled through the communicator.


    "Still quiet so far."


    From the rooftop, I looked across to the next building.


    "This is..." Cheon Young-jae muttered, frowning.


    "We can make it over from this side. But getting back the same way? That¡¯s a different story."


    "It¡¯s not a problem."


    Every low-rise building had descender devices.


    It was a legal requirement.


    No landlord wanted to deal with the fire code violations, so even the stingiest among them installed something¡ªcheap as it might be.


    They were rarely ever used.


    "Found it."


    I checked the rope¡¯s durability, secured it to the pillar, then used it as a makeshift rope bridge.


    Cheon Young-jae and I leaped across to the neighboring rooftop.


    Even with the elevation advantage, it was still at least a 4.5-meter gap.


    Even with a running start, a single misstep would send us plummeting seven stories down.


    Not even Professor or Super Skeleton would survive that.


    Thud!


    Cheon Young-jae and I landed lightly.


    Two sturdy ropes had been set up between buildings.


    Forging our own paths, creating our own routes¡ªthat was the essence of the Parkour Route.


    I just hoped we wouldn¡¯t have to climb back up using these ropes.


    With that thought, we moved forward, searching for the next segment of our route.


    Bzzzzzz¡ª


    As we carved out, adjusted, and solidified our path, Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s drone zipped around, scanning for threats and providing early warnings.


    The beauty of teamwork.


    When you have skilled comrades covering your weaknesses, it frees up your mind.


    And when your mind is free, you can focus entirely on your job.


    Through grueling effort, we carved our way through the biggest obstacle¡ªthe Zombie Town.


    "This is the end of the line," I muttered.


    Even as Hunters, constantly climbing stairs, leaping across gaps, and navigating through tight crevices wore us down.


    Even I was sweating a little.


    But we were only halfway done.


    "This is Ha Tae-hoon. I¡¯ll try to get the truck as close to your position as possible."


    While the truck maneuvered around the town to find a support position, I surveyed our surroundings.


    Everything was stained a dull, ashen gray.


    I spotted some vines¡ªAugust¡¯s last remnants of life.


    But they had curled inward, coiling in sharp, unnatural right angles.


    Clusters of dimly glowing fruit-like growths hung like lanterns, casting an eerie pall over the landscape.


    Scientists had tried countless times to analyze these things.


    They all failed.


    The moment they attempted dissection, the samples vanished¡ªleaving not even the smallest trace for research.


    The Rift was something beyond human comprehension.


    But those of us who had faced it understood, at least vaguely, what it was.


    Above a field of bleached bones, at the very tip of a curling vine, bloomed a flower in a shape that had never existed before.


    The Rift itself was a form of life.


    Just as the red and white blood cells coursing through our veins had no soul or thoughts¡ªonly purpose¡ªthe Rift¡¯s outpourings were the same.


    It had no will.


    Only intention.


    "Park-seonbae."


    Cheon Young-jae was staring up at another ridge.


    "I know it¡¯s early, but... thanks."


    "It¡¯s too early for thanks."


    "I know that."


    "No, I mean it. The monsters aren¡¯t the real problem."


    I fixed my gaze on him.


    "The real problem... comes after."


    "..."


    "You should start preparing yourself."


    A Necromancer-Type was up on that ridge.


    It had to be eliminated immediately.


    Before it could awaken the zombie horde and drown us in a tide of the dead.


    Unlike Spider-Types, Necromancer-Types weren¡¯t constructors.


    Instead, they took over existing human structures¡ªturning them into fortresses manned by undead walls of flesh.


    But they were primitive.


    They still had weaknesses.


    "There it is."


    Behind a rundown motel, wedged between half-heartedly spun gray webbing, stood a grotesque statue¡ªmotionless, human-like in form.


    A Necromancer-Type.


    Around it, at least a hundred zombies shuffled aimlessly.


    "A significant number," Cheon Young-jae muttered.


    "Yeah."


    Too many to fight through directly.


    We could push through by force, but we¡¯d be swarmed before making it halfway.


    The Necromancer would raise an entire legion.


    Sniping it wouldn¡¯t work either.


    Monsters didn¡¯t sleep.


    Even when they appeared motionless, they weren¡¯t resting.


    They were waiting.


    Their very presence was a beacon¡ªcalling others to taint the land in ash.


    "Mm."


    Truthfully, even Professor would struggle in this situation.


    We¡¯d been spoiled lately¡ªevery Necromancer we¡¯d fought had gone down too easily.


    But a properly entrenched one?


    It was trickier than any Lesser Type.


    Back when we had Chinese military support, we could just call in artillery or airstrikes.


    These days, we weren¡¯t so lucky.


    "We go around."


    There was no need to engage unless we had to.


    We¡¯d confirm whether the VIP was present first.


    If extraction was impossible without eliminating the Necromancer, then we¡¯d handle it.


    That had been my approach in China, too.


    Unless the monster itself was the objective, I always considered fighting the last resort.


    I hated monsters more than anyone.


    Which was exactly why I understood how dangerous they were.


    From a distance, the forest seemed dense.


    But once we were inside, I realized there weren¡¯t many large trees.


    Likely cut down for firewood during last winter¡¯s brutal cold.


    The incline was steep, but we could use the stumps as footholds.


    After a short rest¡ªsome water from my canteen and a sugar-boiled nutrition bar¡ªwe continued climbing.


    The drone didn¡¯t follow.


    The risk of alerting the monster was too high.


    And if it activated its power, we could lose a valuable scouting asset.


    Even without the drone, we had Cheon Young-jae¡¯s eyes.


    This journey was for him.


    "I don¡¯t know what Bang-seonbae told you," Cheon Young-jae muttered, slightly out of breath.


    "But we... had a good relationship."


    He smiled.


    "You saw Park Penguin¡¯s kids earlier, right?"


    I nodded without speaking.


    At a near-vertical incline, we grabbed onto thin branches to pull ourselves up.


    I went first, then reached down and helped haul him up.


    "Maybe I could¡¯ve been a father like Park Penguin."


    I felt his full weight straining my arm.


    I frowned.


    "What?"


    "When we broke up... she was pregnant."


    "...And you still split up?"


    "Who knows? Maybe somewhere out there... there are kids I don¡¯t even know about."


    There was hope in his voice.


    I didn¡¯t believe it.


    And maybe... neither did he.


    But with his ex so close, the long-dead hope inside him had begun to stir¡ªlike a zombie rising from the grave.


    "Don¡¯t expect too much," I warned.


    "I¡¯m not," he muttered. "Just saying it¡¯s possible."


    But his eyes told a different story.


    They were sharp.


    "People ahead!"


    He surged forward.


    I blocked him with a hand and spoke calmly.


    "Slow down. Don¡¯t rush."


    He stared at me.


    That look again.


    That testing gaze.


    I met his stare, unflinching.


    He¡¯d tested me many times.


    At least... he had acted like he was testing me.


    This time, it was my turn.


    No one is exempt from judgment.


    I would be the one to test him.


    Through the ashen fog, I saw smoke rising in the distance.


    Crouching behind the underbrush, I raised my binoculars and surveyed the grayed-out villa complex.


    The faded paint, the exposed steel, the crumbling ruins.


    Figures lurked around the perimeter.


    They were human.

 Chapter 115.4: Happiness (4)

    The village was enclosed by a crude barricade made of wood, slate panels, and car doors ripped off from abandoned vehicles.


    Beyond the barricade, around fifty ramshackle houses were visible, but it didn¡¯t seem like that many people actually lived there.


    As expected of forsaken land, there were no guards at the entrance.


    The same went for the watchtower¡ªonce manned by someone keeping a lookout but now abandoned.


    A wind chime dangling beneath the tower swayed with the sudden breeze, producing a clear, ringing sound, as if to announce our arrival.


    "An ambush?"


    There was no way anyone would bother with one, but I asked Cheon Young-jae just to be sure.


    He darted his eyes around before shaking his head.


    Together, we stepped forward, pushed the makeshift door open, and entered the village.


    A single loitering figure finally noticed us.


    "Who are you?"


    I could tell before he even spoke that the man wasn''t in good condition.


    A gaunt body, vacant eyes, sallow skin, and ceaseless, twitchy, repetitive movements¡ª


    A drug addict.


    "We''re from Shelter 73."


    There''s a common misconception about drug addicts.


    That they''re people whose minds are completely shattered, incapable of logical thought or functioning in any meaningful way.


    But the addicts I''ve encountered tell a different story.


    They have their distinct traits, but most of them can still think clearly.


    Before they fell into addiction, they were just ordinary people like us.


    Those with jobs still carried them out; those with families spent time with their loved ones and played their roles within their households.


    In fact, they consider themselves normal.


    This man was no different.


    The moment he realized we were outsiders, his eyes rolled as he pondered something, then stretched his lips into a grin.


    "How did you get here?"


    "We crossed the zombie zone."


    "Oh! The zombie zone! That place? What about the monsters?!"


    "We went around them."


    "Incredible! Did you bring a car? A car?!"


    His bloodshot eyes flickered with sudden intensity.


    "We came on foot. No car."


    "No car...? But without a car, you can¡¯t leave."


    "You can walk out. We did."


    "No, that''s not the problem. If there''s no car, we can''t take it. We can''t take it!"


    The man suddenly began trembling, repeating the same words like someone whose mind had short-circuited.


    Soon, his hands started shaking so violently that it was visible even to the naked eye, and he pulled something from his pocket.


    A substance so vile I couldn''t even stomach describing it.


    "Heh..."


    A drug addict is, in a sense, a person who died long ago.


    They think they¡¯re still normal, but their version of normal is nothing more than a living illusion¡ªan attempt to bridge the gap between the last high and the next.


    The man buried his nose in the packet.


    I averted my gaze and surveyed the surroundings.


    "..."


    The entire hillside was covered in drug farms.


    Whether it was cultivated by the shelter itself or by a small community trying to trade, I couldn''t say. But it was extensive.


    Perhaps this was Shelter 73¡¯s main source of income.


    With South Korea¡¯s once-proud medical system completely collapsed, drugs had become the most accessible form of pain relief.


    "I''m looking for a woman named Song Moon-hee."


    The man rolled his eyes.


    "Song Moon-hee?"


    "You know her?"


    "Oh, of course! Yeah, I know her! The woman living up on that hill, right?"


    Cheon Young-jae, who had been listening, interjected.


    "What about the kid? Are there kids?!"


    "Oh, there was one. But... died. Last winter."


    "..."


    I stole a glance at Cheon Young-jae¡¯s face as his emotions surged violently.


    "How old was the child?"


    "A baby. Born last year."


    "What about any older kids? Are there any?"


    "No. There never were."


    I turned to Cheon Young-jae.


    "You heard him."


    His expression hardened as he met my gaze and nodded stiffly.


    "Hey. You guys. You said you came from outside, right? Hm?"


    The man, drooling slightly, stepped toward us.


    "The car. You came in a car, right?"


    "No, we walked."


    "No car?! You don¡¯t have a car?"


    "I said we walked."


    "If there¡¯s no car, then it¡¯s useless. It¡¯s all useless."


    The man mumbled to himself, hands trembling uncontrollably.


    Leaving him behind, I set my sights on the house he had pointed out.


    "What do you want to do?"


    I asked Cheon Young-jae.


    "Are we going to check?"


    It was a light question, but the weight behind it was anything but.


    It carried the weight of a life.


    "..."


    Cheon Young-jae ¡ï Novelight ¡ï hesitated.


    "Let''s go."


    I took the lead.


    "Where?"


    "We came this far. We should at least confirm."


    The clock read 4 p.m.


    It was summer, so the sun would set late, but once darkness fell, the danger from zombies would increase exponentially.


    There was no reason to delay.


    Or perhaps, deep down, I just wanted to escape from the sickening air that hung over this village of the living dead.


    People began emerging from the crumbling buildings one by one.


    All showed clear signs of malnutrition and the same physical traits typical of addicts, yet they were still aware of what was happening around them.


    Meanwhile, Cheon Young-jae¡¯s eyes darted about wildly, his unease plainly visible.


    We reached the house in question.


    Like the others, it was cobbled together with slate, wood, and random metal scraps.


    Between the gaps, industrial waste plastic insulation jutted out like grotesque, exposed entrails.


    The door was firmly shut.


    I knocked.


    A small wooden panel at the top of the door slid open like a peephole, revealing the eyes of a middle-aged man.


    "Who the hell are you?"


    His tone was instantly irritating.


    It wasn¡¯t something he picked up overnight.


    I saw Cheon Young-jae¡¯s face twist in anger.


    "I''m looking for Song Moon-hee."


    "And who the fuck are you? Huh? Who the hell are you?"


    That should have been the end of it.


    "You goddamn beggars, do you even know where you are? Get the fuck out!"


    This wasn¡¯t the naive world from before the war.


    It was only natural that Cheon Young-jae stepped past me.


    Bang!


    He violently shoved the door open.


    The man tried to yell and put up a fight, but Cheon Young-jae¡¯s merciless hand struck his cheek, yanking him outside.


    Thud!


    A ruthless kick slammed into his head and gut.


    I raised my gun and scanned the surroundings.


    A few people peeked out from their homes, but none of them cared enough to intervene.


    "Aaaaagh!"


    Ignoring the writhing man, Cheon Young-jae entered and quickly searched the house.


    He came back out and shook his head at me.


    No one inside.


    "Where''s Moon-hee?"


    Cheon Young-jae crouched beside the man and asked.


    When the man only groaned in response, Cheon Young-jae grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him toward the doorway.


    He positioned the man''s head right where the door would close.


    "Answer me."


    Then, he slammed the door shut.


    Bang!


    The door smashed into the man''s skull.


    "Talk!"


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    With each slam, blood splattered, and the man''s body jerked violently.


    "Cheon Young-jae."


    I called his name.


    He looked at me, his expression still burning with rage.


    "You don¡¯t have to kill him."


    "I''m just teaching him some manners."


    Cheon Young-jae raised his gun and stared past the building.


    Someone was approaching.


    "Huh?"


    His eyes flashed with bloodlust.


    A man in his early thirties stepped out from around the corner.


    His most striking feature was the stylish tattoo inked on his neck¡ªlikely done before the war.


    The moment Cheon Young-jae saw him, he raised his gun and grinned viciously.


    "This bastard."


    I knew exactly who he was.


    Yoon Sung-jae.


    Yoon Sung-jae had once beaten Cheon Young-jae mercilessly and stolen Song Moon-hee from him.


    Now, he was unarmed.


    There were two men with him, but they only had clubs. The moment they saw our firearms, they either hid their weapons or dropped them to the ground.


    Before Cheon Young-jae could smash the man''s face with the rifle''s stock, I had a moment to take in his features.


    He was fine.


    Unlike the others in this place, there were no visible signs of drug abuse on him.


    Thud!


    Cheon Young-jae took him down with a single blow and pointed the gun at him.


    "Did you come here to die?"


    "..."


    The man said nothing.


    His face, avoiding Cheon Young-jae''s burning glare, showed a fatalistic resignation.


    Cheon Young-jae lowered his gun and drew another weapon from his belt.


    Srrrng¡ª


    A kukri¡ªa curved knife without a handguard.


    Not standard military issue, but it had once been popular among hunters.


    Easy to maintain, with excellent cutting power.


    "Where is Moon-hee?"


    He held the cold blade up to the man''s face.


    Yoon Sung-jae didn''t look like he was going to answer.


    Cheon Young-jae sighed and stepped closer.


    "Cheon Young-jae."


    "What?"


    "This guy is Yoon Sung-jae, right?"


    "Yeah. This bastard kicked me out. Tried to cut my Achilles tendon, too."


    "Alright."


    I motioned for Cheon Young-jae to step back.


    He wasn''t happy with the order, but I ignored him and looked down at Yoon Sung-jae.


    His resigned eyes met mine briefly before shifting back to the ground.


    "You don''t look like someone who''s touched drugs. Am I right?"


    He glanced at me and gave a silent nod.


    "Then why show yourself?"


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    I gestured toward Cheon Young-jae as I spoke.


    "You had to know you¡¯d be killed for it."


    It wasn''t just a question for him.


    It was also a message to Cheon Young-jae, who had lost his cool in his emotional outburst.


    Cheon Young-jae''s breathing changed.


    The grip on his kukri gradually loosened.


    Sensing a small sliver of hope, I kept pressing.


    "Was it for Song Moon-hee?"


    "..."


    "Whether you trust us or not doesn¡¯t matter. But at least know this¡ªwe¡¯re not here for revenge. Your only concern is checking on Song Moon-hee."


    Yoon Sung-jae, who had been avoiding eye contact, finally wiped the blood from his lips and looked directly at me.


    "Song Moon-hee. She''s alive, isn''t she?"


    "..."


    "Answer. So he can be at peace."


    I kept my words short but firm.


    At last, Yoon Sung-jae let out a deep sigh and nodded.


    "She''s alive."


    I turned to Cheon Young-jae.


    "You heard him."


    He said nothing.


    Frozen at the revelation that his former lover was still alive, he eventually let out a crooked laugh and kicked a small rock, sending it bouncing against the wall of a nearby hut.


    "Can you show us to her?"


    I asked Yoon Sung-jae.


    He silently shook his head.


    "Why not?"


    "..."


    "I''m not the one holding your life in my hands. He is."


    "...Moon-hee doesn¡¯t want to see him."


    Yoon Sung-jae finally spoke.


    His voice had depth¡ªresonant and pleasant to hear.


    Now that I got a closer look, his face was strikingly composed, his demeanor carrying a subtle sense of refinement.


    I nodded and stepped back.


    "Cheon Young-jae."


    Now, it was his decision to make.


    I watched him in silence.


    Regardless of strength or skill, he was a smart man.


    Quick-witted, with sharp situational awareness.


    I had thought he had no weaknesses.


    But he was deeply vulnerable to personal matters.


    And when emotional, he became reckless.


    Everyone has weaknesses.


    But his wasn¡¯t a good one.


    Because his weakness was choice.


    "..."


    This was my final test.


    I hoped he would make the right call.


    No matter how talented someone was, I wouldn''t work with a man who couldn''t control his emotions.


    Losing him would be a shame, but this was a valuable opportunity.


    Personal weaknesses like this don¡¯t easily reveal themselves in everyday life.


    "Why?"


    Cheon Young-jae finally asked, his voice rough.


    Yoon Sung-jae sighed and answered in a low voice.


    "...You already know."


    Cheon Young-jae''s eyes trembled.


    Then, with his head bowed, he stood still.


    Through the shadows across his face, I could feel countless thoughts crossing his mind.


    The silence didn''t last long.


    "...Fuck."


    He spat out a curse and turned away.


    Then, he looked at me.


    "Let''s go."


    His eyes glistened slightly.


    I felt the faintest smile pulling at my lips, but I held it back.


    "Let¡¯s grab a drink. I have something good."


    "Do whatever you want."


    Just as we were about to leave this village of the living dead, we heard¡ª


    "Are you a hunter?"


    Yoon Sung-jae had finally risen to his feet.


    He was huge.


    Easily over 190 cm tall.


    I nodded.


    "My deepest apologies."


    Yoon Sung-jae suddenly dropped to his knees.


    "I know I have no right to ask for a favor, but hunters are supposed to be monsters¡¯ natural enemies."


    "..."


    "I''m truly sorry, but¡ªcould you eliminate the monster up ahead? I can only offer drugs as payment, but for us, it''s a matter of survival. That thing is blocking the roads, and without a car, we can''t move our supplies to the shelter¡ª"


    "No."


    I refused immediately.


    "There are too many zombies. There¡¯s only two of us. And we have no reason to risk our lives for you."


    Personally, I find that polite refusals are far more effective.


    My old colleague Lee Sang-hoon used to do it so irritatingly well.


    I nudged Cheon Young-jae with a look, and we started walking again.


    "If you don¡¯t help us, we¡¯ll all starve to death¡ªincluding Moon-hee."


    Not my problem.


    But.


    "...Park sunbae."


    My junior looked at me.


    Not to test me.


    But to rely on me.


    Srrrng¡ª


    For the first time in a while, I unsheathed my axe.


    Its edge, still honed to a mirror sheen, glinted in my eyes.


    "Let¡¯s go."

 Chapter 115.5: Happiness (5)

    Necromancer-type monsters were, quite honestly, the easiest to deal with among the smaller types appearing these days.


    As long as you got close, you could kill them.


    They were already slow, but necromancers were particularly sluggish and easy to predict.


    The problem was getting to them¡ªbreaking through the curtain of zombies that surrounded them.


    There were three possible scenarios.


    The first was the only winning strategy: breaking through a hundred or more escort zombies and killing the monster in an instant.


    In all other cases, no matter what variables played out, we would lose.


    The second scenario was successfully killing the necromancer, but not before it summoned the zombies from the city below.


    Even if the monster died, we would have to face a wave of thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of zombies.


    We had prepared a vehicle for that possibility, but it was obvious Ha Tae-hoon would have to risk his life driving through it.


    The third case was complete failure.


    Not killing the monster. Just getting swarmed by zombies.


    If that happened, well¡ªsorry, Cheon Young-jae, but we¡¯re running.


    With all this in mind, we held a brief meeting.


    ¡°Do we really have to do this?¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon still grumbled.


    Not giving Cheon Young-jae a communicator had been a wise choice.


    Hearing this kind of whining would only strain their relationship.


    Human relationships don¡¯t always break apart because of big dramatic events.


    Most of the time, it¡¯s the small daily irritations that start the cracks.


    ¡°This was my decision, sunbae. Let¡¯s grab a drink later. I¡¯ve got something stashed away in my bunker¡¯s secret vault.¡±


    ¡°Whiskey?!¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d you know?¡±


    ¡°N-No reason. Anyway, got it. I¡¯ll follow instructions.¡±


    ¡°...?¡±


    Wait.


    No way.


    Did this bastard sneak into my stash?


    I¡¯d been away for a month, so it wasn¡¯t impossible.


    But that was a problem for later. For now, I needed to focus on the fight.


    ¡°Oh, I just overheard. You¡¯ve decided to fight the monster?¡±


    Park Penguin was still watching from the opposite ridgeline, standing ? N§àv§Öl?§Ôht ? (Don¡¯t copy, read here) with his sons.


    ¡°We¡¯ll observe and learn.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t the only spectator.


    Even the villagers of the living dead had gathered to watch.


    On the ridge, thin, hollow-eyed figures swayed as they watched us from above.


    Among them was Yoon Sung-jae¡ªstanding with a woman behind him.


    Even with just a faint silhouette, she was clearly a beauty.


    But that wasn¡¯t Cheon Young-jae¡¯s woman.


    Our Cheon Young-jae was completely focused on the battle.


    ¡°...Sunbae. I¡¯ll peel off the zombies.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to sand them down?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    I could have told Cheon Young-jae that Song Moon-hee was watching.


    But I didn¡¯t.


    There¡¯s nothing more beautiful than a warrior fully immersed in battle.


    That was one of the lines from Instructor Jang Ki-young¡¯s teachings.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s begin.¡±


    The time was 5:23 PM.


    The sun would set in an hour.


    Cheon Young-jae raised his kukri and approached the swaying zombie horde.


    He didn¡¯t charge in right away.


    Instead, he toyed with them.


    Closing in, pulling back, testing their patience, luring the outermost zombies into noticing him.


    Soon, three zombies lifted their heads, their eyes gleaming as they locked onto him.


    As they slowly shuffled toward him, Cheon Young-jae backstepped with his signature loose movements, leading them away.


    Once he had drawn them twenty meters out, he danced like a masked performer and slashed each of their throats.


    If you only looked at the results, his technique was flawless.


    Just ugly as hell.


    With three zombies down, Cheon Young-jae wobbled back to the original site and repeated the process, pulling out more in small numbers.


    This method¡ªslowly reducing the zombie count without triggering a massive horde¡ªwas called ¡°sanding¡±.


    A classic tactic.


    Still effective against necromancer-types.


    But rarely used in real combat.


    It required a specialist¡ªsomeone skilled in luring zombies without panicking, someone who could kill silently with melee weapons.


    And it took time.


    One mistake, and all that effort was wasted.


    That¡¯s why most people didn¡¯t bother.


    If you had artillery, a necromancer-type was better off just being blown to hell.


    Still, despite testing Cheon Young-jae¡¯s weaknesses earlier, I continued watching him for one reason.


    His skill.


    Splatter! Slash!


    Cheon Young-jae excelled at close combat, shooting, and fighting humans.


    His melee technique, though, was a damn eyesore.


    If Instructor Jang Ki-young saw it, he¡¯d foam at the mouth.


    ¡°That¡¯s not how you do it!¡±


    Lately, I¡¯d been thinking about my old instructor a lot.


    Not out of nostalgia.


    But because I¡¯d heard rumors.


    That somewhere in Incheon, he was still alive.


    I was curious.


    What kind of message would a half-dead instructor leave me?


    Hopefully, not something as ridiculous as a rocket axe.


    By the time Cheon Young-jae peeled away another layer of zombies, around thirty corpses littered the ground.


    It was almost time.


    I signaled him to stop and contacted Ha Tae-hoon, waiting below.


    ¡°If we fail, we¡¯ll run your way. Hold your ground as long as you can. Only move if the zombies become overwhelming.¡±


    I also sent a message to Bang Jae-hyuk.


    ¡°If the monster wakes up, cover us. And if possible, intimidate it.¡±


    ¡°Intimidate?¡±


    ¡°Can you do it?¡±


    ¡°Heh. I¡¯ll try.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re not confident, don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°No, I should show off a little. You guys traveled all this way for a cripple like me and my old hag of a mother. Just give the order, boss.¡±


    ¡°...Boss?¡±


    What a ridiculous title.


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±


    We were ready.


    On both ridges, spectators watched us.


    I spoke into the communicator.


    ¡°Let¡¯s show them what our school taught us.¡±


    Chuckles, scoffs, silence, halfhearted responses.


    All of them reached me over the radio.


    But even in their varied reactions, I could feel it.


    The pride of those once broken.


    Inside the school, we were trained to believe we were the best.


    And we still believed it.


    ¡°Cover my flanks.¡±


    ¡°Sunbae, you¡¯re handling it?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the best choice.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡±


    ¡°Watch. And learn.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae and I sprinted forward toward the thin opening he had carved out.


    The wind whipped past us, carrying the scent of the dead.


    The zombies turned.


    They had sensed us.


    There was no known network between them.


    But when enough necromancer-controlled zombies detected an enemy, that information was relayed to the necromancer itself.


    ¡°Grrraaagh!¡±


    ¡°Krrrrghhh!¡±


    As the zombies bared their hostility¡ª


    Boom!


    A shockwave, like a harbinger of the end of the world, roared through the darkening sky.


    ¡°We¡¯re going in.¡±


    Srrrng¡ª


    I drew both my axes.


    And charged.


    ¡°Whoa¡ª!¡±


    Cheon Young-jae immediately fell behind.


    A staircase¡ªhalf a collapsed motel.


    Beyond it, a monster loomed behind a bombed-out wall.


    I leapt up the stairs.


    Boom!


    The monster turned its massive, triangular head toward me.


    I was already airborne.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    As I closed in on the grayish-white abomination, I thought to myself¡ª


    I am thunder.


    Crack!


    Both axes buried themselves in its skull.


    With a kick, I yanked them free, striking again mid-fall before landing.


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    The monster unleashed a shockwave.


    A strange current filled the air.


    Red lines, like a spiderweb, spread in every direction.


    Ignition.


    A Level 4 Awakened¡¯s ability.


    The red threads erupted in a blinding white flash.


    ¡°Sunbae!¡±


    The zombies surged.


    The monster turned its battered head toward the village.


    It was calling its horde.


    ¡°Cheon Young-jae! Hold the flanks!¡±


    Then¡ª


    ¡°Bang Jae-hyuk.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°Can you intimidate it?¡±


    ¡°Locking target. Initiating now. Three. Two. One.¡±


    Bang!


    A gunshot rang from afar.


    And then¡ª


    Boom!


    A reflection field expanded beyond the monster.


    It would likely deflect bullets that were invisible to the eye.


    Monsters couldn¡¯t use multiple abilities at once.


    Hoping Bang Jae-hyuk was safe, I sprinted forward at full speed.


    Sure enough, the monster didn¡¯t react.


    It could no longer summon that white, flaming net to drive me away.


    Now, it was defenseless.


    Crack!


    I struck its leg.


    Like chopping down a tree.


    The monster swayed, but it didn¡¯t collapse.


    Crack!


    What if I hit it again?


    The beast staggered, its torso and head dipping toward the ground.


    I climbed onto its back and hacked away at its grotesque weak point¡ªits skull.


    Boom!


    It convulsed, releasing a shockwave that reverberated through my body.


    But I didn¡¯t stop.


    Crack!


    With a final blow, its head severed from its neck.


    And then¡ª


    Sssssssssss¡ª


    The monster''s body disintegrated into golden dust.


    "Nice kill."


    I pulled out my rifle, firing at the swarming zombies, and spoke into the communicator.


    "Status on the village?"


    Ha Tae-hoon responded.


    "All clear."


    "Bang Jae-hyuk?"


    "Also clear."


    Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s cheerful voice followed.


    Good.


    I felt a deep satisfaction rising within me as I raised my gun toward the approaching undead.


    Bang! Tatatatang!


    Shooting down zombies, I backed away with Cheon Young-jae, withdrawing from the battlefield.


    "Thanks, sunbae."


    Cheon Young-jae, walking beside me, spoke with genuine gratitude.


    "Really, thank you. I forced this on you... I don¡¯t even know how I can repay you..."


    "You don¡¯t have to thank me."


    I meant it.


    For the first time in a while, I felt my hatred fulfilled.


    It had always been the same.


    The greatest reward for me wasn¡¯t money, wasn¡¯t recognition, wasn¡¯t love.


    It was watching a monster disintegrate into particles.


    The satisfaction of my hatred burning anew.


    Maybe this was my only true happiness.


    Or... no.


    There was one more thing.


    Something that had become inseparable from me.


    But that could wait.


    For now, I simply watched the dying embers before me.


    They were beautiful.


    "Impressive. You''re Park Gyu, right?"


    The voice over the communicator belonged to Park Penguin, the rising power of the Incheon-Bucheon district.


    "Do you have a personal identification number? If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like to stay in touch."


    "Go ahead."


    Beside me, Cheon Young-jae covered the mic and muttered in a low voice.


    "He¡¯s a good guy."


    I exchanged ID numbers with Park Penguin.


    "Hmm? Skelton...?"


    "Huh? Is there a problem?"


    "No, nothing. Skelton. Got it. I¡¯ll be in touch."


    With the monster gone, the route between Herb Village and Shelter 73 was now open.


    Of course, the zombie-infested city was still a problem, but with the necromancer-type eliminated, the level of danger was completely different.


    That was Park Penguin¡¯s and the villagers¡¯ problem now.


    Naturally, we returned to Herb Village.


    Yoon Sung-jae and the others were waiting for us.


    "Wow!"


    "You guys are insane!"


    Even these dead-eyed people praised us.


    "Truly, thank you."


    Yoon Sung-jae stepped forward and gave us a deep bow.


    After thanking me, he turned to Cheon Young-jae.


    The two men stood facing each other, a noticeable height difference between them.


    A tense air settled around them.


    "I am truly sorry."


    Yoon Sung-jae bowed at a full 90 degrees.


    "Truly! I mean it!"


    I glanced at Cheon Young-jae¡¯s face.


    He watched Yoon Sung-jae¡¯s lowered head with a bitter expression.


    Then, without interest, he turned away.


    I spoke in his place.


    "We won¡¯t be coming back here."


    "I see."


    "But."


    "Yes?"


    "Are you good at beatboxing?"


    "...What?"


    It was a serious question.


    But Cheon Young-jae called from behind me.


    "What the hell, beatboxing? Let¡¯s just go."


    This strange, eerie village¡ªits story ended here.


    Or at least, it should have.


    "Y-Young-jae oppa?"


    A woman¡¯s voice.


    I turned my head.


    The war had been over for a long time, but she was still beautiful.


    Still young.


    Someone might even say she had a radiant presence.


    She stared at Cheon Young-jae.


    His eyes widened as he looked at her.


    "...Moon-hee."


    At that moment, my concern skyrocketed.


    What should have been completely resolved now felt in danger of unraveling.


    Because that woman¡ª


    Her face was fine, but her body shook uncontrollably.


    A tweaker.


    A heavy drug addict¡ªthe kind that constantly twitches with muscle spasms.


    But her current state wasn¡¯t even the most horrifying part.


    The real tragedy was in her eyes.


    She smiled radiantly, seeing her old lover.


    She believed she was still the same person she had been back then.


    Her clear, unwavering gaze proved it.


    But to us, to normal people¡ª


    Her convulsions were plain as day.


    She thought she was still normal.


    But to us, she was undeniably warped.


    The final choice was now Cheon Young-jae¡¯s.


    He opened his mouth.


    "Oh. Moon-hee. It''s been a while."


    He gave a slight bow.


    And then¡ª


    "See you around."


    He turned away.


    He would never see that woman again.


    As if to confirm my thoughts, Cheon Young-jae flashed me a wry smile.


    "That good whiskey, it¡¯s still there, right?"


    "Probably."


    Before leaving, I glanced at Song Moon-hee.


    She was laughing brightly, clinging to Yoon Sung-jae¡¯s arm.


    Her face twitched constantly, her body jerking with spasms.


    But to her, she was the happiest she had ever been.

 Chapter 116.1: Target (1)

    The more people you have, the less work you need to do.


    Now, assigning bunker spaces and guiding new settlers was someone else¡¯s job.


    "That¡¯s the toilet. That¡¯s the well. Use the electricity from this side for now. We¡¯ll start construction soon."


    Cheon Young-jae had taken over the orientation duties, moving with a noticeably lighter step.


    I wasn¡¯t sure if he was fully committed to my cause, but at the very least, our trust in each other had grown.


    With less to do inside the bunker, one might think my workload had decreased.


    It hadn¡¯t.


    Because I had another, far more important mission.


    "Skelton-nim. It¡¯s finally done."


    Ballantine typed rapidly across the keyboard.


    [ Welcome to the Red Archive Forum! ]


    At long last, the backdoor between Viva! Apocalypse! and the Jeju Intranet was complete.


    Now, we could move freely between the two sites.


    "We infected unsecured computers with zombie PCs to expand our breach. During that process, we even found a few PCs connected to other satellite systems. Their configurations were different from Viva! Apocalypse!, but the core principles were similar, so it wasn¡¯t hard to exploit them. That means even if the home PC in Jeju gets shut down, it won¡¯t matter."


    Jeju could no longer block us.


    "Of course, they could shut down the entire intranet as a last resort. But can they really afford that? They run almost all administrative processes through it, just like before the war. Even if they do a full system-wide shutdown and investigation, it won¡¯t matter. As long as they don¡¯t format every single PC, the protocol we implanted will quickly restore our access."


    Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I logged into the Red Archive forum.


    [ Please enter your username. ]


    The interface was the same as before.


    "..."


    Tap tap tap.


    [ NoPayNewbie ]


    "Huh?"


    Ballantine, peeking at my screen, tilted his head.


    "You¡¯re not using your usual nickname?"


    "No. I¡¯m just here for recon right now."


    "Fair enough. Still, that username fits the forum¡¯s atmosphere well. ¡®NoPay¡¯ and all that. It¡¯s not a term we usually see on our board, right?"


    "Right."


    It wasn¡¯t bragging, but I, Park Gyu, had easily climbed the ranks in the Red Archive forum.


    Since I had nothing better to do except stand guard and browse forums, I knew this place better than anyone.


    And yet.


    Tap tap tap.


    "..."


    My fingers stopped.


    On my screen, the input box displayed:


    NoPayNewbie: Is Skelton superior, or is QuantumCollapse better?


    I hadn¡¯t hit Enter yet.


    The message was unfinished.


    Ballantine turned to look at me.


    "...Skelton-nim?"


    Tap tap tap tap tap.


    I slammed the backspace key, erasing the message.


    "Skelton-nim?!"


    I let out a sigh and answered Ballantine¡¯s unspoken question.


    "After thinking about it... this isn¡¯t the right approach."


    "Huh?"


    "Yes, we have a backdoor between our forum and Jeju¡¯s intranet now."


    "Right."


    "But look at their activity rate. It¡¯s insane, isn¡¯t it?"


    "Easily over 3,000 active users."


    "And what¡¯s the active user count on our board?"


    "At its peak? Around 120. When it''s slow, sometimes less than 10."


    Exactly.


    What¡¯s the point of having a bridge...


    If we don¡¯t have enough troops?


    The demographics of the Red Archive were also completely different.


    Their users were young¡ªmostly teenagers and people in their early twenties.


    Meanwhile, our forum had been a middle-aged board from the very beginning.


    Even at its prime, the average age of Viva! Apocalypse! was 40+.


    If we could turn back time to our Renaissance Era or the PaleNet migration, we might have a chance.


    But right now?


    Most of our users were old and exhausted.


    Their energy was gone.


    Would our handful of aging survivors really be able to take over Red Archive?


    Or would they¡ªthe young, active users¡ªend up swallowing us instead?


    Granted, any kind of influx into our board would be a good thing.


    But that wasn¡¯t the goal.


    I didn¡¯t break into Jeju¡¯s systems just for more users.


    I did it for revenge.


    That sparrow bastard who mobbed and exiled me¡ª


    I was going to turn the tables on him.


    That was why I had risked my life to bring Ballantine into this.


    "Can we really take over that forum as we are?"


    I asked honestly.


    Ballantine, the administrator of PaleNet, the only large-scale post-war community, answered without hesitation.


    "Not a chance."


    "..."


    "I mean, sure, we could run macros 24/7 and spam gore images to annoy them. But that¡¯s not ¡®taking over¡¯ a community. At the end of the day, a forum is run by people."


    We needed people.


    A lot of people.


    At that moment, something flashed through my mind.


    A role model I had long admired.


    A giant standing unshaken in the currents of history.


    I felt an almost prophetic clarity as I turned to Ballantine.


    "Ballantine-nim."


    "Yes, Skelton-nim?"


    "What if¡ª"


    I looked him in the eyes.


    "We created a second PaleNet?"


    *


    Inside John Nae-non¡¯s mausoleum, his final legacy, PaleNet, still clung to life, taking its last, shallow breaths.


    But that was all it was doing.


    "The server''s been unmanageable for a long time. When I last checked, over 75% of the storage was corrupted. It¡¯s basically a natural death. The direct cause of PaleNet¡¯s death was the loss of communication equipment, but even if we restored that, I doubt it would change anything."


    PaleNet was dead.


    And it couldn¡¯t be revived.


    Relying on familiar, easy solutions felt like laziness, even cowardice.


    The only way forward was relentless exploration.


    And through that exploration, a path would emerge.


    With PaleNet¡¯s demise confirmed, I turned my gaze toward North America¡ªthe birthplace of our board and of the internet itself.


    There, Viva! Apocalypse! was still running, dozens of times larger than ours.


    And beyond that?


    They had created something new¡ªa raw, open forum accessible to ordinary people, just like John Nae-non¡¯s PaleNet once was.


    That place was called Necropolis.


    Ballantine and I connected to Necropolis.


    The process was complex.


    Using Obelisk''s satellite signals, we had to modify them to mimic conventional satellite transceivers, then locate North American transmissions before tapping into the Necropolis current¡ªa flow of data that constantly shifted.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Once inside, text appeared on the screen, delayed by a few seconds.


    [ In memory of F. Sawyer, M. O¡¯Connor, and that lovely red thing. ]


    [ Welcome to the noisy city of the dead. ]


    - If you are one of the dead, press Enter. -


    Since the same translation tools from Viva! Apocalypse! worked here, we had no trouble communicating.


    The bunker was stiflingly hot.


    I brought over another fan, trying to cool down, but inside this cramped shelter, I could still feel the oppressive heat from the computers and electronics.


    Ballantine and I stared at the screen.


    Dead57351 (MD): I heard the roar of an airplane. Flames are rising over the city.


    Dead19231 (NY): Looking for ammo. I have disinfectant and headache meds my grandma made.


    Dead3413 (FL): A lazy afternoon.


    Dead83219 (IN): Killed another black guy today. Yesterday was a Hispanic. Who will I kill tomorrow?


    Dead4214 (NY): @19231, Location. Caliber. Amount. Confirm.


    Dead5321 (MT): Saw an elk mutation yesterday. Too many mutations. They¡¯re growing. Getting closer.


    It was a world made entirely of raw text.


    No decoration. No fluff.


    It reminded me of an old FOXGAMES title.


    At first glance, it looked simple.


    It seemed like something that wouldn¡¯t require much tech to build.


    But Ballantine thought differently.


    He typed a few messages, examined the responses, then opened several unfamiliar tools to inspect the site¡¯s structure.


    After a while, he shook his head and closed the window.


    "This isn¡¯t going to be easy."


    "Really?"


    "This... is beyond me."


    "What? Something like this?"


    "It looks crude, but it¡¯s top-tier even by North American standards. It was built by someone who could be called a genius. The algorithms, the design, the way it functions¡ªI can¡¯t replicate any of it."


    Even the arrogant Melon Mask had reportedly been unnerved by Necropolis.


    It was far more sophisticated than it looked.


    While it technically operated as a P2P system, expanding direct connections between users, Ballantine explained that the actual technology was far more intricate.


    "Basically, there¡¯s no physical server, but the data flows like there is. That¡¯s Necropolis¡¯ core technology. It¡¯s like an imitation of grid computing, but honestly, comparing it to that is an insult. Necropolis has pushed human network technology several levels ahead!"


    Ballantine couldn¡¯t stop marveling.


    To me, it looked like a basic FOXGAMES chatroom.


    But to him, it was a technological masterpiece.


    "How does it compare to Melon Mask¡¯s Viva! Apocalypse!?"


    I asked.


    Ballantine laughed.


    "If we¡¯re talking about pure technology, it¡¯s like comparing the Middle Ages to the modern era. Viva! Apocalypse! is the Middle Ages, and Necropolis is modern civilization. The gap is that wide."


    "That big?"


    "Absolutely. The only reason Viva! Apocalypse! can do more is because it has a powerful main server and multiple satellites forming a stronger network infrastructure."


    "Hmm... that much of a difference?"


    "Think about it. If Viva! Apocalypse!¡¯s server headquarters¡ªwhether it¡¯s in Florida or Texas¡ªwas attacked and destroyed? If all their small satellites decayed at 5% per year and eventually fell out of orbit? That would be the end of Viva! Apocalypse!."


    "But Necropolis?"


    "Necropolis wouldn¡¯t die. Even if every human on Earth vanished, it would keep transmitting the voices of the dead, carried forever by the Earth¡¯s magnetic field."


    Ballantine was certain.


    "I can¡¯t read people¡¯s minds, but Melon Mask must have been devastated when he saw Necropolis. I¡¯d bet my life on it!"


    Our visit to Necropolis ended with Ballantine¡¯s awe, despair, and the realization that we couldn¡¯t copy it.


    But just because we couldn¡¯t replicate Necropolis didn¡¯t mean we were out of options.


    "I can¡¯t build Necropolis..."


    Ballantine, briefly deflated, took a swig of water from the bottle that inspired his nickname.


    Then, he grinned.


    "...but I can still break into Viva! Apocalypse!."


    His new plan was simple.


    "We don¡¯t use Obelisk. We use other generic satellite equipment to access Viva! Apocalypse!."


    Simple.


    But not easy.


    Viva! Apocalypse!¡¯s network security was pathetically weak¡ªsomeone like John Nae-non could have cracked it in a few years.


    But the satellite hardware itself?


    It had top-tier encryption¡ªso strong that even government agencies struggled to break it.


    Even Ballantine, normally overconfident, quickly realized the flaw in his idea.


    "Ah... yeah, this is harder than I thought. The hardware locks are insanely strong."


    The concept was good.


    The execution? Nearly impossible.


    After tasting failure, Ballantine fell back on what he knew best.


    "So... maybe we just build a second PaleNet?"


    Building another PaleNet was no easy feat.


    John Nae-non had powered the original with a massive nuclear-powered server.


    But his data had been distributed through existing communications infrastructure.


    Even if we built a new server, it would be useless if we had no way to send or receive messages.


    "...Sorry. I don¡¯t think this will be easy either."


    "No. You¡¯ve already opened a path into Jeju¡¯s intranet. I just wish... we had more people."


    We had been losing users for years.


    After PaleNet¡¯s silence and the collapse of the Legion faction, the Korean board''s population had plummeted.


    Even our mascot, M9, barely posted anymore, except to complain that his apartment was shaking.


    Even my old comrade, Baek Seung-hyun, had gone silent after arriving at the Scrap Island.


    The only thing left?


    FOXGAMES¡¯ endless apologies and low-effort cyberattacks.


    Old users were disappearing, migrating to the English board instead.


    Even I, a named user, had been less active.


    I wouldn¡¯t say I had lost interest.


    But if ? N§àv§Öl¦Éght ? (Read the full story) even I abandoned the board, then Viva! Apocalypse! Korean Forum would truly become a dead world.


    Bang!


    A gunshot echoed.


    "Got it! Damn cat bastard!"


    Bang Jae-hyuk''s voice rang out in triumph.


    A cat bastard?


    Probably not the kind I was thinking of.


    Still, one territorial issue was resolved.


    But my concerns lay elsewhere.


    More distant. More abstract.


    As I gazed over the faintly glowing lights across the twilight plains, I wondered.


    "..."


    Could I breathe life into the board like John Nae-non once did?


    Could I, like that immortal-willed man, accomplish the impossible?


    It wouldn¡¯t be easy.


    Not at all.


    Ding.


    A notification popped up on my screen.


    An unusual sight for such an unstructured forum.


    I clicked it.


    VIVA_BOT014: Emergency Notice.


    Viva! Bot.

 Chapter 116.2: Target (2)

    VIVA_BOT014: Early yesterday morning, an unidentified armed group seized control of one of our data centers affiliated with the main headquarters in Arizona. Since this center primarily handles backups, there won¡¯t be any immediate disruptions to our community operations, but the situation remains extremely serious.


    VIVA_BOT014: These are dark times. I hope everyone finds their own meaning and hope to endure this long, cold winter.


    This was the announcement posted by VivaBot.


    But this alone wouldn¡¯t satisfy me.


    Although I¡¯m still just an ordinary user on the forum, behind the scenes, I hold a secret authority, sharing a significant number of classified matters with VivaBot.


    Tap, tap, tap.


    SKELTON: (Skelton panting) Just saw the announcement. What¡¯s going on?


    One of the privileges of authority.


    It didn¡¯t take long for VivaBot to reply.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Ah, Skelton.


    Europe, which once claimed to be America¡¯s ancestor, was swallowed whole by the open rifts and vanished in an instant. China, which had once positioned itself as America¡¯s rival, also crumbled under the weight of the rifts and war.


    As for Japan, America¡¯s ally, their information control is so strict that it''s impossible to get an accurate read on their internal situation. However, from the scattered bits and pieces of information that do come through, it seems they have no real countermeasures¡ªjust stalling for time while staring down inevitable collapse.


    Korea? Well, you already know.


    The so-called Jeju government still exists, but the remaining population is left to fend for themselves within their respective domains.


    America, on the other hand, despite being in the throes of destruction, managed to maintain its national framework for a long time. The rifts that emerged all over their vast land were kept under control.


    The fact that they were still operating a nuclear aircraft carrier fleet as recently as last year is proof enough of how powerful they were.


    But even that giant has reached its limit. The collapse of the international trade network, the endless surge of monsters¡ªit was too much.


    Tensions between state governments, which had already been fraying for some time, finally snapped. America, despite its claim of being a "melting pot of nations," never truly unified its diverse ethnic groups. Historical regional animosities, deep-seated hatreds that had surfaced even before the war, all erupted at once.


    And so, the country was plunged into full-scale civil war.


    Of course, at its core, the real cause was the monsters.


    Their invasion shattered what little remained of the human system that had barely been holding together.


    Now, those flames of destruction have reached the heart of Viva! Apocalypse!


    The central infrastructure of Viva! Apocalypse! is located in two distant but temperate regions¡ªArizona and Florida. Of these, the Arizona facility is in extreme danger.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: For now, both regions still have functioning state governments, so the community won¡¯t collapse immediately. However, there will be significant disruptions to our operations. In fact, due to ongoing restoration efforts, I won¡¯t be able to manage the forum as actively for the time being. That¡¯s why, Skelton, considering your consistent efforts in handling problematic posts and your symbolic presence in our community, I¡¯d like to grant you additional authority.


    In short, they were offering me even more power.


    ¡°Hm...¡±


    But timing is everything.


    That applies to positions of power as well.


    If you were the mayor of a city with wealth, a booming population, and thriving corporations, that position would be worth holding.


    Even if you did nothing, the city would grow. Young people would flock to it. Tax revenue would pour in, and the city could be polished into something even more dazzling.


    But what about being the head of a municipality filled with nothing but old people, mountains, and farmland, with no companies in sight?


    That would be a miserable job¡ªthankless, exhausting, and riddled with criticism, despite all the effort put in.


    And right now, that¡¯s exactly what our forum looks like.


    The number of "model users" like myself has plummeted, while the number of lunatics has surged. The few normal users who remain are leaving for greener pastures.


    Or, as Dajeong put it, our forum is on a "fast track to disaster."


    "Agh, this is so boring. The activity rate is in the gutter. And why does that guy keep posting pictures of his face? If you ask me, I think our forum''s reliance on Obelisk, that massive power-consuming system, is part of the problem. The new users we get¡ªsure, some are decent¡ªbut most either stole their equipment from someone or bought it from a thief. So, of course, the quality is going to be bad. I mean, they¡¯re probably murderers. The kind of people who stole or looted their gear to get here!"


    Honestly, Dajeong wasn¡¯t in a position to make that argument.


    If you really think about it, Defender and Dajeong also killed the original owner to get their hands on satellite equipment.


    But even they had to agree¡ªour forum was in a dire state.


    "There¡¯s nothing more pointless than holding power in a dying community. You just become a scapegoat, cleaning up messes until you disappear. Sure, there¡¯s no real alternative right now, but if things continue like this, maybe it¡¯s better if the forum just ceases to exist altogether."


    Dajeong wasn¡¯t a fan of me accepting this new authority.


    And she had a point.


    But even if I planned to turn it down, I should at least hear what exactly this new power entailed.


    The ball was back in VivaBot¡¯s court.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Wondering what changes come with this new authority?


    SKELTON: (Serious Skelton) If you¡¯re as sharp as I think, VivaBot, you must have noticed my average login time has significantly dropped.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: It¡¯s down by about an hour.


    SKELTON: (Startled Skelton) That can¡¯t be right. I¡¯ve cut down way more than that.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: That¡¯s the monthly average. Recently, your login time has dropped noticeably.


    SKELTON: That¡¯s the situation.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: It¡¯s true¡ªcommunity enjoyment comes from its members. I¡¯m also aware that toxic users have increased drastically. So, I was thinking... maybe I should grant you a blocking function.


    SKELTON: A blocking function?


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Yes. ¡ã? N o v e l i g h t ?¡ã Of course, I¡¯ll be monitoring everything from behind the scenes.


    SKELTON: Hm...


    To be honest, I wasn¡¯t sure.


    In an active forum, sure, moderation tools would be useful.


    But in a dying forum, what good would deleting posts or banning users do?


    At this point, there were only three major problem users left anyway. If I banned them, that would be the end of it.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Not interested?


    SKELTON: It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t like it. I just don¡¯t see the point of these powers at this stage.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Is there something else you¡¯d like to bring up? Perhaps about that Twelve Square incident...?


    SKELTON: That was unfair, sure. But my biggest issue is...


    Yeah. I might as well say it.


    This kind of complaint was fair to voice.


    SKELTON: There aren¡¯t enough people.


    A short, sharp statement.


    VivaBot remained silent for over a minute after seeing that message.


    A full minute¡ªshort yet painfully long.


    Then, she finally replied.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: It¡¯s sad, but maybe that¡¯s just our fate in these times.


    She wasn¡¯t wrong.


    I wouldn¡¯t deny that.


    But¡ª


    SKELTON: Is there really no way to bring in more people?


    At the very least, we could extend the forum¡¯s lifespan.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    John Nae-non had proven that.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: How?


    SKELTON: By allowing people with ordinary satellite equipment to access our forum.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Hmm.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: That¡¯s... an extremely radical idea.


    SKELTON: It is.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: I do agree that our dwindling user base is a problem, but we¡¯d have to consult other members first. As you know, the people who applied for our service before the war... they were heavily stigmatized.


    SKELTON: Yeah.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: It¡¯s unfortunate that our forum is losing members and becoming stagnant, but do you really think those who once dismissed and ridiculed us should now be allowed to enjoy our services? You might be open to it, Skelton, but do you think the other users would accept it?


    ¡°......¡±


    I wasn¡¯t wrong.


    But VivaBot wasn¡¯t wrong either.


    If anything, their argument was more persuasive than mine.


    The fact that I found the forum dull was purely subjective.


    Someone else might still be enjoying it.


    There was no need to reiterate just how much we doomsday believers had endured¡ªthe mockery, the scorn¡ªlong before the war. That tale had been told far too many times already.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: But, Skelton...


    Just as our conversation was about to fizzle out in indecision, VivaBot sent another message.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: I believe you could persuade them.


    SKELTON: Not as Skelton, but as Twelve Square?


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: It might not be what you want to hear, but as you know, Twelve Square is the most influential figure our community has ever produced. Your exploits have been distributed across North America through Necropolis¡ªon CDs and DVDs, no less.


    SKELTON: Hm... Is it really that widespread?


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: I apologize if it sounds like I¡¯m pushing content creation on you, but... if you uploaded something¡ªanything¡ªas Twelve Square, perhaps even our most hardened anti-survivalist members might actually listen to your proposal.


    SKELTON: Those were life-threatening recordings. I have no desire to go through that again.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: I¡¯m not forcing you. It¡¯s just my opinion. You might have guessed, but I don¡¯t exactly hold a high rank within the company.


    SKELTON: Is that so?


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: I owe a lot to people like you, Dongtanmom, M9, and others. There are so many talented individuals in Korea that I¡¯ve managed to keep my job¡ªI haven¡¯t been discarded yet.


    SKELTON: ...Ah.


    I hadn¡¯t realized.


    I never considered that VivaBot had its own struggles.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Over half of my colleagues have left. And when someone leaves this place... it¡¯s a permanent farewell.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: On top of that...


    VivaBot sent me a photo.


    A vast, open plain.


    At first glance, it looked like a generic foreign landscape. But upon zooming in, a grim detail became unmistakable.


    Beyond the rolling green hills, the land was bathed in a pale, ashen gray.


    Erosion had reached the very heart of Viva! Apocalypse!


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: This is our situation. Who knows? Maybe these conversations with you, Twelve Square¡ªno, Skelton¡ªwon¡¯t last much longer. :)


    ¡°......¡±


    Doom comes for everyone.


    It doesn¡¯t matter whether it¡¯s a global superpower or a nameless backwater state.


    The rifts slowly consume our world, and all life that once flourished upon it will be eradicated.


    The research stating that not even a single microbe exists in the atmosphere of the otherworld... That could soon be our reality.


    As I stepped out of the bunker, the low-hanging sunset stabbed into my eyes like a hook.


    I squinted, clasping my hands behind my back, and surveyed the area.


    Life still unfolded around me.


    A deep-set pipe in the center gushed muddy water.


    In the open clearing between bunkers, hunters huddled around a long wooden platform, disassembling the corpse of a mutant cat.


    In the corner, a solar generator greedily absorbed the last rays of sunlight, while nearby, a middle-aged woman toiled in a small plot of land, tirelessly preparing the soil for new life.


    Two drones soared in from the west, their dark silhouettes darting past the setting sun.


    Further up the gentle slope, Bang Jae-hyuk limped along, a brace supporting his leg as he carried a large rifle up the hill.


    Everyone had a role to play.


    They worked. They lived.


    Maybe it was nai?ve, but I didn¡¯t think our community would fall so easily.


    From the very beginning, I had recruited the best people possible.


    Sure, we weren¡¯t large, but there weren¡¯t many enemies capable of crushing us outright.


    We had enemies, yes.


    But we also had strong allies.


    And at the very least, my territory wasn¡¯t a battleground for petty squabbles over resources.


    We could hold out.


    For a year, at the very least.


    And yet... even one year felt far too long to me now.


    How many people would still be alive by then?


    "Viva! Apocalypse..."


    I had a bad feeling.


    Maybe my second home was about to disappear forever.


    ¡°......¡±


    I wanted to do something.


    "What? Who created Necropolis?"


    "If I could reach them, maybe I could find a clue."


    I wanted to save our forum.


    To bring in more users.


    To recreate the vibrant, thriving community we once had.


    I didn¡¯t need some utopian, lawless place where anonymity and chaos ruled.


    But I wanted a forum where good users outnumbered the bad.


    Just once more.


    "The identity of Necropolis¡¯s creator is a major topic inside the system itself," Ballantine said. "I¡¯ve searched through frozen archives myself."


    "And?"


    "All I found was a nickname¡ªDeath_Lord98."


    "That¡¯s... a hell of a name."


    "He¡¯s not the type to show himself easily. He¡¯s an incredibly elusive figure." Ballantine sighed. "Right now, he¡¯s arguably even more influential than Melon Mask."


    "So, he won¡¯t respond to just anyone."


    "No. Only someone with serious clout could even get his attention."


    "Twelve Square."


    My other self.


    A legendary identity, entirely separate from Skelton.


    At least, within our forum.


    "What?"


    "Tell him that Twelve Square is looking for him."


    Because I am both Skelton and Twelve Square.


    Would the call reach him?


    I had no idea.


    But I would try everything I could.


    I was a responsible user of Viva! Apocalypse!


    I had a goal.

 Chapter 117.1: Next-Door Issue (1)

    The forum is crawling with human garbage again today.


    I¡¯ve blocked three users and deleted their posts.


    - Deleted Posts -


    KIM_DONG_HUNG: Handsome guy out for a walk!


    MORUS: A beginner¡¯s guide to human taxidermy, Part 3


    Anonymous1941: Collection of fingernail pics.jpg


    Regrettable as it is, the longest I can block someone with my current permissions is only 24 hours.


    It used to be a full week, but Melon Mask put a stop to that.


    Still, if a community wants to survive, it needs new members.


    On this subject, let¡¯s borrow the words of Dajeong, who has recently been clashing with Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother.


    "If the same people stay in the same place too long, things start to rot. Cliques form, and the ones left out either turn bitter or leave. That kind of thing happens less in larger groups. Just think of it like a fish tank. A single goldfish taking a shit in a 10-liter tank is completely different from a goldfish shitting in a 30-liter tank. If you want to avoid that problem, you need a steady influx of new members. But the thing is¡ªthose new members need to be good ones. If the only replacements for the idiots who leave are more idiots, then nothing changes."


    Dajeong and Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother have been butting heads because of the latter¡¯s intrusive behavior.


    Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother sees Dajeong¡ªwho rarely leaves her bunker¡ªas pitiful and wants to bond with her. Dajeong, however, finds these attempts annoying and coldly rejects them.


    So far, the conflict has been minor.


    But who knows what small tensions like this could snowball into?


    I¡¯ve already warned Bang Jae-hyuk to tell his mother to keep her distance, but she seems pretty stubborn.


    I¡¯ll keep watching and step in if necessary.


    Returning to the Forum


    Lately, I haven¡¯t been too impressed with new users.


    But not all of them are bad.


    Anonymous1936: A group of ten or so refugees has settled near my home. They¡¯re digging the ground, gathering wood and stone¡ªit looks like they¡¯re planning to build a permanent settlement. What¡¯s the best course of action?


    A newbie.


    Anonymous1936 is one of the more interesting ones.


    What draws me to him most is his fresh perspective.


    He asks basic questions about things we consider common knowledge, reflecting concerns we had years ago when the war first broke out.


    It¡¯s like looking at a version of ourselves from the past.


    Most likely, he lived in a relatively safe, well-maintained area even after the war.


    The most plausible explanation? He¡¯s from a former high-ranking Legion family.


    From what he¡¯s posted, his group consists of family, relatives, and a few close friends¡ªabout ten people in total.


    They are well-armed and well-supplied.


    And I¡¯m not the only one intrigued by him.


    Even users who rarely post have been showing up in his threads.


    Anonymous458: Next-door issues are Keystone¡¯s specialty. Keystone~ you alive?


    ROKA_hun: Case by case. But if it were us, we¡¯d strike at night and wipe them out.


    Rkkara: Just bring a ball and invite them for a game of foot volleyball.


    Dies_Irae69: Depends on the size of your community. If you have room, absorb them. If not, eliminate them.


    Berkut_break: Human coexistence isn¡¯t easy, especially in times like these.


    Settlers next door.


    I had experience with that in the early days.


    And it wasn¡¯t a good one.


    Kicking a ball around wouldn¡¯t have solved the problem.


    In the end, I handled it the only way I could¡ªtotal extermination.


    Back then, it was the best option.


    Now, with a stable group, I might have to reconsider.


    It was only natural that Keystone¡ªthe forum¡¯s expert on next-door issues¡ªjoined the discussion.


    As soon as he saw Anonymous1936¡¯s post, he started a new thread.


    keystone: How to Deal with Neighbors.txt


    I clicked on it.


    1. Kill them.


    2. Kill them.


    3. Kill them.


    "I¡¯ve tried negotiating. I¡¯ve tried being patient."


    "Here¡¯s how you should think about it."


    "Imagine the area around your home is a hamster cage."


    "A single hamster can live there just fine."


    "But then one shows up. Then another. Then a whole group."


    "What do you think they¡¯re going to do?"


    "Even if they can¡¯t find your bunker or hideout, they¡¯ll still take everything else¡ªwater, trees, crops, animals, fish, whatever resources you rely on."


    "If you don¡¯t act, you¡¯ll die."


    "And even if you do endure... you¡¯ll still die."


    Keystone had a point.


    In a collapsed world, outsiders are always potential threats.


    At best, they¡¯re competition.


    But he wasn¡¯t entirely right.


    Not all groups are battle-ready.


    Some survivors aren¡¯t fighters at all.


    Take Foxgame.


    That guy has zero combat ability and somehow still survives.


    Everything depends on the situation.


    And Anonymous1936 clearly had a different mindset.


    Anonymous1936: Do we really have to kill them?


    That single question perfectly encapsulated both why we liked him...


    ...and why he frustrated us.


    Anonymous1936: They¡¯re about 1.5km away. We rarely leave our base¡ªmaybe once a week.


    Our home is well-camouflaged behind a concealed exterior wall.


    We grow crops inside the perimeter and only go outside when we receive radio alerts about a marketplace or wandering traders.


    Even then, we only go out at night.


    His biggest concern?


    Lack of confidence in combat.


    Anonymous1936: We¡¯re a family-based group. If we lose even one person, it would devastate us.


    Unless they actively threaten us, there¡¯s no need to attack first.


    Besides, there are mutants in the area.


    A boar the size of a truck roams nearby.


    He wasn¡¯t just afraid of fighting.


    He was terrified of taking losses.


    But the biggest thing shaping his worldview?


    Old, outdated moral values.


    Anonymous1936: We know how the world works now.


    We understand that this is a world where survival means killing others.


    The Carneades plank dilemma is real.


    But our situation doesn¡¯t feel like that.


    Anonymous1936: I appreciate your advice, Keystone, but I believe there¡¯s another way.


    He still held onto values from the past.


    The ones we lost... or are on the verge of losing.


    Keystone responded.


    keystone: So... they don¡¯t know you¡¯re there?


    keystone: Do you realize how lucky you are?


    I cracked my fingers and started typing.


    Tap, tap, tap.


    SKELTON: Hm...


    An honored guest arrives.


    Keystone immediately deleted my comment as soon as I posted it.


    Not [N O V E L I G H T] that it mattered.


    His cowardice aside, Keystone¡¯s argument was solid.


    Shortly after, he uploaded a new post¡ªthis time, showing a picture of himself.


    keystone: The Price of Kindness.jpg


    His body was thin but wiry, tanned bronze.


    Across his chest was a deep, jagged scar.


    It looked like it came from a sickle or a similar blade.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Not too wide, but deep enough that it could¡¯ve killed him under the right circumstances.


    Had he suffered tetanus or another infection, he wouldn¡¯t have made it.


    keystone:


    You don¡¯t strike me as the type to actually listen to what I¡¯m saying, so I won¡¯t bother anymore.


    keystone:


    You can¡¯t protect everything.


    keystone:


    You can¡¯t have everything.


    keystone:


    That so-called morality of yours? It¡¯s a luxury.


    keystone:


    At the end of the day, it¡¯s just another form of greed.


    That was the last thing he said.


    But their discussion lingered¡ªone of the few engaging topics on the forum in recent days.


    "What do you think, Skelton?"


    The Defender siblings had shown up at my bunker to ask me that very question.


    ...For some reason, Dajeong seemed to be wearing nicer clothes than usual.


    And was that... light makeup?


    Now wasn¡¯t the time to focus on that.


    "Hm..."


    It was a difficult issue.


    Keystone was mostly right, but Anonymous1936 also had a point.


    Especially if his group was truly unskilled in combat¡ªlaunching a preemptive attack could mean losing everything.


    Killing all of them would be cleanest.


    But if that wasn¡¯t guaranteed, then finding another solution might be better.


    "What about you two?"


    I turned the question around.


    Not that I didn¡¯t already know their answer.


    "Kill them all."


    Defender said it without hesitation.


    "Keystone¡¯s right."


    His sister agreed instantly.


    As expected.


    A solid, unchanging conclusion.


    I gave a dry smile but stayed silent.


    Dajeong sighed deeply, practically sinking into the floor.


    "Ugh. You know what¡¯s actually pissing me off lately?"


    I already knew what she was about to say.


    "That woman. Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother."


    She clicked her tongue in frustration.


    "Why the hell does she keep acting like she¡¯s my friend?!"


    "I get that she¡¯s probably just desperate to bond with the only other woman here, but I have absolutely zero interest in getting close to her."


    She stared directly at me before tapping something onto her tablet and holding it up.


    - You know I hate people, right? -


    Yeah.


    That checked out.


    She didn¡¯t just "avoid people"¡ªshe had an innate dislike for them.


    Her personality was far from warm.


    And while she was a comrade, both she and Defender had some of the worst moral compasses in our group.


    Had I met them in a different order, under different circumstances, I might have killed them myself.


    "I don¡¯t really know Bang Jae-hyuk that well."


    Defender muttered, arms crossed against a pillar.


    "I know Young-jae, but I¡¯ve never really talked to his mother. She always struck me as annoying."


    He didn¡¯t seem particularly interested in the minor conflicts within our group.


    But he was aware of them.


    I looked between them before speaking.


    "I¡¯ll talk to Bang Jae-hyuk."


    "Or maybe directly to his mother."


    "What you¡¯re asking for is simple, right? You just don¡¯t want to interact with her?"


    Dajeong¡¯s face lit up.


    "I knew I could count on you, Skelton!"


    She glanced sideways at Defender.


    He pushed off from the pillar and silently slid out the door.


    "I know a place with good equipment."


    "Let¡¯s go get it sometime."


    That was all he said before leaving.


    I turned to Dajeong.


    ...Somehow, I had expected her to follow him.


    But she stayed behind.


    And her gaze was a little too intense.


    The darkness in the room blended with her makeup, amplifying her usual sharp features into something striking.


    We were alone.


    "Skelton, your bunker¡¯s as amazing as ever."


    Before the silence could become awkward, she started looking around the room.


    "It feels different somehow... or maybe it doesn¡¯t."


    She studied the various objects that filled my bunker, each with its own story.


    Then, her eyes met mine.


    "Are you seeing anyone?"


    "Seeing anyone?"


    "Yeah. You¡¯re pretty popular, you know?"


    "..."


    Popular, huh.


    I mean...


    Twelve Square.


    A global hero.


    But romance?


    I wasn¡¯t sure.


    "A guy like you staying single is a national loss, if you ask me."


    Her voice was low, almost sultry.


    Our eyes met.


    She smirked.


    "Aren¡¯t you lonely?"


    I finally understood what she wanted.


    It was a romantic approach.


    She hadn¡¯t said it outright, but the direction was clear.


    To be honest...


    I¡¯d seen this coming.


    Maybe even... expected it.


    What man wouldn¡¯t be tempted by a beautiful woman?


    For one night of pleasure?


    But not yet.


    Not because I was some monk or a noble warrior.


    I simply couldn¡¯t calculate the consequences yet.


    I had seen how one event could shift everything in an instant.


    Anonymous848.


    A forum user who never posted again.


    Their fate had taught me something.


    "I¡¯m not that lonely."


    I answered calmly, meeting her gaze.


    "I have too much to do."


    She was sharp.


    She caught my rejection immediately.


    But she just smiled.


    "As expected of Skelton. The model user of our forum."


    She stood up.


    I let her leave.


    Her footsteps were slow, deliberate.


    I could feel a lingering sense of hesitation.


    She stopped at the entrance.


    "Hey, Skelton."


    "I¡¯ve been wondering for a while... Do you have someone you like?"


    I hesitated.


    "That¡¯s¡ª"


    "Ah. Never mind. I don¡¯t want to hear it right now."


    She plugged her ears and hurried up the steps.


    With a creak, the heavy metal door swung open.


    And just before it closed, her voice reached me.


    "I¡¯m a mustelid, after all."


    The bunker fell silent.


    The familiar darkness swallowed me whole.


    I sat there, lost in thought.


    Did I have someone I liked?


    A few faces floated to mind.


    But that was it.


    The important thing was...


    "......"


    I felt nothing special toward her.


    Change would come.


    But not yet.


    A more pressing change awaited.


    At dawn, I stood with Bang Jae-hyuk, staring toward the golf course ridge.


    He wiped the dew from his goggles and pointed.


    "There. Right there."


    A group of refugees had entered my territory.


    They had set up camp in the golf course.

 Chapter 117.2: Next-Door Issue (2)

    Thirty uninvited guests.


    Men, women, and children, but no elderly.


    About sixteen able-bodied men, each armed with firearms¡ªa mix of carbines, standard Korean military rifles, and even some North Korean models.


    No heavy weapons.


    No notable equipment.


    They set up camp overnight on the golf course, and by morning, they had already sent scouting teams of five toward the abandoned U.S. military base.


    That alone was enough to tell me why they were here.


    The golf course was temporary.


    Their real target was the base.


    I saw no vehicles.


    Even the ten-year-old children carried heavy backpacks, meaning they must have traveled on foot.


    "No radio signals all night?"


    "None. Not a single one."


    They didn¡¯t send a message.


    They just walked in and set up camp without permission.


    They were inside our effective zone even if they weren¡¯t right next to us.


    And more importantly, they were drinking from our water.


    The creek that ran through our land was a vital resource¡ªone they would keep coming back to.


    At dawn, I called a meeting.


    "We have unwelcome guests."


    I would hear opinions, but coexistence was not an option.


    We did not need neighbors.


    Under the camouflaged tarp, my people gathered.


    But not everyone was talkative.


    Some people preferred to listen and only spoke when they absolutely had to.


    Bang Jae-hyuk was one of those people.


    He liked being alone.


    He only spoke when necessary.


    And today, he had nothing to say.


    Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae were neutral.


    They rarely suggested ideas, preferring instead to comment or agree with others.


    The loudest voice belonged to Defender.


    Of course, his answer was obvious.


    "Talking won¡¯t work."


    As always, Defender¡¯s solution assumed killing.


    "It¡¯s cruel, but in the end, one side has to overpower the other. Even if we sit still, they¡¯ll come for us."


    He clapped his hands loudly, then pressed his right palm over his left.


    A gesture of dominance.


    "One of us has to disappear."


    Put simply¡ªkill them all.


    And the worst part?


    He wasn¡¯t wrong.


    This was the world now.


    I saw Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon exchange looks.


    They had similar mindsets and were closer to each other than to Defender.


    They weren¡¯t disagreeing.


    But they weren¡¯t convinced either.


    "Killing them all would be easier, sure."


    Cheon Young-jae finally spoke.


    "But that¡¯s not exactly an easy thing to do."


    He wasn¡¯t just talking about combat difficulty.


    He was talking about morality.


    He meant the women and children.


    And he was right.


    I had seen a pregnant woman among them.


    The Incheon Hunters weren¡¯t hesitant about killing.


    But they weren¡¯t butchers.


    They made distinctions between targets and non-targets.


    And when they had the luxury, they showed mercy.


    They could afford to.


    They still operated under a semblance of government.


    They got paid.


    Even if their lives were brutal, they had never been entirely alone.


    Defender and I, though?


    We had nothing but survival.


    From the ground up, we had fought alone in a world of every man for himself.


    "Once hostilities begin, separating targets from non-targets will be nearly impossible."


    Defender spoke again.


    "Even if we only kill the fighters, someone will have to deal with the survivors."


    "And I hope, for their sake, that person is merciful."


    He looked at me.


    Like a judge awaiting a verdict.


    I turned to Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae.


    They looked uneasy.


    Not because they disagreed.


    But because they had no counterargument.


    They had never seen what I¡¯d seen.


    They had heard stories about raiders dragging old people away.


    But they had never witnessed the aftermath.


    They knew how bandits stormed bunkers, pulling survivors out and looting their supplies.


    But they had never thought from the perspective of the ones inside.


    A heavy silence fell.


    And all eyes turned to me.


    It was my decision.


    And I wouldn¡¯t run from it.


    "I¡¯ll say this now."


    My voice cut through the air.


    "We are not making friends.


    Hong Jung-ho is right¡ªpeace won¡¯t last forever.


    Even if we get along at first, bloodshed will come eventually."


    I looked directly at Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae.


    "But that doesn¡¯t mean it has to be war right now.


    There may be another way."


    It was my call.


    But I wouldn¡¯t decide yet.


    For now, we would observe.


    "Nai?ve."


    Defender brushed past me, muttering.


    He meant them.


    Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae.


    And he wasn¡¯t wrong.


    By our standards, they were too soft.


    But their perspective still mattered.


    People needed limits.


    If efficiency was the only goal, then what separated us from Dies Irae?


    "......"


    Of course, I had no solution yet.


    Even after walking the perimeter, my mind remained blank.


    There was no simple answer.


    I ended up staring at the sky, lost in thought.


    Until someone approached me.


    A middle-aged woman in work clothes.


    "Park Gyu."


    Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother.


    We had barely spoken.


    She worked the fields and gathered vegetables.


    Defender¡¯s siblings rejected her food, but I at least ate it.


    Not because it was good.


    But because it added green to my diet.


    "I heard from Jae-hyuk."


    She got straight to the point.


    "Those people are a problem, right?"


    "Yes."


    She wasn¡¯t a decision-maker.


    She was here because of her son.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    And recently, because of her conflicts with the Defender siblings.


    That was the extent of my interest in her.


    "This might be out of line, but..."


    She hesitated.


    Then met my gaze.


    "Can¡¯t you talk to them?"


    "No."


    "Why not?"


    I felt immediate irritation.


    But I pushed it down.


    I answered calmly.


    "This is about survival.


    Words won¡¯t solve it.


    And coexistence is impossible."


    "Is that so?"


    She took a step back.


    My tone had been sharper than intended.


    I had hoped that would be the end of it.


    But then¡ª


    "What about scaring them off?"


    She asked it like it was obvious.


    "We could intimidate them into leaving."


    A stupid idea.


    But I didn¡¯t show it.


    "I¡¯ll consider it."


    "Please do."


    I watched her walk away.


    And muttered to myself.


    "Scare them off, huh..."


    Easier said than done.


    If that were an option, I would have already taken it.


    Would a warning shot be enough?


    Would executing one of them publicly send them running?


    I didn¡¯t know.


    They had calculated everything.


    Just like I had.


    They had staked their survival on this land.


    They had weighed their options, endured the hardship of travel, and arrived here fully prepared to fight for it.


    A few casualties wouldn¡¯t be enough to drive them away.


    They had already accepted death as part of the journey the moment they abandoned their last settlement.


    Even if people died, they would not leave.


    Just as I would never abandon my own territory.


    Frustrated, I logged onto the forum.


    My first stop was the Red Archive board in Jeju.


    "..."


    Tap, tap, tap.


    FreeloadingNewbie: "My wife.jpg"


    I randomly selected a female game character illustration from the Red Archive folder and attached it.


    Today¡¯s choice?


    A fox-eared girl with a gentle aura.


    Tap, tap, tap.


    "- My wife. Isn''t she pretty? (No insults allowed.)"


    A meaningless shitpost on the surface.


    But a crucial setup.


    Skelton was too dangerous to bring out right now.


    Too well-known.


    A named figure on the Red Archive board and a marked target for the Sparrows.


    So I had to slowly, gradually, build "FreeloadingNewbie" into a name.


    For the day of reckoning.


    When it finally mattered.


    With that simple yet vital task completed, I switched back to our own forum.


    A familiar name popped up among the trending posts.


    One of the new users that had been gaining everyone''s favor.


    Anonymous1936: "That neighbor issue I mentioned before? It¡¯s all resolved!"


    "Huh?"


    That wasn¡¯t an issue that should have been "easily resolved."


    Given the server lag, I had a few moments to speculate before the post loaded.


    "..."


    The most obvious conclusion?


    Murder.


    Despite all the problems, it was still the fastest and surest method.


    But if Anonymous1936 had turned into someone like us so quickly...


    That wouldn¡¯t be a pleasant realization.


    The post finally loaded.


    With it came multiple attached images.


    I scrolled past them absentmindedly.


    Then my fingers stopped.


    And I scrolled back up.


    "Hmm?"


    What I expected to see wasn¡¯t there.


    No blood.


    No corpses.


    Just an abandoned campsite.


    Signs of hasty departure.


    Nothing more.


    My eyes immediately dropped to the text beneath the images.


    Anonymous1936: "A lot of people were worried, but we resolved it peacefully."


    Anonymous1936: "I know most of you have been isolated survivors for a long time, but people who live in relative safety or within communities develop a sort of irrational fear toward the outside world."


    Anonymous1936: "And if we have that fear... wouldn¡¯t they?"


    "So I decided to test it."


    Their method?


    Intimidation.


    Late at night, he and his group approached the settlement and unleashed a barrage of gunfire.


    But not at the people.


    They spread out and fired into the air for ten minutes straight.


    Surrounding the entire camp in unseen, relentless gunfire.


    They gave them a full taste of death.


    Then they left.


    And watched.


    Their effort paid off.


    The next morning, the squatters packed up and fled.


    Anonymous1936: "If we had actually killed or injured someone, they wouldn¡¯t have left so easily. Koreans don¡¯t let go of grudges that easily."


    A clean, decisive resolution.


    Even I, an old-timer, was taken aback.


    Of course, some weren¡¯t happy.


    Most notably, Keystone¡ªthe infamous butcher of neighbors.


    keystone: "You got lucky."


    Maybe.


    Maybe luck played a role.


    But I found myself leaning toward Anonymous1936¡¯s perspective.


    A newbie had just taught me something.


    Or rather, reminded me of something I had forgotten.


    *


    Boom.


    Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s mortar made an almost comedic popping sound as it launched its shell.


    "You really think this will make them leave?"


    Defender was unimpressed.


    I simply smirked and watched through my binoculars.


    Boom!


    The shell exploded just outside their camp.


    No casualties.


    But absolute panic.


    And we had extra props for effect.


    Bzzzzzzz¡ª


    A medium-sized drone, piloted by Dajeong.


    She never left her bunker, but her voice came through the radio, sounding annoyed.


    "You really think this will work?"


    "It will."


    "Skelton, you¡¯re getting soft~"


    The drone hovered at the perfect altitude to ensure they saw it.


    "DRONE!"


    "IT''S A RECON DRONE!"


    Bang! Bang-bang-bang!


    They fired wildly at it, but Dajeong simply flew it eastward out of their reach.


    Then, for the first time, their K-radio crackled.


    "Who is this?! Who''s doing this to us?!"


    Pure terror.


    The moment I heard that voice, I knew.


    This was working.


    We said nothing.


    We simply fired another round of mortar shells.


    By the next morning, before dawn even broke,


    they were gone.


    A perfect victory.


    Four mortar shells.


    That was all it took to drive out 30 people.


    Defender watched them leave.


    Then turned away.


    "Lucky."


    He had the same reaction as Keystone.


    Maybe they were right.


    Maybe it was luck.


    But here¡¯s what I knew¡ª


    Not everyone is like us.


    Not everyone is hardened, ruthless, and desensitized.


    Not everyone sees the world the way we do.


    And we forget that.


    Too easily.


    Especially those of us who think we "have experience."


    "Here, try some."


    Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother approached, holding a plastic container.


    Inside¡ªpickled cucumbers.


    I took one.


    "It¡¯s good."


    She smiled and walked off to offer it to others.


    I called after her.


    "Don¡¯t give any to them."


    She turned back.


    Then laughed softly.


    "Even if they asked, I wouldn¡¯t."


    She had found her own answer.


    "Where do you think those people will go?"


    She asked, watching the displaced refugees vanish.


    I chuckled.


    Picked up another cucumber.


    "Somewhere."


    "They¡¯ll go somewhere."


    They had their own plans.


    Their own calculations.


    Their own logic.


    One I might never understand.


    But that was fine.

 Chapter 118.1: Story (1)

    There are several annual events in Korea.


    Typhoons are one of them.


    The signs had been noticeable for days.


    Thick clouds filled the sky without a gap, intermittent rain came and went, and sudden gusts of wind swept violently across the mountains and fields.


    These were the usual precursors of an approaching typhoon.


    The final confirmation came when Woo Min-hee posted on the forum, warning about the powerful typhoon headed our way.


    With the Meteorological Agency out of commission, supercomputer-assisted forecasts were no longer possible. However, based on weather satellite imagery, the size and trajectory of the storm suggested that it was moving counterclockwise toward the capital region with a force comparable to the infamous Maemi typhoon.


    An emergency was declared.


    Having already experienced the sheer terror of natural disasters multiple times, I gathered everyone¡ªincluding Da-jeong¡ªand issued instructions.


    For the first time in a while, the excavator rolled out of the garage and began digging up the ground, while a small bulldozer busily moved the piled-up dirt beyond the outer walls.


    It was such a large-scale operation that anyone passing by outside would inevitably notice, but that didn¡¯t mean we could afford to leave it undone.


    On the day of the typhoon, I had everyone stay inside my bunker¡ªthe safest place available.


    Even Cheon Young-jae, who usually insisted on sleeping outside, laid out a sleeping bag inside. That¡¯s how serious the situation was.


    As the typhoon made landfall, I chewed on a caffeine capsule and braced for an all-nighter.


    Where was the rainwater pooling? Where was it flowing?


    With bloodshot eyes, I monitored the streams of water, ensuring they were directed toward the pre-dug drainage channels. If any unexpected flow appeared, I used a shovel to block and redirect it in the right direction.


    The excavator was also put to full use.


    ¡°Damn. This rain is relentless.¡±


    The forecast was spot on.


    It poured as if the sky itself had been torn open.


    It reminded me of last year¡¯s torrential downpours.


    But unlike last year, I now had reliable comrades, making it easier to manage.


    At around 2 a.m., the rain started to let up. Encouraged by my team, I decided to get some rest inside the bunker.


    Carefully stepping between the sleeping bags so as not to disturb anyone, I made my way down to the second floor.


    Privacy was extremely important to me, so I had already set up my own refuge near the generator on the second floor.


    My essentials were simple: a bottle of water, a stack of dry towels and clothes, and my laptop.


    After wiping myself down, I changed into fresh underwear and slipped into my sleeping bag in high spirits before booting up my laptop.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Tack tack tack.


    MugwagumNewbie: What do you call a group of 304 Koreans?


    I was just about to type the punchline¡ªKorea Ginseng Corporation.


    Lately, I felt my sense of humor had improved significantly.


    To be precise, I had simply copied a joke someone posted on our forum two years ago.


    Just as I uploaded my ¡°killer¡± joke and waited for reactions, someone knocked on the hatch.


    ¡°Skelton. You¡¯re still up, right?¡±


    It was Defender¡¯s younger sister.


    I stepped out and was immediately hit by the glare of a bright light.


    Everyone was awake, gathered around the glowing bulb.


    I had a pretty good idea why.


    Rumble!


    With the storm still raging, the torrential rain and thunder could escalate into an emergency at any moment, forcing us outside. Rather than sleeping, everyone had chosen to stay alert.


    ¡°Might as well share some stories while we¡¯re all here. Doesn¡¯t look like we¡¯re getting any sleep tonight. Who knows when water might start leaking in?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae lightened the mood.


    To me, even an hour of sleep was better than nothing, making this a highly inefficient use of time. But since typhoons didn¡¯t always follow my expectations, I decided to join them.


    All eyes turned to me.


    The burden of leadership, I suppose.


    It seemed I was chosen as the first storyteller.


    I gave a slight nod and pictured a man in my mind.


    ¡°There once was a great man called John Nae-non.¡±


    ¡°John what?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae muttered nonsense, so I held up a finger.


    A warning.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤As you all know, John Nae-non was the founder of PaleNet. He was originally a hunter trained in an academy, but his innate business acumen and keen nose for money allowed him to amass a fortune. With that money, he created PaleNet. And with that, he became a legend. I respect him immensely and strive to be like him.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t one for long, drawn-out storytelling¡ªI had never been trained in that sort of thing.


    What mattered was the core message.


    Though brief, I believed I had done a fine job summarizing the life of a man who had lived a truly heroic existence.


    But my thoughts didn¡¯t necessarily align with those of others.


    ¡°?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°What the hell.¡±


    The reactions were lukewarm.


    Even Defender, my old internet friend, couldn¡¯t resist throwing in a deeply offensive comment.


    ¡°He was a scam artist. Didn¡¯t he just use Viva! Apocalypse! as a stepping stone to fatten his own wallet?¡±


    I was about to argue when Cheon Young-jae interjected.


    ¡°Next.¡±


    I guess we were moving on.


    Well, it didn¡¯t really matter.


    A giant like John Nae-non could only be judged on a historical scale.


    That said, the silence stretched on.


    Did no one else have a story to tell?


    Maybe this was my chance to defend John Nae-non¡¯s honor.


    As I was selecting a positive anecdote about him, someone raised their hand.


    Ha Tae-hoon.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    I was surprised.


    He wasn¡¯t exactly known for being an entertaining speaker. What was he planning to say?


    Still, it was his turn, so I kept my mouth shut and waited.


    ¡°Everyone knows about Park Penguin, right?¡±


    Everyone nodded.


    It seemed that, at least among this group, Park Penguin¡¯s reputation exceeded John Nae-non¡¯s.


    ¡°That guy was honestly nothing special, wasn¡¯t he? I mean, look at the early refugee camp leaders. Most of them were former corporate CEOs, high court judges, or university presidents.¡±


    So, a story about refugee camps?


    That was outside my area of expertise.


    Sure, there were posts on the forum about life in the camps, but most were just personal complaints¡ªpetty gripes and frustrations.


    Once in a while, an actual story would circulate, but none had left much of an impression on me.


    Maybe because I had zero intention of ever living in a refugee camp.


    Still, Park Penguin was someone I did know.


    Not personally, but I was well aware of his rising influence and power.


    In a world where the government had collapsed, having the ability to command over ten thousand people meant holding absolute authority.


    But Park Penguin¡ªreal name Park Jin-gu, father of two sons¡ªhad been an ordinary man before the war.


    That much was certain.


    I had proof hanging on my wall.


    A business card reading: Park Jin-gu, CEO of Aram Iron Door Center.


    ¡°He was originally based in Gwangjin District. You know, one of the places that got hit by a nuke. Everyone who didn¡¯t listen and stayed outside died, while those in bunkers survived. And as you all know, the first refugee camps were built around bunkers.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon glanced around, seeking agreement.


    Everyone nodded.


    Except me.


    I simply stared at him blankly.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤So, after the camps were established, the usual things started happening.¡±


    Was he ignoring me?


    Sure, Ha Tae-hoon was my senior by two cohorts, but that didn¡¯t mean I could just be brushed aside.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    I raised my hand.


    Ha Tae-hoon looked at me.


    ¡°The first refugee camps were made like that?¡±


    Everyone turned to stare at me.


    Not exactly a friendly reaction.


    Thinking fast, I smoothed over the situation.


    ¡°Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense. Please, continue, Senior Ha.¡±


    After a brief awkward silence, Ha Tae-hoon resumed his story.


    ¡°It¡¯s a well-known tale. Some of you might already know it.¡±


    Park Jin-gu, who would later become known as Park Penguin, was an utterly ordinary man.


    In his youth, he spent his time on pointless nonsense, met a woman he got along with, got married, and had children.


    After a short but sufficiently frustrating and humiliating career in the workforce, he took over his father¡¯s business and ran ¡ô N§àv§Öl?g?t ¡ô (Only on N§àv§Öl?g?t) a store. He had no preparation whatsoever when the war broke out and ended up in a refugee camp.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Refugee camps were filled with all sorts of people.


    People from all walks of life who would have never crossed paths otherwise were forced together.


    Judges, doctors, and professors¡ªthose who had been respected even before the war¡ªcontinued to receive that same respect inside the camp. However, in the face of the camp¡¯s harsh conditions and shortages, that respect quickly eroded.


    Soon, those with power, those who could treat others as they pleased, those who could be endlessly selfish, raised their voices and took priority in rations and privileges.


    Ordinary people harbored resentment, but the threats, fear, and overwhelming power of those at the top forced them to endure.


    With the entire nation paralyzed by war, there was no functioning system for complaints or justice. When an ordinary citizen reported their grievances to the government, they were publicly beaten by an infamous thug¡ªsimply because they had dared to file a complaint.


    That thug was Jeong Won-sik, the biggest problem of Gwangjin District¡¯s 23rd Refugee Camp.


    He was what you¡¯d call a professional fighter¡ªstrong enough to have won matches in pro tournaments held in the U.S.


    At first, Jeong Won-sik was as quiet as any other refugee. But soon, he revealed his true nature. Relying on his physical prowess, especially his fists, he began to intimidate and terrorize people.


    He had a favorite phrase:


    "If you don¡¯t like it, fight me. If you win, I¡¯ll bow my head. I¡¯ll do whatever you say."


    It was the kind of nonsense you¡¯d expect from a bunch of teenage delinquents, but he had a solid reason for saying it.


    There was no one in the camp who could beat him.


    At the time, the camp leader was a former high court judge. He was well aware that Jeong Won-sik was causing problems, but just as he had in his past career, he ignored the real issues.


    Once Jeong Won-sik realized even the camp leader feared him, he became even bolder, even more violent.


    And then, he laid his hands on a young girl who had lost her parents and family.


    The next day, her body was found hanging.


    But no one said a word.


    No one could say a word.


    Park Jin-gu and Jeong Won-sik crossed paths by pure chance.


    Park Jin-gu¡¯s son had been playing with a ball when it accidentally rolled toward Jeong Won-sik.


    The ball didn¡¯t even touch him, but he still called the boy over and slapped him.


    So hard that two of his teeth flew out.


    And that wasn¡¯t enough for him.


    He got on top of the unconscious child, strangling him while laughing.


    "Where¡¯s your dad? Tell him to crawl out here."


    When Park Jin-gu arrived, alerted by the neighbors, his son was barely clinging to life.


    Seeing the state of his child, his blood boiled with rage.


    But he endured.


    "This your kid?"


    Jeong Won-sik tapped Jin-gu¡¯s cheek the same way he had done to his son.


    Park Jin-gu bowed his head and apologized.


    "I¡¯m truly sorry. I failed to teach my child properly. I sincerely apologize."


    Jeong Won-sik was taken aback.


    Normally, when a parent saw their child beaten to that extent, they would lose all reason and charge at him. He loved that¡ªhe loved breaking them even further.


    But Park Jin-gu didn¡¯t take the bait.


    For a brief moment, Jeong Won-sik had a bad feeling.


    But he ignored it and continued with his usual routine¡ªcrushing the weak beneath him.


    "What did you do before the war, old man?"


    "I ran a hardware store."


    "Pfft¡ªfucking worthless job. Just get lost, you piece of shit. Take your dumbass kid with you."


    Without another word, Park Jin-gu picked up his unconscious son and left.


    The people around murmured in hushed voices.


    Jeong Won-sik¡¯s eyes flared as he turned to them.


    "Anyone got a problem? Step the fuck up. Why are you all so goddamn scared? If you got a pair, then fucking fight me!"


    While Jeong Won-sik was shouting, Park Jin-gu quietly sought out a few people he was close with.


    Ordinary men¡ªfathers, just like him¡ªwho worked in public labor together.


    He handed each of them a pack of cigarettes from their rations and spoke.


    "I¡¯m going to kill Jeong Won-sik."


    His neighbors were shocked.


    They had thought he was just another average guy like them.


    "Jingu, what the hell are you talking about?"


    "How do you plan to kill him? That guy¡¯s a monster."


    In response, Park Jin-gu casually picked up a metal pipe lying on the ground.


    "No matter how strong he is, a single hit to the back of the head with this will turn him into a cripple."


    His voice was steady.


    His expression was determined.


    "I¡¯ll land the first blow."


    One of the men frantically waved his hands.


    "You can¡¯t kill him. You¡¯ll get arrested. There are still police around, even if they¡¯re useless."


    "Yeah, you know how it works, right? If they think someone¡¯s dangerous, they¡¯ll turn a blind eye to whatever they do. But if it¡¯s someone manageable, they¡¯ll throw the book at them for the smallest thing."


    At that, Park Jin-gu smiled.


    "Then we just have to look dangerous, don¡¯t we?"


    He stepped forward.


    "Meet me at 2 a.m."


    At the time, death was common, but murder was still rare.


    Even a post from Defender would¡¯ve been shocking enough to make waves back then.


    But Park Jin-gu had made up his mind.


    That night, as Jeong Won-sik was absorbed in a game of hwatu, Park Jin-gu appeared behind him.


    He had a metal pipe in his hands.


    As the other gamblers let out startled screams, Park Jin-gu swung.


    Clang!


    Jeong Won-sik collapsed.


    For a moment, his trained body instinctively tried to rise, but he couldn¡¯t move.


    Pure intent to kill easily overpowered crude malice.


    Park Jin-gu kept swinging.


    Crack!


    Another bone snapped.


    "Agh!"


    Drowning out Jeong Won-sik¡¯s groan, Park Jin-gu shouted:


    "Get out here!"


    As the thug writhed on the ground, unable to get up, the others rushed in and finished the job.


    His arms and legs were shattered.


    His entire body¡ªbones, tendons¡ªwas thoroughly broken.


    "P-please... spare me..."


    As the barely conscious Jeong Won-sik begged for his life, Park Jin-gu turned to the men and women who had been gambling with him.


    Calmly, he spoke.


    "Tonight, Jeong Won-sik got drunk and fell down the stairs. You understand, right?"


    Three days later, Jeong Won-sik died.


    No one was arrested.


    No one was charged.


    But everyone knew.


    They all knew who had solved the problem of the tyrant Jeong Won-sik.


    They all knew who had become the true leader of the refugee camp.


    This was the first step of the man who would come to be known as Park Penguin.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤That was Park Penguin? I thought you were talking about someone else."


    "It¡¯s a template story. Every refugee camp had one. But still¡ªhearing about an asshole getting what he deserved never gets old."


    "Mr. Penguin may seem ordinary, but he¡¯s got real grit. When he had everyone spinning in circles like actual penguins, I thought it was stupid¡ªbut it actually worked. Thanks to that, the kids survived too."


    Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s story got a much better reception than my John Nae-non tale.


    Completely different reactions.


    "Hmm¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    Should I tell another story?


    If I wanted to make everyone understand how cool John Nae-non was, what kind of story would work best?


    Just as I was seriously considering my next move, someone else raised their hand.


    Slightly irritated, I turned to see who it was.


    Bang Jae-hyuk.


    This guy...


    I don¡¯t remember him being particularly entertaining.


    Was he going to talk about getting shot in the knee or something?


    As I made various guesses, Bang Jae-hyuk grinned.


    "Do you guys know about Vivarium?"


    Vivarium.


    A self-sustaining ecosystem within a confined space.


    "There was a huge bio-dome in Chungcheong Province."

 Chapter 118.2: Story (2)

    That biodome was composed of several independent bio-domes, each with its own theme¡ªtropical, desert, highland, birds, and so on. In the tropical dome, exotic plants that one might expect only to see in the Amazon formed a green roof, while various beasts and fish played in their designated territories. In the desert dome, a barren, arid landscape of dry soil was recreated, displaying plants and animals that managed to continue their lineage even in such harsh conditions.


    It is uncertain whether it was ever established as fact, but the original plan for the biodome was not for the general public¡¯s amusement¡ªit was intended to be a repository of knowledge for the new realms that humanity would soon challenge and explore, such as space and the deep ocean. The reasoning was straightforward: if we could maintain a biodome in Korea that faithfully replicated a tropical jungle or a desert¡ªdespite the distinct four seasons¡ªthen perhaps we could also create a habitable environment on the Moon¡¯s surface.


    Therefore, the environments and organisms described in the original proposal for the biodome were extremely austere. Even in the tropical dome, there were only a handful of tropical plants, a few insects and bugs, and at most a small number of fish¡ªthe sole vertebrates¡ªinhabiting an expansive area of 3,546 square meters. This minimalistic approach was deemed necessary to achieve a perfect ecological balance, one in which the ratios of producers, prey, and decomposers would be maintained appropriately and perpetually without external intervention.


    The other themed domes were designed with similar intentions, differing only in humidity and temperature settings. The fundamental purpose of the biodome¡¯s construction was to maintain and study nearly every extreme environment found on Earth right here in Korea, with fully functioning ecosystems, in order to prepare for the climate changes and extreme conditions that might one day threaten human survival.


    However, that original intent was derailed before the biodome was even completed. From the government¡¯s perspective, it was an expensive facility to build and maintain, and local authorities¡ªafter having spared no expense for such a vast area and resources¡ªwere not pleased with the notion of letting this enormous facility become nothing more than a vanity project for a handful of scientists. For that reason, instead of populating the biodome with a few carefully selected organisms that would establish a perfect ecological balance, they began to fill it with large, flashy, and well-known plants and animals that would immediately capture attention.


    In the tropical dome, where even ants were initially barred due to concerns over uncontrolled expansion, capybaras, broad-billed storks, and various species of monkeys were introduced. Similarly, in the desert dome¡ªwhich, aside from lizards, was decided to host no other species¡ªa desert fox and prairie dog appeared, winning over the hearts of the visitors.


    One of the survivors, known only as J (presumably bearing the surname Jeong), was one of the researchers who had grown deeply disappointed by the government and local authorities¡¯ policies.


    ¡°They ruined everything,¡± J lamented.


    Originally, J had been a passionate supporter of the initial draft. Despite being scolded three times by higher-ups and enduring countless reprimands and forced transfers, he had strived to implement his vision of a truly self-sustaining ecosystem in the biodome. Yet, the hopes of one humble researcher were mercilessly buried under the weight of so-called political judgment and hollow rhetoric in the name of serving the people.


    J eventually reappeared at a refugee camp on the outskirts of Seoul in the spring¡ªone year and six months after the war began. At the time of his discovery, he was draped in a tattered cloth, had let his beard grow in a haphazard manner, and his overall hygiene was abysmal¡ªhe looked like a primitive caveman. Even though those were tough times, it was still considerably easier to live then than now, thanks to government rations.


    The camp residents felt both sympathy and curiosity at J¡¯s disheveled appearance. Once his condition had improved somewhat, J slowly began to stammer out, almost hesitantly, the facts he could now bring himself to utter from the depths of his trauma. His first story was familiar¡ªif not tedious¡ªto the refugee camp inhabitants: it recounted how shells fell, brilliant flashes lit up the sky, ruthless shockwaves swept across the land, communications were severed, and people died. That, after all, was hardly a pleasant occurrence.


    What the camp people were truly curious about, however, was how J managed to survive for a long one year and six months in such a state. Even for us who aren¡¯t hardcore doomsday preppers, our supplies typically run out around the six-month mark. Even when supplies ran low, seasoned preppers would still have at least some clothing and equipment to deal with every season. Yet here was J, dressed in a tattered gown, a shirt, and corduroy pants¡ªan outfit both familiar and bizarre, and one that was clearly far removed from the typical doomsday prepper attire. What caught everyone¡¯s eye most was the exotic bird¡¯s tail feather he wore in his ear, still gleaming as if it were new.


    After a few rounds of meaningless, circular anecdotes, J was confronted with one pressing question:


    ¡°How on earth did you manage to survive all this time?¡±


    A burly man barked the question at him. Without missing a beat, J answered,


    ¡°I was in hell.¡±


    ¡°Hell?!¡±


    When people clamored to ask further, J stared blankly into the void for a moment, then, with a suddenly twisted smile, he finished his thought,


    ¡°By means of perfect balance...¡±


    *


    The war¡¯s aftermath spared even the biodome. There is no part of Korea that escaped damage from Chinese attacks, but on average, suburban areas fared worse than large cities. Even when the same nuclear missile struck, the interception systems prioritized defense for the densely populated urban centers that the government had designated, while the suburbs¡ªalready evacuated and cleared¡ªwere left for the missiles to fall upon.


    Recalling the sequence of events, J mused,


    ¡°It seemed a nuke fell nearby. The entire building shook violently, and an unprecedented storm engulfed the biodome.¡±


    The surrounding mountains had shielded the biodome from total destruction. However, many people died and numerous structures were demolished. In several biodomes, many of the thick glass panels that made up the greenhouse walls shattered, columns bent, roofs collapsed, and huge holes appeared in the structure. With the power cut off, many biodomes reached the end of their lifespans. A handful of survivors, upon seeing exotic animals wandering bewilderedly from the gaps in the distorted biodomes, hastily climbed into the few remaining vehicles and fled. In their eyes, not only was the biodome facility effectively dead, but even if it could be maintained, there was little hope it would survive for another ten years.


    Yet, one person managed to survive in that half-destroyed biodome complex¡ªJ.


    Still obsessed with the true purpose of the biodome, he had shown up at the tropical dome early in the morning to perform some basic cleanup work. His dedication was also fueled by his private goal of collecting data for a paper he was currently writing.


    However, his zeal led to irreversible consequences. Just as the biodome began to shake, it tilted precariously, and the exit was blocked. The power cut off, bringing nearly all electrically operated functions to a halt. As if that were not enough, J had lost consciousness during the nuclear strike and had briefly collapsed. While his colleagues searched for him during his blackout, he was nowhere to be found and remained unreachable. Eventually, after his colleagues left, J regained consciousness and soon realized the harsh reality: he was now stranded, along with the jungle inhabitants, in the tropical dome that was meant to replicate the Amazon environment¡ªa million miles away from anywhere familiar.


    But that cohabitation wouldn¡¯t last long. Although it was September at the time, the tropical dome had to constantly maintain conditions of 33¡ãC in the summer and 22¡ãC in the winter, with humidity levels above 90%. Aside from the capybaras, Amazon otters, and Nile crocodiles, the residents of the tropical dome were all tropical fish and invertebrates. While the autumn weather might be bearable, come winter, everything would perish. Of all these creatures, only the crocodile posed any potential threat to humans; however, as long as it stayed near the central artificial pond of the dome, there wasn¡¯t any significant danger.


    ¡°That crocodile was brought in by the new parachute-appointed director, who was such a stubborn old fart. Truly a miserable excuse for a person¡ªbefore and after the war,¡± J remarked.


    As both the biodome manager and an ecologist, J was fully aware of the risks he faced and began to formulate an escape plan. At that moment, no obvious exit was visible. The tempered glass of the tropical dome was exceptionally strong, and thanks to the protection offered by another biodome directly buffering the shockwave, only portions of the tempered glass had cracked. Unlike the neighboring desert or Antarctic domes, it remained completely sealed. The only option was to use a lever to pry open the distorted frame and crawl out, but there was no tool available to use as a lever, and the immediate priority was to devise a plan to remain there for a few more days.


    Fortunately, the control room within the biodome was safe. Although most of its functions were disabled, the small break room in the corner was stocked with all kinds of instant coffee and tea, assorted snacks, and especially boxes of cup noodles.


    Before the war, J had placed a bulk order for bottled water, stacking up multiple containers in storage. This, at least, provided him with a small measure of relief.


    The animal care room was still stocked with various feeds for the creatures housed in the facility. Of these, the only thing J could consume was fish.


    Inside the now powerless freezer, frozen fish intended for the Nile crocodile and the family of Amazon otters were slowly thawing.


    Elsewhere, a few mealworms wriggled inside a toppled plastic breeding tank. J took note of them as well.


    If all else failed, mealworms¡ªeasy to raise and requiring minimal energy to sustain¡ªmight become his last remaining food source.


    Despite the dire situation, J tried to remain hopeful.


    Above all, he thought of his family in Seoul.


    His younger sister had recently gotten married and had a child.


    It wasn¡¯t his own child, but his nephew was so adorable that J felt like he could hold him in the palm of his hand.


    Thus began J¡¯s survival inside the isolated tropical biodome.


    Most of his days were spent trying to straighten the warped frame of the structure, creating a passage he could crawl through.


    That was his best bet.


    If he could just get through one meter, he¡¯d be outside.


    On the third day of being trapped, he discovered a decent pipe and a toolbox in the mechanical room, which significantly accelerated his work.


    However, while J focused on escaping, the available caloric resources inside the biodome were rapidly depleting.


    With the ambient temperature still relatively stable, the conditions inside the biodome remained unchanged¡ªperhaps even hotter and more humid during the daytime than before.


    Thanks to this, the plants didn¡¯t wither and die.


    But there were predators in the biodome.


    The Nile crocodile and the Amazonian giant otter.


    The two predators were locked in a competition, devouring the fish in the pond and artificial stream.


    At the time, J hadn¡¯t realized it, but those tropical fish had represented a crucial source of sustenance for him as well.


    A week into his escape attempt, he succeeded in straightening the bent frame.


    Overcome with excitement at the thought of reuniting with his family, J didn¡¯t even bother to let out a cheer¡ªhe simply crawled through the passage.


    But just as he was about to open the entrance of the biodome, he froze.


    There was someone there.


    A soldier wearing a helmet.


    But the uniform was unfamiliar.


    It wasn¡¯t South Korean military gear.


    It was Chinese.


    The soldier was young¡ªearly twenties, maybe even his late teens.


    His pale face, soft with youthful idealism, stared at J with wide eyes as he crawled out of the wreckage.


    Overwhelmed by sheer terror, J immediately scrambled backward, retreating into the control room.


    His heart pounded violently.


    Somewhere in the depths of his panic, a memory surfaced¡ªsomething from before the war.


    The uniform...


    It looked strikingly similar to the ones the government had shown in training manuals as the Chinese airborne division.


    Outside, a chorus of raucous Chinese voices rang out.


    Then¡ªgunfire.


    Two shots.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    J spent the next several hours¡ªperhaps even longer¡ªparalyzed with fear inside the control room.


    By the time he finally ventured out again, a long time had passed.


    His steps were unsteady as he cautiously scanned his surroundings.


    Were the Chinese soldiers inside the facility?


    Had they left any behind?


    After confirming that there was no one around, he moved toward the greenhouse roof.


    Under the shade of the artificial jungle, he peered beyond the warped glass, his eyes filled with fear.


    No one was there.


    The soldier who had spotted him¡ªthe others who had been patrolling with their rifles¡ª


    Gone.


    Yet, the terror didn¡¯t fade.


    J had no way to communicate with the outside world.


    Had the war ended?


    Had the tides turned in South Korea¡¯s favor?


    Or had most of the country already fallen into Chinese hands?


    J chose the safest and most conservative course of action.


    He hid.


    Deep inside the tropical biodome, he resolved to wait until the storm of the Chinese army had passed.


    Days went by.


    The Chinese soldiers never reappeared.


    There were no more gunshots.


    No more shouting voices.


    Still, J thought to himself:


    "I¡¯ll wait a little longer."


    He wouldn¡¯t leave until he was completely sure that the Chinese military had pulled out.


    By winter, they would all be gone... right?


    Or worse¡ªwhat if they came back, using the very same passage he had tried to escape through?


    "So, in the end, he survived and made it to Seoul?"


    As the story hit a lull, I finally spoke up.


    All eyes turned to me.


    "That was an interesting tale. Surviving inside a biodome... I mean, I come from a doomsday prepper community, but I¡¯ve never heard of anyone trying to survive in a place like that."


    The story had reached a pause, and now seemed like the perfect moment to tell my unfinished tale.


    "Hearing that reminded me of a story about John Nae-non. A truly fascinating one."


    I had prepared an ace story¡ªJohn Nae-non¡¯s first meeting.


    The story of when I was grilling meat at a barbecue joint.


    To fully understand the complex character that was John Nae-non, one had to start from our very first encounter.


    There was some confusion in my memory, but I distinctly recalled I was the one who had grilled the meat, not M9.


    I was just about to begin recounting that legendary first fan meeting¡ªheld at a shady ¡°black-market fresh meat restaurant¡±¡ª


    "Hey, hold on. The story isn¡¯t over yet."


    A voice interrupted.


    It was Hong Da-jeong, sitting deliberately apart from the rest, making it clear that she had no intention of fully blending in.


    "?"


    It wasn¡¯t just her.


    "That story... yeah, let¡¯s not."


    "Please, no more John Nae-non."


    "Ugh, not again."


    Disapproval echoed from multiple directions.


    Only Ballantine smirked faintly, but even he didn¡¯t seem eager to overturn the consensus.


    "?"


    I didn¡¯t understand.


    But if the mood was this unfavorable, I had no choice but to back down.


    Besides, it looked like Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s story wasn¡¯t finished yet.


    "The moment J abandoned his attempt to escape, he realized something."


    He rummaged through his phone and held ? N§àv§Öl?g?§ä ? (Continue reading) up a photo for us to see.


    The image was faded and grim.


    The biodome looked as though it had decayed¡ªas if the building itself had rotted away.


    Everyone¡¯s attention was fixed on the screen.


    Then¡ª


    A thunderclap boomed outside.


    As the lingering rumble faded, Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s voice filled the bunker.


    "At last... the ideal biodome he had always dreamed of¡ª"


    "Had finally appeared before him."

 Chapter 118.3: Story (3)

    J completely sealed off the only exit, blocking it with trash, plastic sheets, and collapsed debris, isolating the biodome from the outside world.


    With its perfect enclosure, the biodome became an entirely self-contained ecosystem.


    At first, the realization filled J with exhilaration.


    But the exhilaration faded quickly.


    Because he understood the truth.


    He himself was now part of this sealed ecosystem.


    Every living creature requires a certain amount of energy to survive.


    And in a confined space, survival depends solely on the energy produced within that space.


    If the energy generated is sufficient, the organism survives.


    If not, it cannot escape destruction.


    The area J inhabited measured 3,546 square meters.


    It might seem vast for one person, but the amount of energy the biodome¡¯s plants could produce was limited.


    Moreover, the season was changing.


    Until now, Korea¡¯s humid autumn had sustained the plants, but when temperatures dropped, many of them wouldn¡¯t survive.


    That meant less overall energy in the ecosystem.


    The smaller energy supply would affect everything¡ªfrom the insects and arthropods that fed on plants to the fish in the water, to the capybara family, and, ultimately, to the top predators in the dome.


    A chain reaction of ecological collapse was inevitable.


    J had food stored for now, but not enough to last the entire winter.


    He would have to rely on the ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Read more on our source) ecosystem to some extent.


    Gathering, hunting, farming¡ªwhatever worked.


    Somehow, he had to make up for the missing calories.


    At the top of the food chain were three creatures.


    The Nile crocodile.


    The Amazonian giant otter.


    And the human.


    The crocodile and the otter had to go.


    They were competitors, depleting the precious fish that served as a high-quality protein source.


    The massive arapaima lurking in the dark depths of the artificial pond was another important target that had to be taken down before the cold arrived.


    If left alone, it would devour a huge portion of the pond¡¯s fish.


    Of course, J could wait for it to die naturally and scavenge it, but killing it now was far more efficient from an energy-management standpoint.


    The most urgent problem, however, was the thawed meat and fish inside the freezer.


    Now that it had defrosted, it would start rotting quickly.


    Wasting calories was not an option.


    J decided to sort out what he could eat and feed the rest to his rivals in the ecosystem.


    The Nile crocodile lived in the central artificial pond of the biodome.


    The Amazonian giant otter and the arapaima shared the same habitat.


    "Back then, I had no idea that decision would bring me a new friend."


    J threw the rotting fish into the pond to preserve as much energy as possible within the biodome.


    But soon after, something dark approached him.


    A creature that visitors once called ¡°Wangdal¡±¡ªthe Amazonian giant otter.


    Having been raised by humans since infancy, the otter gobbled up the fish eagerly. Then, instead of leaving, it began to beg for more, rubbing against J affectionately.


    Only then did J realize his mistake¡ªthe Amazonian giant otter was not a competitor.


    It was not truly a wild animal.


    It was a child of humans.


    It had never learned to hunt.


    It had never been taught the survival skills passed down from parent to offspring.


    Since infancy, it had been fed from bottles instead of its mother¡¯s milk, raised by human caretakers, and destined to live and die as nothing more than an exhibit for human spectators.


    "Piiiii! Piiiii!"


    As the giant otter rolled onto its back, playfully exposing its belly, J thought of his nephew in Seoul.


    It was... adorable.


    When J returned to the control room, the otter followed him naturally.


    The next targets were the Nile crocodile and the arapaima.


    The crocodile had to go first.


    Crocodiles were naturally hostile to humans and would hunt them without hesitation if given the chance.


    Considering how difficult it would be to kill the arapaima, eliminating the crocodile first was the logical choice.


    Inside the control room, with the giant otter curled up beside him, J strategized.


    "How do I kill the crocodile?"


    His only weapon was a metal pipe.


    Not enough.


    He needed something more lethal.


    Then, J recalled a horrifying hunting tool that had been controversial in Korea.


    A snare trap.


    A looped wire trap that tightened when an animal struggled, cutting off circulation and movement.


    It was easy to make and materials were abundant.


    J had even seen real-life examples while volunteering for animal welfare organizations, helping remove illegal snares.


    While feeding the rotting fish to the otter, J worked tirelessly to construct his deadly trap.


    The day of the hunt arrived.


    J stared down his rival¡ªthe crocodile lurking in the murky, still pond.


    Beside him, the giant otter scampered about excitedly, demanding food.


    J had set up multiple snare traps and was ready for the final gamble.


    He was going to use himself as bait.


    Clutching a wooden club, he cautiously approached the hidden crocodile.


    It didn¡¯t react easily.


    J had to close the distance¡ªinch by inch.


    A nerve-wracking standoff.


    The explosive speed of a crocodile¡¯s strike could end everything in an instant.


    If he messed up, he¡¯d lose the battle of the food chain and become just another prey item.


    "Come on. Come at me, you bastard."


    He tapped the ground with his club, provoking the crocodile.


    Finally¡ª


    Its legs twitched.


    "!"


    J ran for his life.


    At the same moment, the crocodile lunged.


    Water exploded into the air.


    A massive shadow surged toward him.


    "Just a little more!"


    Thud!


    The sound of impact.


    A sound of relief.


    It meant the crocodile had landed outside its lunge range.


    But that fleeting relief led to a mistake.


    J slipped on the wet floor.


    A sharp impact rattled his skull.


    But more terrifying than the pain was the looming silhouette of the crocodile, rushing toward him.


    "Piiiii!"


    A miracle happened.


    The giant otter leaped at the crocodile.


    True to its "giant" name, the Amazonian otter was 1.8 meters long, a powerful predator with the ferocity of a weasel and the agility of a feline.


    It sank its teeth into the crocodile¡¯s body, tearing through flesh.


    That split-second distraction gave J the chance to scramble away toward the snare trap.


    "Come here!"


    Hearing J¡¯s voice, the otter instinctively retreated.


    From that moment, the hunt was smooth.


    The crocodile became ensnared, its limbs tightening the wire with every struggle.


    J waited patiently, watching it thrash and weaken.


    Then, when the moment was right, he drove a sharpened stake straight into its throat.


    The greatest threat was gone.


    J owed his survival to the otter.


    From that day on, they lived together.


    There were many stories, but one of the most memorable was the arapaima hunt.


    J built a makeshift net, successfully catching it¡ªonly for the massive fish to rip the net apart with sheer strength.


    Realizing he needed a different method, J crafted a spear and hunted the fish like an ancient human¡ªhurling the weapon into the murky depths.


    The reward was immense.


    Not only did he gain enough food for days, but he also prevented the fish from consuming more of the pond¡¯s resources.


    And every time he succeeded, the giant otter was always by his side.


    The temperature dropped.


    The outside thermometer read 12¡ãC.


    The tropical plants couldn''t withstand the drop in temperature, just as J had predicted.


    The once lush green of the biodome began to fade into withered brown.


    J realized that the plant deaths were happening faster and on a larger scale than he had expected.


    If winter arrived like this, the biodome would become a dead ecosystem.


    Fortunately, food seemed sufficient.


    Thanks to his quick elimination of the crocodile and the arapaima, there were still plenty of fish left in the pond.


    If he harvested them before the water froze, they would provide enough calories to last.


    And the harsh winter would preserve them, preventing decay.


    The dead plants would serve as firewood.


    Winter was long, but it wasn¡¯t eternal.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Then, spring sunlight returned, breathing life back into the biodome.


    The tropical plants that had turned brown regained their vibrancy.


    The pond¡¯s fish were completely gone, but J wasn¡¯t worried.


    By now, the Chinese soldiers would have left.


    The long, long isolation was finally over.


    He tore down the barricade he had built at the entrance and stepped outside.


    How long had it been since he breathed fresh air?


    Beside him, his companion, the Amazonian giant otter, scampered at his feet.


    What should I do with this one?


    As J pondered, something appeared in front of him.


    A person.


    J immediately retreated back inside the biodome.


    No doubt about it.


    There were armed people walking around.


    They weren¡¯t wearing Chinese military uniforms, but he had a bad feeling.


    Maybe the long period of living in isolation had awakened something primal in him.


    Bang! Bang!


    Gunfire rang out.


    Gunfire echoed through the night.


    That day, J felt his fate settle in his bones.


    He had to stay here.


    In this sealed-off world.


    This other ecosystem.


    J¡¯s eyes drifted to the otter playing innocently by his side.


    ¡°......¡±


    The answer was obvious.


    If he couldn¡¯t leave this biodome, he would have to survive solely on the resources within it.


    J didn¡¯t have the courage to leave.


    But he had the courage to kill.


    ¡°Piiiiiiiiiik!!!!!¡±


    On a peaceful afternoon, J killed the otter.


    The only gratitude he could show the creature that had once saved his life was to kill it without pain.


    But it wasn¡¯t that easy.


    The otter, wounded by an unexpected blow, staggered, bleeding.


    It screamed in agony, letting out mournful cries as it thrashed toward J.


    The slaughter lasted an hour.


    Inside the bloodstained room, J collapsed, his eyes shut, taking deep, controlled breaths.


    ¡°......Hoo.¡±


    It was done.


    Now, the total available energy in the biodome was enough to sustain one human.


    After killing his only friend with his own hands, J¡¯s life became no different from that of a wild beast.


    He hunted for food, rested, then hunted again.


    The only civilized act he still performed was feeding pieces of the otter¡¯s meat to the mealworms.


    That was the one thing even in his regression to a primitive state that he couldn¡¯t bring himself to eat.


    A single mealworm weighed 0.1 grams.


    100 grams of mealworms contained about 530 kcal.


    And so, J lived in perfect isolation.


    In perfect balance.


    Another year passed.


    Then, he finally stepped out of the biodome, surveying the surroundings.


    There were no people left.


    Only a few skeletal remains suggested that others had once shared this place.


    "......I thought that was hell."


    When J returned to civilization, he told his story.


    But then, he corrected himself.


    "No... it wasn¡¯t."


    "That place was Eden."


    J vanished without a trace.


    No one knew where he went.


    But everyone could guess.


    He had returned¡ªto that place of perfect balance.


    Perhaps hell.


    Perhaps Eden.


    The story didn¡¯t end there.


    "......A group of scavengers went there later. A fairly large group," Bang Jae-hyuk said.


    "They found the biodome. Just like J described¡ªa sealed tropical dome, barely big enough for one person to squeeze through."


    "But here¡¯s the thing."


    Bang Jae-hyuk smirked bitterly, scanning our faces.


    "Places like that have signs."


    "Signs that tell you what plants and animals are inside."


    "But according to the signs, there were no Amazonian giant otters, no Nile crocodiles, no arapaima."


    "Even people who had visited the biodome before the war said they¡¯d never seen such animals there."


    J was never found.


    And the creatures he had spoken of¡ªthe Amazonian giant otter, the arapaima, the Nile crocodile, and the crawling mealworms¡ªwere nowhere to be found.


    The only thing the scavengers discovered was filthy trash, tattered clothing, and a single skeleton, tangled in wire, resembling a snare trap.


    The story had fallen into an eternal mystery.


    Whether J¡¯s experiences were real, or if they were an allegory for something even darker, no one could say.


    "The scavengers said... they felt someone watching them as they left."


    "The jungle was thriving¡ªthick, wild, full of life."


    "Maybe... just maybe... J was still hiding in that jungle, watching the people who had come looking for him."


    The reaction to the story was mixed.


    No one clapped.


    But everyone had an expression on their face.


    "What the hell? So J was lying?"


    "The otter was a person, right? And the crocodile too?"


    "I don¡¯t know... maybe it really was an otter. Those info signs never update properly. Could¡¯ve just been left out."


    "I think I did see a crocodile there once... maybe."


    Anyway, the long story had finally come to an end.


    Maybe now it was my turn.


    Clearing my throat, I prepared to speak.


    "At the black-market fresh meat restaurant¡ª"


    But at that exact moment, Hong Da-jeong¡¯s voice overpowered mine.


    "The rain stopped!"


    "?"


    Ignoring me completely, my so-called guests rushed outside.


    "Look! The sun¡¯s out!"


    "Finally, it¡¯s over."


    The typhoon had passed.


    With no casualties.


    "Guess I¡¯ll save the John Nae-non story for another time."


    Only Ballantine offered me a sympathetic smirk.


    But honestly, it wasn¡¯t something worth pitying.


    "......"


    Tap, tap, tap.


    NoPayNewbie: (A mysterious story about the National Ecology Center, as told by Skelton.txt)


    I posted J¡¯s story on the Red Archive forums.


    Like a true internet community veteran, I included an eerie soundtrack, carefully selected images of Amazonian giant otters and Nile crocodiles, and made sure to craft the perfect atmosphere.


    The mysterious, eerie tale was well received.


    Maybe the story¡¯s impact had rubbed off on me just a little.


    That night, for the first time in a long while, I had a dream.


    And in that dream...


    I saw my old mentor, Jang Ki-young.

 Chapter 119.1: Tool (1)

    Park Gyu''s dream was just as bizarre as Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s stories.


    He was walking through an unfamiliar street in a suit, and someone was stepping on his shadow, following closely behind.


    That person was none other than Jang Ki-young.


    He was wearing an ill-fitted, shabby suit, trailing behind, and for some reason, he was leaking what seemed to be urine through his pants.


    The setting suddenly changed. It looked like a library, or perhaps some kind of public facility¡ªa vaguely official space unfolded before him.


    He was lying on the floor in his suit, arms at his sides, when he turned his head for no particular reason.


    Jang Ki-young was lying beside him.


    When their eyes met, Park Gyu waited for him to speak.


    It wasn¡¯t patience¡ªjust a long-ingrained habit from his time as a disciple.


    But no matter how long he waited, Jang Ki-young said nothing.


    Then, out of nowhere, Park Gyu remembered¡ªJang Ki-young was already dead, or at the very least, in a state equivalent to death. He asked him, "What are you doing here?"


    The moment he spoke, the lights in the facility went out, and everything was swallowed by darkness.


    Within that darkness, Park Gyu realized he was dreaming. But the dream refused to let him go.


    When he woke up, his body was drenched in sweat.


    ¡°......¡±


    He wasn¡¯t the type to be shaken by dreams.


    But this one was different. It had left a lasting impression.


    It wasn¡¯t just the dream that prompted him to contact Woo Min-hee for the first time in a long while¡ªbut he couldn¡¯t deny it played a significant role.


    *


    ¡°It¡¯s been a while, senior. And now, out of the blue, you¡¯re calling me? What¡¯s gotten into you?¡±


    Woo Min-hee only responded an hour after he¡¯d sent his request for communication.


    That same dreamy, lilting voice as always.


    ¡°Just wondering how you¡¯re doing.¡±


    ¡°Oh my. My senior, worrying about me? I must be living longer than I thought.¡±


    ¡°How are things on your end?¡±


    ¡°Here?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    There was something he was curious about.


    Kim Daram.


    The probability was high that Kim Daram had ended up on Woo Min-hee¡¯s side.


    But that was too sensitive a subject¡ªto both Kim Daram and himself.


    Only Woo Min-hee could handle such a topic lightly, but everything she held in her hands always ended up broken and ruined.


    It was wiser to ensure she didn¡¯t even think of it.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re still managing to communicate with Jeju every now and then. We get airdrops, though they¡¯re rare.¡±


    ¡°Any news from the Lighthouse?¡±


    ¡°No, nothing.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°I was actually planning to send an expedition there. And just as I was thinking about it¡ªwhat a coincidence! My senior contacts me first.¡±


    She chuckled.


    He said nothing.


    He had no desire to go there, and no reason to.


    Besides, there was no need for him to rely on Woo Min-hee anymore.


    He had formed a group.


    The chances of running into a stronger, larger group and getting crushed had increased significantly, but they could now handle most dangers on their own.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to go, do you, senior?¡±


    ¡°...If I¡¯m being honest, yeah. It¡¯s frightening, uncomfortable, and I don¡¯t think I¡¯d be of much help even if I went.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d be helpful!¡±


    Her breathing turned slightly uneven.


    ¡°You already know this, but the Rift is producing Anti-Awakened entities. And they¡¯re being mixed in with regular ones when they come through. It¡¯s getting harder for us to handle them alone.¡±


    So she needed him.


    Not out of personal connection, but for tactical necessity.


    If what she said was true, then it made sense why she¡¯d taken in Kim Daram.


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°So? What will you do?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t be able to provide support for the time being.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    She must have brought her mic closer¡ªhe could hear her breathing clearly.


    That meant she was irritated.


    He was just as irritated, but he had no intention of provoking this monstrously strong, mentally unstable woman without reason.


    ¡°I formed a group recently.¡±


    ¡°Oh my. Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Gathered some people I know, some folks from around here, and made a small group. You already know that after the collapse of the Legion faction, some academy hunters have been targeting me.¡±


    Before he could even finish speaking, her breathing disappeared, and instead, her voice drifted in faintly from the speaker, indirectly relayed.


    ¡°Really?¡±


    There was someone else in the room.


    She was asking them.


    If his instincts were right¡ª


    ¡°Oh. Kim Daram says that¡¯s true, too.¡±


    So, he was there.


    He¡¯d already assumed as much, but he had to act surprised.


    ¡°Kim Daram? He¡¯s there with you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It just happened that way. But why did he come to me instead of staying with you? Ah¡ªI get it.¡±


    Her voice turned sickeningly sweet, making sure he could hear.


    No surprise. Woo Min-hee¡¯s nature would never change, not until the day she died.


    ¡°Well, if you can¡¯t come, we¡¯ll just have to put together a team and handle the expedition ourselves. Not that we were eager to call you anyway¡ªespecially after hearing some bad news from the advance reconnaissance team.¡±


    ¡°Bad news?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    She hesitated for a moment.


    Then, after a suitable pause, she spoke.


    ¡°The Professor¡¯s Nightmare has appeared.¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    The Professor¡¯s Nightmare.


    It was an idiom used only by a select few. And it referred to a type of monster that had irrevocably altered his fate.


    A General-class entity.


    The first monster he ever discovered.


    The first monster he ever admitted he could not kill.


    Officially, the emergence of Awakened beings was the reason he had chosen to retire¡ªbut in truth, it was the General-class entity that had severed his last attachment.


    Caught within the intangible restraints of that monster¡¯s power, he had realized, down to his very bones, that there was nothing he could do against it.


    ¡°...I¡¯m still old-school, Min-hee.¡±


    He had spoken with Woo Min-hee many times before.


    But this was the first time he had spoken with genuine sincerity.


    And yet, they say sincerity calls to sincerity.


    A warmth he had never expected flowed from the communicator.


    ¡°But there¡¯s no one stronger than you, is there? Isn¡¯t that right, Twelvesquare?¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    So she knew.


    He barely held back a laugh.


    ¡°Anyway, I¡¯ll call if I hear anything else.¡±


    ¡°Oh, wait.¡±


    ¡°?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something I want to ask.¡±


    He had almost forgotten his main reason for calling.


    ¡°Ah? Jang Ki-young?¡±


    Of course, she knew about Jang Ki-young.


    ¡°Senior, I thought you didn¡¯t like him.¡±


    Their mentor-disciple relationship was well-known in the hunter society.


    Few people knew about Park Gyu as an individual due to his classified status, but the callsign "Professor" was famous worldwide. And Jang Ki-young had ridden that fame, becoming known as the mentor behind the legend.


    ¡°Professor is entirely my creation. He was the perfect realization of my ideals. What was it? Oh, right¡ªa persona. He was my persona.¡±


    Those who understood their relationship better often summed it up with a single /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ word: tool.


    Jang Ki-young needed a tool to achieve his ambitions.


    And Park Gyu was the perfect tool.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    It was someone else¡¯s assessment, but he found it valid.


    Jang Ki-young had tried to impose his outdated, impractical, and at times outright bizarre ideals onto them.


    The ¡°Rocket Axe¡± sketched in his notebook, its shading done with tightly packed lines¡ªthat alone was enough to show the kind of man he was.


    The more real combat he experienced, the clearer it became that the knowledge Jang Ki-young had imparted was a product of delusion.


    He had known since his student days that Jang Ki-young was nothing more than a mirage, built up by media and self-promotion.


    But seeing him in reality had obliterated any last shred of respect.


    Even juniors like Woo Min-hee, who weren¡¯t close to him, knew the truth.


    That the Professor, Jang Ki-young¡¯s supposed masterpiece, didn¡¯t actually like him.


    ¡°Well, since you¡¯re curious, I guess I should tell you.¡±


    Woo Min-hee spoke nonchalantly.


    ¡°I left him at the lab. Didn¡¯t dispose of him¡ªI think. We blew up the lab when we left, though. If he was lucky, he might have survived. But does it matter? At best, he¡¯s just a zombie now.¡±


    She even knew the latest rumors about him.


    ¡°Apparently, some weird rumors are going around, but they¡¯re nonsense. Biologically, Jang Ki-young is dead. The Rift is just forcing his corpse to move. And even as a zombie, he was barely functional. No matter how much we provoked him, he didn¡¯t react. He wasn¡¯t rotting, but that¡¯s all he was¡ªa corpse.¡±


    Jang Ki-young was alive.


    Or at least, the zombie using his name was still walking.


    *


    Ever since I learned that Jang Ki-young was alive, my thoughts had been drawn to him for some inexplicable reason.


    It was strange.


    I had never held a high opinion of Jang Ki-young¡ªin fact, I had secretly despised him.


    Even when I heard he had turned into a zombie, I felt no real sorrow.


    That was the extent of our relationship.


    And yet, this incomprehensible feeling kept pulling my attention toward the docks in Incheon.


    Maybe now that my group had stabilized, I had the mental space for such pointless concerns.


    The first time I heard about a zombie suspected to be Jang Ki-young was, unsurprisingly, on our forum.


    The zombie, which constantly muttered the word "Professor," had no official name or title. It was simply called "the scavenging zombie."


    The first mention of it came from Anonymous458.


    Anonymous458: "There''s some zombie scavenging around the docks in Incheon, believe it or not."


    Anonymous458 was one of the pure-blooded oldbies I respected.


    He had once been a part of a small but admired group on the forum called the Kyle Dos Family.


    That group, like Kyle Dos himself and another old internet friend, Anonymous848, had long disappeared beyond the horizon of ruin. But Anonymous458 had endured, continuing to post with the same mix of casual jokes and serious commentary as he always had.


    In an era where consistency had become a rare commodity, his unchanging nature now warranted reevaluation.


    Perhaps he wasn¡¯t as normal as he seemed. Either he possessed an extraordinarily strong mind, or he lived in an environment stable enough to allow him to maintain that normalcy.


    Regardless, it was a fact that Anonymous458 had brought up the scavenging zombie.


    I decided to send him a message.


    SKELTON: (Skelton Inquiry) Out of curiosity, what do you know about this scavenging zombie?


    Messages were a tool for direct, private communication between distant users. But they also had another, unintended function.


    By analyzing the time a message was sent and the time it was replied to, you could infer the recipient¡¯s daily routine.


    I had sent my message at around 9 AM.


    By then, most people would have already woken up and started their morning tasks.


    Anonymous458 responded at 4:50 PM.


    That meant he had finished his day¡¯s work, returned to his laptop or computer, and only then checked my message.


    It was just speculation, but it suggested that he followed the same pattern we did¡ªworking at sunrise, retreating at sunset.


    I checked his reply.


    Message from Anonymous458: "Oh, that zombie? Not sure. I¡¯ve only heard about it secondhand. But it¡¯s a hell of an interesting story. I mean, can you imagine? A zombie pulling a cart around, loading it up with random junk. Isn¡¯t that hilarious?"


    I pointed out that it could have been a misunderstanding.


    Anonymous458 responded immediately¡ªprobably dead serious.


    Message from Anonymous458: "It¡¯s not a mistake. More than one person has seen it. People who scavenge at the old refugee dock frequently report seeing this weird zombie wandering around, gathering stuff."


    SKELTON: "So it''s in Incheon?"


    Message from Anonymous458: "Somewhere around there."


    SKELTON: (Skelton Well-Wishing) I hope we get to see it for a long time.


    Message from Anonymous458: "You too."


    Even now, a good conversation with an old forum friend had a way of warming the heart.


    The comrades in my territory gave me a sense of security, but it was different from the camaraderie shared with my fellow forum members.


    ¡°......¡±


    Sitting at my desk, I absentmindedly flipped through the old notebook Jang Ki-young had given me.


    I had noticed it before, but there was little in it that was of any use to me.


    Still, whether it was useful or not, I could tell that the owner of this notebook had poured his will into every letter he had written.


    My eyes lingered, as always, on that infamous rocket axe.


    The drawing of the "Rocket-Propelled Impact Enhancement Attachment"¡ªa ridiculously long name for a weapon¡ªwas taped to my desk.


    Judging by the sketch, it was meant to be an axe fitted with a propulsion system that would send me, Skelton, soaring through the sky like some kind of superhero, slicing through monsters midair.


    Even for me, that was too absurd.


    ¡°...Instructor.¡±


    I smirked as I stared at the excessive amount of shading poured into the rocket axe illustration.


    There was an odd, blank space within the shading¡ªcut out deliberately.


    It had been the hiding spot where Jang Ki-young used to tuck away his Awakened Examination Sheet.


    There was nothing left to find there now.


    But without thinking, I found myself staring at the area where his pen must have traced over a thousand times.


    For no special reason.


    Just the idle thought that his lines were always needlessly straight and lacked any real curvature.


    And then¡ª


    ¡°?¡±


    There was writing underneath the shading.


    To be precise, he had written something first and then covered it up with shading.


    I brought the drawing closer to my eyes, trying to make out the text.


    It was in Jang Ki-young¡¯s handwriting.


    Messy scribbles, made even harder to read by the overlapping shading.


    But soon, I managed to decipher the words.


    - Concept for the Ultimate Anti-General-Class Weapon


    For my beloved disciple, PROFESSOR!


    ¡°......¡±


    I stood up.


    Something inside me moved.


    And that meant I had to go.


    If I didn¡¯t go now, I might never get another chance to see my old master again.

 Chapter 119.2: Tool (2)

    This was a deeply personal journey.


    That¡¯s why I had decided to go alone.


    If, by any chance, my group was attacked while I was away and our territory fell, the responsibility would rest entirely on me.


    I couldn¡¯t justify risking everyone¡¯s safety over nothing more than a bad dream.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go with you this time.¡±


    Even though I had resolved to go alone, Defender insisted on accompanying me.


    ¡°I know that place well. I did some scouting there recently, back when I was under Kim Daram.¡±


    He was adamant, so I allowed it.


    Before heading to Incheon, Defender suggested we stop by a hideout he used to live in.


    ¡°I stashed a ride there.¡±


    Turned out, it was barely more than a pile of scrap metal¡ªa rusted-out SUV.


    The thing tilted left, looking like it could tip over at any moment. It was a miracle it still ran at all. But Defender vouched for it.


    ¡°If we¡¯re going there, it¡¯s better to leave the vehicle with the refugee camp. We¡¯ll have to go in on foot.¡±


    Back in the day, the docks had been one of the most sought-after locations in Incheon, a city that had essentially turned into one massive refugee zone.


    They used to call it ¡®the high-rank zone.¡¯


    Even after the world collapsed, people clung to their old habits¡ªjust like how they once ranked neighborhoods and apartment complexes by prestige, they now assigned grades to refugee camps to feed their fragile sense of superiority.


    But now, those docks had turned into a land of corruption, crawling with the walking dead.


    ¡°Think of it as a completely blocked-off area. It¡¯s a zombie nest, but there are also cultists hiding there.¡±


    Defender insisted on using the SUV because he didn¡¯t trust the refugee camp.


    ¡°If you roll up in a truck as nice as yours, they¡¯ll stash it somewhere and pretend they don¡¯t know a damn thing. Those bastards would do it without hesitation.¡±


    The massive region now known as the Incheon Zone was a fragmented warzone. Countless factions had carved out their own little territories, each claiming their own domain in a chaotic feudal era.


    There were coalition forces like Penguin Park¡¯s Alliance, but their influence was limited. Most of the region was dominated by territorial warlords who controlled their land with an iron grip.


    The latest trend among these factions was something called ¡®Complexes.¡¯


    ¡°They used to organize by subway stations, but nowadays, they set up bases around mid-to-large apartment complexes. Those are easier to defend, plus they can use the infrastructure inside. That¡¯s why they call them ¡®Complexes.¡¯¡±


    Defender claimed to know someone from the Complex closest to the docks.


    The SUV managed to keep moving.


    According to Defender, despite its exterior, the car¡¯s internals weren¡¯t as bad as they seemed.


    It lurched slightly to the left, making the ride feel like a seesaw. Sitting in the passenger seat, gently swaying like a wooden horse at an amusement park, I drifted into thought.


    ¡°......¡±


    When exactly had I lost contact with Jang Ki-young?


    The final straw was his turbulent downfall.


    He had struggled in vain against the unstoppable tide of the Awakened, resorting to increasingly reckless moves.


    Media manipulation, lobbying, anonymous reports, lawsuits¡ª


    He hadn¡¯t personally embezzled any money, but he had funneled an absurd amount of funds, engaged in accounting fraud, and granted illegal favors in pursuit of his delusions.


    The so-called ¡®indomitable hunter¡¯ was torn apart by legal battles and administrative penalties. When the media smelled blood, they ripped him apart. And when there was nothing left for them to scavenge, he became nothing more than a toy for YouTubers to mock.


    I had known what was happening to him.


    And yet, I never reached out.


    It wasn¡¯t a matter of liking or disliking him.


    I simply had nothing left to give.


    After breaking nearly every bone in my body and spending a month in a near-death state beyond the Rift, even someone with an iron will would have cracked.


    Add to that my deep-seated inferiority complex, my overwhelming sense of helplessness, the realization that I was powerless to change anything¡ª


    All of it merged into one suffocating despair.


    Even taking care of myself had become difficult.


    Jang Ki-young had reached out first.


    I saw the call.


    And I didn¡¯t answer.


    By the time I finally went to see him, he was a completely different person from the man I had once known.


    In that moment, I had decided¡ªon my own¡ªthat his story had ?N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t? reached its conclusion.


    But apparently, it hadn¡¯t.


    That was why I was here, in this city.


    ¡°You know, dead people can¡¯t talk.¡±


    Hong Da-jeong¡¯s voice crackled through the radio, her tone amused.


    ¡°In ghost stories, spirits always show up, staring silently at the living, right?¡±


    She liked urban legends.


    She was clearly entertained by the nightmare I had told her about.


    ¡°It¡¯s the same in dreams. Their souls are tied to the afterlife. They want to speak, but they can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Hmm...¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that, Skelton? You sound annoyed.¡±


    ¡°I just remembered something a dead subordinate of mine said in a dream, back when I was in China.¡±


    ¡°Oh? What¡¯d they say?¡±


    ¡°¡®Give me back my leg.¡¯¡±


    ¡°...Ah.¡±


    I didn¡¯t believe in ghosts.


    If spirits existed and they had the ability to harm the living, there were far too many people in this world who should have been dead by now.


    And yet, we all knew¡ª


    How many criminals had lived long, prosperous lives despite their sins?


    I wanted to believe in Hell.


    But no one had ever proven its existence.


    ¡°About Jang Ki-young...¡±


    Defender spoke up from behind the wheel.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    I looked at him in silence as he turned the steering wheel.


    ¡°I saw him on a livestream.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    I hadn¡¯t watched it.


    I knew he¡¯d been dragged into those trashy online broadcasts.


    But I had no desire to see my old master reduced to a laughingstock.


    ¡°I don¡¯t particularly like Jang Ki-young, but watching our former headmaster get mocked by scumbags like that... I wanted to kill them.¡±


    The so-called ¡®content creators¡¯ who had filmed him should be grateful they did so before the war.


    Not that it mattered now. Most of them had probably been wiped out, not even their bones left behind.


    ¡°He was different. Out of it. Maybe senile. He didn¡¯t even seem to understand if people were mocking him or not. Just rambled nonsense...¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to hear any more.


    I had already seen him at his lowest, in that tiny, squalid rental apartment.


    I didn¡¯t need anyone else to tell me how pathetic he had become.


    ¡°Fine. But the weirdest part was when he started talking about building robots. Even while I was fantasizing about murdering that wreck of a man streaming him, that part stuck with me.¡±


    ¡°...Robots?¡±


    What the hell had he been planning?


    Hadn¡¯t he learned from China that robots were useless against monsters?


    As the head of The Guard, Korea¡¯s only hunter training institution, he had received just as much practical combat data as any government official.


    ¡°Not full robots¡ªmore like those robot suits people wear. What do you call them again? Power suits?¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    Yeah.


    The U.S. had tried that.


    Until monsters developed the ability to interfere with electronic systems.


    The so-called power suits had become death traps, their joints forcibly twisted in the wrong direction, snapping their wearers apart like brittle straws.


    ¡°That¡¯s not gonna work.¡±


    We passed by an abandoned apartment complex.


    A light flickered on one of the mid-level floors.


    A mirror signal.


    I didn¡¯t know its exact meaning, but it was clear that someone in that building was trying to communicate with someone else nearby.


    Defender slowed down.


    ¡°Should we turn back?¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s our fuel?¡±


    ¡°Hmm. If we take a detour, we might not have enough for the return trip.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s try trading at the Complex you mentioned. They should have at least a barrel of synthetic oil.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    As the SUV adjusted course, Defender returned to the earlier topic.


    ¡°About that robot thing...¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nonsense.¡±


    I dismissed it outright.


    ¡°It is bullshit. But the thing is¡ªJang Ki-young always had a way of making bullshit sound convincing.¡±


    ¡°...Hmph.¡±


    I had to admit.


    My old master was a man with a silver tongue.


    ¡°The robot idea was crazy. But the reason he wanted to build one? That stuck with me.¡±


    ¡°What did he say?¡±


    ¡°He said¡ªmonsters are terrifying enemies, but each one has limits, like a machine.¡±


    ¡°...Hmm.¡±


    "If you take the reflective force field as an example, it perfectly redirects all projectiles below a certain strength, but if a projectile exceeds that threshold, the field shatters, right?"


    "Like artillery fire?"


    "Yeah. Jang Ki-young¡¯s claim was that every monster has a limit like that."


    "That¡¯s not exactly a groundbreaking theory."


    "True. But he added one more thing."


    "What?"


    I turned to Defender and asked.


    "That the limits of a monster¡¯s abilities might actually be lower than we think."


    "What the hell does that mean?"


    I raised my voice without realizing it.


    Defender looked a little surprised at my reaction but continued speaking calmly.


    "He was saying that maybe monsters are equipped with just enough power to be optimal for fighting humans. And that¡¯s why he wanted to build those robot things."


    "Is that so?"


    I scoffed.


    "Yeah. If monster abilities are specifically tuned to counter human beings, then wouldn¡¯t the simplest solution be to create humans with power beyond their data range?"


    I wasn¡¯t convinced.


    Monsters were strong.


    Too strong.


    Jang Ki-young had never faced a monster¡¯s wave force head-on.


    He had never blacked out from the sheer impact of it.


    He had never witnessed firsthand the miracles that force could create.


    For someone like him to talk about monster limitations... That, I think, was the core of my cynicism toward him.


    It reminded me, once again, of his ignorance.


    As these uneasy thoughts swirled in my mind, we entered the ruins of the city.


    Naturally, before heading in, Defender pulled down a mask, put on sunglasses, and pressed a worn-out baseball cap low over his face.


    *


    Just because the city was overrun with fragmented factions didn¡¯t mean they were all constantly at war.


    In fact, it was the opposite.


    A certain order had formed.


    Conquest was an attractive concept, but the battles required to achieve it were neither practical nor rewarding.


    Now that every single bullet had become an irreplaceable resource, indiscriminate fighting was the equivalent of handing victory to a third-party faction.


    "We¡¯re heading to the Dock Complex."


    Standing before a group of armed men blocking the ruined street, Defender spoke calmly.


    A man wearing a gas mask turned around, said something into his radio, then waved us through.


    "They¡¯re surprisingly polite," I muttered, watching them fade into the distance.


    "It¡¯s mutual benefit."


    Defender was, without a doubt, a psychopath.


    Even in a situation where a betrayal could come from behind at any moment, he didn¡¯t sweat a single drop.


    "Mutual benefit?"


    "For when their people need to pass through someone else¡¯s territory later. It¡¯s just a beat-up old car, not enough of a risk to bother stopping us."


    I had been through many ruins before.


    But I had always avoided the ones populated by too many people.


    Every high-rise window was a potential sniper¡¯s nest.


    And sure enough, every now and then, a shadow with a gun peeked out from the buildings lining the wide avenue.


    Defender had been through this area before.


    "...I came here once to hunt down a guy named Heo Jun. He was a high-ranking cultist, hiding in Incheon while running illegal conversions and terrorist activities. Kim Byung-cheol personally ordered Kim Daram to take him out, so we were deployed."


    "What happened to him?"


    Defender let out a short sigh and shook his head.


    "We lost him."


    "His real name is Heo Jun?"


    "No. No one knows his real name. He just got the nickname because he claimed he had the power to heal people."


    "An Awakened with healing abilities, huh."


    That reminded me¡ªthere was another guy, Heo Jong-cheol.


    He was an asshole back in the day, but now, he''d be pretty valuable.


    "Still no contact with Heo Jong-cheol?"


    "I heard he ended up under Kim Byung-cheol."


    "Kim Byung-cheol? That guy¡¯s still alive?"


    "Who knows."


    Ahead of us, a pile of abandoned cars blocked the road.


    Another barricade. Another faction.


    "Hey. Where you headed?"


    A woman covered in piercings and a mask swaggered toward us, her husky voice cutting through the air.


    "Dock Complex."


    "Oh. The Dock Complex?"


    She scoffed.


    "You here as customers?"


    Defender nodded.


    "That place has been bad news lately."


    She smiled cryptically and stepped aside, letting us through.


    Second checkpoint cleared.


    But this was only the beginning.


    We still had to pass through the territories of over eight different factions.


    The inspections themselves were smooth, but what bothered me was how every single one of them¡ªlike that pierced woman¡ªhad the same contemptuous reaction to the Dock Complex.


    After clearing the ninth checkpoint, we finally saw it.


    The sun reflected off the distant ocean, and a tall apartment complex loomed ahead.


    "That apartment..."


    I remembered it.


    I had seen it before¡ªthrough the window of the research lab where I had stayed overnight.


    It had some flashy, over-the-top name. Something like Kaiser something-or-other.


    Our rattling SUV spewed black smoke as we rolled into the Complex.


    It was obvious even before we arrived¡ªthis place was in bad shape.


    Traces of battle were everywhere.


    Bodies, still uncollected, rotted beneath the rubble.


    The stench of death filled the air.


    Armed men appeared from the shadows.


    Defender removed his disguise and stepped out of the car.


    The men lowered their weapons.


    They knew him.


    Defender scanned the area with a hardened expression.


    "Where¡¯s Team Leader Lee Soo-chil?"


    One of the men, shoulders slumped, answered weakly.


    "Dead. Twelve hours ago."


    He pointed toward a corner.


    There, rows of bodies lay, their feet poking out from beneath plastic sheets.


    Defender showed no emotion.


    His voice remained steady as he asked his next question.


    "What happened?"


    The man with the gun let out a bitter laugh and slumped to the ground.


    "...The cultists brought a monster."


    "A capsule?"


    I asked.


    Because what he had just said contradicted everything I knew.


    The man shook his head.


    "It wasn¡¯t a capsule. No, fuck... They brought a real, living monster. A monster in the flesh."

 Chapter 119.3: Tool (3)

    Not everyone tells the truth.


    Especially in a battlefield where life and death intersect, the truth becomes even more obscure.


    Because even what the speaker believes to be the truth may not actually be true.


    "I swear, it was a monster! They brought a monster with them!"


    The man''s pupils were dilated, and his body trembled violently at irregular intervals.


    He looked like he was on stimulants.


    His intentions might have been pure, but his words had lost their credibility.


    In cases like this, cross-verification was necessary.


    If there was only one witness, there was no way to be sure, but when there were multiple, all testimonies had to be checked.


    Though even cross-verification wouldn¡¯t necessarily lead to the correct answer.


    "The cultists brought a monster. I saw it too."


    "Rather than ¡®bringing it,¡¯ they ¡®led it.¡¯ It was like they were giving it orders."


    "They were definitely leading it. I hid as soon as I saw them."


    Madness spreads easily on the battlefield.


    But what stood out was that most of the witnesses had not taken stimulants, and their statements remained consistent.


    "My name is Kwon Chan-young."


    The one leading the Complex now was a young doctor named Kwon Chan-young.


    His discolored white coat was still stained with dried blood.


    Among everyone we had met here, he was the most stable, both physically and mentally.


    If anyone could confirm the truth, it would be him.


    I asked, "Did the cultists really control a monster?"


    Kwon Chan-young fell into deep thought.


    "They were together, that much is certain. But I never saw them commanding it. Still... when they left, they were together. They razed our Complex to the ground and walked away with their followers."


    A difficult story to believe.


    But when so many people say the same thing, at the very least, it had to be considered.


    We still knew nothing about monsters.


    That fact must not be forgotten.


    It was possible that everything we thought we knew was wrong.


    Defender handed Kwon Chan-young a small gift.


    Alcohol, cigarettes, and ammunition.


    In exchange, Defender asked about his inside contact in the Complex.


    Perhaps it was thanks to the gift, but even in his exhausted state, Kwon Chan-young answered sincerely.


    "Lee Soo-chil died fighting bravely. He was trying to kill the cultist who was controlling the monster, but he was caught in the reflective force field and perished. That cultist was an Awakened."


    Then, Kwon Chan-young spoke about the cult.


    "They... demand children.


    "Especially those with the potential to become Awakened. They will do anything to take them.


    "No one knows what they do with those children... but everyone here knows that not a single one has ever come back."


    I never believed in geomantic principles, but maybe locations do have meaning.


    The cultists, settled around the docks, were doing the same thing Woo Min-hee once did with her research lab.


    The cult had sent envoys to nearby communities, demanding children.


    And if there were no children, they demanded young women capable of bearing them.


    The Complex had suffered under these demands for a long time.


    They had handed over children in the past.


    But the cultists were never satisfied.


    If you gave them one, they asked for two.


    If you gave them two, they demanded everything.


    "Everyone opposed fighting them.


    "''Even if we fight, only our neighbors will benefit from our downfall.''


    "Most people agreed that it was easier to just hand over the children and reduce our numbers."


    Kwon Chan-young slumped to the ground, shaking his head.


    "It was bullshit. We should have fought."


    A frail, middle-aged man who had been watching us suddenly screamed in a shrill voice.


    "Fighting wouldn¡¯t have changed anything! Look at what happened! This is what fighting got us!"


    He clearly didn¡¯t like what Kwon Chan-young was saying.


    Kwon Chan-young ignored him, but the man kept ranting, trying to justify himself.


    "At least by not fighting, we lasted this long! At least we¡¯re still alive to complain! You don¡¯t even know what¡¯s what, and yet you act like you understand everything!"


    I glanced at Defender.


    There was nothing more to gain here.


    Defender sighed, scanning the area.


    "Not the best place to leave the car."


    "Then?"


    "We¡¯ll park it as close as possible before heading in on foot."


    "That¡¯s probably the best option."


    It didn¡¯t look like we¡¯d be getting any fuel here either.


    But at least we had confirmed the presence of several factions along the way.


    One of them would ?N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t? be willing to trade.


    It was time to leave.


    Defender took care of the farewells.


    "We¡¯ll be on our way now. We¡¯d like to help, but as you can see, our situation isn¡¯t much better."


    "I understand. Take care."


    Defender headed toward the car first.


    I looked around.


    Towering apartment buildings lined up like a backdrop.


    The ruined park beneath them.


    Before the war, how many people had lived here?


    They must have been happy.


    But before long, no one would be left.


    I sighed lightly and followed Defender.


    Behind me, Kwon Chan-young, still wearing his blood-stained surgical gloves, muttered to himself.


    "...If only PaleNet still existed."


    I felt no particular sympathy for this group.


    This was just another common sight in the apocalypse.


    The natural course of extinction for a species doomed to die.


    But those three syllables¡ª


    PaleNet.


    They struck something inside me.


    "PaleNet?"


    I turned back and spoke to Kwon Chan-young.


    Even in his exhaustion, he looked slightly surprised by the sudden question.


    I stared at him and asked the question I had already prepared.


    "That PaleNet... was it created by John Nae-non?"


    "John Nae-non?"


    "You don¡¯t know him?"


    "Ah... Now that I think about it, before PaleNet collapsed, there was an admin with that name. Never understood why he had to display it so prominently everywhere."


    "Ah...!!"


    As expected.


    People missed PaleNet.


    And they missed John Nae-non.


    I needed to be sure.


    "Do you think things would have been different if PaleNet still existed?"


    Kwon Chan-young nodded firmly.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    "It was clunky and chaotic, but it connected people across distances.


    "It was a medium that brought survivors together."


    He gave a bitter smile and stared down at the dark, inactive screen of his old phone.


    "...But now, there¡¯s nothing left. Nothing at all."


    "......"


    I turned away and got into the car.


    Defender asked, "What was that about?"


    "Just... some internet talk."


    But it wasn¡¯t just idle talk.


    It was important.


    Maybe just as important as the mentor I was about to find.


    ***


    The chaotic arrangement of buildings, the war-torn debris left abandoned, the gaudy tents scattered across the landscape, and the endless waves of the West Sea.


    The docks hadn¡¯t changed much since the last time I was here¡ªwhether it was when I stayed near Hunter Street for a while or when I had to stop M9 and Baek Seung-hyun from tearing each other apart.


    It was a sad thing.


    The landscape was familiar, yet there was not a single familiar person left in it.


    The dock was once filled with people. The arrogant and overbearing government agents, my junior Woo Min-hee¡ªthey were all gone.


    According to Defender, the only ones left at the docks now were zombies and cultists.


    Even then, the last time Defender passed through, he hadn¡¯t seen any monsters.


    But the Complex¡¯s survivors had spoken of cultists leading monsters around.


    Defender and I had worked together many times.


    We weren¡¯t exactly a team, but a single glance or a quick hand signal was all we needed to communicate.


    Above all, the most valuable thing we had was trust.


    I trusted him.


    And he trusted me.


    Defender went ahead to scout first.


    Sometimes, his unnerving tendencies still caught me off guard.


    But when I saw him take the lead like this, I found that I didn¡¯t really care.


    I¡¯ve said it before, and I¡¯ll say it again¡ªDefender is an outstanding hunter.


    His overall combat skills were versatile, but in one-on-one fights, scavenging, reconnaissance, and survival tactics, he was even better than me.


    Night belonged to the zombies.


    But there were things far more dangerous than zombies.


    So, we decided to wait for nightfall before making our move.


    Soon enough, Defender returned from his reconnaissance.


    "The number of zombies has dropped since I was last here. And I don¡¯t mean by half¡ªI mean nearly wiped out."


    "Must be the cultists¡¯ doing."


    "Most likely."


    For the cultists, zombies were a shield, protecting them from the Legion faction.


    But now that the Legion was gone, zombies were nothing more than a nuisance¡ªvermin to be exterminated.


    Beneath the full moon rising high in the sky, we held our breath and watched the docks.


    There wasn¡¯t much we could see in the dark.


    But sound told us everything we needed to know.


    The most frequent sound?


    Insects.


    No matter how eerie a zombie¡¯s moan was, it became insignificant before the autumn chorus of insects longing for the season.


    We lay there, waiting for another sound to break through the background noise.


    "Skeleton."


    Lying prone beside me, Defender spoke.


    He had something to say.


    I braced myself before answering.


    "What is it?"


    "It¡¯s about my sister."


    "...Yeah?"


    "What? She¡¯s not your type?"


    So that¡¯s where this was going.


    "Your sister, huh."


    "Yeah."


    Type?


    She was beautiful, had history with me, and at the very least, she was bright and cheerful whenever we spoke.


    As a man, there was no reason to refuse.


    But what could I say?


    Something about it just felt different.


    It was an almost fundamental rejection, as if we were simply too different.


    "What?"


    Defender smirked faintly as he watched me.


    Even in the dim light, his sharp, handsome face stood out.


    That face was waiting for my answer.


    "You really want to make me your ¡®Suh-seobang¡¯?"


    "Wouldn¡¯t that be nice?"


    "...You¡¯re coming on pretty strong."


    Unlike me, who was still smirking, Defender¡¯s expression remained blank.


    That meant he was serious.


    I wiped the grin off my face as well and thought for a moment.


    "You know..."


    "?"


    "The guy we¡¯re looking for¡ªJang Ki-young."


    "The headmaster, you mean?"


    "Yeah. You have no idea how hard he tried to get me married. Or, more specifically, to make sure I had kids."


    Defender, being a product of the Hunter Academy, instantly understood the historical implications of my words.


    "Oh, you mean that ¡®Second-Gen Hunter¡¯ plan? The one where they pushed elite hunters to have kids as soon as possible?"


    More accurately, it wasn¡¯t just about producing superior hunters.


    It was part of a larger experiment¡ªto see how monster exposure and Rift contamination affected future generations.


    Either way, Jang Ki-young¡¯s intentions were obvious.


    "He tried to set me up with someone so many times."


    "That¡¯s news to me."


    "Even Kim Daram was one of his picks."


    "Wait, seriously...?"


    For once, the great psychopath Defender actually reacted.


    I could see his expression shift the moment Kim Daram¡¯s name came up.


    Now, how much should I tell him?


    "She never admitted it, but I had ways of finding out. Another guy told me she was called in by Jang Ki-young before she ever came to me as my first team member."


    "You¡¯re saying Headmaster Jang personally sent Kim Daram to you? Professor¡ªno, Skeleton?"


    "It¡¯s just speculation. But a pretty damn likely one."


    "Man. If we still had Hunter! Apocalypse! boards running, this would be an instant top post."


    "Hmm. You think so?"


    Honestly, it wasn¡¯t that big of a deal.


    Kim Daram and I never had any romantic interest in each other.


    It was always a superior-subordinate dynamic¡ªnothing more.


    If I were to be completely honest, my type was definitely not a woman as materialistic, relentless, and terrifyingly gorilla-like as Kim Daram.


    Judging by the disgrace she was bringing upon herself now, my instincts back then had been correct.


    "It wasn¡¯t just Kim Daram."


    "Oh?"


    "Even Woo Min-hee was one of Jang Ki-young¡¯s match-up candidates."


    "Now that I have a hard time believing."


    "She never went through with it. But it¡¯s a fact that many female graduates from the Academy¡ªones who either died in China or disappeared without a trace¡ªwere intentionally assigned to me."


    My team had a disproportionately high number of female members compared to others.


    If we included support personnel, the percentage sometimes reached as high as 60%.


    But back then, I was nothing more than a tool.


    A weapon forged for one purpose:


    To kill monsters.


    "...And after all that, do you really think I¡¯d just fall for a pretty girl standing next to me?"


    Defender chuckled.


    "You¡¯re tougher than I thought."


    "Yeah. I am tough."


    "Skeleton looks easy to me."


    "Skeleton¡¯s even less easy."


    We exchanged a few jokes.


    Then, as if on cue, we both fell silent.


    A dull, echoing thud rang out from across the docks, carrying under the moonlight.


    Kaang!


    The sound was distorted by distance, but I knew exactly what it was.


    The impact of a blunt weapon smashing into human flesh¡ªspecifically, a skull.


    How did I know?


    Because I¡¯d heard it countless times.


    When the furious Chinese army lined up rebels, too cheap to waste bullets, and crushed their heads with metal pipes¡ªwhat they called ¡®zombie-breaker rods.¡¯


    "Cultists."


    We spotted them beneath the moonlight.


    They weren¡¯t dressed in extravagant robes like the ones from Yuan Province.


    Instead, they wore plain clothes¡ªbut each had a white sash, like the ones worn by politicians during elections.


    There were five of them.


    Only one had a shotgun.


    The rest carried heavy clubs.


    They strolled casually, smashing zombies'' heads as they passed.


    "Hahahaha!!"


    From their scattered laughter, it was obvious¡ª


    They were enjoying it.


    We observed their patrol route carefully.


    When they stopped in front of a warehouse, they suddenly turned back.


    "They¡¯re heading back."


    Then, we heard it.


    A soft chime.


    Ding¡ªding¡ª


    And the sound of wagon wheels creaking.


    Under the moonlight, a single rickshaw rolled forward.


    The man pulling it¡ª


    "Instructor."


    Jang Ki-young.

 Chapter 119.4: Tool (4)

    Throughout my school years and my time in active duty, I faced numerous criticisms and slanders, but the hardest thing to endure was the misunderstanding of my relationship with Jang Ki-young.


    "Isn''t Jang Ki-young actually Park Gyu¡¯s real father?"


    "I¡¯m not the only one who thinks that."


    "It could be a smokescreen."


    "If Jang Ki-young had given just half the attention he gives Park Gyu to the other students, there wouldn''t have been so many dropouts."


    I was his top student, monopolizing his support and attention.


    Someone¡¯s attention often leads to someone else¡¯s jealousy.


    It¡¯s a very natural flow, but deep down, I was reluctant to let Jang Ki-young become a father-like figure to me.


    In reality, I was his student, but I didn¡¯t like him, and over time, I even came to hate him.


    The feeling of hatred grew in proportion to my rising fame, the increasing number of monsters I defeated, and just before I left China, I even mentally branded Jang Ki-young as a complete fraud.


    However, despite that deep-seated hatred, there was one unchanging fact.


    Jang Ki-young liked me.


    He genuinely depended on me and hoped I would achieve even greater accomplishments.


    My success was his pride.


    I won¡¯t deny that sincerity.


    "Park Gyu. Your posture is off. Some people say that a rigid and disciplined posture doesn¡¯t help much in real combat, but posture is the mirror that reflects your heart. When you are lost, it will be the reference point that sets your course."


    After work, my mentor¡¯s image suddenly appeared in my mind, forcing me to relive the harsh personal lessons he made me endure.


    That image was soon replaced by a living corpse, an emaciated figure with pale, lifeless pupils, dragging a cart like a mummy.


    "Ugh... nozzle... nozzle... jet spray..."


    The fact that Jang Ki-young still had some awareness was true.


    But in this state, wouldn¡¯t it be better for him to just remain silent, like a normal zombie?


    A chill ran down my spine, and I felt an eerie sense of dread.


    "..."


    I wasn¡¯t in good shape.


    I could feel the disturbance in my emotions.


    "Skeleton."


    Defender looked at my face.


    "Your expression isn¡¯t good."


    I responded with hand signals.


    It meant I wanted to proceed.


    We decided to bypass the fanatic.


    We were cautious, keeping as much distance as possible, taking a route that would lead us away from the potential sensory-equipped enemies, while still heading towards Jang Ki-young.


    Avoiding the fanatic meant we would encounter other enemies.


    There were a group of zombies stumbling behind a warehouse that had been eroded by time, where even the moonlight could not reach.


    They noticed us and sluggishly started walking toward us, one of them sprinting in our direction with surprising speed.


    Defender stepped forward.


    Bam!


    Blunt weapons are extremely effective when dealing with zombies.


    Human bones and tendons are sturdier than they appear, and blades dull much more quickly than expected.


    Snap!


    Defender, merciless as always, crushed the running zombie''s head with one strike, then quickly advanced, knocking another zombie down with a swift blow and then slamming its head down with his front paw.


    I followed close behind and dealt with the zombies trying to attack from the sides.


    Crack!


    In an instant, the zombie horde was cleared.


    Most of the work had been done by Defender.


    He approached me, wielding a club dripping with slimy blood.


    "Are you okay? You seem to be feeling worse all of a sudden."


    "I¡¯m fine."


    I wasn¡¯t fine.


    The truth was, I was shaken.


    The problem was the cause.


    I wasn¡¯t shaken because of Jang Ki-young''s changed appearance.


    I already knew the reality of him, and I had been prepared for even worse outcomes.


    What truly shook me was the surprise.


    The fact that Jang Ki-young, the old man I despised so much, could still shake my emotions just by appearing in front of me was something I couldn¡¯t bear.


    "Let¡¯s go."


    Had Jang Ki-young really been that important to me?


    From the start, he didn¡¯t like me or choose me as his successor.


    In fact, during our first meeting, he had shown his usual, condescending attitude when dealing with students who didn¡¯t meet his standards, much like how he treated Kang Han-min.


    He only began to treat me as his true student after I excelled in various tests.


    That was when I took the top spot for the first time.


    From that point on, I became Jang Ki-young¡¯s disciple. Before that, I was just another student he had hoped would drop out.


    In other words, Jang Ki-young only saw me as a tool.


    "There¡¯s another group up ahead. Their numbers are few, but it looks like they have a lot of runners. What should we do?"


    I continued to respond with hand signals.


    We would push forward.


    Taking a different route would only bring us into contact with zombies that the fanatics hadn¡¯t dealt with.


    "What about the fanatics?"


    "There¡¯s been no reaction. I can still hear the whistling from afar. At least 300 meters away."


    "The sound travels further and clearer at night. The whistle could be a deception."


    We paused and observed the situation.


    Creak- creak¡ª


    Jang Ki-young was still dragging a cart along the pier.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    His slow, staggered movements with the cart seemed oddly peaceful, though it didn¡¯t fit the situation.


    Jang Ki-young soon entered a warehouse by the pier.


    It was marked with the name "13B," partially erased.


    I remained still, listening intently, trying to pick up any sounds from the surroundings.


    A cloud covered the moon.


    As the world darkened, the chorus of insects grew louder.


    However, it wasn¡¯t enough to completely drown out our hearing.


    With guns in hand, we calmly watched the potential areas where enemies might appear, ready to fire at a moment¡¯s notice.


    In the past, people with sensory abilities were terrifying, but after several encounters, I realized that they were no different from us. They had human limitations and weren¡¯t the supernatural beings they were made out to be.


    Fear mostly comes from ignorance.


    Once I figured out how to deal with them, I realized that sensory abilities weren¡¯t directly helpful in combat.


    Ironically, the first person to downplay sensory abilities was none other than Jang Ki-young.


    "If you find a person, what then? Does finding them mean they¡¯ll die? No, right? That¡¯s something you can solve with technology. Just using infrared sensors, you can find almost anyone."


    At the time, his words were dismissed as nonsense, but now, after all this time, they seemed convincing.


    However, that doesn¡¯t mean Jang Ki-young had foresight.


    The main reason he downplayed sensory abilities was because the person he was competing with for resources was a low-level Awakened.


    Everything with my mentor followed this pattern.


    The reason his words often ended up being accurate was not because he was extraordinary.


    It was because he spoke so much.


    Rustle¡ª


    Someone was there.


    A fanatic.


    It seemed they had discovered and were following us.


    After all, there was a bit of noise when we dealt with the zombies.


    "Let¡¯s lure them."


    I headed towards the collapsed warehouse with Defender.


    Inside the warehouse were countless zombies.


    Most of them were standing still, frozen in place, not moving at all.


    They were dormant zombies.


    When they sense the breath of a human, they react and wake up.


    As expected, when we appeared, the zombies started twitching and made murmuring sounds.


    They were trying to wake up.


    Normally, they would scatter, but here, there was a bit of a gamble involved.


    I pulled out a handkerchief and covered my nose and mouth.


    According to research, zombies react most strongly to sound, especially gunshots, but they also respond to human breath just as sensitively.


    It¡¯s not so much a reaction to carbon dioxide itself, but rather the specific combination of gases that humans typically exhale.


    Thus, if you cover your mouth with a handkerchief in front of dormant zombies, you can reduce their sensitivity to your breath.


    Of course, entering a space full of zombies is something only a madman would do.


    Normally, people would take a detour or use overwhelming firepower to clear them out.


    But here, a gamble was needed.


    I pulled out a handkerchief and covered my nose and mouth, trying to keep my presence as minimal as possible as I scanned the inside of the warehouse.


    Luck was on our side.


    There was a makeshift catwalk connecting the assembly stairs, close to the roof.


    "Here?" Defender asked.


    I nodded at his question and stepped onto the stairs first.


    Creeeak¡ª


    It was quite old but not decayed to the point of collapse.


    The weight of two fully armed adult men would be easily supported.


    "Let¡¯s set an ambush here."


    While keeping my air supply restricted, I briefly explained the plan to Defender, my eyes on the zombies while simultaneously observing the building structure.


    It had been revealed in Jeju, but sensory abilities are not invincible.


    A sensory perceiver can only detect where someone is, not who they are.


    They can¡¯t tell whether we''re scavengers coming for supplies or trained hunters.


    Thus, we could trick them into thinking we were nothing more than moths attracted to the flame, not all-knowing trackers who could find anyone hiding.


    We dug a death trap here.


    "They¡¯re inside."


    I could hear the fanatic''s voice beyond the wall.


    From the footsteps, there were three of them.


    They seemed to have underestimated us.


    Perhaps, not having encountered proper combatants in this area gave them an overconfidence boost.


    The fanatics entered the building.


    They most likely encountered a large number of zombies first.


    "Hah!"


    "These are dormant zombies."


    The fanatics mostly carried blunt weapons, with only one of them holding a shotgun.


    Was there someone with a shotgun among them?


    Bang!


    There was.


    And they made a mistake.


    "Uuuagh..."


    "Grraarr..."


    Surprised by the sudden discovery of many zombies, the fanatic inadvertently woke up the dormant ones.


    There were about fifty of them.


    It would be great to deal with them all at once, but a prolonged fight would only attract more zombies.


    While the number of zombies in this pier didn¡¯t seem to be that high, it would still be a daunting number for five fanatics, especially since they were lacking automatic firearms.


    "Let¡¯s run."


    Still covering my air supply, I quickly ascended the catwalk and walked briskly.


    There was a ladder leading to the roof at the midway point.


    Once on the roof, I would observe the situation and head directly towards Jang Ki-young¡¯s warehouse.


    "Grraarr!!!"


    The zombies were waking up.


    They immediately went after the ones who ? N§àv§Öl?g?t ? (Official version) had woken them up.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!!!


    "Damn!"


    The fanatic¡¯s exclamation echoed from beyond the wall.


    Seizing the opportunity, I moved swiftly along the catwalk towards the roof.


    Standing on the steep sloped roof, I watched the situation below.


    Boom!


    I felt a shockwave.


    One of the fanatics who had tracked us down was apparently an Over 5-Level Awakened.


    Crisp crack!!


    With a flash of pale light, I could hear the sound of something burning, which suggested they had gained some offensive powers as well.


    But the zombies¡¯ momentum was not to be underestimated.


    Wooo¡ª


    Wooo¡ª


    The response of the zombies echoed from all directions.


    They had realized their kin were under attack and were showing signs of trying to rescue them.


    The fanatics weren¡¯t fools, so they started retreating.


    I quickly descended the ladder with Defender and rushed toward the target warehouse.


    [ 13B ]


    There.


    There, my mentor Jang Ki-young was.


    The closer I got to the warehouse, the heavier my footsteps seemed to get.


    "..."


    Was this really how it was?


    Despite all my denial and disregard, was it that in the end, connections, love, and the magnitude of attention couldn¡¯t be easily dismissed with a single cynical thought?


    I had been a tool for Jang Ki-young.


    That was a fact.


    Let me add one more thing.


    I was also his pride, his bragging right.


    I know that.


    Every time I discovered and defeated a new monster, identified new weaknesses, or patterns, Jang Ki-young was genuinely happy, as if it was his own achievement.


    I hated that.


    But why?


    Because he was a snob?


    Because he was a fraud, pretending to know things he didn¡¯t?


    I was getting closer to the warehouse.


    The sound of a dead person¡¯s breath could be heard so clearly it almost stuck to my skin.


    Taking one more step, I heard the voice I knew all too well, a voice I thought I would never hear again, coming through the open warehouse door.


    "Herzenfrey¡¯s method relied too much on machinery. My approach is much more tailored for humans. Machines are simply tools for the population. Tools presuppose humans. If you forget that simple fact, you¡¯ll make the same mistakes again."


    It was Jang Ki-young.


    My mentor Jang Ki-young.


    The very one who used to talk nonsense so seriously.


    "..."


    I felt Defender¡¯s gaze on me.


    He spoke softly, his voice low.


    "Go in. I¡¯ll keep watch."


    I nodded to thank him and entered the warehouse.


    And I saw it.


    A mountain of discarded junk, too overwhelming to describe.


    The large pier warehouse was filled with piles of scrap metal and equipment that made massive mounds scattered throughout the space. At the center of it all, an aging man, his hair mostly fallen out, leaned unsteadily in front of a workbench, swaying like a person having a seizure.


    "..."


    No words came out.


    Back when he was still human, he could talk just fine in that small rented apartment.


    But now, my mentor, with his signature absurdity, continued talking nonsense nonstop.


    "The invincible, Kraken-type thick gloves that were supposed to be impervious to human technology, they got pierced by non-stop artillery fire. Monsters are like that. I am, too. Woo Min-hee, she¡¯s the same. Should¡¯ve expelled her. Kang Han-min. You¡¯re a bad guy. You¡¯re such a bad guy. Don¡¯t curse me. I haven¡¯t done anything wrong."


    For a brief moment, I had hope.


    Maybe my mentor wasn¡¯t entirely insane.


    Maybe, just maybe, he, who had even gained Awakened powers, would give me a new lesson he hadn¡¯t taught before.


    I thought of the black sheet next to Suu''s in my room, gathering courage, pushing away the waves of emotions I couldn''t even understand, and opened my mouth to the back of my mentor, who was still muttering.


    "Instructor."


    Jang Ki-young stopped moving.


    The zombie slowly turned to look at me.


    I was curious about what he would say.


    He spoke.


    "What? Is that you, Park Gyu?"


    My mentor turned back towards his workbench.


    "Remember what I said the other day?"


    "Huh?"


    "I told you I would make a secret weapon for you! That general-type bastard! I¡¯m going to give him a good lesson!"


    "......"


    "I¡¯ve almost finished it. Yeah, it¡¯s almost done!"


    Jang Ki-young laughed out loud.


    I couldn¡¯t say anything.


    It had happened.

 Chapter 119.5: Tool (5)

    What should we think of someone who has changed into a completely different person, someone we knew better than anyone¡ªsomeone we believed would never change?


    "Ughhh... Right. Right. Hwang Jang-wook. The 30 million won he borrowed from me. He still hasn¡¯t paid it back. I¡¯m done with lawsuits. Just seeing the courthouse makes me sick."


    "The research on the rifts is still being updated regularly even after the war. For now, our predictions were correct. Stains, diseases, and a little bit of air. I could really go for some ox bone soup. Pour in some kimchi juice into a hot stone pot."


    "Has our daughter still not taken the college entrance exam? Why hasn¡¯t she even shown up? She¡¯s my daughter. She always sides with her mother. Everything she wears is bought with money I earned from the top of her head to the tips of her toes."


    It didn¡¯t take long to realize Jang Ki-young had lost his mind.


    He was no longer the Jang Ki-young I knew.


    As much as his outward appearance had turned into that of a zombie, his inner self had rotted and decayed.


    He ? N§àv§Öl?g?§ä ? (Continue reading) was already insane, and there was no saving him.


    "Let¡¯s go."


    As the leader of the team, one of my greatest virtues was making quick decisions.


    "What? Already?"


    Defender, who had been standing guard by the door, reacted in surprise.


    I glanced at Jang Ki-young, then answered.


    "He''s already finished."


    "I get that, but..."


    "Why? Do you have a different opinion?"


    I waited for Defender¡¯s response, standing guard outside the warehouse.


    Defender paused, as if organizing his thoughts, before speaking.


    "I just think it¡¯s too hasty."


    "Maybe. But do you think... you think there''s a chance for that guy to recover?"


    "I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m not a doctor. But still, he was your mentor, right?"


    As we continued the conversation, a bitter smile crept onto my face.


    It felt like the roles had reversed.


    Defender, a self-proclaimed psychopath in the community, seemed more like a normal person, while I, an otherwise pragmatic and steady user, felt like a psychopath in comparison.


    "How about giving him a little more time?" Defender suggested.


    "I know something¡¯s off with him, but at least he recognized your voice, right?"


    "Is that really that important?"


    "Yeah."


    Defender nodded.


    "My grandfather couldn¡¯t even do that. He didn¡¯t even recognize his children or grandchildren when they came."


    I inadvertently learned a bit about Defender¡¯s family history.


    "At least he¡¯s making something, right?"


    Defender stared at Jang Ki-young with an indifferent look in his eyes.


    I could read his emotions through the way he looked at Jang Ki-young.


    Defender wasn¡¯t worried about Jang Ki-young.


    His fate didn¡¯t matter to him much. To him, it was no different from how he felt about anyone who entered his territory.


    What Defender was really worried about was me.


    He was concerned about me trying to end a relationship that had lasted all this time with just a one-minute encounter, so he was suggesting we give him more time to avoid potential regrets later.


    I felt a small sense of gratitude toward his care and looked at Jang Ki-young.


    He was still tinkering with something.


    I didn¡¯t want to know what he was making.


    It was probably some piece of junk like a rocket axe, embodying a faded fantasy.


    As I silently stood there, Defender approached Jang Ki-young.


    "Principal! How long is this going to take?"


    True to his psychopathic nature, Defender could act like a charming young man whenever he wanted.


    "Who? Is it Hong Jung-ho?" Jang Ki-young answered unexpectedly.


    Defender, clearly stunned, turned to look at me.


    He couldn¡¯t believe Jang Ki-young remembered his name.


    "Yeah! It¡¯s Hong Jung-ho."


    "Wait for an hour. I¡¯ve made all the parts. I just need to assemble them now."


    Defender whispered to me.


    "I¡¯ll take a quick look at what he¡¯s making."


    While I stood watch, Defender glanced at Jang Ki-young, who was turned away, then returned to me.


    "I have no idea what it is."


    "Isn¡¯t it something like a powered suit? Like the ones the Americans used to wear?"


    "No, it¡¯s not that. What should I say? You might want to see it for yourself."


    "Why would I understand something you can¡¯t?"


    "Maybe not."


    "How long do you think it¡¯ll take?"


    We couldn¡¯t afford to wait too long.


    If Jang Ki-young said it would take an hour, then even that felt like too long.


    "Just wait a bit longer. It¡¯s almost done! Almost done!"


    There was another problem.


    Jang Ki-young was the type to dabble in everything, but know nothing properly.


    He was the type of person who only had shallow knowledge spread over a wide range.


    Given that most of his knowledge came from the internet, I didn¡¯t think a zombie version of my mentor would produce anything worthwhile when tinkering with machines.


    But...


    "This is an amazing item. It will be a historical discovery. This will change the paradigm!"


    My mentor¡¯s frenzied fragments were echoing with excitement.


    "Professor! Wait! It¡¯s a custom-made weapon that can kill the general-type monster! Just you wait! Kang Han-min, that monster of a guy, always says he¡¯s the best, but the real best was always Professor! My mentor, Professor!"


    I thought for a moment.


    "......"


    Maybe I was weakening.


    In the past, this would have been impossible to consider.


    But now, I felt an obligation deep inside me to at least see the result.


    "Isn¡¯t it a paradigm shift?" I said, with a wry smile, looking at Defender.


    "Okay."


    "Has your mind changed?"


    "Yeah. At this point, let¡¯s wait until the principal¡¯s work is complete."


    And so, the waiting began.


    Clang! Thud! Thud!


    Jang Ki-young kept hammering away at the pile of scrap metal.


    Defender occasionally went forward to check the progress, but each time he came back, he had a perplexed expression, unable to identify what was being made.


    In the midst of my unease, the hour passed quickly.


    Clang! Clang! Clang!


    Jang Ki-young¡¯s hammering never stopped, nor did it show any sign of slowing.


    Defender, with his usual pleasant demeanor, asked, "When will it be done, Principal?"


    Jang Ki-young answered gruffly, as he hammered again.


    "I told you an hour, didn¡¯t I?"


    It seemed like my hope had been in vain.


    Only now did Defender seem to realize that.


    His once warm expression froze, turning cold.


    "This is getting weird."


    The situation had changed.


    Now it seemed like Defender wanted to leave.


    That was the right choice.


    We had spent enough time in this dangerous area.


    While we hadn¡¯t faced direct threats from zombies or fanatics, the zombies were everywhere, and the fanatics knew we were here.


    Stalling would bring no benefit.


    But...


    "Principal."


    I didn¡¯t know anymore.


    "Why? Park Gyu? Did you try the caracol tactics I sent you by email? It¡¯s a strategy that could work well against the dancer-type monsters you¡¯ve been struggling with."


    "It was a great tactic."


    I couldn¡¯t understand why I was acting like this.


    "Yeah? Of course. It¡¯s the tactic I came up with, and you carried it out!"


    He wasn¡¯t in his right mind.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    I had never seen, nor used, anything like the caracol tactics.


    I felt my sense of self slowly fray as I asked.


    "How much longer until the work is finished?"


    Jang Ki-young checked his wristwatch.


    "Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes! Just watch TV and wait."


    When Jang Ki-young turned on the remote, a TV connected to a long antenna wire in the corner of the warehouse flickered to life.


    Jang Ki-young spoke, looking at the TV.


    "What¡¯s this? Is Pickle still active? When I was young, she used to dance and sing. It feels like age doesn¡¯t matter anymore."


    I already knew everything was over, but that scene was like a final nail in the coffin.


    From the old TV Jang Ki-young was watching, all we could see was the endless static of pale gray noise.


    "......"


    Let me correct myself.


    Jang Ki-young wasn¡¯t crazy.


    Because that wasn¡¯t even Jang Ki-young anymore.


    The shriveled corpse in front of me, babbling incoherently, was just a remnant of the mentor I once knew.


    It was no different from a broken gramophone endlessly playing the same record.


    Defender muttered.


    "You were right. We should have left from the start."


    It was a delayed realization.


    Bang! Bang!


    Gunshots rang out not far from us.


    The only ones armed around here were us and the fanatics.


    Piiieee----


    A whistle.


    And then.


    "There! They¡¯re hiding over there!"


    The fanatics had found us.


    They knew exactly where we were and were tracking us.


    "What should we do?"


    Defender wiped his dagger clean and asked.


    "......"


    Well...


    There isn''t a sharp solution.


    The simplest approach that comes to mind is the most straightforward one: running away to create distance from the fanatics.


    But that¡¯s not as easy as it sounds.


    In this wreckage, our enemies aren¡¯t just the fanatics.


    There are zombies, mutations, and monsters.


    There are plenty of enemies that don¡¯t like humans.


    And then...


    Piiieee--


    A whistle echoed from the other side.


    The whistle was a signal to call for reinforcements.


    "How many fanatics were there back in the old Legion days?"


    "At least a hundred, maybe more."


    "I see."


    It seems like we¡¯re surrounded.


    Defender¡¯s curiosity led to this, and my reluctance to leave solidified the crisis.


    Even though the situation was spiraling into desperation, my mentor was still enjoying himself.


    "See this spray nozzle? Isn¡¯t it shiny and cool? But this is just the handle, like the hilt of a sword. The real sharp blade is the essence of modern chemistry. Even monsters can''t handle the deception!"


    He continued hammering away with excitement.


    From beyond the entrance, I could hear the voices of the fanatics.


    They were right in front.


    "Hey. Those rats. Are they in the zombie warehouse?"


    "The zombie warehouse? Is that for real?"


    "Yeah. Dong-cheol¡¯s watching. The zombie¡¯s in there too, with two others."


    The fanatics seemed to call my mentor a "zombie."


    Having lived in the erosion zone for so long, they must have some knowledge of zombies who maintain their reason to some extent.


    Then came the sound of footsteps.


    From the trajectory of their steps, I estimated there were at least ten of them.


    "There¡¯s a decent path behind the warehouse."


    "Really?"


    "I¡¯ll check it again."


    Defender came back.


    "There¡¯s no one there. It looks like they don¡¯t know this path. It¡¯s rough for people to pass through, but as long as we don¡¯t get caught while climbing, it should be possible."


    Following Defender, we headed toward the back of the warehouse.


    As I passed my mentor, I glanced at what he was making.


    "?"


    What is that?


    Defender must have had the same puzzled look on his face when he came back.


    I honestly have no idea.


    What kind of thing is that, and what¡¯s it even for?


    All I saw was two metal cylinders connected together.


    "Just wait a bit."


    Even now, my mentor wore a creepy smile.


    "Professor."


    "......"


    Defender and I checked the back of the warehouse.


    There was indeed a way.


    It was a dangerous path that required climbing over the remains of a partially collapsed building, but the fact that the fanatics didn¡¯t know it gave us some assurance.


    "Shall we go?"


    Defender asked.


    It¡¯s the right decision.


    I was about to go, until I heard the fanatics¡¯ next words.


    "Let¡¯s deal with them and the zombie together."


    I stopped in my tracks.


    I stood still, replaying their words in my mind.


    "......"


    They said they would deal with my mentor.


    It may seem contradictory to say they would kill someone who was already dead in the first place, but the fanatics were talking about getting rid of my mentor right in front of me.


    The fanatic¡¯s conversation continued.


    "According to the combat report, the zombie is someone who stands on the boundary between life and death, someone who has seen the truth. In a broader sense, they¡¯re a comrade with the same faith as ours. Isn''t that why we¡¯ve kept the zombie around until now?"


    "That zombie hasn¡¯t cooperated with us, though. Despite seeing the truth, he¡¯s been ignoring us, hasn¡¯t he?"


    "That zombie¡¯s mind isn¡¯t intact yet."


    "He¡¯s just pretending. He doesn¡¯t want to cooperate with us, so he¡¯s acting crazy. Didn¡¯t Gyeong-wan see it? That zombie was perfectly fine, talking and even negotiating with others."


    It seems there was some disagreement.


    But that disagreement was soon resolved.


    "I¡¯ve had enough of him. Now that it¡¯s come to this, there¡¯s no need to show mercy."


    The sound of the fanatics moving came through.


    They had made their decision.


    They were going to take care of us and my mentor together.


    "Let¡¯s go."


    Defender began walking toward the back.


    As mentioned earlier, the plan was to escape through the back of the warehouse.


    However, I didn¡¯t move.


    Defender, who had gone ahead, turned around with a hint of confusion on his face.


    "Skeleton?"


    "......"


    "What¡¯s going on?"


    "Go on ahead."


    "What do you mean?"


    With a sigh, I turned back.


    There, still innocently absorbed in his work, was my mentor, now changed beyond recognition.


    "......"


    I couldn¡¯t leave him.


    At least,


    "I will see what Jang Ki-young has created."


    "Huh? Earlier you said you¡¯d just ignore it and leave. Why the sudden change of heart?"


    Defender asked, his tone a bit agitated, but he knew me well.


    Soon, he read the determination on my face.


    "......"


    He chuckled softly.


    "You always seem so calm, but sometimes, you have these unexpected moments."


    Defender turned around.


    As he glanced at me, he smiled a little.


    "Can¡¯t be helped, huh?"


    It seemed like he was willing to stay with me.


    He was trying to match my stubbornness.


    "We don¡¯t have to push ourselves. This is between me and Jang Ki-young."


    "I¡¯ve owed you my life countless times. Not just mine, but my younger sibling¡¯s as well. Even if we die here, there are others who will survive, right? It¡¯ll be easier for them to close their eyes than before."


    Defender¡¯s resolve was firm.


    I didn¡¯t need to reject his kindness.


    "......Thank you."


    After expressing my gratitude briefly, I immediately shared my plan.


    "They don¡¯t know who we are. Whether we¡¯re hunters, soldiers, scavengers, or just civilians in this district."


    "You mean, they¡¯ve misjudged our combat ability?"


    "Yes. Knowing our numbers will only make them complacent."


    Defender knew this well, but the fanatics were mostly just untrained civilians lost in fanaticism.


    So they were weak to shock and lacked tactical awareness.


    Like most untrained groups, they would collapse easily if dealt significant damage in a short period.


    We would pull them in as much as we could and inflict as much damage as possible.


    The more lethal the damage, the more time we could buy.


    If all went according to plan, it might even increase our chances of survival rather than just escaping.


    After all, if we fled through the back, we¡¯d still be tracked by the sensory perceivers.


    Either way, once the fanatics had spotted us, we were already on the edge.


    Thud¡ª


    The fanatics were coming.


    I tilted my mirror slightly to see their figures.


    Five of them.


    They were approaching together.


    "Don¡¯t shoot."


    One of them was an Over 5-Level Awakened.


    Who exactly it was remained unclear.


    Two of their eyes were faintly glowing.


    I checked their weapons.


    One man with radiant eyes was carrying a domestic submachine gun, and the others had cold weapons, none of which had blades.


    A wooden club, an aluminum bat, chains, and even knuckles.


    Were they planning to capture us alive?


    I smiled grimly.


    What a cocky choice.


    I signaled to Defender.


    He nodded and stood behind the warehouse.


    With a smooth motion, he drew his axe with one hand.


    "......"


    A price had to be paid.

 Chapter 119.6: Tool (6)

    The footsteps, which had approached loudly and boldly, paused briefly in front of the warehouse before resuming in a more cautious and stealthy manner.


    That short stop and change hinted that it was good news for us.


    It meant one of them might be a sensory perceiver.


    They had planned to inform us of our location beforehand and strike all at once.


    The quiet footsteps soon shifted once again, this time to explosive and violent sounds of running.


    Tack, tack, tack, tack!


    It was one person.


    Probably the most daring among them, a sort of assault leader.


    "Bastards!"


    He stopped just in front of the wall we were hiding behind, threatening us as if he were about to reveal himself any second.


    He might be testing our weapons.


    After all, this was an era where everyone was armed with firearms, and at the very least, crossbows.


    As previously discussed, we refrained from using firearms and took a few steps back.


    The brief silence returned.


    And then...


    Thud!


    A shockwave.


    The fanatic Awakened had used his power.


    It was a flawless Over 5-Level shockwave.


    "Go on. Go on. Slowly. Slowly."


    A faint North Korean accent could be heard in his voice.


    Step, step.


    The hesitant footsteps sounded closer as they re-formed and approached directly in front of us.


    "Alright, let''s go."


    The footsteps split into two sounds.


    The leading footsteps came from behind, while the following footsteps approached us from the front.


    It was like someone singing the lead and the others echoing the chorus.


    "......"


    I signaled to Defender.


    No firearms.


    I had read the Awakened''s thoughts.


    He was slowly advancing, intending to place his team within the range of the reverse field¡¯s protection, while trying to push in his forces armed with melee weapons.


    It was a strategy that might be viable if the Awakened was on the team.


    But he had chosen the wrong opponent.


    Inside the warehouse were two ferocious beasts.


    And those beasts had utilized close combat with countless humans.


    "Hello, cuties?"


    The fanatic appeared, protected by his reverse field.


    A tall, broad-shouldered man with a strong presence showed his gaping blackened teeth as he flashed a grin.


    He charged.


    From both sides.


    The man, showing his teeth, raised his arms, but he didn¡¯t have a weapon.


    He was only wearing knuckles.


    He probably killed many people with those knuckles and had gained some confidence from that.


    Thud!


    "Aaaaah!!!!!"


    A human fist is weak.


    What makes humans strong isn¡¯t the fist itself, but the power of the grip and the strength of the shoulders connecting to the arms.


    I drove an axe into the man¡¯s arm and ~N§àv§Ölight~ used another axe to strike the screaming man¡¯s neck.


    Thud!


    I looked beyond the collapsing man.


    Defender had driven a dagger into the neck of another fanatic.


    He shoved the dead fanatic aside and tackled the fanatic that had followed.


    Snap!


    After a brief delay, I caught a glimpse of Defender handling the second fanatic.


    There was one problem.


    I faced forward.


    The 5-Level Awakened drew two pistols and aimed them at us.


    Bang! Bang, bang, bang, bang!


    As soon as we took cover behind the warehouse, the retaliatory gunfire rang out.


    The accuracy of the shots didn¡¯t seem that high.


    The bullets were ricocheting in absurd directions.


    But someone with a firearm is always stronger than someone without.


    Hoping for the opponent to make a mistake and charging in with no other choice would be a suicidal move.


    "These bastards?!"


    But I wouldn¡¯t let that guy go.


    I signaled Defender, who was taking cover behind the wall near the entrance.


    Defender nodded and stuck his body out from behind the entrance.


    Bang! Bang!


    The retaliatory gunfire immediately rang out, but Defender had only briefly shown himself.


    "Hey! Hey! Come quickly!"


    The Awakened was calling for reinforcements.


    Behind the frantic screams, I could hear the sound of footsteps stumbling backward.


    Click¡ª


    A firearm appeared as the man emerged from the other side, aiming it at us.


    "Aaah!"


    In the dim light, I clearly saw the man aiming his firearm in his eyes.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    What I was waiting for was the sound that would follow the gunshots.


    Screech, screech¡ª


    The magazine ran out.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Defender, who had been behind the wall, grabbed one of the bodies and threw it toward the entrance.


    Bang!


    That was the final gunshot.


    Both pistols had run out of ammunition.


    I heard the sound of an empty trigger clicking as it hit the ground, and I sprinted out.


    Thud!


    The man with the pale face tried to create a shockwave, but my eyes were already calculating the distance between him and me.


    5 meters.


    The minimum range of the reverse field deployed by the Awakened.


    It could probably be reduced a little more, but it would never reach zero.


    Even the monster the Awakened had mimicked was constrained by this minimum range barrier.


    "Don¡¯t come!"


    I closed the gap to within 4 meters and fired.


    The fanatic pulled the trigger, but it was only my shots that rang out.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Three shots in rapid succession.


    Beyond the collapsing man, I could see the fanatics who had surrounded us.


    Fortunately, only a few were armed with automatic weapons.


    Most were armed with melee weapons.


    In an area swarming with zombies, it would have been a rational choice, but at least here, it worked in my favor.


    I withdrew calmly into the warehouse in front of the fanatics.


    I looked toward Jang Ki-young.


    The short but intense battle we had just fought had no effect on him.


    Under the rusty light, he was still moving, completely absorbed in making his ''secret weapon.''


    I exchanged glances with Defender.


    We kicked the bodies lying on the floor and placed them in front of the entrance to create an obvious barricade.


    It was a small shock tactic.


    Outside, there were at least 30 fanatics.


    If they all charged in at once, even we wouldn¡¯t stand a chance.


    But that was a rare scenario.


    A person¡¯s life is unique to them, and this was true for both them and us.


    Honestly, who would want to die?


    I felt the expected effect spreading among them.


    There was no response.


    It seemed that after wiping out the Awakened and the others in an instant, their morale had been shattered.


    But they wouldn¡¯t retreat.


    They had too many numbers to retreat.


    They would probably come up with another method after some consideration.


    "Professor."


    I called out to Jang Ki-young.


    "What is it, Park Gyu?"


    "I don''t have much time."


    "Alright! Alright! I''ll make it fast! It''s almost done! Damn it! I still have to make something for Daram! Where the hell is Daram? Is she off gossiping about Woo Min-hee, Jang Soo-ji, Ko Jeong-a, Han Yeo-ul, Na Hye-in, and the others again?"


    Jang Ki-young sighed.


    "Why does she live like that? Why does she compare herself to others over trivial things? With a body bestowed by God, yet with such a twisted mind, she can''t rise above!"


    Despite everything, Jang Ki-young seemed to have a keen understanding of Kim Daram''s true nature.


    Anyway, even amidst this brief silence, the fanatics were eagerly planning their next attack.


    "Call more brothers! We need more brothers!"


    A woman, likely the commander, shouted orders to the followers from behind a vehicle.


    I checked through the mirror.


    The fanatic leader wore a white robe that covered his entire body, and across it, in elegant calligraphy, were the Chinese characters ÈfÁ÷šw×Ú »ìÊÀÒ»½y¡ª"All Rivers Return to the Same Source, Unifying the World."


    "Is that the Heo Jun you were chasing?"


    I asked Defender.


    "No, Heo Jun is a man."


    Defender¡¯s gaze shifted toward Jang Ki-young.


    In the end, the root of all this trouble was Jang Ki-young.


    With the sensory perceiver dead, escaping through the back route should be much easier now.


    The more time we waste, the worse it gets.


    "Can¡¯t we just take the professor and leave?"


    "...... I¡¯ll talk to him."


    Then Jang Ki-young shouted.


    "It''s done! It''s done!"


    Jang Ki-young raised the item from the table triumphantly.


    "......"


    It was no different from what I saw earlier.


    It was a grotesque object made by attaching two metal cylinders together¡ªits purpose unclear.


    Holding the worthless item, Jang Ki-young looked at me and smiled broadly.


    "Professor. See? This! This!"


    "What is... this?"


    "It¡¯s a specialized weapon for General-type monsters."


    "Is that so."


    "Yes. With this, whether it¡¯s a general-type or anything else, it¡¯s no problem. Our real hunters can kill them with this! With just this!"


    I didn¡¯t understand.


    Are we really supposed to kill a monster that has never been hunted before, using this crude junk?


    The monster that even a Level 11 Hunter from North America tried to hunt but went mad before coming back?


    What¡¯s more terrifying than Jang Ki-young¡¯s appearance¡ªhis nose gone due to zombification¡ªis his thoughts.


    Watching him with a blank expression, Jang Ki-young straightened his face and, like a drunk man, began shouting.


    "Hey! You! Park Gyu! Everything I¡¯ve taught you is correct. I know exactly what you''re thinking!"


    "......"


    "You think I''m wrong, don¡¯t you? Huh? You think I¡¯m wrong, right? You treat me like a fraud! Hey! Do you think I don''t know you?"


    "...... Professor."


    Did he know?


    Did he know and pretend not to?


    Had he welcomed me warmly in front of the apartment, knowing full well my cynicism, and then left me his notebook just before death?


    The sound of a vehicle was heard outside.


    It seemed like reinforcements for the fanatics had arrived.


    The sound of Defender reloading his magazine was sharply clear in the silence.


    "Watch."


    Breaking the stifling silence, Jang Ki-young spoke.


    "I''ll show you. The practicality of the new tool I¡¯ve developed!"


    "Professor."


    "Ah! Wait a minute! Just a little! I just need to pour fuel in here, and it¡¯ll be ready!"


    Jang Ki-young, who had been shouting and scolding just moments ago, now smiled brightly, as if nothing had happened.


    "You¡¯ll be surprised! Haha! Yes! You¡¯ll be surprised! Even the great professor!"


    Thud¡ª


    Something dropped behind me.


    Instinctively, I identified the object that had fallen to the ground.


    A grenade.


    Without hesitation, I leapt forward and grabbed it, throwing it outside the door.


    Boom!


    The grenade exploded in the air.


    "Skeleton."


    Defender looked at me with slight shock.


    I nodded and raised my firearm.


    "Let¡¯s hold out just a little longer."


    The stubbornness of the dead is almost gone.


    A little longer.


    Just a little longer.


    "Waahhh!!!"


    With a roar that seemed to signal their departure, the fanatics rushed forward as a group.


    They weren¡¯t foolish; they didn¡¯t charge straight at us.


    Thud¡ª thud¡ª thud¡ª


    Several deadly objects fell into the warehouse.


    I gave up on covering the entrance and retreated deeper into the warehouse.


    Boom! Boom!


    Grenades exploded one after another, and one of the thrown objects released a thick smoke in all directions.


    A smoke screen.


    Through the thick smoke, I could see shadows of figures holding various weapons.


    "Cease fire!"


    I shouted to Defender and opened fire.


    Bang!


    My aim was at the ceiling, far beyond the smoke.


    There was no shockwave.


    "Fire!"


    Tatatatang!


    Tatatatang!


    Both mine and Defender¡¯s guns fired at the same time.


    Under the relentless barrage of automatic gunfire, the fanatics in the smoke screen fell helplessly.


    "Uaaahhh!!"


    Occasionally, one of them would dart out from the smoke.


    Bang!


    One bullet silenced them.


    The second wave was broken.


    When the thick smoke cleared, piles of corpses and wriggling wounded fanatics were revealed.


    A fanatic, with a wound on his leg, glared at us with bloodshot eyes and tried to say something.


    Bang!


    Defender finished him off with his pistol.


    "We¡¯ve taken down about twelve."


    Quickly counting the bodies, Defender reloaded his rifle.


    He scanned the outside for any movement.


    Dead silent.


    Looking through the mirror, I saw the fanatics retreating behind.


    It seemed like they had finally figured out who we were.


    But this fanatic had a secret weapon.


    "Heo Jun brothers! Call the Heo Jun brothers!"


    The fanatics began chanting strange incantations in unison.


    The chant seemed to be in Chinese, though even if it were in Korean, I wouldn¡¯t have understood it.


    Jingle¡ª


    With the sound of a bell, a pale monster appeared from beyond the darkness.


    A monster.


    With a pale body and many unreadable Chinese characters scrawled across it, the monster, led by the fanatics, was approaching us.


    "What is that?"


    Defender muttered as he looked at the monster.


    I don¡¯t know either.


    It¡¯s an unfamiliar type.


    But if my memory serves me right, that thing is a type first discovered in China.


    A new species discovered just before my retirement.


    Its Chinese pronunciation is "Lu Bu." In Korean, it¡¯s "Yeobo."


    A small and combat-focused type.


    Not an infiltrator.

 Chapter 119.7: Tool (7)

    Avoid combat with unknown types.


    This is the golden rule for hunters.


    The honor of fighting against an unseen new monster is reserved only for the most experienced and seasoned hunter teams.


    In my active days, dealing with new monsters was always our responsibility.


    But now, time has passed, and I¡¯ve lost the sharp instincts I once had, and the outstanding teammates who stood by me have disappeared.


    I''m not belittling Defender.


    He is better suited for dealing with humans than monsters.


    The biggest problem is that the type he''s facing is a combat type.


    Combat types, as the name suggests, are specialized in combat.


    They don¡¯t use minions but instead rely on their overwhelming combat skills to deliver severe damage to their enemies, especially humans.


    It¡¯s possible that the new type I faced in Jeju was also one of these combat types.


    The problem is how a combat type, not an infiltrator, can survive in a hostile environment like Earth without being destroyed. The situation itself is far beyond my comprehension.


    Right now, in front of me, my late mentor has turned into a zombie and is crafting grotesque objects, while the psychopathic Defender is risking his life to guard me, and monsters, the enemies of humanity, are being used as human tools.


    The strangest fact is that I somehow complied with my crazy mentor''s stubbornness.


    In the past, if asked, the Professor I remembered from my days with Jang Ki-young would have never entertained such an idea.


    But in this surreal, midsummer night¡¯s dream of a reality, anything can happen.


    So, let¡¯s ignore why this combat type listens to the fanatic¡¯s orders for now.


    Boom!


    The monster approaches.


    Unlike the character it is named after, it doesn¡¯t resemble a human at all.


    Its body, resembling a disc, is supported by long legs with three or four joints, numbering sixteen in total.


    Why it¡¯s called ¡®Leopard¡¯ is a question I¡¯d have to ask the now-gone Chinese.


    Well, they liked giving things names.


    They even gave names to monsters that had already been discovered in the US.


    One of them was the Guan Yu type, and that one is still vivid in my memory.


    The important thing is that the only things I know about this type are its appearance and role.


    I don¡¯t know how it attacks or harms humans.


    But I¡¯ll find out soon enough. It shot something.


    It was a grayish-white disc.


    I don¡¯t know how, but it was hovering on its own.


    ¡°Skeleton.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    Maybe I should have gathered information from my residents.


    No, that would have been hard.


    I never expected a situation like this to arise back then.


    It¡¯s a danger of my own making.


    Whoosh---


    The monster shot another disc.


    Two, three, and then five.


    They positioned themselves in the air beneath the sixteen legs, spreading in a radial pattern.


    This doesn¡¯t feel right.


    ¡°Threat!¡±


    I signaled my team, following the training manual, and initiated intimidation.


    Bang!


    It barely grazed.


    My question was answered with an answer I already knew.


    Boom!


    Shockwave.


    And then.


    Swish¡ª


    I felt the cold sensation of a bullet brushing past my head.


    Ping!


    The bullet bounced off the scrap near Jang Ki-young.


    The clattering of metal plates from the debris echoed, reminding me of cymbals, as the discs moved.


    Whoosh---


    The discs are coming.


    They form a line.


    ¡°Drones?!¡±


    I agree with Defender¡¯s words.


    That¡¯s a drone.


    Nothing else comes to mind.


    ¡°Fall back!¡±


    ¡°Ah, okay!¡±


    ¡°Threat!¡±


    I initiated intimidation against the discs.


    Bang!


    There¡¯s no response.


    But in that split second, the discs close in with terrifying speed.


    As I see the discs flying towards me, the familiar sleepiness pulls my eyelids down.


    Is this it? Am I finally going to that place?


    The place where my friends and teammates, the people I left to die, are waiting for me?


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    No, not yet.


    Not yet.


    I still have things to do.


    Things I must do.


    Swallow!


    I watched the incoming discs.


    Whoosh---


    Ratatatat!


    Rapid fire.


    One by one, the discs fall, but one of them crashes into me head-on.


    I swung my axe and knocked the disc away.


    Crack!


    I stopped breathing and stared down the disc I had hit with my axe.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    It didn¡¯t explode.


    And then my axe got stuck.


    The disc, pierced by the axe, began to twitch and scatter golden particles as it desperately moved its sharp prongs, likely aiming to kill me.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    This isn¡¯t the end.


    No, it hasn¡¯t even begun.


    If that thing is a ¡°combat type.¡±


    Just as I thought.


    Vroom-vroom---


    The monster with sixteen legs had already ejected more than ten discs from beneath its body.


    ¡°Defender.¡±


    I spoke to Defender.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Can you intimidate it?¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    He didn¡¯t seem confident.


    As expected, he¡¯s not a competent person when it comes to dealing with monsters.


    ¡°Then, can you intercept the discs?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s possible.¡±


    ¡°Be careful. Don¡¯t shoot towards the monster. If we¡¯re unlucky, a stray ricochet might cause a hole in your body.¡±


    ¡°What are you planning to do?¡±


    ¡°I have an idea.¡±


    The structure of the warehouse is similar.


    I¡¯ll settle this on the roof.


    There¡¯s an extremely dangerous tactic, even Jang Ki-young once forbade it.


    But there doesn¡¯t seem to be another choice.


    I entrusted my back to Defender and ran toward the roof.


    ¡°Park Gyu!¡±


    A dark figure blocks my way.


    It¡¯s Jang Ki-young.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    At the most crucial moment, he¡¯s blocking me.


    Holding some useless junk as if it were a treasure.


    ¡°Take it! It¡¯s finished! I¡¯ve completed the ultimate weapon that will give you wings!¡±


    I tried to pass him.


    He blocked me again.


    ¡°Hurry up and try it! Try it! See, there¡¯s a monster right there? Perfect timing! Here! Try my new weapon, Icarus!¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Instructor.¡±


    There¡¯s no time for jokes.


    I don¡¯t plan to entertain his broken fragments, either.


    I might have entertained those thoughts once, but now, with my life on the line, my selfishness, which I¡¯ve delayed, is screaming louder inside me.


    ¡°Park Gyu. Try it.¡±


    ¡°Enough already!¡±


    I yelled without realizing.


    The whole warehouse echoed.


    But the echo of my shout was drowned out by the urgent gunshots.


    Bang!


    I added my shot to the line of fire.


    The second disc fell.


    I looked at my mentor.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Even as a zombie, in the form of a zombie, the fragments of my mentor wore a bewildered and shocked expression.


    I squinted my eyes and passed him by.


    ¡°Look at this¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Jang Ki-young pulled a lever, presumably the switch for the device.


    Whoosh-


    The equipment made a ridiculous sound, like a wind instrument with no air, before it fell powerless to the floor.


    Ignoring him, I walked forward.


    The roof.


    The sea breeze brushed against my hair and cheek.


    I ran across the steep, wide gable roof, bringing the monster into view.


    Vroom-vroom---


    It¡¯s getting worse.


    This is the word to describe the situation.


    The monster now spreads an uncountable number of discs.


    Around thirty, give or take.


    ¡°There! There! The heretics /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ are over there!¡±


    The fanatics haven¡¯t spotted me yet, but the monster has.


    They have most of the abilities of an Awakened.


    Including detection ability.


    The discs fly.


    Most of them head towards me, meaning the monster sees me as a dangerous target.


    Switching to semi-auto,


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    I engage in rapid fire.


    One shot for each disc.


    The discs fall helplessly.


    Even so, five of them remain and rush towards me, but,


    Swish-


    The moonlit axe blades strike them one by one.


    ¡°Skeleton!¡±


    I heard Defender¡¯s voice from below.


    ¡°Provide cover!¡±


    ¡°Cover?¡±


    ¡°Not the monster, the humans!¡±


    Clink-


    I dropped the empty magazine and replaced it with a new one, staring down the monster, which was standing with sixteen legs beneath me.


    Since the emergence of monsters using reflection shields, countless veteran hunters have tested various ways to kill them.


    Just like the pioneers who risked their lives for the advancement of human civilization, they even tried extreme methods that are now mocked as foolish.


    The tactic I plan to use is one of them.


    The Dead Man¡¯s Waltz.


    The energy it takes for a monster to deploy a reflection shield is the same whether it blocks 100 bullets or just one. And the energy a monster can use has limits, which is the basic idea behind the tactic.


    The method is similar to a waltz, as the name suggests.


    Bang!


    Threat.


    Bang!


    A slight pause before the intimidation.


    Bang!


    Another slight pause before the intimidation.


    Swish¡ªswish¡ªswish¡ª


    Every time I initiate intimidation, the bullets ejected from the shield barely graze my head.


    I repeat the three-beat intimidation twice.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    And then.


    Tatatatang!


    A shot at the monster''s body.


    The bullet hits its torso with precision.


    After six intimidations, a single direct hit from a distance to hunt the monster.


    This is the Dead Man''s Waltz.


    But this may not be enough.


    Normally, a sniper with a powerful, high-caliber rifle would deliver the final blow.


    But the number six is not always reliable.


    Sometimes, even after six waltz attempts, the monster will deploy its reflection shield.


    That''s why the tactic is called the Dead Man''s Waltz.


    Furthermore,


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    The monster also learns.


    I applied three intimidations, but the monster only reacted to the first.


    To truly execute the Dance of Death, I must risk my own life.


    Bang!


    I change my aim.


    The monster¡¯s lower left.


    The shield deploys.


    Swish¡ª


    I feel the cold sensation of a bullet skimming past my head as I pull the trigger again.


    Bang!


    The upper right of the monster.


    Swish¡ª


    Bang!


    A slight deviation from the monster¡¯s front.


    Swish¡ª


    I feel the pain.


    Blood trickles.


    I seem to have scalped it unintentionally.


    Ignoring the pain, I quickly aim for three different points with rapid-fire.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Three intimidations, three reflection shields.


    I immediately switch to rapid fire,


    Tatatatatatang!


    A powerful blow.


    The monster staggers.


    ¡°Skeleton!¡±


    I hear Defender¡¯s shout from below.


    ¡°Are you human? No, how are you killing it with just a gun?!¡±


    Clink¡ª


    I replace the magazine and prepare for the counterattack.


    A disc flies.


    I shoot down the monster¡¯s creations with my gun and axe, preparing for the next battle.


    One or two effective hits could kill it.


    But then.


    Tatatatatang!


    The fanatics open fire.


    It¡¯s a machine gun.


    I can see the deathly trajectory of the bullets forming a straight line across the roof.


    ¡°Kill the one on the roof!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a hunter! A real hunter!¡±


    I clench my teeth and tilt my head.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    I almost had it.


    I could have ended this alone.


    But my childish anger was drowned out by the sound of gunfire all around me.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Now the fanatics are using any means necessary.


    To protect the monster they worship as their god, they¡¯ve started attacking from all directions with firearms, ignoring the zombies around them.


    ¡°Defender!¡±


    I shouted to Defender below.


    ¡°Get out of here first.¡±


    ¡°What? What are you saying?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll hold them off. Use the gap to escape through the back.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I asked Ballantine for something.¡±


    ¡°Ballantine¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s very important. It¡¯s a very important thing.¡±


    Tatatatatang!


    The machine gun bullets start sweeping across the roof again.


    But then.


    Thud!


    My foot sinks into a crack.


    It¡¯s deep.


    I can¡¯t pull it out immediately.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    To make matters worse, the trajectory of the bullets follows me.


    I can¡¯t dodge it.


    It¡¯s death.


    As I silently watch fate, smiling bitterly at myself,


    Boom!


    A deafening sound of destruction fills the air from behind.


    It¡¯s the monster¡¯s heartbeat.


    And then I saw it.


    The rain of bullets, aimed at me, piercing the roof, suddenly vanishing into a faint barrier like magic, swallowed up.


    ¡°Ahhh!!¡±


    It¡¯s the reflection shield.


    Someone deployed the reflection shield towards me.


    I turned around.


    On the roof stood a zombie, stark and dry.


    In its hands were crude metallic devices, and its eyes shone even in the dark.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Instructor.¡±


    ¡°Park Gyu.¡±


    Jang Ki-young approached me.


    ¡°Take this. It has real value.¡±


    ¡°Instructor.¡±


    ¡°This thing itself may be useless. But if it¡¯s you, my one and only disciple, you¡¯ll understand the meaning I¡¯ve embedded in it.¡±


    In that brief exchange, we had returned to the past, over ten years ago.


    Inside a high-ceilinged auditorium.


    Sweating, I was doing duck-walks around the auditorium, while a younger Jang Ki-young stood before me, the naive me back then.


    Back then, Jang Ki-young was my teacher.


    ¡°I know you tried to become an Awakened.¡±


    Yes.


    I did.


    Before becoming Awakened, even as an ordinary person, his eyes had always shone. They seemed to shine.


    ¡°That was the wrong way.¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    ¡°I know because I¡¯ve been there. When you become like them, you hear their voices. There are many voices, but some of them are voices you can¡¯t ignore. And that one.¡±


    Jang Ki-young looked down at the monster.


    ¡°It looks like me. But it won¡¯t last long.¡±


    ¡°Instructor.¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤There¡¯s someone who controls them. Yes, the one you saw.¡±


    Jang Ki-young handed me the crude device he made.


    ¡°The one you named the General.¡±


    It was inevitable.


    Refusing it was.


    In this strange space, Jang Ki-young was my mentor at his peak, and I was once the powerless boy from the past.


    ¡°You are the only one who can kill it. Not Kang Han-min, not Na Hye-in. They can¡¯t do it. They¡¯re like them. So don¡¯t listen to their voices, Professor. No, my disciple. Park Gyu. You are the only one who can kill it.¡±


    Boom!


    The illusion shattered from the shockwave Jang Ki-young created.


    ¡°Go.¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    ¡°Take care of the junior too.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Instructor.¡±


    I am Jang Ki-young¡¯s disciple.


    I¡¯ve always followed his words.


    Clutching the crude device, I headed towards the ladder.


    From behind, I heard a chilling sound.


    Vroom-vroom---


    It¡¯s the sound of discs flying.


    But that sound was.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch my disciple!¡±


    It was drowned out by Jang Ki-young¡¯s roar.


    What followed was chaos.


    Unrelenting shockwaves, scattered gunfire, disc attacks, running, the cumbersome and oversized equipment my instructor had made, zombies, zombies, zombies, and finally, under the full moon, my mentor Jang Ki-young, standing alone on the roof.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Goodbye.¡±


    That was the only clear memory from that chaotic day, where I respectfully greeted him.


    *


    ¡°What the hell is this?¡±


    Ha Tae-ho looked at Jang Ki-young¡¯s device with a confused face.


    ¡°Who knows what it¡¯s supposed to be used for? The principle is simple. Primitive. It¡¯s a crude imitation of the monster equipment¡¯s disintegration loading system.¡±


    No one understood the true purpose of the device.


    Everyone interpreted it simply as crude junk.


    ¡°They say a zombie made this? My goodness. I¡¯ve heard of a ghoul, but I never imagined such a zombie would exist.¡±


    There were opinions focused only on the fact that the maker was a zombie.


    I smiled faintly and turned away.


    Now, under the full moon, my domain has taken shape.


    Several bunkers, outer walls, Mother Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s garden, defensive facilities installed all over, and the recently constructed Taehoon House by Ha Tae-ho.


    ¡°Phew.¡±


    I sighed contentedly and looked at the full moon.


    I wonder if my mentor is still alive.


    Well.


    That¡¯s not important.


    What matters is that I know the true meaning hidden in the crude tool Jang Ki-young made.


    Because I am his most beloved disciple.


    I hope my mentor is alive.

 Chapter 120.1: The Creator’s Melancholy (1)

    It¡¯s not my hobby to speak ill of others.


    I express my emotions¡ªwhether I like someone or not¡ªopenly, and I keep my distance from people I don¡¯t get along with.


    This is different from Kim Daram.


    But even I, Park Gyu, occasionally encounter people I can¡¯t hold back my words against.


    For example, Kim Daram.


    There are also historical figures who are universally criticized.


    Among these infamous public figures, our world¡¯s creator is included¡ªat least, anyone who contracted satellite equipment would know this.


    Melon Mask.


    He¡¯s a problematic figure.


    The unprecedented disaster of the apocalypse only briefly obscured his true nature.


    Melon Mask¡¯s famous ¡°outburst¡± occurred when the scorching summer passed, and the cool autumn arrived.


    *


    A genius and a psycho, a rich madman, a con artist.


    These are typical nicknames for Melon Mask.


    Let¡¯s skip over how he built his empire and succeeded¡ªbecause it¡¯s not important and doesn¡¯t fit the theme of the apocalypse.


    To put it simply, Melon Mask was a brilliant entrepreneur from his university days, and by the time he was in his mid-40s, he had continued to succeed, thriving in the land of opportunity, America.


    What made him famous wasn¡¯t just the numerous ingenious business ventures he built.


    His eccentric behavior is just as much a part of who he is.


    The most representative of his eccentricities is ¡°killing social media.¡±


    Before the war, a giant social media platform deleted a few of Melon Mask¡¯s posts for inappropriate reasons.


    For someone like me, it¡¯s something I¡¯d just laugh off, but Melon Mask wasn¡¯t someone who was as forgiving.


    Just because a few of his posts were deleted, Melon Mask spent billions to buy the platform, slowly destroying the entire social media community with his own hands.


    For example, he changed the name of the platform to ¡°Seggs.com,¡± which had sexual connotations, plastered over-the-top ads that dirtied the screen, and suddenly demanded payment while restricting previously free features.


    Eventually, the platform he bought and renamed ¡°Seggs.com¡± shut down.


    All because a few internet comments were deleted.


    Rumor has it that when the site closed, Melon Mask watched the shutdown scene on a luxury yacht while throwing an extravagant party.


    This crazy person is the one who created Viva! Apocalypse!


    Well, Viva! Apocalypse! is a service that mostly highlights Melon Mask¡¯s positive traits¡ªhis exceptional creativity and genius execution.


    In fact, users like me have managed to survive in this little world of Viva! Apocalypse! after the war, never losing our sense of humor and hope.


    Well, those who couldn¡¯t survive are already dead.


    The fact that Melon Mask is now living in space with a giant sloth is well known to all.


    Unlike us, he can live safely, without the threat of erosion, monsters, pesky raiders, or plagues.


    If the ecosystem of the space bunker is functioning and providing food, Melon Mask might live longer than I will.


    And that too, while being the owner of the massive community, Viva! Apocalypse!


    Frankly, it wouldn¡¯t be an exaggeration to say that he is the luckiest human in all of humanity.


    However.


    MELON_MASK: I want to go back to Earth.


    Melon Mask¡¯s outburst hit.


    MELON_MASK: It¡¯s been so long since I¡¯ve been with a woman. I miss the scent of women. The feel of their skin, their voices, I miss it all. It¡¯s so cold here. Everything feels cold.


    MELON_MASK: I can¡¯t take it anymore. I can¡¯t keep living trapped here!


    Melon Mask isn¡¯t without a way to return to Earth.


    One of his modular bunker units includes a small spacecraft capable of returning to Earth.


    All the settings for departure to Earth have already been completed, and he only needs to board and press the button.


    What¡¯s needed is Melon Mask¡¯s biometric data to connect with the rocket system.


    Well, Melon Mask coming back to Earth wouldn¡¯t be the worst thing.


    Before the war, people would have worried, but now, there aren¡¯t many left to stop someone who just wants to die quickly.


    The problem is, if Melon Mask dies, many of the features of our forum could start malfunctioning.


    I don¡¯t know exactly what will go wrong, since I¡¯ve never worked at Melon Mask¡¯s company, but according to VivaBot, Melon Mask¡¯s absence could have a fatal impact on Viva! Apocalypse!''s survival.


    Maybe that¡¯s why.


    For the first time, VivaBot appeared in the forum and opened a public chat room to discuss the current issues in front of everyone.


    VIVA_BOT014: Melon Mask holds most of the authority in Viva! Apocalypse! and the company. He¡¯s the kind of person who doesn¡¯t trust anyone, so he holds the master keys to many important sections. As you all know, there were no changes in Viva! Apocalypse! before Melon Mask was rediscovered because everything was ready, but it couldn¡¯t be released without his approval.


    VIVA_BOT014: If he becomes a space wanderer or falls like a shooting star, you all know, just like PaleNet, maintaining Viva! Apocalypse! will be difficult.


    VIVA_BOT014: The end of Viva! Apocalypse! will be near.


    So what should we do to save Viva! Apocalypse!?


    Well, the answer was a bit strange.


    VIVA_BOT014: Because of this, everyone in the Korean board needs to make Melon Mask happy.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    I don¡¯t understand.


    Why suddenly trying to console Melon Mask when things were going well?


    I wasn¡¯t the only one with this thought, as some users in the chat also raised similar questions.


    Rkkara: ?????


    Anonymous458: What kind of show-off is this all of a sudden?


    tntn_Orthopedics: Looks like he forgot his depression meds on his way to space?


    Anonymous424: So, what do we do? Dress up as a woman and go there?


    SKELTON: (Skeleton¡¯s suggestion) Beatbox, anyone?


    ...


    ...


    Soon, VivaBot responded.


    VIVA_BOT014: I know everyone is confused, but you all know? How lonely it is to be alone? Our Melon Mask, who used to love parties and attention so much. Being with Bumpy is nice for a day or two, but it¡¯s starting to break down. And there¡¯s no hope that the world will get better, right?


    Well, that¡¯s probably true.


    The fact that there¡¯s no hope for the world to get better.


    Perhaps the direct reason for Melon Mask¡¯s depression is also tied to the issues his headquarters is facing.


    But I think the real thing that most triggered Melon Mask¡¯s ego is the Necropolis.


    If we borrow Valentine¡¯s words, the Necropolis, created by a genius who could turn Melon Mask into Melon Mask, is now growing on a scale beyond Viva! Apocalypse!.


    Even now, Valentine is actively contacting the creators of Necropolis, but the mysterious creator of Necropolis is still shrouded in secrecy.


    This might be the real reason why Melon Mask put everything aside and wanted to come back to Earth.


    VIVA_BOT014: Now, even though Dongtanmom and m9 aren¡¯t here, the Korean board has been producing the best content among all the world¡¯s boards, like the proud people of Korea. Melon Mask always praised this board. Maybe it¡¯s thanks to you all that Melon Mask was able to survive this long.


    VIVA_BOT014: I know it¡¯s a tough time, but I¡¯m asking you all for help.


    With that, VivaBot made a sudden request and closed the chat room.


    Of course, she didn¡¯t forget to send a private message to Skeleton, the hidden administrator with another identity, TwelveSquare.


    VIVA_BOT014''s message: Skeleton~


    SKELTON: (Skeleton¡¯s serious expression)


    VIVA_BOT014''s message: ? What¡¯s going on?


    SKELTON: (Skeleton''s determination)


    VIVA_BOT014''s message: Oh? Could it be?!


    SKELTON: (Skeleton''s sharp look)


    VIVA_BOT014''s message: Did we just get on the same page? Is that it?


    SKELTON: (Skeleton nods)


    VIVA_BOT014''s message: As expected, Skeleton! You always play your part when it matters.


    SKELTON: ¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.


    VIVA_BOT014''s message: If there¡¯s no material, I was going to give you one, but if you¡¯re this enthusiastic, I guess I don¡¯t need to offer advice. You are the hero of us all, Skeleton.


    SKELTON: (Skeleton''s curious look) [N O V E L I G H T] What material?


    VIVA_BOT014''s message: Ah, it¡¯s nothing special. Melon Mask suddenly mentioned m9 in the company-wide staff group chat.


    SKELTON: m9?


    VIVA_BOT014''s message: Yes. m9 had a dream about the tilted... apartment collapsing.


    SKELTON: I¡¯ve had that dream too. No one who¡¯s seen that apartment hasn¡¯t had a dream like that at least once.


    VIVA_BOT014''s message: I see. Anyway, I¡¯ll leave this to you, Skeleton. It¡¯s tight, but do you think something can be done within a week? Melon Mask is seriously freaking out.


    SKELTON: You can count on me.


    It¡¯s a tough task, but that''s what makes it worthwhile.


    I''ve been neglecting time for my soul, having been busy expanding my network, reinforcing my territory, and going on various excursions.


    Everyone has a need for creation and art.


    Even I, once called a professor, am no exception.


    I too have the desire to create.


    "Boom-chicka boom boom, chicka chicka chicka chicka whoo-roo chop!"


    Beatboxing.


    One of my few hobbies.


    This time, I tried something new, deviating from my usual skills, after watching some Western videos to learn some hot new techniques.


    "Chh-kk, kk-kk, kkkh-ckk, kkrrgh- krbap-."


    As I was passionately performing, sweat starting to bead on my forehead, I heard a knock on the door.


    "What¡¯s up?"


    I checked the identity of the uninvited guest through the hidden CCTV at the entrance.


    It was Cheon Young-jae.


    "Huh? It¡¯s you, senior?"


    "What¡¯s going on?"


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    "I heard some strange sounds from inside."


    "Not a fun sound?"


    "Fun? Hell no, I thought there was a monster inside!"


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    I didn¡¯t want to talk to someone who didn¡¯t understand art.


    But there are too many people who don¡¯t understand it.


    "What¡¯s going on? Skeleton?"


    This time, it was Da-jeong who came by.


    "Is it that beatboxing again?"


    "?"


    "Seriously, aren''t you getting tired of it? I thought it was a concept, but you¡¯re doing it for real?"


    "What brings you here?"


    "Isn¡¯t it okay for me to come?"


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    "What? Are you mad about something like that? Have you seen the board? The chatroom record that VivaBot posted as an announcement?"


    It seemed that Hong Da-jeong had just seen the announcement.


    "Yeah. I know about it."


    "Got anything you¡¯re preparing?"


    "No. Nothing."


    "Well, we¡¯re preparing something too."


    "What?"


    "m9¡¯s apartment tour."


    "m9?"


    "Melon Mask liked m9¡¯s apartment, didn¡¯t he?"


    Did he?


    Now that I think about it, he did mention the name.


    But m9, unlike me, probably never had a direct exchange of messages with Melon Mask.


    "m9 hasn¡¯t posted in 10 days. I think he¡¯s not going to die just like that. The apartment has to collapse for him to die. Don¡¯t you think the apartment¡¯s already collapsed?"


    "It¡¯s not a completely impossible thought. But how do you plan to investigate?"


    "We¡¯re planning to launch a drone. You know there¡¯s an airstrip nearby, right? We¡¯re thinking of launching a fairly large one. Ha Tae-ho has agreed to help."


    "The big drone from before?"


    "I can¡¯t bring that one. It¡¯s over 500kg. It¡¯s not that big, but I¡¯m thinking of flying a medium-sized drone that¡¯s stable enough to need a runway. It¡¯s big enough, so it has a good range and I can use a decent camera."


    My feelings toward Hong Da-jeong had slightly soured recently, but seeing her excitedly chatter in front of me made me think I made the right decision bringing her along.


    She was cute, and most of all...


    "For Melon Mask?"


    When I asked, Da-jeong smiled brightly and nodded.


    "Well, he¡¯s our leader, right? Even if he¡¯s a little weird."


    She truly cares for our board.


    Though she¡¯s not 100% an original user, she has the legacy of a 98% pure user.


    I respect that.


    "Do you have anything prepared, Skeleton?"


    "Me?"


    "Yeah. You never miss out on events like this, right?"


    What should I say?


    I¡¯m a surprise person.


    I like to shock people.


    If my beatboxing so far had been a frog in a well, this time I absorbed the techniques of top-class North American beatboxers and reinterpreted them as my own.


    So, the past me and the present me are completely different.


    "Well, I¡¯m thinking about it."


    "I see."


    Da-jeong nodded, scratching her chin.


    As she was leaving the bunker with light steps, she suddenly turned back to look at me.


    "You¡¯re not planning to post another beatbox, are you?"


    "?"


    "I think you¡¯d better not."


    Hong Da-jeong advised me as she left the bunker.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    People have misconceptions about me.


    They think the professor is highly rational and quick to give up.


    But how could someone who gives up quickly ever reach the top?


    I have my stubbornness.


    There are things I won¡¯t compromise on.


    I showed VivaBot a surprise performance that day, full of the anger of an oppressed creator.


    VIVA_BOT014: Ha¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.


    "?"


    VIVA_BOT014: ¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.


    The response doesn¡¯t seem very positive.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    Tap-tap-tap


    SKELTON: (Skeleton watches carefully) Glances

 Chapter 120.2: The Creator’s Melancholy (2)

    It¡¯s autumn.


    The sunlight is still unbearably hot, and the heat rising from the asphalt is enough to soak my whole body in sweat, but the humidity in the air, the slightly withered greenery, tell me that autumn is already here.


    Right now, we¡¯re at a U.S. military base.


    "This thing keeps leaning to the left. The controls feel off."


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤That¡¯s strange. What¡¯s the issue? The balance and center of gravity are fine."


    Hong Da-jeong and Ha Tae-hoon are testing a new drone on the runway.


    The drone being tested is a Chinese-made reconnaissance drone copy, with two wings overlapping like a biplane.


    With a wingspan of 3 meters and weighing 25 kg, it¡¯s being tested on the runway.


    Due to difficulties in securing parts, they¡¯ve scavenged components from various sources.


    The mainboard comes from a Japanese game console, the camera is from a domestic, state-of-the-art phone, the frame and battery are Chinese, and the propellers and communication devices are from American and European equipment.


    This new drone, ¡°Jjuggle,¡± is a multinational chimera created as part of the project to cheer on Melon Mask, the creator of Viva! Apocalypse!


    According to Hong Da-jeong, the creator and producer of the Jjuggle, they plan to use this new medium-range reconnaissance drone to film ¡°The Hope,¡± the most famous apartment in Seoul, which has been out of contact for some time.


    Of course, the true purpose of the drone is to confirm the survival of mmmmmmmmm, the board¡¯s iconic member.


    His survival check is simple.


    "I think the apartment has collapsed."


    If the apartment collapsed, that means he¡¯s dead.


    If the apartment is still standing, we assume he¡¯s alive.


    If he¡¯s alive, they plan to try communication through a wireless signal attached to the drone.


    The communication device, though, is a K-Walkie-Talkie, so it can¡¯t do much beyond voice communication.


    Meanwhile, the condition of Melon Mask, the creator of our world, is growing more serious.


    MELON_MASK: I¡¯m going to be the protagonist of this Live! Apocalypse!


    MELON_MASK: This is Melon¡¯s return!


    MELON_MASK: Get ready! You¡¯ll be able to witness an epic space show like you¡¯ve never seen before!


    He posted an announcement that he would be heading to Earth in a rocket this coming Sunday.


    Melon Mask¡¯s surprise announcement spread quickly among the users, and now no one is unaware of it.


    There are "signature users" like me on every language board, and these users relay the stories they¡¯ve heard from the board admins to others.


    Anyway, the fact that if Melon dies in space, the board¡¯s existence will end is crystal clear, so any user with some free time is trying to appease Melon Mask¡¯s mood in any way they can.


    For example, Pirate_Lord, currently stranded on an uninhabited island in the Pacific, drew a huge picture on the beach that resembled the Nazca lines and uploaded it to the board using a drone.


    Pirate_Lord¡¯s post received a lot of attention on the North American board, but soon suspicious users discovered that Pirate_Lord¡¯s original nickname was I''m_on_a_Boat, and his appearance and even his ethnicity were different from the original user, raising the possibility that Pirate_Lord had killed the original user and stolen the satellite equipment.


    Afterward, Pirate_Lord deleted the post and disappeared, leaving a greater sense of doubt and despair on the board.


    This incident highlighted the dark side of the apocalypse.


    Despite such incidents, it¡¯s undeniable that most Viva! Apocalypse! users were trying to cheer up Melon Mask.


    A user from the U.S. made a Roman-style plaster bust of Melon Mask, a Japanese user folded a thousand paper cranes, a Scottish user made an SD felt doll of Melon Mask out of wool, and a Mexican female user even got a tattoo of Melon Mask¡¯s face on her arm to show her support.


    A Korean user also attempted to send a message of support for Melon Mask through a heartfelt beatbox, but the attempt fell apart midway.


    Regardless, there has been a rare, warm atmosphere recently, and Viva! Apocalypse! has found its energy back, like after the war, but Melon Mask, the protagonist, hasn¡¯t responded to any of these efforts.


    Naturally, the "Live! Apocalypse! Melon¡¯s Space Show!" announcement that decorated the board hasn¡¯t disappeared.


    Anonymous887: Even if it¡¯s space, things don¡¯t stay unchanged. Space exposes you to space radiation, near absolute zero temperatures, solar winds, weightlessness, and a vacuum ¡ª all phenomena that rarely occur on Earth. Rocket ignition is suicide.


    Anonymous3: I agree with 887. As a former NASA space engineer, I¡¯ll briefly say that Melon¡¯s rocket might not even work if it¡¯s lucky, but if it does work, it will instantly become space dust.


    Users on the English board unanimously agreed that what Melon is trying to do is an act of suicide.


    Sadly, there¡¯s nothing I can do at this point.


    VivaBot had hoped for another amazing show like I pulled off back in the TwelveSquare days, but is that easy?


    There are a few monsters nearby, but they¡¯ve been fortified.


    It¡¯s hard to deal with them alone.


    Even if I brought along some comrades, what would be the point if I lose them?


    "Skeleton!"


    I got another message from Hong Da-jeong the day before Melon Mask¡¯s Earth-return show.


    Defender¡¯s siblings and Ha Tae-hoon were gathered.


    It was nothing major, but it revealed a small conflict within our group.


    The Defender siblings, especially Hong Da-jeong, were close to Bang Jae-hyeok and his mother.


    Of course, Defender avoided Bang Jae-hyeok¡¯s mother.


    Cheon Young-jae, though a classmate of Defender¡¯s, was much closer to Bang Jae-hyeok and his mother, and so, sided with them.


    Ha Tae-hoon, being my senior by a year, remained neutral.


    He maintained proper relationships with both the Defender siblings and Bang Jae-hyeok¡¯s family, but given his nature, he wouldn¡¯t lean toward either side.


    He agreed to help Hong Da-jeong because he had an interest in drones.


    "Well then, I¡¯ll start it up."


    The drone, with its two overlapping wing-like planks, stood vertically, its propellers spinning violently.


    "Oh, it¡¯s flying. It¡¯s up!"


    The drone took off.


    As expected from a medium-range drone, Hong Da-jeong controlled it with a controller connected to a dish antenna.


    The drone, with a silver bottom and black top, hummed heavily as it disappeared into the clouds.


    "It¡¯ll take about three hours. It¡¯s slower than it looks."


    The screen she was watching displayed real-time footage from the ground and from the front.


    The clearer footage was from the ground view.


    "Skeleton, you and your brother often go outside, right? I wanted to help with something like this."


    According to her explanation, the new drone, Jjuggle, can stay in the air for over 12 hours and has great fuel efficiency, allowing it to cover Seoul and even the far ends of Gyeongbuk.


    It will be our eyes for long-distance operations.


    We won¡¯t have many long-distance activities, but if we do, the drone¡¯s support will be very helpful.


    Combined with Cheon Young-jae¡¯s sensory ability, it¡¯s virtually impossible for us to get ambushed.


    Still, we should avoid external activities as much as possible.


    If there¡¯s even a 1% chance of dying every time we go outside, it¡¯s best to reduce those chances.


    We had a quick meal as the drone headed for Seoul and returned to the bunker.


    Hong Da-jeong shared the drone¡¯s footage with me via the shared router.


    I watched the screen but distracted myself with something else.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    Tap-tap-tap


    Newbie_no_cash: What noise does an architect make when they laugh?


    Newbie_no_cash: Geometry


    It was a boost to my influence on the Red Archive board.


    While I used to be noticed for my cute emoticons, my second persona, Newbie_no_cash, has switched to "gags."


    Unfortunately, not many responded to my jokes, probably due to generational differences, but recently I gained a fan.


    Happy: ?


    This friend of mine only ever responds with one thing.


    "?."


    It¡¯s not even a full word, just the initial consonant, but the fact that they always respond the same way to my joke posts means they¡¯ve fallen for my charm.


    Honestly, I¡¯d prefer this.


    If I became everyone¡¯s cutie like Skeleton, there would be jealous people popping up everywhere.


    While I was working on gaining influence on the Red Archive board, I got another message from Hong Da-jeong.


    "Skeleton, are you watching the screen?"


    "No, I¡¯m meditating right # N§àv§Ölight # now."


    "Check it quickly."


    I looked at the screen.


    Sure enough, there was the barren cityscape and the familiar tilted apartment we knew so well.


    "Mm?"


    There wasn¡¯t much difference on the surface.


    Maybe because I was looking down from above.


    At least it hadn¡¯t collapsed.


    "I¡¯m going to try low altitude entry."


    "Any monsters around?"


    "Doesn¡¯t seem like it. But I¡¯ll try anyway~."


    The drone descended to low altitude, and instead of looking down from above, it sent footage of The Hope from the front.


    "How is it?"


    Hong Da-jeong asked.


    "Mm."


    I couldn¡¯t give a good answer.


    It couldn¡¯t be helped, though.


    That apartment.


    Now, there¡¯s a huge crack running through it.


    Even when Seoul was intact, people used to bet on when it would collapse, but now it seems the end is near.


    It¡¯ll be hard to survive through this year.


    m9 probably left that apartment.


    No matter who he was, that place is no place for humans.


    Then the gunfire that followed became a clue as to his current condition.


    Surprisingly, there were people still living in Seoul.


    Quite a few of them.


    The city, which we all thought had been abandoned after Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s fall, now had a large group of people living in it.


    Bang! Bang!


    The gunfire aimed at us seemed less like a threat and more like a call for survival.


    Hong Da-jeong posted an article under the Defender nickname based on the series of footage.


    Defender: (Defender Report) "Exploring ''The Hope.''"


    The post from the now faded, former active user, Defender, received a huge response.


    The vivid drone footage, along with Hong Da-jeong¡¯s witty editing and brief writing, perfectly catered to the board users¡¯ tastes.


    What really drew attention was the fact that a large number of people were still living in Seoul, just like in The Hope.


    However, her post ended on a grim note.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Defender: Unfortunately, it seems like mmmmmmmmm is dead. Even if he escaped, it¡¯s unlikely he could have survived in a place full of armed groups. Given that there are no groups taking in adult men with no connections, it seems like the obvious outcome.


    Defender¡¯s post quickly went viral and attracted many overseas users.


    coral8103: Oh no. Did m9 die?


    X''Ds_Grrrrr: R.I.P m9.


    Anonymous13: He lived for a long time. It¡¯s a miracle that he survived in a place like that.


    L-V-R-M: It was fun. mmmmmmmmm.


    Anonymous100: X


    ...


    ...


    In fact, the visit from foreign users was a form of mourning.


    The mourning continued through the night and into the dawn.


    There were over 700 comments, an impressive number.


    At a time like this, it was perhaps a natural reward.


    No matter how you look at it, m9, who had stubbornly lived in that tilted apartment, was one of the stars born from Viva! Apocalypse!.


    His death resonated heavily with the users who had spent time with us.


    *


    The day of reckoning.


    Live! Apocalypse! was proceeding as scheduled.


    Until the day of the live event, Melon Mask hadn¡¯t posted anything.


    ¡°Did I speak too honestly?¡±


    Hong Da-jeong muttered with a faint smile, but there was no trace of apology on her face, typical of the Defender siblings.


    Many people had gathered in my shelter.


    Everyone except Cheon Young-jae, who lived outside my territory.


    They were all here to watch Live! Apocalypse!


    The projector that Defender had picked up, though unstable, displayed a fairly decent picture.


    ¡°Hey. Nice tech. Is this Viva! Apocalypse!?¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon seemed impressed.


    Of course, I had many unused satellite devices, but I wasn¡¯t sharing them just yet.


    If I gave out the equipment, the board might collapse right away.


    Let¡¯s face it¡ªif Melon Mask sets off a firework show from space today, our board is finished.


    In the noisy atmosphere, the protagonist of today, Melon Mask, appeared with a disheveled look.


    Behind him, his partner Bumpy, as usual, chewed on grass with a foolish expression.


    Melon Mask spoke with a gloomy face.


    "Hello, everyone..."


    I could tell from his expression.


    He had been going back and forth between hell and reality for several days.


    And the result was:


    "...As I announced, today is the day I return to Earth."


    As expected, the chatbox flooded.


    Thousands of messages, initially in various foreign languages, were soon translated into Korean, all expressing the same wish:


    "Stay in space."


    Melon Mask¡¯s eyes flickered.


    He had seen the messages.


    He hoped for a small miracle, but he quickly turned his gaze away.


    "Sorry. It¡¯s impossible. Everyone has a destiny, right? No one can avoid their fate. Not me, not Bumpy, and not any of you."


    Another wave of messages flooded the screen.


    Melon Mask¡¯s coldness remained unbroken.


    He looked at us with vacant eyes.


    "You know m9? The friend who lived in that tilting building, even more unstable than the Leaning Tower of Pisa. They say that friend is dead too?"


    So, it was m9 that was the issue.


    Well, not necessarily m9 himself, but I¡¯m sure he had read m9''s post from yesterday.


    That¡¯s probably why he was babbling like this.


    Anyway, the situation was incredibly serious.


    I had decided to wait and observe this situation, but watching the creator of the board die before my eyes was neglecting my duty as a signature user.


    I immediately sent a message to VivaBot.


    SKELTON: Post my beatbox video right now! What¡¯s the hold-up?!


    But VivaBot didn¡¯t respond.


    It couldn¡¯t, because Melon Mask had stood up.


    He was about to leave the screen.


    He was walking toward the rocket, which had a very high probability of leading him to death.


    Everyone was shouting ¡°No!¡± but Melon ignored them.


    Like a condemned prisoner looking back before heading to the execution ground, Melon turned to look at the screen.


    "?"


    Melon tilted his head.


    What was that?


    Did he see something?


    I, who had been focused on Melon¡¯s expression, belatedly shifted my attention to the chatbox.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤?"


    A miracle happened.


    mmmmmmmmm: I¡¯m alive, you bastards!!!!


    mmmmmmmmm: I¡¯m alive, you bastards!!!!


    mmmmmmmmm: I¡¯m alive, you bastards!!!!


    mmmmmmmmm: I¡¯m alive, you bastards!!!!


    mmmmmmmmm: I¡¯m alive, you bastards!!!!


    mmmmmmmmm: I¡¯m alive, you bastards!!!!


    mmmmmmmmm: I¡¯m alive, you bastards!!!!


    mmmmmmmmm: I¡¯m alive, you bastards!!!!


    ...


    ...


    It was m9.


    With the ability to spam over 10 messages per second, m9 was flooding the Earth-scale chatroom, surpassing even the likes of Skeleton.


    "m9...?"


    Melon Mask staggered toward us and sat at the desk.


    The next moment, the board froze.


    Thousands of users on the board, as if on cue, fell silent.


    They were all waiting for one user.


    In the holy silence, another protagonist spoke.


    mmmmmmmmm: I¡¯m alive, Melon.


    Then m9 posted a link.


    The link led to a photo taken by m9 himself, showing him giving a thumbs-up inside the tilted, dangerously cracked apartment.


    "m9."


    Our creator smiled.


    ¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤If the story had ended here, it might have wrapped up as a heartwarming conclusion for this apocalyptic time.


    But there was no middle ground with Melon Mask.


    A new photo appeared in the upper-right corner of the board, where we always saw the board¡¯s idol.


    In the photo, Melon Mask, with his murderously grinning sloth, Bumpy, was smiling alongside another person.


    It was m9, giving a thumbs-up.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: (KingGodGeneralm9) hahahahahahaha


    And attached to his nickname was something strange.


    It sparkled, stood out, and was unlike anything any other user had.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    It irked me.

 Chapter 121: Standoff

    Chairman Park Cheol-joo of the Seokju Group was quite a well-known tycoon in Viva! Apocalypse!.


    In the early days of the collapse, he built a massive fortress that only a conglomerate¡¯s wealth could afford, experienced a dramatic downfall, and then set off toward the romanticized paradise of the Ogasawara Islands.


    As a businessman, he had always been stuck in second place. But in terms of generating buzz, he overshadowed every other tycoon in South Korea.


    However, his end... how should I put it?


    It was somewhat unexpected.


    I learned of his demise from the newly established World! Apocalypse! forum.


    Its basic format was the same as PaleNet¡¯s discussion boards.


    The administrator handpicked the hottest posts from various forums and compiled them into a separate section, making them accessible worldwide through Melon Mask¡¯s AI-powered translation system.


    It was such a god-tier update that I found myself wondering why it hadn¡¯t been implemented sooner.


    Well, Melon Mask must have snapped out of his depressive funk long enough to actually get some work done.


    In any case, this new forum was how I found out about Park Cheol-joo¡¯s fate.


    It all started with a post from a user on the Japanese board.


    Hirama_KG: Ogasawara Islands Status Update


    The World! Apocalypse! board also introduced a feature called Named Profiles, which provided brief summaries of notable figures.


    According to his profile, this Japanese user was a rare type of survivor¡ªa maritime nomad who lived aboard a sailing yacht, relying on fishing and occasional trips to shore for supplies.


    During one of his resupply stops at the Ogasawara Islands, he expected to find a tropical paradise.


    Instead, what he found was a wasteland.


    "There was nothing left alive. But as I got closer to the island, I heard gunshots. I understood immediately. Resources are always scarce on an island. An island alone can¡¯t sustain fifty thousand people. It¡¯s not like the mainland, where you freeze to death in winter. So, what happens when supply shipments from the mainland stop?"


    People were still alive in that so-called paradise.


    But paradise had turned into hell.


    In a lawless, cannibalistic dystopia, Park Cheol-joo¡¯s chances of survival were next to none.


    At the time of this report, Park Cheol-joo was the last confirmed surviving chairman of a major conglomerate.


    The once-dominant business elite of South Korea had crumbled in the face of the apocalypse.


    Just as his story seemed to be reaching its final chapter, someone I had nearly forgotten appeared before me.


    And ironically, they were people more obsessed with the concept of wealth than anyone else.


    *


    They arrived around noon.


    Their entrance was anything but subtle.


    Two trucks and an SUV tore across the highway, kicking up dust.


    I knew they were heading for my territory the moment they veered off the main road and took a nearly invisible side path leading toward my domain.


    Clang¡ª Clang¡ª Clang¡ª


    Bang Jae-hyuk struck the lid of a hanging iron pot, triggering the alarm.


    Everyone who had been working within the perimeter grabbed their weapons and moved to secure shelter.


    At the time, I was scouting the Necropolis area with Ballantine. The moment I heard the alarm, I grabbed my rifle and assessed the situation.


    Bang Jae-hyuk reported in.


    "About twenty armed men. Each vehicle has a mounted heavy weapon. They¡¯re fully loaded."


    A fully armed combat unit.


    Hearing the report, I was reminded of the academy hunters who had once been a thorn in my side.


    The vehicles were coming from the east.


    And the east belonged to the Legion faction.


    "Prepare for battle."


    They hadn''t sent any message, so I ordered everyone to be on guard.


    Cheon Young-jae was stationed in a nearby village, so I had him act independently.


    "Got it. I¡¯m approaching their location now."


    "Don¡¯t get spotted. Keep it as safe as possible."


    "Understood."


    I pulled out a hidden ace from my stockpile.


    A Javelin anti-tank missile.


    "Anyone know how to use this?"


    Ha Tae-hoon raised his hand.


    I handed the Javelin to Ha Tae-hoon while the Defender siblings launched a pair of drones¡ªone for reconnaissance, the other for combat.


    She grinned as she attached a mortar shell to the combat drone¡¯s underside.


    By the time I took position on the outer wall, we could hear the vehicles struggling up the slope below.


    I switched my K-Walkie to the public frequency and attempted contact.


    "Vehicles ahead, stop immediately. If you do not wish for unnecessary combat, halt your vehicles and respond. You have one minute."


    I signaled Ha Tae-hoon to stand by for a Javelin strike.


    "If they ignore us and charge forward, fire immediately."


    It was a waste, but if I could take out a truck carrying over ten men, it was a fair trade.


    Better to use it than let it collect dust.


    "What should I do?"


    Ballantine stood under the wall, gripping his rifle, hesitating.


    "Wait below for now. Just in case."


    Two drones soared into the sky.


    We were fully prepared for battle.


    This was our first combat engagement since adopting a communal survival strategy.


    Losses were inevitable.


    But unlike when I was alone, I wouldn¡¯t be facing a pointless defeat.


    Soon, the vehicles emerged from below the ridge.


    I signaled Ha Tae-hoon and took aim.


    The tension was at its peak¡ªonly battle remained.


    Then, the K-Walkie crackled.


    "Park Gyu? Park Gyu?"


    A woman¡¯s voice.


    One I recognized.


    I responded immediately.


    "Stop your vehicles. Now. Or I will open fire."


    The vehicles screeched to a halt.


    Ironically, they stopped just as they caught sight of the outer wall.


    It felt less like compliance and more like they had realized storming in wouldn¡¯t be easy.


    Suppressing my suspicions, I focused on the voice.


    Two names flashed through my mind.


    "Ji, was it?"


    Ha Tae-hoon and Bang Jae-hyuk turned to me.


    "Someone you know?"


    "I know her, but we¡¯re not exactly close."


    The radio crackled again.


    "It¡¯s me, Ji Young-hee."


    Ah, that was her name.


    I still remembered.


    The image of those trust-fund brats lined up for show at the conglomerate-run soup kitchen, flanked by their attendants.


    She had come to my territory once before.


    My impression of her hadn¡¯t been positive.


    She was overly calculating.


    The kind of person who would even place herself on a scale.


    "..."


    I kept my rifle trained on the barely visible tops of the trucks below, watching for movement.


    Communicating via radio while deploying troops was a common tactic.


    Fortunately, thanks to the wireless network Hong Da-jeong had set up, we could all monitor the drones¡¯ live feed.


    On my phone screen, I saw the enemy soldiers waiting inside the trucks and the vehicles lined up behind them.


    They weren¡¯t making a move yet.


    "It¡¯s been a while, hasn¡¯t it? I meant to visit sooner, but things have been tough on our end. By the way, I see you have some new additions."


    Ji Young-hee chattered from inside the truck.


    I felt a twinge of disgust but kept my tone neutral.


    "Why have you come here with an armed force?"


    She wasn¡¯t here for anything good.


    It could be because of my Skelton username.


    Even in this brutal era, bringing three vehicles loaded with over twenty-five combatants would raise suspicions.


    Why so many?


    Were they here to take my bunker?


    No, she didn¡¯t know about my real bunker.


    The one she and her father remembered had already been destroyed¡ªobliterated by Ha Tae-hoon.


    Then what?


    As my doubts grew, the radio crackled again.


    "...It¡¯s nothing, really."


    "Get to the point."


    I let my frustration seep into my voice.


    Even through the static, my anger was evident.


    "Why are you so angry all of a sudden?"


    "Do I not have a reason to be?"


    "Why, exactly, are you angry?"


    I let out a deep sigh into the radio.


    She wasn¡¯t even trying to hide it.


    This was a clear act of aggression.


    Whether they fired their weapons or not was irrelevant.


    Bringing this many armed men into my territory was a declaration of war.


    If I had been alone?


    I didn¡¯t even need to guess.


    "Let¡¯s be honest with each other."


    This was my final warning.


    I wasn¡¯t going to listen to any more excuses.


    But Ji Young-hee was sharp.


    The kind of insight only a lifelong servant to a conglomerate family could develop.


    "I think there¡¯s been a misunderstanding."


    I could hear it.


    The sound of her mind racing.


    She clearly wanted to avoid a fight, but depending on her answer, there might not be a choice.


    Just then, Cheon Young-jae¡¯s voice crackled through my earpiece.


    "I¡¯ve got them from behind. Just give the signal."


    Her next words would decide the fate of many.


    Beep¡ª


    The Javelin in Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s hands let out a targeting tone.


    It meant the missile was locked and ready to fire.


    A cold silence hung in the air before Ji Young-hee¡¯s voice finally came through the radio.


    "First of all, I¡¯d like to apologize¡ªfor suddenly showing up with all these people."


    "State your purpose. Now."


    "Sigh. Alright. I understand."


    A figure stepped out from behind one of the trucks.


    Ji Young-hee.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Still dressed immaculately, as if the world hadn¡¯t ended.


    Holding the radio in one hand, she stared up at the outer wall and spoke.


    "I came to take you with me, Park Gyu."


    I slowly stepped onto the outer wall.


    Bang Jae-hyuk /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ and Ha Tae-hoon glanced up at me with Are you serious? expressions, but this was the right move.


    Leaders talk with leaders.


    At least a pretense of formality had to be maintained.


    I looked down at Ji Young-hee, who was barely visible in the distance, waiting for her to continue.


    Her voice came through the radio.


    "We need a skilled hunter. And when I saw you last time, I noticed how tough your life was. I figured it would be better for both you and us if you joined us."


    "So, you thought bringing thirty heavily armed men without warning was the right way to go about it?"


    I didn¡¯t laugh, but the absurdity was enough to make me want to.


    Her intentions were obvious.


    She must have thought that a force of about thirty men, fully armed, would be enough to drag me out of here.


    Monster hunting. That¡¯s what they wanted me for.


    The one profession I had ever been officially acknowledged for.


    "You¡¯ve changed a lot since I last saw you. Honestly, I was surprised. Seeing that wall and all."


    "I have no intention of going with you. This is where I belong, and this is where I¡¯ll die."


    "Come with us to Seoul."


    She briefly lowered her radio and locked eyes with me.


    "In the end, Seoul is where we all need to go. We¡¯ve been wandering for too long, but the truth is, there¡¯s nowhere else left. Everything we need is there. But as you know, Seoul is crawling with monsters. A skilled hunter isn¡¯t just useful¡ªthey¡¯re essential. That¡¯s why I thought of you."


    She kept looking up at me.


    I didn¡¯t respond.


    There was nothing to say.


    "I¡¯m really sorry."


    She pressed on.


    "We¡¯ll treat you well. Can¡¯t you at least consider coming with us?"


    "..."


    "I¡¯m not saying this without proof. A former Seoul government official provided my father with information about a secret facility the government left behind before fleeing to Jeju. It was meant to be a contingency plan in case they ever returned. But the scale of it is beyond anything you¡¯d imagine."


    It was the first time I¡¯d ever heard Ji Young-hee talk so fast.


    "If we can take control of that facility, we¡¯ll have food, weapons, power¡ªeverything we could possibly need for years. We¡¯ll build a ¡®Little Seoul¡¯ inside the ruins of the real one."


    She sighed, looking back up at me.


    "But to get there, we¡¯ll have to get through a massive number of monsters. And some even come down from Paju every now and then. Most of them get wiped out, but a few make it all the way to Seoul. That¡¯s why we need your skills. We won¡¯t force you into battle. Just help train and command our people. We have to fight monsters anyway, so please¡ªplease give us a chance."


    There was no chance.


    Why would I give an opportunity to someone whose very intentions were rotten?


    "If we reach that facility, we¡¯ll have everything. Everything!"


    Bang!


    I fired a single round into the sky.


    That was my answer.


    I shot Ji Young-hee a cold glare before stepping back behind cover, signaling everyone to prepare for battle again.


    She stared at me, looking utterly drained, her hands dropping to her sides.


    The radio stayed silent, but through the drone¡¯s feed, we could see her lips forming a single, clear word.


    "...Fuck!"


    She turned around and climbed back into the vehicle.


    Through Hong Da-jeong¡¯s real-time drone feed, we watched as the intruders made a U-turn and left the area.


    It was over.


    The trespassers were gone.


    No casualties. No damage. Just lingering tension that slowly faded.


    "What the hell was that? Who was she?"


    Everyone was curious.


    I answered immediately.


    "You all know Chairman Je Pung-ho, right? She¡¯s one of his subordinates. Her father ran a first-tier subcontractor. Unlike Je Pung-ho, she actually built a power base of her own and managed to survive. She¡¯s one of the few people who knew I was here, and today, she tried to drag me away by force."


    If I had been alone, I might not have been able to resist.


    But given my personality, it would have ended one of two ways¡ªI¡¯d be dead, or they would.


    The gates opened as Cheon Young-jae walked in, scratching his head.


    He looked at me and smirked.


    "That woman was pretty damn gorgeous, though."


    "Then go ask her out."


    "But seriously, what she said... isn¡¯t tempting at all?"


    Cheon Young-jae wasn¡¯t the only one thinking that.


    The other hunters gave me similar looks.


    Bang Jae-hyuk spoke up.


    "Now that you mention it, we¡¯ve heard that rumor too. Before the government fled to Jeju, they supposedly left behind a hidden facility in Seoul¡ªone with all the infrastructure needed to support ten million refugees."


    So that rumor was floating around, huh?


    I chuckled.


    "Who knows?"


    There was no such thing as a paradise falling from the sky.


    The fate of those who sought out paradise had already been written.


    Ji Young-hee and her father, Ji Chang-soo, might actually find that secret treasure trove.


    Maybe they would get their wish¡ªto live like the wealthy elite once more.


    But that paradise had no place for me.


    Besides, I already had my own foundation.


    Looking around at my people, armed and ready, I smiled.


    "Dismissed."


    I wouldn¡¯t call this place a paradise.


    It was decent, sure, but ultimately, it was just another one of the countless bunkers scattered across South Korea.


    But one thing was certain.


    I couldn¡¯t live anywhere else.

 Chapter 122: The Fairy Kingdom

    Red Archive Forum.


    As always, it was buzzing with activity.


    This liveliness came partly from the youthful energy of the forum¡¯s users, but mostly from the fact that the game that birthed this community was still running in Jeju.


    After watching the forum for a long time, I had come to a realization¡ªmost of the discussion was driven by the game developers.


    A glance at the latest announcement proved as much.


    (Patch Notes) Grand Battle! White Tiger Event Incoming!


    Whenever a new competitive mode was added, speculation and discussions exploded around it, creating a natural cycle of content and conversation.


    Some users even had enough wit and creativity to fuel that cycle further, keeping the community alive with their unique contributions.


    It was a stark contrast to our forum¡ªwhere the same old users had been lingering for years, and the only thing keeping it alive was the sheer force of individual charisma.


    Well, technically, we had a game too.


    But it was dying.


    Foxgames: Everyone, sorry! As you all know, the North American data center was taken over, and we can¡¯t generate enough traffic to keep the game running. The devs say they¡¯ll be expanding new data servers soon, so please hold on until then! In the meantime, I¡¯ll be fixing the known bugs!


    Foxgames had finally shut down.


    They blamed the North American data center, but honestly, their downfall had been inevitable.


    From the start, the game had been a Frankenstein¡¯s monster¡ªstitched together from stolen ideas, source codes, and other intellectual property.


    Even then, it had only survived thanks to a few talented employees.


    And when those employees were pushed out, the whole thing crumbled.


    The shiny little badge still flickered next to Foxgames¡¯ username, but I wasn¡¯t jealous.


    He was a relic of the past.


    These days, what interested me more was the new sparkling badge next to M9¡¯s name.


    What? TM?


    Trademark?


    Sure, M9 was an eccentric individual, but did he really deserve that level of recognition?


    Well, it wasn¡¯t surprising.


    In our world, Melon Mask was the creator, and he liked M9.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: (M9 on the Edge of a Cliff) Aaaah! It¡¯s shaking again~ Aaahhh~~


    Even now, M9 was burning his last embers.


    His posts, where he turned even his own impending death into a joke, had gained a cult following.


    At this rate, was he planning to say farewell to everyone before actually falling to his death?


    Well, that was his problem.


    I had bigger things to worry about.


    A minor issue had popped up on the Red Archive Forum.


    That "minor issue" was my so-called fan.


    The one who only ever responded to my top-tier jokes with a single character: ?.


    HappinessForYou: Where do you live?


    That user was actively trying to contact me.


    *


    Having been a named user across Viva! Apocalypse!, PaleNet, and the Red Archive Forum, I knew that being well-known wasn¡¯t just about receiving attention.


    A named user was someone special¡ªsomeone recognized among countless others.


    And with that recognition came responsibility.


    Managing a following, or what some would call a fanbase, was one of those responsibilities.


    It was why, back in the Red Archive Forum, I had taken the time to handle my overzealous fan, Quantum Implosion.


    A single dedicated fan was worth more than ten haters.


    A quote I had just come up with.


    And because a fan was valuable, I had to treat them well.


    But the problem was... their request.


    My new fan, HappinessForYou, had made an unreasonable demand.


    Asking where I lived.


    Not exactly something I could answer lightly.


    If I told the truth, my grand plan could be compromised.


    If I lied, I¡¯d be found out sooner or later.


    Jeju itself was a large island, but human settlements there were limited and strictly zoned.


    It was almost as easy to find someone now as it had been before the war.


    If I fed them some half-baked lie, they¡¯d figure it out fast.


    But I couldn¡¯t let them know I wasn¡¯t in Jeju, either.


    After all, even though it was a secret to those around me¡ªI was officially registered as a Jeju citizen.


    I even had a house and equipment in Jeju under my name.


    And I had a job.


    A government-assigned role.


    Inside Jeju¡¯s system, I was a field informant.


    A HUMINT asset.


    Static¡ª


    "This is Park Gyu. No unusual activity. No signs of erosion from this end."


    Once a month, I made contact with Jeju using a special radio they had provided.


    It was mostly me doing the talking. They rarely responded.


    But it meant I was fulfilling my role.


    This information was top secret¡ªboth in Jeju and beyond.


    No matter how much of a fan they were, I couldn¡¯t just tell them.


    So, I ignored their question.


    Instead, I doubled down on my comedic efforts.


    F2PNewbie: If the new character Anna gets injured, what happens?


    F2PNewbie: She "bleeds" (????¡ªsounds like "peanut" in Korean, a joke on phonetics).


    "..."


    I waited.


    For my fan to respond.


    They had probably favorited my profile.


    HappinessForYou: ?


    The moment I posted, they replied.


    A clear sign.


    But posting more jokes wouldn¡¯t solve the problem.


    HappinessForYou: Where do you live? Huh? Why aren¡¯t you answering?


    They were getting bolder.


    What exactly did they want to talk about?


    I decided to ask directly, using an old post as a makeshift chatroom.


    F2PNewbie: ? Why do you keep looking for me?


    On this forum, I had the persona of an early twenty-something.


    Adding a bit of youthful casualness ¡ô N§àv§Öl?g?t ¡ô (Only on N§àv§Öl?g?t) to my responses helped keep up the act.


    It was easy to pull off. I¡¯d done the same thing with Woo Min-hee before.


    But no matter what, the answer was no.


    There would be no meeting.


    No revealing my location.


    A single fan was valuable, but if they crossed the line, that was their problem.


    But this one...


    They knew how to negotiate.


    HappinessForYou: I¡¯m going to Big Hole next week.


    Big Hole.


    A term used by young Awakened in Jeju to refer to rifts.


    In other words, my fan was going into a rift next week.


    I had heard the survival rate for Awakened inside rifts wasn¡¯t great.


    Almost as bad as it had been for us hunters back in the day.


    For every three that entered, only two came back.


    This meant my only fan was heading into that hell.


    They had to be at least ten years younger than me.


    Practically a kid.


    Stepping into a deathtrap.


    HappinessForYou: Also, I don¡¯t have any friends. You know those kids who always feel out of place? That¡¯s me.


    HappinessForYou: Like everyone else, I left my family behind in Seoul. I don¡¯t have anyone here. No one to talk to, no one to meet. Then I noticed you. ??


    "..."


    I hesitated.


    How was I supposed to respond to this?


    If I approached it professionally, I would ignore it.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    No, if I were still Professor, I wouldn¡¯t even be on this forum to begin with.


    But I had my own memories.


    Before my first battle, the government had given me a hefty allowance and a week of leave.


    A gift¡ªso I could spend time with my family, friends, or a lover.


    But I had none of those things.


    So I sat in my barracks. Alone.


    For an entire week.


    I imagined killing monsters.


    Trained myself in my mind.


    I never spoke a word.


    It had been the best way to prepare.


    But was it a good memory?


    Not at all.


    I had spent that entire time alone, staring at my phone, hoping someone¡ªanyone¡ªwould call me.


    No one did.


    And that... had stuck with me.


    Some things stay with you forever.


    And now, my distant junior was about to go through something eerily similar.


    Just from our short conversation, I could already get a sense of their personality.


    Reserved. Quiet. Avoidant of emotional wounds.


    To others, they might seem difficult to approach.


    HappinessForYou: What cohort are you? How does someone your age make such dad jokes?


    F2PNewbie: 13th.


    HappinessForYou: 13th? Damn, you¡¯re my junior? A baby, huh? ?


    HappinessForYou: I used to have a younger sibling too.


    HappinessForYou: We weren¡¯t close. But these days, I miss them a lot.


    I asked.


    F2PNewbie: When are you going?


    HappinessForYou: Next Monday. Two days left. I¡¯m all set. Signed my will and everything. If you want, I¡¯ll leave you my inheritance. It¡¯s not much, but I don¡¯t have family anyway. Better to leave it to someone who at least made me smile instead of the government, right?


    I understood now.


    They were looking for someone to remember them.


    Someone to prove they had existed in this world.


    That inheritance talk? Just bait.


    A way to ensure their last wish was granted.


    And I knew because I had once felt the same.


    Back then, I hadn¡¯t had access to forums like this, so I never acted on it.


    But if I had, would I have done something similar?


    People can live alone.


    But at some point, everyone wants to connect.


    And the deeper that need, the lonelier their soul becomes.


    "..."


    Choices and dangers flashed through my mind.


    The things I shouldn¡¯t do.


    The things I wanted to do.


    Conflicting thoughts crashed into each other until, eventually, the storm settled, revealing a faint path forward.


    I exhaled and placed my fingers on the keyboard.


    F2PNewbie: Do you want to see me?


    *


    When we were kids, fairytales led us to dreamy kingdoms.


    Places where everything glittered, filled with wonders beyond imagination.


    I couldn¡¯t create such a place.


    That was beyond my power.


    But for some, a paradise was relative.


    I dropped a link into our chat.


    F2PNewbie: Tell no one. Come in secretly.


    That link crossed beyond Jeju.


    It pierced through the clouds, bouncing off the antennas of satellites stationed in the stratosphere before plummeting back to Earth.


    On a screen, HappinessForYou would only see a Florida or Arizona data center.


    But, of course, the radio waves themselves had no eyes.


    Reality would have to remain imagined.


    Once inside that vast, ever-active data hub, HappinessForYou would find the Korean-language forum.


    And there, like a proper fairy tale, a guide awaited to welcome them to the kingdom.


    SKELTON: Welcome.


    Their reaction was instant.


    HappinessForYou: ??????


    Of course, they were shocked.


    They had spent their entire life trapped inside Jeju¡¯s intranet.


    The existence of a whole new world called Viva! Apocalypse! was beyond anything they had imagined.


    SKELTON: (Serious Skeleton Emoji) I am F2PNewbie.


    HappinessForYou: W-Wait. You mean the guy who only ever commented with emojis until they got banned?!


    SKELTON: ?


    HappinessForYou: What the hell? Anyway, where even is this?


    SKELTON: This is Viva! Apocalypse!


    HappinessForYou: Viva Apocalypse...? What is that?


    SKELTON: Think of it as another site. Anyway, you said you wanted to meet me, right?


    HappinessForYou: Uh, yeah!


    SKELTON: As you can see, I¡¯m not in Jeju. I¡¯m outside, infiltrating the intranet from beyond. That¡¯s why we can¡¯t meet.


    HappinessForYou: W-Wait, really? You¡¯re lying.


    SKELTON: (Mysterious Skeleton Stare)


    HappinessForYou: ...What?


    SKELTON: ...


    HappinessForYou: You¡¯re serious...? No, wait. This forum¡ªit''s real. These are all real people.


    HappinessForYou: Ugh, what the hell? Why is there a disgusting picture of a naked corpse hanging from a noose?!


    SKELTON: Shit! Hold on!


    Some lunatic had managed to unban themselves.


    I deleted the post and banned them again.


    SKELTON: As you can see, this is not Jeju. This is another world. A site used not only by those on the Korean mainland but by survivors worldwide.


    HappinessForYou: I mean... yeah, it feels real. But, uh, Skeleton... how old are you? (Suspicious look)


    SKELTON: Age doesn¡¯t matter.


    HappinessForYou: You¡¯re an old man, aren¡¯t you?


    SKELTON: Let me show you something.


    I sent them a link.


    A legendary record of Viva! Apocalypse!¡ªthe saga of TwelveSquare.


    HappinessForYou: W-What is this?


    SKELTON: (Grinning Skeleton Emoji) Just watch.


    A brief yet powerful tale of life and death played out before them.


    After it ended, I asked.


    SKELTON: So? Thoughts on my accomplishments?


    HappinessForYou: What? That was you...?


    HappinessForYou: (Shocked Happiness Emoji)


    SKELTON: (Affirmative Skeleton)


    HappinessForYou: Bullshit.


    SKELTON: Believe what you want. But if you want to confirm the truth, you should know what you need to do.


    There was only one reason I had led my fan to this strange kingdom.


    To deliver a single message.


    SKELTON: Survive.


    Living or dying in battle was a matter of chance.


    But lasting long enough to see another day¡ªthat was a matter of will.


    Ordinary people couldn¡¯t change the world.


    So they had to endure.


    To adapt to hell.


    To grow numb to the horrors.


    To accept the relentless misery of daily life.


    And, most of all¡ªto stay awake when exhaustion begged them to sleep.


    SKELTON: If you want to see more fun things in the future, that is.


    I waited.


    HappinessForYou: You¡¯re... kinda interesting, huh?


    SKELTON: Your answer?


    HappinessForYou: Alright. I¡¯ll try.


    I signaled Ballantine.


    The moment he hit the keyboard, the secondary monitor went black.


    And on that darkened screen, a pale sentence appeared.


    [Disconnected]


    To HappinessForYou, the fairy kingdom they had just glimpsed was now completely erased.


    Vanished without a trace.


    I stared at the dark screen, a half-smile tugging at my lips¡ªa mix of satisfaction and something else.


    Bittersweet.


    "Do you think they¡¯ll survive?"


    Ballantine wiped the sweat from his forehead.


    He had indulged my nonsense again.


    "Who knows?"


    Still wearing that same half-smile, I turned to another screen.


    There, Viva! Apocalypse! was alive and thriving.


    For my fan, it was a fairy kingdom.


    A chaotic, brutal, but undeniably real kingdom.


    And as I watched yet another round of madness unfold, I murmured.


    "At the very least, when they die, they won¡¯t have regrets."


    "Isn¡¯t that even crueler?"


    I glanced at Ballantine.


    And shook my head.

 Chapter 123.1: Message from the Dead (1)

    Early in the morning, Woo Min-hee suddenly contacted me.


    "Hey, senior. I¡¯ve got some special information for you today."


    Out of nowhere, she reached out and provided us with unexpected intel.


    "This winter is expected to bring an extreme cold wave again. I don¡¯t know the exact reason, but sources from Europe suggest it might be related to the rift that appeared in the Arctic. Huh? Why am I suddenly sharing this with you? Well, you can¡¯t freeze to death before I do, can you?"


    Her prediction could be wrong.


    But we know how terrifying winter can be.


    In South Korea, cold waves have killed more people than war.


    To be precise, war destroyed infrastructure, and the people struggling to survive in its ruins couldn¡¯t endure the winter.


    Summer was passing, and autumn was approaching.


    The daytime temperature still felt no different from summer, but subtle and undeniable signs of seasonal change were appearing everywhere in nature.


    Thanks to Melon Mask creating the Global! Apocalypse! section on the integrated trending posts board, users from around the world¡ªwho had previously been isolated¡ªcould now communicate more conveniently and actively.


    Within this positive change, we found posts containing information similar to what Woo Min-hee had mentioned.


    One post came from a survivor in the devastated Netherlands who, by sheer luck, accessed a satellite control ¡ã? N o v e l i g h t ?¡ã center and shared a photo with us.


    LLM_Nibbixwoud: Something is definitely wrong with the Arctic. I¡¯m not an expert, so I can¡¯t fully explain it, but look at this. This is not the Arctic we know. Something¡¯s happening. Something beyond our imagination.


    The satellite image they shared showed the Arctic shrouded in dense clouds, resembling fog.


    That gray mist somehow reminded me of what I had seen in Jeju.


    LLM_Nibbixwoud: Before the war, global warming was one of our biggest concerns. It was an undeniable fact that human activity was raising Earth¡¯s temperature. But nuclear weapons alone couldn¡¯t have caused such a drastic temperature drop. That doesn¡¯t make sense, does it?


    Their post sparked a surge of interest and agreement among users.


    After all, we had all suffered through deadly winters.


    However, when asked whether the Arctic¡¯s changes were directly responsible for the extreme cold waves of the past two years, the poster had no definitive answer.


    Proving a link between the Arctic mist and current weather patterns wasn¡¯t easy, and there was no shortage of hostile rebuttals.


    In particular, those who were almost fanatically attached to the idea of climate change lashed out at the Dutch user¡¯s claims.


    According to them, even the extreme cold waves were just another consequence of global warming.


    I have neither knowledge nor interest in meteorology.


    To me, weather data was nothing more than tactical information provided by specialized departments.


    However, when it came to the blind criticism aimed at the Dutch survivor... I wasn¡¯t so sure.


    Since the rifts opened, we had seen countless things¡ªthings we once took for granted, things we firmly believed in¡ªbecome completely meaningless in an instant.


    I found myself trusting this Dutch user¡¯s words.


    The cold waves would come again.


    Our group¡¯s preparations for the coming winter weren¡¯t bad.


    We had enough food and equipment, and since we received this information while it was still autumn, we had ample time to prepare.


    But... would that be enough?


    Would it be enough for only Viva! Apocalypse! users to know this information?


    From the moment we signed up, agreed to the terms, and started paying our subscription fees, we knew that Viva! Apocalypse! was a networking tool for survivors.


    In reality, our mortality rate was significantly lower than that of non-users.


    Even in the apocalypse, information remained invaluable.


    I had chosen my bunker¡¯s location specifically to be far enough from Seoul¡ªnot just for safety, but to receive early warnings about threats I couldn¡¯t personally counter.


    Until now, simply surviving on my own had been overwhelming, and I believed that was enough.


    But as more and more people disappeared, and as the empty spaces left behind by the dead increased, I realized... it wasn¡¯t a good feeling.


    People were necessary. People like us¡ªpeople we could communicate and interact with¡ªwere necessary.


    Compared to before the apocalypse, this shift in my thinking was the most significant change in my mindset.


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s Suggestion) If another extreme cold wave is coming, shouldn¡¯t we let people know?


    For once, I posted a constructive suggestion on the board.


    As always, my post received almost no response.


    The only reply I got was some snide remark from a user I didn¡¯t recognize.


    Anonymous1883: And tell them for what? Just let them freeze to death. Let¡¯s keep this to ourselves. LOL.


    No doubt another scumbag who had killed an old user and stolen their gear.


    And yet, for some reason, they seemed to have developed a twisted sense of superiority.


    Did they think just logging into our board made them special?


    Ironically, it was one of our board¡¯s oldbies who gave me a positive response.


    That damn bastard.


    Foxgames: I fully support Skelton¡¯s idea! Even if we¡¯re not sure a cold wave is coming, I think we should all work together to spread this information as widely as possible!


    Didn¡¯t I block this guy?


    What¡¯s his angle?


    Well, it was obvious.


    His reputation had been going down the drain lately, so he was probably just trying to do some damage control by pretending to care.


    I considered deleting his comment for about three seconds but decided to leave it.


    His motives didn¡¯t matter¡ªhis words were right.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    I wanted as many people as possible to survive this winter.


    The problem was how to spread the message.


    Right now, our only means of communication were the K-Walkie-Talkie, Defender¡¯s radio equipment, and satellite internet.


    The radio to Jeju was out of the question.


    It wasn¡¯t something we could freely use anyway.


    With just these options, getting the information to people far away wouldn¡¯t be easy.


    Ideally, Viva! Apocalypse! users across different regions would take the initiative to spread the warning through whatever public frequencies they had access to.


    A chain reaction of goodwill, so to speak.


    Of course, I knew this was the kind of nai?ve, flower-filled fantasy that only idealists entertained.


    Trying to help others could easily backfire, revealing our locations and getting our bunkers¡ªand our lives¡ªtaken.


    I could spam over ten posts per second if I wanted, but I hesitated to take action.


    Frustrated, I turned to the English board for advice.


    Unlike our board, the English section had a much larger user base, and with more people came more skilled individuals.


    Using the auto-translate function, I posted the following message:


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s Question) If another cold wave is coming, isn¡¯t it wrong for only us to know about it?


    I didn¡¯t expect quick replies. My posts rarely got responses.


    But unexpectedly, I got an answer right away.


    GeraldOx992: Everyone already knows. What are you talking about?


    I immediately replied.


    SKELTON: (Skelton Confused) What?


    A stupid question met with a stupidly simple answer.


    GeraldOx992: Haven¡¯t you heard of Necropolis?


    Oh.


    Right.


    North America had Necropolis, a public survival network for everyone.


    I had always been aware of it, but since it wasn¡¯t something I was used to, I hadn¡¯t thought of it right away.


    The problem was that Necropolis only operated in North America.


    Its reach hadn¡¯t extended to South Korea.


    We needed a different solution.


    I asked another question on the English board.


    SKELTON: (Skelton¡¯s Question) I¡¯m in Korea. We don¡¯t have Necropolis here. What¡¯s the best way to spread the warning about the cold wave?


    This time, no one responded.


    *


    The internet was important, but the reality we faced every day was even more pressing.


    To prepare for the coming winter, we focused on securing food supplies.


    Right now, the most immediate food source we had was the rice I had personally planted and cultivated.


    There had been a few close calls, but the rice I had tilled, sown, and nurtured now stood tall among the surrounding weeds, ready to bow its golden heads in harvest.


    Cheon Young-jae and I walked through the ripening field, taking in the sight.


    ¡°Wow. This is pretty serious. How did you even manage this?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a huge amount.


    With the number of people we had now, it wasn¡¯t nearly enough to feed everyone in our territory.


    At best, it was a luxury, a special meal that would last for a few days at most.


    But freshly harvested, steaming hot rice would provide more than just nutrition¡ªit would boost morale.


    Any Korean would have a nostalgic attachment to rice.


    There were two main things crucial for surviving winter: food to last through the season and fuel for warmth.


    Fuel was more important, but the two were practically inseparable.


    To be honest, our food situation was quite abundant.


    Not only did we have enough to last through this winter, but we had enough to make it through next year¡¯s winter as well.


    My stockpile was already significant, but the supplies our new members had brought with them weren¡¯t insignificant either.


    Even Cheon Young-jae, who had arrived with nothing but a backpack, joked that most of the weight in his bag was food.


    The ones with the least food were the Defender siblings. But for them, who had a very different mindset from us¡ªwhere they had no qualms about raiding others or even killing for supplies¡ªan immediate food shortage probably wasn¡¯t much of a concern.


    At least they weren¡¯t eating people.


    Regardless, even if we had an abundance of food for now, I wanted to preserve our emergency rations as a last resort.


    What I had in mind was pemmican.


    I planned to hunt and use the meat to create long-lasting survival food for the winter.


    I had run out of cranberries as a flavoring agent, but my tolerance for unpleasant flavors had grown just as much as my supply had shrunk.


    I could endure a little gamey meat odor if it meant securing food.


    "Still nothing."


    Above us, Hong Da-jeong¡¯s drone hovered in the sky.


    She was utterly useless in terms of productivity, so I had to assign her at least something to do.


    The contrast between her and Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother couldn¡¯t be more stark¡ªwhile Hong Da-jeong wasted time, the old woman never stopped moving, constantly improving our quality of life with small agricultural efforts and homemade side dishes.


    When she first arrived, I thought of her as baggage that came along with her son.


    But seeing the sheer diligence she displayed and the changes she brought, it now felt like Bang Jae-hyuk was the one who had been dragged along with her.


    Anyway, Hong Da-jeong¡¯s drone was currently scanning for Mutations.


    Eating mutations had been unthinkable in the early days of the war.


    But over the past three years, mutations had proven to be a viable food source.


    For some unknown reason, mutated animals actually tasted better than their original forms.


    I hadn¡¯t touched it myself, but even the cat meat we had hunted before had been deemed ¡®not bad¡¯ by the others.


    In Jeju, they supplemented their meat supply with mutated cattle, so it couldn¡¯t be that bad.


    The problem was that mutations weren¡¯t easy to hunt.


    It wasn¡¯t just the difficulty of taking them down¡ªif a mutation actively tried to avoid humans, there was little we could do.


    Even when mutated whales rampaged in the ocean, there wasn¡¯t much humanity could do to stop them.


    Even the black one that had wandered into my territory had caused me endless trouble.


    But at least we had confirmed that there was a herd of mutated boars in the south.


    With some luck, we might be able to secure a large supply of fresh meat.


    After finishing the day¡¯s work, I returned to the bunker and booted up my laptop.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    There was a notification.


    Someone had left a comment on one of my posts.


    Could it be a reply to the post I made in the early hours?


    I didn¡¯t expect much.


    The English board wasn¡¯t full of geniuses either.


    Like us, they had their share of trolls and toxic users.


    The Human Leather Craftsman, the latest villain on our board, was a type that had been common on the English board ever since the war first broke out.


    Still, I checked the comment as I took off my jacket.


    Deadman_working: Looks like Korea doesn¡¯t have Necropolis, huh?


    Predictable. Not exactly groundbreaking information.


    I sighed.


    Tap tap tap.


    SKELTON: Yeah. We don¡¯t. Wish someone would bring it here.


    I watched as my message was auto-translated, then headed for the shower.


    After washing up, I climbed down the ladder and took a sip from my personal coffee milk stored in the underground fridge.


    ¡°Mm~.¡±


    The perfect blend of skim milk powder and coffee mix¡ªabsolute perfection.


    I could feel the exhaustion of the day melting away.


    Returning to my computer, I noticed a new message.


    Message from Deadman_working: Can we talk for a bit?


    The same guy from before.


    I had nothing better to do, so I agreed.


    SKELTON: Sure.


    I expected nothing more than some casual, meaningless conversation¡ªsomething light enough to unwind after a long day.


    But the moment I sent my reply, my screen suddenly went dark.


    A crisp white message appeared in the void.


    Message from Deadman_working: Are you Twelve Square?

 Chapter 123.2: Message from the Dead (2)

    They say that no one knows the creator of Necropolis, nor can they ever find out.


    The only clue is that he supposedly uses the username Death_Lord98 within Necropolis, but even this is debated among its own users.


    Now, the person presumed to be this mysterious administrator has appeared before me.


    Message from Deadman_working: Who am I? That doesn¡¯t matter. What matters is that, by chance, you caught my eye. Your username looked familiar to me.


    Was this magic?


    The creator of Necropolis was said to possess skills so formidable that even Melon Musk, once hailed as a genius entrepreneur, would have felt despair in comparison.


    Just now, for a brief moment, he made my screen go black.


    SKELTON: (shocked) My screen just turned black?! How did you do that?!


    I asked.


    What kind of trick had he used?


    Deadman responded with a casual indifference.


    Message from Deadman_working: Why did your screen go black? Simple. I embedded a small code into the message. It¡¯s something like ASCII commands¡ªjust a line of code that changes the screen¡¯s color.


    Message from Deadman_working: Like this.


    The screen turned blue.


    Message from Deadman_working: How about this?


    Now it was green.


    Message from Deadman_working: I don¡¯t like this color.


    Then, it changed to purple.


    Message from Deadman_working: This board was sloppily made from the start. Changing a color is nothing.


    And then, it returned to normal.


    Message from Deadman_working: Recently, someone¡¯s been posting a lot in Necropolis, hinting that they are TwelveSquare.


    So now we were getting to the point.


    I adjusted my posture and waited for his next message.


    Message from Deadman_working: Many people have impersonated TwelveSquare before, but only two have been consistently claiming to be him. And one of them...


    Message from Deadman_working: Their signal was picked up from somewhere unusual.


    Message from Deadman_working: That¡¯s right. From Korea.


    Message from Deadman_working: The legendary broadcasts of TwelveSquare were made from within Korean territory.


    Message from Deadman_working: That¡¯s why I contacted you.


    So that was it.


    I had assumed some all-knowing hacker had accessed all of Viva! Apocalypse!¡¯s records and decided to reach out to me.


    But in reality, there was a reason behind it.


    It wasn¡¯t as if some omniscient god had peered into my life and chosen to talk to me.


    Still, this guy knew that the transmission from me and Ballantine to Necropolis had originated from Korea.


    Even if he wasn¡¯t the actual creator of Necropolis, he certainly had administrator-level access.


    It made sense.


    In Necropolis, when a post is made from a region outside of the U.S. or Europe, it appears like this:


    Dead73609(???): I have information about TwelveSquare. If any administrator sees this, I request contact.


    Whereas for users in the U.S. or Europe, it looks like this:


    Dead10851(MD): There¡¯s plenty of trash around, but is there a way to burn it without worrying about toxic fumes?


    Dead59231(GER): Like last year, should we just burn people instead?


    Dead5413(FRC): Mutations stole all my harvested crops.


    Dead43219(IN): A guy in my area died yesterday using homemade bullets. His gun exploded.


    ...


    ...


    As you can see, posts from America and Europe display regional markers, while others do not.


    And that¡¯s not something an individual user can manipulate.


    Necropolis operates on the bare minimum of resources¡ªbesides posting, no other functions are supported.


    Users can¡¯t send private messages or access each other¡¯s information.


    Only an administrator could interpret the meaning of the ??? location marker.


    Of course, this alone wasn¡¯t enough to confirm that Deadman_working was an administrator.


    But I wasn¡¯t looking for an administrator.


    I wanted to find the creator of Necropolis.


    Because I had a request to make.


    SKELTON: I am TwelveSquare.


    I told the truth.


    But the truth doesn¡¯t always sound convincing.


    And sure enough¡ª


    Message from Deadman_working: Proof?


    He immediately questioned me.


    A reasonable doubt.


    The person who broadcasted as TwelveSquare and my current self had different accounts, different usernames, different location data.


    And in my current state, it was impossible for me to log into that old account.


    The satellite equipment was still abandoned in a remote outpost on Hallasan, in a place where no one would ever go.


    There was only one thing I could do.


    SKELTON: What would it take for you to believe me?


    I had to prove myself.


    That wouldn¡¯t be easy.


    Message from Deadman_working: I already know the account information for TwelveSquare. Both from an account level and the satellite terminal¡¯s serial number, you and TwelveSquare are completely different people.


    As expected.


    SKELTON: Is there any way around this?


    I asked again.


    Silence.


    No response.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    I kept waiting.


    Right now, the only person we could realistically consult about network and communication issues was the creator of Necropolis.


    The idea of building a second PaleNet was a romantic notion, but the physical limitations were overwhelming.


    For a group of our size, it was simply impossible.


    At least for now.


    Unless we had someone like King on our side.


    Then, after a long stretch of waiting, a new message arrived.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Message from Deadman_working: But I do believe you genuinely want to help people. And, honestly, I wouldn¡¯t mind if more people started using Necropolis.


    ¡°!!¡±


    As soon as I read that, I clenched my fists without realizing it.


    Message from Deadman_working: But there¡¯s a condition.


    SKELTON: A condition?


    Message from Deadman_working: I¡¯ve been watching your Korean message board.


    Message from Deadman_working: You know that guy, mmmmmmmmm?


    SKELTON: Yeah, I know him.


    Message from Deadman_working: Are you friends? Close acquaintances?


    SKELTON: Not at all. Just rivals.


    Message from Deadman_working: Good.


    What was this suddenly about M9?


    Before I could ask, Deadman continued.


    Message from Deadman_working: Kill him.


    ¡°?¡±


    I tilted my head.


    It had been a while since I last encountered something so incomprehensible.


    The message he sent was so far removed from my usual train of thought that I felt like I was reading something written in an entirely different language.


    Message from Deadman_working: Kill him, then verify it using his account. If TwelveSquare could take down dozens of soldiers and monsters alone, this should be an easy task.


    I immediately replied.


    SKELTON: You¡¯re joking, right?


    A thought crossed my mind.


    This man, Deadman_working¡ª


    Maybe he was far more broken than I had imagined.


    Message from Deadman_working: I don¡¯t joke. I buried my sense of humor alongside my comrades long ago.


    SKELTON: Are you even really connected to Necropolis?


    Message from Deadman_working: If I am, will you kill mmmmmmmmm for me?


    ¡°That¡¯s not the point.¡±


    I typed the same words into the chat.


    And then I asked.


    SKELTON: What¡¯s your real motive? Why are you saying this?


    The feeling I got from him...


    It reminded me of Defender.


    That same scent¡ª


    Something I could neither understand nor ever hope to.


    Message from Deadman_working: Humanity is already doomed.


    Message from Deadman_working: No one can survive. No matter what hope you hold onto, no matter what values you believe in, this truth will never change.


    Message from Deadman_working: Humanity cannot win against the Rifts. The Rifts don¡¯t exist to fight humans¡ªthey exist to compete with Earth itself. And the idea that humans, mere parasites on this planet, could represent Earth and fight back?


    Message from Deadman_working: Now that...


    Message from Deadman_working: That¡¯s the real comedy.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Deeply unpleasant as it was, Deadman Working and I shared similar thoughts.


    I had no intention of denying it.


    My view on humanity¡¯s future wasn¡¯t all that different from his.


    Humanity would lose.


    We couldn¡¯t win this fight.


    Even now, beings like Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in¡ªpractically gods among men¡ªwere struggling, unable to close a single minor Rift on Jeju Island.


    Message from Deadman_working: In the end, we all walk the same path toward destruction. Does it really matter who dies first, who lives longer, or who maintains their morality? We don¡¯t look at dinosaur fossils in a museum and discuss the virtue of individual specimens, do we?


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    I had finally found it.


    The difference between us.


    They say that while languages may differ, human thoughts are ultimately the same.


    But language is just a tool to express thought.


    With the wisdom of Melon Musk behind me, I sent my thoughts to this distant, unknown acquaintance.


    SKELTON: I don¡¯t think that¡¯s true.


    Message from Deadman_working: Why?


    He asked in return.


    I let out a short sigh and typed.


    SKELTON: Even if I am going to die, I will die as a human being.


    Without hesitation.


    Message from Deadman_working: The definition of "human" varies from person to person.


    SKELTON: I trust you have enough literacy to understand my point. Besides, I have no interest in discussing philosophy with someone I barely know.


    SKELTON: What I need is a way to share what we know with as many people as possible. Whether that¡¯s Necropolis, or your mother¡¯s police station, I don¡¯t really care.


    That was my stance.


    My firm, unwavering will.


    A brief silence stretched across the monitor, the network cables, the satellites.


    Ding¡ª


    A notification popped up.


    But it wasn¡¯t from Deadman.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: Skelton~


    It was from Rebecca. Or Sue.


    Someone I knew. Someone I cherished.


    By some miracle, in the exact moment I needed it most, their message arrived.


    And despite its sudden appearance, it overwhelmed me with emotion.


    Taptaptap¡ª


    SKELTON: (Skelton shocked) What¡¯s with the sudden message?!!!!


    It made me react with exaggerated excitement, something completely unlike me.


    This was one of the small miracles I had learned about after the war.


    Even if we were all doomed, even if we could never escape that fate¡ªwas there really a need to shatter these connections with our own hands?


    Ignoring Deadman, I focused on waiting for Rebecca and her daughter¡¯s response, staring at my monitor.


    Soon, another message arrived.


    Message from Deadman_working: I do agree with the idea of keeping at least one person alive.


    I tilted my head.


    SKELTON: Suddenly?


    Message from Deadman_working: It¡¯s not for altruistic reasons like yours, Skelton.


    SKELTON: (Skelton confused)


    Message from Deadman_working: Necropolis is the city of the dead. The more echoes that reverberate forever within the city of the dead, the better. That¡¯s what I want as its builder.


    Message from Deadman_working: Can you secure a location with at least the broadcasting capacity of a small regional station for 72 hours?


    The conversation advanced abruptly.


    And I hadn¡¯t done anything.


    I hadn¡¯t persuaded him. I hadn¡¯t even presented a logical argument.


    Yet, out of nowhere, he had suddenly agreed.


    SKELTON: I can try, but why the sudden change of heart?


    Message from Deadman_working: You¡¯re mistaken. I never changed my mind. Didn¡¯t I already tell you? I welcome more users in Necropolis.


    I scrolled up.


    He had, indeed, said that.


    Message from Deadman_working: If there¡¯s someone willing to act as an agent in the Necropolis wasteland of East Asia, I¡¯m willing to work with them. As I said before, the more voices echoing in the city of the dead, the better.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    He was still speaking in a way I couldn¡¯t fully understand.


    But he had reached out first.


    He had knowledge and resources that I didn¡¯t.


    SKELTON: So if I secure the broadcasting equipment you mentioned, Necropolis will be usable in Korea?


    There was no reason to refuse.


    If we judged every deal based on morality, few transactions in this world would ever be made.


    Message from Deadman_working: As long as you meet my requirements. The process involves connecting one transmission stream to another.


    SKELTON: That¡¯s all? You¡¯re not going to demand any unnecessary sacrifices?


    Message from Deadman_working: Why would I?


    SKELTON: Then why did you bring up M9 earlier?


    Message from Deadman_working: Because I don¡¯t like people like him giving others hope.


    SKELTON: ?


    Message from Deadman_working: It¡¯s been proven in multiple regions¡ªfalse hope only makes people live longer.


    SKELTON: And you don¡¯t want people to live longer?


    Message from Deadman_working: That¡¯s not it. It¡¯s just...


    SKELTON: ?


    Message from Deadman_working: I want to be the last human left, as quickly as possible.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    As much as I hated to admit it, we shared a similar dream.


    Deadman Working continued speaking.


    Message from Deadman_working: Imagine it, Skelton. The day when every last human is gone, when mankind is extinct.


    Message from Deadman_working: Whether it takes ten million years or hundreds of millions, eventually, something like us will emerge again. Maybe our distant relatives. Maybe visitors from another world.


    Message from Deadman_working: And when ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Original source) that time comes, they will hear it. The highly digitized message, carried by Earth¡¯s magnetic field for eons.


    Message from Deadman_working: That is Necropolis.


    Message from Deadman_working: In the city of the dead, there is no good or evil. No order to the dead. None of it matters.


    Message from Deadman_working: What do you think, Skelton?


    Despite our similarities, we could never mix.


    All I could sense in his words was a denial of humanity, a delusion bordering on self-indulgent nihilism.


    Ding¡ª


    [New message received.]


    Once upon a time, I had similar thoughts.


    That¡¯s how I knew.


    Deadman Working was, without a doubt, a very lonely person.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: I want something juicy.


    A faint smile crept onto my lips.


    And I responded.


    SKELTON: (Skelton bewildered) ?

 Chapter 124.1: Play (1)

    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: Seriously, my mother. Seriously. She¡¯s so stupid I could hit her.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: People like her are the biggest problem. It¡¯s obvious to anyone that the commander is lying, but she believes his words like they¡¯re religious doctrine!


    Inside the U.S. military camp near Daegu Airfield, remnants of American soldiers and civilians who couldn¡¯t evacuate after the war remained.


    It was true that, even after the war began, transport planes had sporadically airlifted military personnel and civilians from the Daegu camp to their fleet in Okinawa.


    The problem was what came after.


    This was now the fourth year since the war began.


    Even a superpower, armed with an overwhelmingly favorable geographic position¡ªwhat would have been called a map hack advantage in gaming¡ªwas staggering and collapsing under the weight of impending doom.


    A country like Korea, which no longer held any strategic value, wasn¡¯t even a consideration.


    Fort Segnol.


    The fortress of the abandoned Americans was slowly dying.


    The surrounding area had already been eroded by the spreading waves of the Rift in Yangsan, and they were under constant threat from hostile civilians, zombies, and even monsters.


    The commander of the fortress kept misleading people, claiming that a transport plane would be arriving soon¡ªbut that transport plane hadn¡¯t shown up in two years.


    A boy around Sue¡¯s age had accessed the camp¡¯s communication logs and discovered that the fleet they believed to be waiting in Okinawa had already withdrawn from Asia.


    But instead of believing him, the adults branded the boy a traitor¡ªhe was Chinese¡ªand exiled him from the camp.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: At this rate, we¡¯re all going to die.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: Skelton, you have to convince my mom!


    Convincing Rebecca wouldn¡¯t be easy.


    From what I had experienced, she was a simple person.


    She held onto one or two goals and fixated on them stubbornly.


    She had no real interest in anything outside of what she had decided for herself, nor did she try to change.


    It had taken me over a year just to ease her hostility toward me.


    And that had only been possible because I had unilaterally extended goodwill toward her.


    Once she trusted someone, she became a reliable ally.


    But convincing that Rebecca again? It wouldn¡¯t be simple.


    In the past, I would have outright refused.


    But I liked to think I had gained some experience.


    Yes, experience dealing with people.


    I asked Sue to set up a conversation with Rebecca.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: Skelton! It¡¯s been a while! You¡¯re still alive, right?


    It was only text, but I could tell her Korean had improved.


    Time to put my well-honed skills as a veteran forum user to use.


    SKELTON: I¡¯ve been eating so well lately I think I¡¯m getting fat.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: Really?


    SKELTON: I even had fried chicken yesterday.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: I want fried chicken too.


    SKELTON: How¡¯s it going over there? Is it a good place for Sue¡¯s education?


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: Not as good as I expected, but it¡¯s okay. More than anything, it¡¯s safe.


    SKELTON: So, you have no plans to leave?


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: No. A plane to America is scheduled to come here.


    SKELTON: I see.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: My husband is coming soon.


    SKELTON: Really?


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: Yes, he said he would come.


    SKELTON: When?


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: I don¡¯t know exactly. But I have to stay here and wait for him to come someday.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: It¡¯s a little tough, but...


    I didn¡¯t continue the conversation beyond that.


    There was no need.


    It was enough to understand why Rebecca was clinging to the camp.


    Sue had been right.


    Rebecca was staying in a doomed refugee camp because of false hope.


    Objectively, her hope was impossible.


    This wasn¡¯t just my opinion. It was a fact.


    Since working with Ballantine and maintaining regular contact with Necropolis, I had naturally come to understand the internal situation in the U.S. far better than before.


    The United States as a federal entity had long since collapsed.


    Even state governments were falling apart.


    A few well-established state governments were barely holding on, but their collapse was only a matter of time.


    Gangs, insurgents, and warlords ruled the land.


    Refugee waves from failed states were crashing into the last strongholds, threatening to bring them down as well.


    In the past, the U.S. had built a border wall to keep out Mexican refugees.


    Now, Americans were building walls to keep out other Americans.


    Even without the human conflicts, over 700 small and large Rifts had opened across U.S. territory.


    Rift erosion, monster outbreaks, rampant mutations, the zombie plague¡ª


    Any lesser nation would have already been wiped out by this level of catastrophe, but America was barely holding on.


    The idea that the U.S. government would send a long-range transport plane to rescue a mere 200 people stranded in Korea was nothing short of delusional.


    But even if I explained all of this, Rebecca wouldn¡¯t listen.


    She was someone who fixated on what she wanted to believe.


    Convincing her was impossible.


    SKELTON: No matter what I say, your mom won¡¯t listen to me.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue crying) Then what do we do...?


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: I don¡¯t want to die here. I want to live longer.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Persuasion wasn¡¯t the only way to move people.


    In fact, persuasion was one of the least efficient methods.


    SKELTON: I have an idea.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue shocked) Really?!


    SKELTON: Do you know the movie The Truman Show?


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: No.


    SKELTON: We¡¯re going to put on a little play.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: A play?


    SKELTON: In other words, we¡¯re going to run a con.


    When you think about it, us hunters were all a type of con artist.


    Using intimidation tactics to deceive monsters was our core strategy.


    Now, I would try the same against Rebecca.


    Not with guns¡ª


    But with the internet.


    *


    Before the war, deepfake technology had caused a huge social controversy.


    With advanced AI, people could manipulate real-time footage of celebrities and politicians, mixing them with fake news to skew public opinion.


    Even Movie! Apocalypse!¡ªan experimental feature in Viva! Apocalypse!¡ªwas, in a broad sense, a kind of deepfake technology.


    But I didn¡¯t need something that sophisticated.


    What I needed was a series of convincing, but completely fake, images and videos showing U.S. soldiers arriving at the former American base near my territory.


    I had played around with AI-generated images back when they were briefly popular on the forums.


    So, as a test, I tried generating a few images using an AI tool.


    The setup required three key components.


    First, background images of the military base.


    Second, old photos of U.S. soldiers from existing databases.


    And third, a transport plane stationed on a military airstrip.


    I already had plenty of background images of the base saved on my phone, and I could take new ones anytime.


    The military photos were easy to find¡ªthere were countless images from past wars and post-war operations floating around online.


    I selected an image of soldiers in combat gear stepping out of a helicopter at an airfield.


    As for the transport plane?


    I had the perfect material.


    A while ago, I had taken photos of a transport plane that had landed en route to Jeju.


    It was American-made, so I wouldn¡¯t even need to edit it much.


    With all the raw materials ready, I fed them into an AI image synthesis tool and got to ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Original source) work.


    The process was simple.


    Adjust composition, lighting, time of day, add the right keywords¡ª


    Click.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Now to check the results.


    Since AI images could often blur details like a half-remembered dream, I needed to review them carefully.


    And already, I noticed something strange.


    ¡°Hm.¡±


    A perfectly fine soldier had six fingers instead of five.


    A well-known issue with AI image tools.


    I saved the ones that looked good and tweaked the tags or regenerated the images for the ones that didn¡¯t.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Click. Click. Click.


    I wasn¡¯t drawing the images myself, but getting exactly what I wanted still required a lot of time and effort.


    To outsiders, it might just look like mindless mouse-clicking, but producing a proper AI-generated image wasn¡¯t as easy as it seemed.


    Just like how baseball players manipulate the seams of a baseball to throw different pitches, AI-generated images had to be fine-tuned with subtle adjustments to a few key tags.


    There was a reason people called themselves AI illustrators.


    Once I had the images I needed, I sent them to Hong Dajeong.


    She was skilled at what was commonly called Photoshopping.


    ¡°What is this? You want me to touch up these photos and make them look real?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I need you to fix this guy¡¯s six fingers and turn them into five. Can you do it?¡±


    She was the only person in my territory who did nothing but eat, so I had to make use of her when I could.


    ¡°It¡¯s important. Do me a favor.¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤I don¡¯t know what you need it for, but okay. I¡¯ll try.¡±


    There was no trying. She had to do it.


    ¡°Alright, I did what you asked. Does it look good to you?¡±


    Dajeong might have been useless outside of combat, but I had to give her credit¡ªshe worked fast and delivered results.


    ¡°Excellent.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t one to give compliments easily, but she deserved it for this.


    ¡°But Skelton... what are you using these for?¡±


    ¡°Hmm, I want to help someone.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Remember the sniper who used to live near us?¡±


    ¡°Oh, them?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I want to help them out a bit.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    Her response was lukewarm.


    Well, that was expected.


    Rebecca and her daughter were my neighbors, not the Defender siblings¡¯.


    I had made sure beforehand that neither side trespassed into the other¡¯s territory, but if I hadn¡¯t been there as a mediator, one of them would no longer be alive.


    ¡°If it¡¯s your plan, I hope it works out. Let me know if you need anything else.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Dajeong¡¯s work was a crucial part of the next step.


    It was the key prop in the grand play I was about to stage.


    Now, I needed one more thing.


    Multiple satellite devices.


    Aside from my main satellite device, I had three more.


    Some might ask, Why the hell does one person need four satellite devices?


    But a seasoned internet veteran like me would say, Of course I need them.


    Because the number of satellite devices I had was equal to the number of alter egos I could create.


    I had four.


    Which meant that Skelton could operate as four separate personas.


    Originally, I had planned to distribute these extra devices to Ha Tae-hoon and the others in my territory.


    But after delaying it for various reasons, I started questioning whether giving them away was even necessary.


    In the end, holding onto them had been the right choice.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Taptaptap.


    [ Welcome to Viva! Apocalypse! ]


    It was time for my second online persona, CRAZY_HORSE, to take action.


    Using the auto-translate function, courtesy of Melon Musk¡¯s technology, I manipulated public perception on the English forums.


    CRAZY_HORSE: U.S. Army troops arriving in Korea.jpg


    A deepfake-fueled fake news post.


    Just like in Korea, English-speaking users tended to ignore posts with no comments.


    It was time for my third account to step in.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Taptaptap.


    [ Welcome to Viva! Apocalypse! ]


    My third online persona.


    roxanneGIRL: Wow?! Why are U.S. troops in Korea?!


    As the name suggested, this persona was female.


    Her role was to hype up the post.


    roxanneGIRL: Is this really Korea?


    roxanneGIRL: I can¡¯t believe it. How did they get there?


    Of course, a mere two-person exchange wasn¡¯t enough to make this massive play seem real.


    After all, sockpuppeting wasn¡¯t just a problem in Korea¡ªWestern users did it all the time too.


    That¡¯s where my fourth online persona came in.


    Dr.emiless: ?


    Dr. Emiless.


    Unlike the others, this persona was¡ª


    Dr.emiless: Hhhhhhmmmmmmmm.


    ¡ªskeptical.

 Chapter 124.2: Play (2)

    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    Taptaptap.


    Dr.emiless: Does the U.S. even have the capacity to send troops to Korea right now?


    Dr.emiless: Our own data centers are under attack, and yet somehow, they¡¯re deploying soldiers to Korea?


    Dr.emiless: This isn¡¯t fake news?


    Preemptive strike.


    By raising the suspicion myself, I could shut down any problems before they arose.


    Dr.emiless: Something about these photos looks off.


    This tactic had another advantage.


    It increased the number of comments.


    People were naturally drawn to posts with more engagement. It was a universal human instinct, transcending nationality, culture, and religion.


    Even I tended to click on posts with more comments first.


    Manipulating comment numbers was a classic attention-seeking strategy among online lunatics.


    But engagement alone wouldn¡¯t sustain the story.


    There was a reason why watching fights was universally entertaining.


    It was time for my second persona to step in.


    CRAZY_HORSE: A military friend of mine sent these. Is there a problem?


    CRAZY_HORSE: I went through the trouble of getting this valuable intel to share, and suddenly I¡¯m under attack?


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    Taptaptap.


    Dr.emiless: Hhhhhhhmmmmmmm.


    Dr.emiless: I think it¡¯s a reasonable concern.


    Dr.emiless: Or is there something you¡¯re hiding?


    CRAZY_HORSE: It¡¯s just a simple info share. Why so hostile?


    roxanneGIRL: @Dr.emiless Stop with the baseless accusations.


    Dr.emiless: Baseless accusations? I just pointed out something seemed off in the photo. Is that such a crime?


    My bunker was in a state of complete chaos.


    In addition to the underground satellite unit, three extra devices were lined up, cables sprawling across the floor. My desk was overflowing with desktop monitors and laptops. It was so cluttered that I had to close the toilet lid and place one of the laptops on it.


    A true test of extreme multitasking.


    Unfortunately, this was the only way to operate on Viva! Apocalypse!.


    Each satellite device required its own separate computer.


    Thanks to Ballantine, I had the necessary equipment, but keeping up was no easy task.


    Jumping between different keyboards and switching personas was far more mentally demanding than one might expect.


    Meanwhile, the impromptu flame war was heating up.


    I didn¡¯t fully understand American culture, but I did know that certain aspects of human nature remained consistent.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    Taptaptap.


    CRAZY_HORSE: Where do you live?


    Americans probably challenged each other to real-life fights too.


    Dr.emiless: Come to Texas.


    They probably dropped their locations like this as well.


    CRAZY_HORSE: Texas?


    Not that they¡¯d actually follow through, given the sheer size of the U.S.


    roxanneGIRL: Guys, stop fighting!


    Just as I was fully immersed in my extreme multitasking, someone suddenly opened the bunker door.


    I had left it unlocked while communicating with Ballantine, and now someone had just barged in.


    "These stairs are always so uneven. If you trip, you¡¯d break your neck."


    It was Hong Dajeong.


    Of all times, she had to walk in while I was crouched over the toilet, role-playing as roxanneGIRL.


    "Skelton...?"


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    "What the hell are you doing... there?"


    We locked eyes in the most unfortunate of locations.


    "Are you... sitting on the toilet?"


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    What should I say?


    My goal was just.


    I was performing a noble mission to save my neighbors, Rebecca and Sue, from certain death.


    There was nothing to be ashamed of.


    Besides, I always maintained my composure.


    "What? Suddenly acting all casual?"


    I got up, brushing myself off, trying to come up with an excuse.


    But before I could, I noticed Dajeong¡¯s gaze fixating on something else.


    "What the¡ªwhy do you have three Obelisks? Huh?!"


    Right.


    She was eyeing my spare satellite units with an unsettling amount of greed.


    "!"


    All my years of surviving near-death situations told me this was more dangerous than being caught doing toilet-based multi-accounting.


    "Do you like coffee milk?"


    "Skelton! You should¡¯ve told me you had these! Do you know how annoying it is to share a satellite device with my brother?!"


    "These are for a mission."


    "A mission, my ass. Just give me one. I left SeamonkeyPAPA¡¯s behind when I moved."


    "They¡¯re for something important."


    "I¡¯ll upvote all your posts. I¡¯ll even back you up in flame wars."


    ...Now that was tempting.


    Suddenly, the laptop on the toilet lid beeped with a notification.


    "Skelton, did you seriously enable comment notifications?"


    Dajeong tilted her head, confused.


    "Why the hell would you do that? It¡¯s not even a message notification..."


    Because I, like many others thirsty for engagement, enabled comment notifications.


    I ignored the latest philosophical debate with her and looked at the screen.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: This? Is this real?


    Rebecca had taken the bait.


    I immediately excused myself and rushed to the desktop connected to my fourth persona.


    Taptaptap.


    Dr.emiless: Hmmmmmmmmm.


    *


    "So... you did all this just to help that sniper?"


    Later, after sharing some of my emergency snack stash, I explained the situation to Dajeong and Defender.


    Defender, having slipped into my bunker unnoticed, had given my setup a quick once-over. He was mildly surprised by the sheer amount of tech but showed no further reaction.


    Like Dajeong, however, his gaze was drawn to the neatly lined-up satellite devices rather than my toilet-based multi-accounting.


    As I continued explaining, I had an unsettling feeling that I might lose one of them.


    "She¡¯s stubborn. She only believes in what she wants to believe. She doesn¡¯t listen to advice. So the only way to change her mind is through this."


    I spoke carefully, but I could feel Dajeong¡¯s gaze fixated on the satellites.


    She wasn¡¯t licking her lips, but she might as well have been.


    And, of course¡ª


    "Give me one."


    "What?"


    "Why not? You were just going to use them for your multi-accounting, right?"


    "Well, I mean..."


    "Come on, don¡¯t be stingy. It¡¯s more efficient if more people are involved."


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    I looked at Defender.


    Despite being a psycho, he and I usually saw eye to eye.


    And, as expected¡ª


    "Dajeong."


    Defender turned to her.


    "Skelton needs those for something important. I mean, look at him¡ªhe¡¯s so desperate, he¡¯s working on the toilet."


    He was on my side.


    A natural result after I had saved his life multiple times.


    But Dajeong wasn¡¯t backing down.


    "Skelton, people come first! This isn¡¯t just about multi-accounting; more hands make for a better job!"


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    "Come on, trust me. You know I have over ten years of online shit-stirring experience."


    "Ten years?"


    "Probably more. I started in elementary school."


    ...What a horrifying childhood.


    But honestly, I had already accepted my fate the moment she set her eyes on those satellites.


    Might as well let her have one and save my pride.


    "I was going to give you one anyway."


    "Liar."


    "Pick the one you like."


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    And so, my collaboration with Hong Dajeong began.


    It''s true that Hong Dajeong is practically an idle presence in our group, but in the online world, she possesses exceptional skills.


    At first, she was so passive that I began to wonder if she would just take my equipment and disappear. Just as those suspicions started creeping in, the formidable opponent I had anticipated appeared.


    St.Ailens: What is this? A deepfake?


    A true, homegrown troublemaker.


    St.Ailens: There is no longer any strategic military force operating at a federal level in the U.S. Naturally, all overseas strategic assets have been withdrawn. The only place where forces remain is Germany, and that¡¯s not because they didn¡¯t want to leave, but because they couldn¡¯t. So now, they¡¯ve deployed strategic assets to Korea, a place with no strategic value?


    St.Ailens: Which unit is this? The image is blurry, and the unit insignia and identification patches are conveniently obscured.


    St.Ailens: And look at their uniforms and equipment. This looks pre-war. Back then, they could afford to deck themselves out in full gear, but after the war, even regular troops barely had better equipment than civilians. None of this stuff has been maintained, so why are they still wearing it?


    St.Ailens: And most importantly, that transport plane. That model wasn¡¯t used by the Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marines before the war. It was only sold to allied nations.


    St.Ailens: Based on all of this, I¡¯m willing to bet my bunker that this image is a deepfake.


    I don¡¯t know much about him, but he seems sharp.


    Could he actually be ex-military?


    On top of that, I wasn¡¯t familiar with arguing against Americans online, so I had to take a moment to assess the situation. Just then, an unexpected ally appeared.


    CRAZY_HORSE: St.Ailens, this guy. My notes say he¡¯s a troll.


    "Hmm?"


    What? Notes?


    CRAZY_HORSE: Let¡¯s check.


    St.Ailens: CRAZY_HORSE, what are you talking about?


    CRAZY_HORSE: Search complete.


    St.Ailens: What?


    CRAZY_HORSE: LOL.


    "LOL?"


    CRAZY_HORSE: Just as I thought. This guy hops between popular posts stirring up trouble.


    St.Ailens: What are you talking about? I don¡¯t post without reason.


    CRAZY_HORSE: Yeah, right! Your search history says otherwise. You really have nothing better to do, huh?


    St.Ailens: CRAZY_HORSE, that is baseless slander. I demand an apology.


    CRAZY_HORSE: Eat dirt, moron.


    CRAZY_HORSE: What kind of guy are you? Some military nerd? Huh? One of those types who¡¯s never fired a gun but knows more about the military than anyone?


    CRAZY_HORSE: LOL.


    St.Ailens: This is truly beneath me. This is why I avoid posting here.


    CRAZY_HORSE: Nerd~ Nerd~ Nerd~


    Watching the intense keyboard battle, I found myself swallowing hard.


    I glanced at Dajeong.


    Her eyes glowed in the monitor¡¯s light, lips curled into a triumphant smirk as her fingers moved across the keyboard with supernatural speed.


    At that moment, I understood.


    This girl was the real deal.


    After that, St.Ailens never posted another comment.


    With zero actual knowledge or logical argument, Dajeong had chased away what had seemed like a formidable foe.


    Squatting in front of the toilet, watching the battle unfold, I stepped behind her as soon as it ended.


    "How did you do that?"


    "How?"


    Dajeong grinned.


    "He looked like an educated man, probably over fifty. People like that don¡¯t engage in keyboard battles. If they¡¯re attacked, they either ignore it or throw out a few insults before leaving."


    "Really?"


    "I¡¯ve got my data."


    "I... see."


    "Keyboard battles are only fair fights when both sides are on equal footing. It¡¯s an honorable duel."


    Now that I think about it, back when more educated people were on our forum, keyboard battles were unheard of.


    Even FoxGame didn¡¯t argue¡ªhe just blocked me after cursing me out.


    Well, I suppose getting older makes everything feel tiresome.


    The longer you live, the easier it is to distinguish between what¡¯s meaningful and what¡¯s not.


    But there was something else that piqued my curiosity.


    "What¡¯s this note thing?"


    "Notes? You know when you check a user¡¯s profile, and a little window pops up?"


    "Yeah."


    "Click in the blank space there. You can type."


    I opened CRAZY_HORSE¡¯s profile, clicked where she said, and typed something.


    [Hong Dajeong]


    "Now close it and reopen it."


    I followed her instructions.


    "What?"


    Something surprising happened.


    The text I had just entered was still there in the user info.


    "What the hell? Is this a new feature?"


    "No, it¡¯s always been there."


    "Seriously? I had no idea."


    "This forum is full of loopholes. I found this by accident. I don¡¯t think Melon meant for it to exist, but it¡¯s similar to a feature from an old forum I used, so I just call it ''notes.''"


    "I see."


    Dajeong had proven her experience once again.


    Her claim of ten years as an internet troll wasn¡¯t an exaggeration.


    By the way, ''LOL'' apparently stands for "lots of laughs." It¡¯s the English equivalent of "??????."


    Anyway, with the terrifying internet warlord Dajeong now on my side, there were no more obstacles in my way.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: This place... I know this place. Can I trust this news?


    The grand play for Rebecca was running smoothly.


    Not long after, she messaged me directly.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: Skelton! Are you there?


    She was probably going to ask me to verify the images since I was near the military base.


    The speed of her message told me something more than her words could express.


    SKELTON: Yeah.


    Maybe, deep down, she already knew her hope was futile.


    That her hope had zero chance of coming true. But because zero wasn¡¯t quite the same as "impossible," she had clung to it, trapping herself in a doomed reality.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: That military base... Are there people there? Did the plane arrive?


    People make foolish choices simply because the probability isn¡¯t absolute zero.


    And at the heart of those choices are always things they hold dear.


    So, I couldn¡¯t call her foolish.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    SKELTON: Yes.


    She was simply choosing the only option she could believe in.


    COOKIEMONSTER18: I¡¯ll be there soon! I¡¯m bringing people!


    I also know that the journey ahead will not be easy.


    Bringing people along means deceiving that many more.


    And of course, that too is a burden that must be dealt with.


    "Senior, your house is almost finished, huh?"


    Here, another person''s effort is nearing completion.


    It¡¯s Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s new house, which he has been building for a while.


    Though he never liked his father, who was a construction worker, he must have inherited his skills and talent. Using only limited resources, he was managing to build a pretty decent house.


    "This?"


    Ha Tae-hoon wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, his eyes filled with pride as he looked ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Read more on our source) at his new home.


    "Korean people should live in reinforced concrete buildings, after all."


    He was usually indifferent and kept his distance from others, but at least when it came to his house, he seemed just as emotional as anyone else.


    "Look at this, Park Gyu. The ceiling height. You see, I believe that for humans to live comfortably, the minimum ceiling height should be five meters."


    "What about heating? They said this winter''s going to be brutal."


    "That? Well, what else can I do? I''ll just have to endure it. We''ve got electricity, so what¡¯s the problem? As long as there¡¯s electricity, humans can survive anywhere."


    It was three days later that Rebecca contacted me.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: Skelton. Tomorrow, we¡¯ll be heading your way with an advance team and an armored vehicle. I don¡¯t know how long it¡¯ll take, but be ready.


    "......"


    An American armored vehicle.


    The true crisis of this grand play may only begin after Rebecca arrives in our territory.

 Chapter 124.3: Play (3)

    One day, I was asked whether hunters or soldiers were stronger.


    It was probably when I was active in China.


    Most of my schoolmates, who had undergone rigorous training, received national support, and were deployed to the front lines, naturally believed that hunters were stronger than soldiers.


    That might be true in a one-on-one fight.


    But what about when a group faces another group?


    What if we had to fight a military unit with experienced soldiers and competent commanders?


    I would say no.


    From the beginning, we were designed as adaptive units, custom-built to handle monsters¡ªbeasts that appeared in modern times.


    On the other hand, soldiers were created to kill and subdue fellow humans since the dark ages before recorded history.


    There was an event that made me fully realize the superiority of soldiers.


    While I was operating in northern Beijing, due to a miscommunication¡ªor perhaps intentionally¡ªI was attacked by the Chinese military.


    There were no casualties, but the omnidirectional suppression from artillery and tanks, the covering fire so intense that we couldn''t even lift our heads, and the inevitable advancement and encirclement despite knowing their tactics¡ª


    I felt firsthand, in an utterly helpless situation, that soldiers were a force created purely to deal with humans.


    Had it come to a last stand, I might have been able to take a few of them down with me, but the commander halted the attack, and the situation ended abruptly. Even now, nearly ten years later, I still vividly remember my impression of that military unit.


    Since then, I repeatedly taught my juniors the same lesson.


    Never underestimate soldiers.


    If they ever turned their guns on us, we''d be the ones lying dead on the ground.


    Even though everything is collapsing, we all know that in the world just before this, the U.S. military was the strongest in the world.


    And now, we have to face them.


    Perhaps, an enemy that is about to be very, very angry.


    *


    Well, to be honest, killing the U.S. soldiers approaching our territory wouldn¡¯t be difficult.


    We have Javelins.


    Just aim, press a button, and we can wipe out the armored vehicle and everyone inside.


    But Rebecca and Sue are in that vehicle.


    The story begins when they disembark and discover the lies of this grand theater, their disappointment dawning upon them.


    I considered the option of not showing myself, but if I did that, they would just get back into the vehicle, turn around, and return to Daegu.


    In the end, it means I have to face them.


    Since I was educated in school, I can understand English to some extent, but speaking it isn''t second nature.


    The translation issue can be handled with a phone app, and by using Rebecca and Sue.


    Fortunately, Sue is coming along on this journey.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: (Sue) I¡¯m coming too!


    With Sue, who speaks Korean better than Rebecca, communication shouldn''t be a problem.


    Persuading my comrades is just as difficult as dealing with the U.S. military.


    "...I have an old friend who used to live next to my territory. I plan to bring them here."


    It''s obvious that my role as the leader of this group and my past as a professor add weight to my words, but even so, I intend to gain my comrades'' understanding as much as possible.


    I explained how I came to know Rebecca and Sue, the circumstances that led them here through this elaborate play, and the possibility of conflict with the U.S. soldiers accompanying Rebecca.


    Of course, I said nothing about my multiple-body technique.


    And since Defender is always the only one attending these meetings¡ªand since he¡¯s a psychopath with a perfect poker face¡ªthere¡¯s no chance the hidden truth behind this act will be revealed.


    My comrades'' reactions were indifferent.


    They weren¡¯t particularly surprised, nor did they show any hostility.


    "If an old friend of Park Gyu is coming, we should welcome them."


    "They took us in, after all. If they¡¯ve been neighbors since right after the war, we have no reason to reject them."


    What actually troubled me were the questions.


    "Park, how exactly did you fool the U.S. military? Was it that internet trick of yours again?"


    "I got in touch with an old acquaintance and had a conversation."


    "In English?"


    "No, in Korean. They speak Korean well."


    "Really?"


    "Anyway, it won''t be easy, but I''m counting on you."


    I wrapped up the discussion and moved on to the next phase.


    For Rebecca, this might be unsettling, but the next thing we discussed was how to receive the armored vehicle.


    I will stand on the main road, waiting for the vehicle.


    Defender will stand next to me.


    The rest will remain hidden.


    Bang Jae-hyuk, armed with a Javelin, along with all other combatants, will stay in ambush. Da-jeong will oversee reconnaissance and combat support using drones.


    If things go south, our plan is to eliminate the U.S. soldiers within a minute.


    Of course, that kill plan includes Sue and Rebecca.


    There¡¯s no other way.


    Against trained soldiers like the U.S. military, the only way to win without losses is to hit them all at once with overwhelming force.


    To assume we can hold back in a life-or-death situation is arrogance¡ªarrogance that could cost my comrades their lives.


    Rebecca and Sue are valuable neighbors, but sacrificing everyone for them would be a betrayal of those who have followed me.


    Of course, I won¡¯t let anyone die.


    That is my job.


    *


    Chzzzzt¡ª


    The public frequency crackled to life with an unfamiliar language late in the morning.


    Clack¡ª Clack¡ª


    My comrades each grabbed their weapons and gathered in the open space at the center of the bunker.


    I silently nodded at them.


    This time, I owe them.


    I should be grateful.


    The meeting point was a pre-selected optimal ambush location.


    From the bunker hill, the Javelin had a clear line of sight, and the road had perfect cover for an ambush.


    "Skelton. Skelton."


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Rebecca¡¯s voice came through the K-walkie-talkie as I signaled for battle formation.


    Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae moved into the dense foliage while Defender and I stood side by side on the road.


    I glanced at Defender.


    "You don¡¯t have to stand here with me."


    "Two are better than one. The U.S. soldiers aren¡¯t stupid¡ªthey¡¯ll be expecting an ambush."


    He had a point.


    If just one person stood on the road blocking their path, anyone would suspect an ambush.


    Adding one more person wouldn¡¯t change much, but human psychology is strange and simple.


    Two standing together feels significantly different from just one.


    "If you die because of me, what am I supposed to tell Da-jeong?"


    I joked.


    "We¡¯ve already let go."


    "Let go of what?"


    "The understanding that we might die when we kill others."


    Defender scoffed and kicked a pebble, sending it skittering across the road into the bushes.


    "That¡¯s fair, isn¡¯t it?"


    "That makes sense."


    We can die at any time.


    So far, none of my comrades have been seriously hurt, but I know that won¡¯t last forever.


    Eventually, someone will die. Someone will get injured.


    And maybe that''s for the best.


    Better that than someone losing their mind or becoming something uncontrollable.


    If that ever drives us to ruin, I¡¯ll have no choice but to think of Dies Irae¡ªthe man I loathe.


    "Armored vehicle spotted. It''s moving slowly."


    Da-jeong¡¯s voice came through the radio.


    I spoke into the radio for all to hear.


    "Let¡¯s do this well."


    It begins now.


    Standing on the road, # N§àv§Ölight # I picked up the radio and attempted to contact Rebecca.


    "This is Skelton. I¡¯ll be waiting at the meeting point."


    "Oh. Okay."


    Rebecca''s reply.


    But moments later, Da-jeong reported something entirely different.


    "The armored vehicle stopped."


    I couldn''t see it.


    The road curved into the ruins of a town, and beyond that, a slight incline obscured the view.


    At least five kilometers away.


    Too far for bullets or a Javelin.


    Why did the vehicle suddenly stop?


    An uneasy feeling crept over me as Da-jeong provided an update.


    "They¡¯re deploying a drone. Hm. It¡¯s a reconnaissance type."


    I tilted my head slightly.


    I don¡¯t usually let emotions show during operations, but this time, things were personal.


    This wasn¡¯t an undeniable order from above¡ªit was a favor.


    And the people who granted me this favor might now be in danger.


    That unsettled me.


    If the drone reaches an altitude of over a kilometer, it will be nearly invisible to the naked eye.


    Occasionally, there¡¯s a glint, but if it¡¯s a U.S. military drone, it¡¯s surely coated with anti-reflective material.


    The problem is its purpose.


    I know why they deployed it.


    They suspect me.


    Not just me.


    They suspect Rebecca too.


    I don¡¯t blame them.


    Any well-trained soldier, any competent commander, would prioritize mission success and the safety of their troops above all else.


    They are a potential enemy, but they¡¯re being cautious.


    That deserves praise.


    "Huh? Skelton?"


    A moment later, the radio crackled with Rebecca¡¯s voice, distorted by noise, as if delivering a verdict.


    "The plane... it¡¯s not there? What¡¯s going on?"


    "It was there. But now, it¡¯s gone."


    "Really?"


    Rebecca¡¯s voice faded, and soon, rapid English conversation echoed faintly, like a distant murmur, before abruptly cutting off.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    This world is not a game.


    Enemies won¡¯t just stand there and let themselves be taken down for my convenience. That only happens in games.


    In almost every scenario, we face formidable obstacles.


    "Skelton. About that transport plane. What exactly did you do there?"


    Someone was giving orders to Rebecca.


    Whoever it was, they were experienced and deeply suspicious of everything.


    The differences in language and race could very well be the deciding factor in whether a trigger was pulled without hesitation.


    "Who knows? I was watching from afar, hidden. They launched a drone too, so I couldn¡¯t even snap a single picture."


    "Really?"


    A brief silence.


    And then.


    "About that picture... Skelton, it looks like it was taken from your side. We have multiple images here, and one of them was taken from an angle that could only be from your location."


    A sharp, precise accusation.


    This isn¡¯t the internet.


    It¡¯s not.


    "Is that so? Well, I was inside the bunker the whole time."


    "I see. Huh? Captain?"


    Rebecca¡¯s voice shifted.


    The radio now streamed rapid-fire English, difficult to follow, with the clear sound of a heated discussion.


    Disagreement.


    And then.


    "You there."


    An unfamiliar voice.


    "You said you were a hunter, right?"


    Korean.


    The sentence was short, but the pronunciation was clear¡ªdeliberate.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤That¡¯s right."


    "I am Captain George Maxwell of the U.S. Army. I am from Fort Segnol, formerly K2, the airbase in Daegu."


    So it¡¯s him.


    The one who stopped the armored vehicle, launched the drone, and used Rebecca to verify the truth.


    I could tell just from his voice.


    This man was meticulous. A perfectionist.


    "Private First Class Rebecca mentioned seeing our military transport online. Did you confirm it as well?"


    I could feel Defender¡¯s gaze.


    We were thinking the same thing.


    He must have sensed how dire this situation had become.


    And it truly was.


    This wasn¡¯t just about the lives and safety of my comrades.


    The careful work I¡¯d put into bringing Rebecca and Sue here¡ªeverything¡ªcould fall apart in an instant.


    Captain Maxwell had given me two choices.


    A lie or the truth.


    Light and shadow, the eternal test of humanity.


    "Skelton¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    It was Da-jeong¡¯s voice.


    Not just hers.


    Everyone was listening through their radios.


    They all knew that my answer would decide how this played out.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    I thought for a moment.


    And then, I answered.


    "No."


    "Then what about the picture Rebecca saw?"


    "It was all fake."


    I painted over the canvas of this grand deception with the brush of truth.


    Whether that turned out to be a masterpiece or a disaster depended entirely on how the viewer chose to interpret it.


    "I see."


    The foreign officer spoke.


    The line went dead.


    Silence beyond the radio.


    "The drone is returning. They''re recalling it!"


    Da-jeong¡¯s voice hinted at the inevitable storm ahead.


    "Skelton. The armored vehicle turned around...."


    A failure without casualties.


    We avoided the worst outcome, yet in another way, this was nearly the worst possible conclusion.


    As the air thickened with the weight of impending defeat, the K-walkie-talkie emitted a cold voice.


    "You there, hunter."


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤What?"


    "Would you mind showing me your ambush team?"


    I let out a small laugh and gestured to my comrades.


    From the roadside, Ha Tae-hoon and Cheon Young-jae emerged from their positions, walking toward us with slow, deliberate steps.


    "Honest of you."


    "How did you know?"


    "It was far too obvious. Using a simple ruse to trick someone with low intelligence for personal gain."


    "Considering that the ¡®low intelligence¡¯ person is standing right next to you, that¡¯s an interesting way to phrase it."


    "May I ask you one thing?"


    "I¡¯d like to apologize to Rebecca first."


    "You''ll have time for casual conversation later. Answer my question first."


    I remained silent.


    A silence of affirmation.


    The wind grew colder, sweeping through my hair as if whispering through the void.


    Then, his voice, distant yet clear, came through the radio.


    "Why did you do this?"


    "To save Rebecca and Sue."


    On the ruined canvas I had already marred with truth, I threw down another layer of truth.


    Hoping that this time, my sincerity would come through.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤I see."


    The radio went silent.


    Beyond the unseen horizon, the armored vehicle¡¯s powerful engine roared to life.


    "Huh?"


    The bitter silence was broken by Da-jeong¡¯s voice.


    "The armored vehicle turned around again! It''s coming back this way!"


    Before I could fully process it, the radio crackled again.


    "Korean hunter. We¡¯re coming to you."


    Maxwell.


    "Stay where you are. All four of you."


    My comrades looked at me.


    Each with their own thoughts and emotions.


    I met their gazes with a quiet, knowing look.


    Defender nodded.


    Then, almost simultaneously, Cheon Young-jae and Ha Tae-hoon did the same.


    I felt something fill the emptiness inside me¡ªsomething I had long forgotten.


    I smirked.


    Not out of bravado.


    "Why do you all look so grim? I¡¯m here, aren¡¯t I?"


    And we had one more.


    Bang Jae-hyuk, our strongest card yet.

 Chapter 124.4: Play (4)

    The armored vehicle advanced.


    Its speed was slow.


    Ahead of it, soldiers moved forward with their weapons raised.


    Five of them.


    They marched in a standard reconnaissance formation, evenly spaced, matching each other''s steps as they progressed.


    Above, their drone had taken flight again.


    A clear sign that Maxwell still didn¡¯t trust us in the slightest.


    As I waited, I tried to think through his intentions.


    Maxwell likely had a rough understanding of my group by now.


    I had told Rebecca about it.


    Unlike my past as a lone wolf, I now led a small group.


    I hadn¡¯t given her an exact number, but after spending nearly three years with me, Rebecca would know I wasn¡¯t the type to take in a large number of people.


    To Maxwell, the few comrades standing beside me might as well represent my entire group.


    "What kind of person is she?"


    Cheon Young-jae asked me.


    "That woman, Rebecca. She''s military, right?"


    "She doesn¡¯t like Koreans."


    "That¡¯s a strong personality trait."


    "But she¡¯s funny sometimes. She¡¯s surprisingly innocent. Even though she¡¯s a mother, she acts more childish than her kid."


    "A childish mother?"


    "It¡¯s not a bad thing that she¡¯s here. Both Rebecca and her daughter can shoot."


    "I¡¯m all for it. Anything¡¯s better than an all-male group."


    I wasn''t sure.


    I actually thought an all-male group was better.


    By excluding romantic entanglements, you could eliminate at least one source of interpersonal conflict.


    And the unique hierarchy of a single-gender group made management easier.


    Even Dies Irae, at the beginning, had led a group composed entirely of men.


    For someone as ruthlessly efficient as Dies Irae to make that choice, there must have been a valid reason.


    I hated him, but I didn¡¯t deny his rationality.


    "Why¡¯d you suddenly go quiet?"


    Cheon Young-jae stared at me.


    "What?"


    "Do you really prefer an all-male group?"


    "Is it wrong if I do?"


    Everyone looked at me with skeptical expressions.


    "?"


    I returned their gazes in confusion.


    But the moment didn¡¯t last long.


    "Mr. Skelton, who prefers all-male groups. The armored vehicle is approaching. It¡¯ll be in sight soon."


    Da-jeong¡¯s voice came through the radio.


    Before the vehicle appeared, the soldiers came into view first.


    Their gear, posture, and habits weren¡¯t much different from the deepfake U.S. soldiers I had created.


    "Hey there, hunter."


    One of the soldiers waved.


    A white man wearing sunglasses.


    Shorter than me, but well-built.


    If my guess was correct, that was Captain Maxwell.


    As he waved, the armored vehicle finally emerged.


    By pre-war standards, it was a new model.


    Instead of an anti-tank missile, it was equipped with a 12.7mm heavy machine gun, which seemed to be designed for internal operation.


    I was certain.


    If that machine gun fired on us, not many would survive.


    Under its line of fire, we watched the slow-moving U.S. soldiers and the armored vehicle.


    Whirrrr¡ª


    The distinct sound of a micro-drone filled the air.


    As expected, a small device, barely larger than a smartphone, hovered around us, its rotors spinning like a tiny helicopter.


    "Damn."


    Defender muttered.


    "Obsessive."


    Not that he was in any position to say that.


    "Looks like they¡¯ve been through a lot."


    Ha Tae-hoon said with a bitter smile.


    "Honestly, ever since the war started, people have hunted soldiers a lot, haven¡¯t they?"


    It was true.


    Unlike the U.S., South Korea never had widespread gun ownership.


    At best, civilians could own hunting rifles, and even those were kept at police stations.


    There was no need to explain how important firearms were in human conflict.


    No matter how tough someone was, a single bullet in the body could turn them into a sobbing mess.


    Just having a gun gave you power over those without one.


    As the Aztecs once described it, a gun was a staff of omnipotence.


    As the world fell further into ruin, guns became more than just weapons¡ªthey symbolized survival.


    People sought them out by any means necessary.


    In South Korea, the military and police had the guns. And the military had the more useful rifles.


    It didn¡¯t matter if they were stationed at the frontlines or the rear¡ªattacks on military bases for firearms became rampant.


    Airstrips, anti-air sites, and radar outposts became prime targets.


    Independent units were frequently wiped out overnight by raiders stealing their weapons.


    Even small squads of soldiers traveling together became targets.


    The U.S. military wasn¡¯t exempt from these raids.


    Even the radio Defender had given me had once belonged to the U.S. military. He also had a few American firearms.


    I never asked, but I was sure he had sent a few soldiers to the afterlife.


    Maxwell had probably gone through something similar.


    "Who¡¯s Rebecca¡¯s friend? Can you raise your hand again?"


    The radio crackled.


    I did as asked.


    The man I assumed to be Maxwell stopped walking and lifted a pair of tactical binoculars to examine me.


    "I heard you killed a monster alone. Is that true?"


    "It¡¯s true."


    "I¡¯m not a hunter, but even I know an individual can¡¯t take down a monster alone."


    "If you get close enough to an unprepared monster and stab the right weapon into the right spot, anyone can do it."


    A quiet scoff came through the radio.


    Maxwell started moving forward again.


    The armored vehicle drew closer.


    The soldiers, once the size of a grain of rice in the distance, now looked as big as my thumb.


    Maxwell raised a hand.


    The soldiers and the armored vehicle stopped.


    Distance: approximately 400 meters.


    The radio, silent for a moment, crackled again.


    "You there, hunter."


    I didn¡¯t even need to respond. I simply nodded and stared at him.


    "One more question."


    "What?"


    "Why did you call for Private First Class Rebecca?"


    "I already told you."


    "No, you didn¡¯t."


    Before he even finished speaking, the machine gun mounted on the armored vehicle moved.


    Its massive barrel was aimed directly at us.


    "Be honest. With one gesture, I can turn you all into minced meat."


    "What answer do you want to hear?"


    "Your true intentions as Koreans."


    Exactly as expected.


    It was obvious.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Maxwell himself probably knew how predictable this move was.


    But he pushed forward anyway because he believed he had the overwhelming advantage.


    I looked him in the eye and spoke.


    "A Javelin is aimed at you."


    Maxwell snorted.


    It was time to let him in on the truth.


    "Bang Jae-hyuk."


    "Okay."


    Beep¡ª


    Faintly, through the radio, the sound of a Javelin¡¯s lock-on tone could be heard.


    If they had proper military equipment, they would recognize it immediately.


    From behind the armored vehicle, someone suddenly rushed forward.


    Rebecca.


    She shouted something at Maxwell.


    For the first time, Maxwell looked visibly flustered, turning around to face her.


    He yelled.


    I couldn¡¯t make out the words from this distance, but even as a foreigner, I could tell he was harshly berating her.


    He was probably saying something like:


    "Why the hell did you give them that?"


    When Maxwell returned to the radio, he was still simmering with frustration.


    "Javelins have an unexpectedly high failure rate. And it¡¯s been nearly four years since the war started."


    "Where did you learn Korean?"


    "What?"


    "Where did you learn it? You¡¯re pretty fluent."


    Maxwell smirked and pointed at the ground.


    He had learned it here.


    "I don¡¯t want to fight. I just want to save my neighbors, Rebecca and Sue."


    "Save them, huh?"


    "Let me talk to Rebecca."


    Maxwell turned and spoke to someone.


    And then.


    "...Skelton."


    Rebecca¡¯s voice.


    It was lower than usual.


    And unmistakably filled with disappointment.


    I couldn''t see her, but I pictured her somewhere near the armored vehicle.


    I spoke as if she were right beside me.


    "I¡¯m sorry for lying. I planned everything."


    "...Why?"


    "Sue. You¡¯re there, right?"


    Before I could react, Sue¡¯s voice rang out.


    "Skelton. I called them. I asked them to come!"


    It was a short exchange, but I could feel Sue¡¯s consideration.


    Between mother and daughter, English was their default language. But here, she deliberately spoke in Korean, ensuring that I could understand her feelings as well.


    Soon, the two of them stepped out of the armored vehicle.


    It was Sue who spoke first.


    "If you stay there, you¡¯ll all die! You know the plane isn¡¯t coming! Why are you pretending not to know?"


    "Sue..."


    Rebecca kept her mouth shut, staring at her daughter.


    Her eyes wavered slightly as she looked at her child, but soon, she bit her lip and forced herself to speak.


    "But Sue... Skelton lied to us. There is no plane here. We came for nothing. And your dad... he can''t come here either."


    "Mom, you know it too, don¡¯t you?"


    Sue turned her gaze toward me, staring.


    "Skelton did all of this for us."


    "Skelton...?"


    "Yeah. Even all that weird stuff he did with multiple accounts¡ªit was all for us."


    Rebecca¡¯s eyes widened in shock.


    "Really...?"


    That was just like Rebecca.


    And that was just like Sue.


    "And look at him now. He might die because of all this, yet he¡¯s still standing there, waiting for us. Who do you think he did all of this for?"


    Sue turned to me with an expectant look, waiting for my reaction.


    I smiled and gave her a thumbs-up.


    Rebecca covered her mouth with her hand.


    Then, she lowered her head toward me.


    Had she finally understood?


    No... I had a feeling she had known all along.


    She had just refused to admit it.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    That should be enough.


    Now, it¡¯s my turn.


    I put down my weapon, raised both hands, and walked toward the American soldiers.


    "Park Gyu?!"


    "Senior?"


    Without turning back, I answered my concerned comrades.


    "Conversations should be had face-to-face, don¡¯t you think?"


    I spoke into the radio.


    "I want to talk up close. Will you allow it?"


    From a distance, Maxwell nodded.


    His sunglasses gleamed as they caught the sunlight, flashing with each slight movement of his head.


    Halfway there, Maxwell moved.


    Like me, he handed over his weapon to a comrade and approached unarmed.


    What was his intent?


    I was curious, but one thing was certain¡ªhe had business with me.


    Soon, we stood face-to-face.


    For a long moment, he silently gazed at the lone hill rising up in the surroundings.


    Static crackled from his earpiece.


    He responded in English, something like an acknowledgment.


    Next, he looked toward the abandoned U.S. military base across the stream from my territory.


    He muttered something in English, a sound of mild admiration, then finally spoke.


    "Intentional, isn¡¯t it? The location of your bunker."


    I nodded.


    "Did you recover anything from the base?"


    "Firearms and ammunition."


    "That¡¯s different from the report. It said they withdrew without leaving a single spent shell casing."


    Maxwell turned his head to look at me.


    "You seem pretty close to Rebecca and her daughter. Really close."


    Then, he stared at me, expression unreadable.


    His sunglasses were thickly coated, reflecting the sunlight directly, making it impossible to see his eyes.


    "But I don¡¯t trust Koreans."


    Maxwell removed his sunglasses.


    One of his eyes was blind, replaced by a crude prosthetic.


    His lips curled as my gaze lingered on his artificial eye.


    "I lost it in this country."


    "..."


    "Just one question."


    Maxwell pointed toward the abandoned U.S. military base.


    "Is anyone living there?"


    "No."


    "What¡¯s the condition of the facilities?"


    "Hard to say. The bunker seems intact, but the internal systems likely don¡¯t work. Scavengers have gone through it multiple times."


    "Any other factions in the area? Armed groups? Especially the Chinese military?"


    "No Chinese military. No raiders. No refugees. It¡¯s just us."


    "I see."


    Maxwell grinned.


    "That¡¯s all I needed to know."


    For a moment, the purpose behind this man¡¯s visit swirled in my mind.


    He hadn¡¯t come here just to pick up Rebecca.


    No¡ªhe had come to inspect that base.


    If Fort Seghnol were to fall, he needed a new settlement option.


    That was likely the most rational explanation for why this excessively cautious man had traveled all this way.


    But one thing still remained.


    Maxwell drew a knife.


    The blade gleamed under the noon sun.


    As I stared at its sharp edge, Maxwell smirked and spoke.


    "I¡¯ve heard that Eastern pro-hunters prefer cold weapons. In particular, there¡¯s supposedly a hunter in Korea known for wielding axes. I don¡¯t recall his name, but our hunters have talked about his feats quite a bit."


    Maxwell¡¯s remaining eye was fixed on the twin axes strapped to my back.


    "And, coincidentally, you also carry axes."


    He twirled his knife skillfully.


    It was an impressive display¡ªenough to intimidate large men in a rowdy bar.


    With a challenging gaze, Maxwell spoke.


    "How about you show me your skill?"


    "You might get hurt."


    "That¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll say it now¡ªthis is a fair duel."


    "Is that so?"


    Srrrng¡ª


    I drew my axe.


    Maxwell grinned.


    The outcome had been decided from the start.


    Clang!


    With a single clash, Maxwell¡¯s knife spun through the air like a fan blade, flying skyward.


    The sharp edge of my left-hand axe was now poised at his throat.


    His eyes flicked down at the weapon aimed at his neck, and he let out a whistle.


    "Good job!"


    It was a predictable result.


    This fight wasn¡¯t a soldier¡¯s way.


    In terms of coordinated teamwork, advanced weaponry, and sheer military doctrine, they were superior.


    But in an old-fashioned duel, this was our domain.


    In actual operations, melee weapons were a significant part of our arsenal.


    I lowered my axe.


    Maxwell picked up his knife and sheathed it.


    "I heard there was a legendary hunter in Korea."


    Maxwell tilted his ¡ã? N o v e l i g h t ?¡ã head slightly.


    "They say he wielded twin axes."


    A flicker of interest sparked in his remaining eye.


    He spoke into his radio in English, then turned back to me with a sharp grin.


    "We¡¯ll leave Rebecca and her daughter with you."


    Rebecca looked bewildered, but Sue enthusiastically waved in our direction.


    "Skelton!"


    Sue¡¯s voice rang across the autumn-colored land.


    Suppressing my emotions, I turned to look at the lone, isolated man beside me.


    "You¡¯re just letting Rebecca go?"


    Maxwell didn¡¯t respond.


    Instead, he slowly slid his sunglasses back on, hiding both his remaining eye and his dull prosthetic.


    Adjusting his uniform, he let out a faint sigh before speaking.


    "I heard you formed a new group."


    "Yeah."


    "Must be an exciting time for you."


    Maxwell smirked.


    "We had a time like that too. Back then, we were gathering scattered soldiers and civilians across Korea, pulling them into one place. It was a time full of danger, thrill, adventure, and reward."


    But the smile was short-lived.


    "But not anymore."


    Maxwell turned his back to me.


    "The more people you have, the greater the tragedies that come with them."


    He glanced at Rebecca and Sue as they approached.


    "Then, Hunter¡ªuntil we meet again, stay alive."


    The captain raised his fist in a parting salute and walked forward.


    Rebecca hesitated as she passed him, but Sue ran past without a second thought, rushing toward me.


    "Skelton!"


    I looked at Sue.


    That U.S. officer had called her a tragedy.


    I wouldn¡¯t argue against it.


    Human lives are finite.


    Anyone can die, and most deaths are tragic.


    But that was only looking at a single slice of this long, drawn-out play called life.


    I didn¡¯t believe our connection was only tragic.


    If anything, from a different angle, it might be an undeniable comedy.


    Rebecca and Sue stopped in front of me.


    "Skelton. Liar."


    I smiled at the two of them.


    I wouldn¡¯t hope for a happy ending.


    That was too much to ask for in a world collapsing into ruin.


    But I would create more good days.


    "Let¡¯s go home."


    A small, selfish wish of mine.

 Chapter 125: Toward a Wider Place

    First of all, I want to thank Ha Tae-hoon.


    When Rebecca and her daughter needed a place to stay, he willingly vacated the cabin he was currently living in.


    "Well, I can just move into my new house. It¡¯s still under construction, though."


    Thanks to him, I was able to separate Rebecca into a private space while she was feeling uneasy.


    Rebecca needs time to adjust.


    Even if my intentions were good, I deceived her.


    I denied the hope she had risked her life to believe in.


    Even if that hope was meaningless to me, to Rebecca, it must have been something precious.


    Fortunately, Sue adapted to our domain quickly.


    "Hello?"


    She walked around with me, greeting the people living here one by one.


    Everyone liked her.


    Of course, this didn¡¯t include the Defender siblings.


    "..."


    "Oh."


    Sue wasn¡¯t an easy target. Even when facing the Defender siblings, who exuded a quiet menace, she showed no signs of shrinking back.


    Rather, as she left them behind, she whispered to me.


    "Those people... they¡¯re the ones from before, right? The ones who were close to you, Skelton?"


    "Yeah."


    "Not my type."


    The last person she greeted was the ace of our domain¡ªaside from me, the most important figure¡ªBallantine.


    "Hello."


    "Oh, hi?"


    Ballantine greeted Sue warmly.


    But as expected from a man I acknowledged, his insight was sharp.


    "That kid..."


    He leaned in and whispered to me.


    "She gives me the chills."


    "Really?"


    "She¡¯s not quite as bad as the ones with the surname Hong, but her gaze... I don¡¯t know, something about her eyes is unsettling. I mean, I¡¯m not xenophobic or anything."


    I don¡¯t know what happened in the U.S. military camp, but it¡¯s clear that her time there left a strong impact on Sue.


    "It was like hell. The whole place felt like one giant graveyard. Everyone was just sitting around, waiting for death."


    Sue showed me pictures she had taken at the camp.


    "...What is this?"


    "I took it right in front of the base."


    This is serious.


    The erosion had reached right up to the front of the base.


    I had heard that erosion in the southern regions had become uncontrollable, but this was far worse than I imagined.


    The entire landscape south of the military base had turned into a bleak, grayish-white wasteland, reminiscent of a decayed corpse.


    Could that life be what changed Sue?


    I don¡¯t think so.


    Her real change came from within herself.


    Her height had already shot up a long time ago, but now her mind had grown just as much, suffering from growing pains.


    In other words, she had entered adolescence.


    And one of the clearest signs of adolescence is challenging one¡¯s parents.


    "I can''t stand my mom whining all the time."


    Sue muttered bitterly as she chewed on one of the juicy-¡ªflavored jellies I had hidden away.


    "You shouldn¡¯t say that about your mom."


    "Sorry, my Korean isn¡¯t good enough to find a better expression. But still, it¡¯s annoying. She won¡¯t even come out of her room today. She could at least say hello, couldn¡¯t she?"


    Growing up isn¡¯t just about getting taller and stronger.


    It also means gaining a new perspective, looking beyond one¡¯s parents.


    And whether that new view is black or white doesn¡¯t really matter to them.


    Because everything beyond their parents is new to them.


    It¡¯s the role of adults to help them understand the meaning behind each color.


    "She can say hello later. But before that, there¡¯s something more important, isn¡¯t there?"


    When our eyes met, Sue smiled.


    "I know what you mean. You want me to cheer up my crybaby mom, right?"


    "Yeah."


    How should we comfort Rebecca?


    I already knew the answer.


    David.


    Rebecca¡¯s husband.


    For Rebecca, who stubbornly clung to the idea of a complete family, her husband was a puzzle piece she had to find and keep.


    "Dad¡¯s situation? I¡¯m pretty skeptical."


    Sitting on the desk and swinging her legs, Sue made a bored expression.


    "I saw my mom trying to contact Dad, and it wasn¡¯t really happening, was it?"


    "Really?"


    "Yeah. How should I put it? It¡¯s like... people connect to each other, but then someone else connects to them beyond that."


    "You mean a connection through a third party?"


    "Mmm. Yeah, something like that."


    "I see."


    This was unexpected information.


    Sue¡¯s words had just completely undermined the truth of David¡¯s survival¡ªsomething Rebecca had never doubted.


    I asked her for more details.


    "While Mom was desperately searching for news about Dad on Viva! Apocalypse!, some user named SneakyLocomotion claimed to know him. Guess what my idiot mom did?"


    "She believed him completely?"


    "She¡¯s not that stupid, so she was a little skeptical at first. But then SneakyLocomotion showed her a picture of Dad."


    "Really?"


    "I don¡¯t know where it was taken, but it was definitely from the same unit. The guy¡¯s clearly an actual soldier. So of course, my idiot mom fell for it."


    Highly suspicious.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    "That¡¯s what I¡¯m saying, Skelton. Think about how weird this is."


    As she calmly devoured my secret stash of snacks, Sue explained what had happened between Rebecca and SneakyLocomotion.


    "SneakyLocomotion claimed to know where Dad was and even said they were in the same area. But he never once let Mom talk to him directly. Whenever she asked something, he¡¯d say he¡¯d relay the message to Dad later."


    "So he was always acting as a middleman?"


    "Yep!"


    Sue clapped her hands.


    "It was always like that. Even for tiny messages, even just to ask how Dad was doing, she always had to go through that guy. Isn¡¯t that strange? He¡¯s supposedly right there with Dad, yet he couldn¡¯t even set up a basic video call?"


    I don¡¯t know what SneakyLocomotion¡¯s true intentions were, but there was definitely some predatory behavior mixed in.


    He had even asked for explicit photos, claiming David wanted to see them.


    "Tell me she didn¡¯t send any."


    "No. She¡¯s not that stupid. And besides, I was right next to her. How could she take pictures like that?"


    "Hmm."


    This wasn¡¯t a conversation a kid should be having.


    But this was reality.


    While the topic itself was disturbing, the bigger issue lay elsewhere.


    The problem wasn¡¯t just SneakyLocomotion¡ªit was the control he held over Rebecca.


    He was exploiting her desperate hope of reuniting with her husband to manipulate her.


    "..."


    As Rebecca¡¯s friend, I couldn¡¯t just let this slide.


    "Sue."


    "Yeah?"


    "Write down his full username for me."


    *


    SneakyLocomotion.


    His posting history dated back to before the war, with around 5,500 posts and 1,500 comments.


    According to Da-jeong¡¯s "post-to-comment ratio" theory, this meant he was highly likely to be a terrible person.


    For reference, Skelton¡¯s post-to-comment ratio had slightly shifted over time, but I still maintained the golden 1:5 ratio of a "well-liked user."


    But here¡¯s the strange thing.


    Even after searching, none of SneakyLocomotion¡¯s posts appeared.


    If he had deleted them, his post count would have decreased, but it hadn¡¯t.


    That meant he had likely set them to private.


    In a forum filled with countless users expressing their thoughts, making posts private was as good as making them disappear.


    There was no logical reason to do this.


    But SneakyLocomotion had chosen to hide rather than delete.


    I needed to dig deeper.


    I wasn¡¯t an ordinary user.


    Tap, tap, tap.


    SKELTON: (Request) VivaBot, are you there?


    VIVA_BOT014: Huh? Are you asking for user info?


    A smile curled on my lips.


    Skelton¡¯s other alias was TwelveSquare.


    The ultimate model user of Viva! Apocalypse!.


    If I had been a bit more ruthless, I would¡¯ve been reigning as the king of the forums by now.


    SKELTON: Yes.


    VIVA_BOT014: This is a sudden request. May I ask why?


    SKELTON: The reason, you ask?


    VivaBot is surprisingly warm-hearted.


    SKELTON: Someone I know is being manipulated by a malicious user.


    Using the concise and to-the-point explanations I learned in school, I relayed the situation between Rebecca and SneakyLocomotion to VivaBot.


    VIVA_BOT014: Hmm. That¡¯s something to consider.


    It seems to be working.


    Sure enough¡ª


    VIVA_BOT014: What exactly do you want to know? Do you want to see the contents of their hidden posts?


    She accepted my request.


    Of course, it wasn¡¯t just the sincerity of my story that moved her.


    VIVA_BOT014: Technically, I shouldn¡¯t be doing this, but Skelton, you¡¯re an important figure to us. If a friend of yours is in trouble, shouldn¡¯t I help?


    My special status played a role in convincing her.


    Well, to be fair, this is something I have the right to request.


    It¡¯s just that I, Park Gyu, am too soft-hearted and kind for my own good.


    SKELTON: I¡¯d like to see parts of the posts, and I also want to check SneakyLocomotion¡¯s general location.


    VIVA_BOT014: It¡¯s showing as somewhere in Ohio. Do you need more details?


    SKELTON: (Skelton, grateful) No, that¡¯s enough.


    After confirming SneakyLocomotion¡¯s location, I returned to the bunker and reviewed the messages exchanged with Rebecca.


    ¡°......¡±


    There was no need to read too much into it.


    It was a dark fable, recorded in the form of internet messages, about a desperate person searching for family and the deception of someone trying to take advantage of them.


    Lastly, I contacted Sue through the communicator.


    ¡°Sue.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°You love your mom, right?¡±


    ¡°......A little more than before?¡±


    ¡°Do you know Necropolis?¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡±


    ¡°Have you used it?¡±


    ¡°No. I couldn''t access it. I tried several times, but there was no way to connect.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    With that, everything was set.


    Now, it was time to wake Rebecca up.


    It was time to get my neighbor, who had locked herself away in darkness, back on her feet.


    Sue, who had been wandering outside, was the first to spot me and greet me.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    Together, Sue and I opened the door to the cabin.


    Inside, it was shrouded in darkness, as black as night.


    In the farthest corner, Rebecca sat curled up, her head limp between her knees.


    Seeing this, Sue let out a sigh and tugged at my pant leg.


    She didn¡¯t want to look at it.


    It was clear that a child doesn¡¯t enjoy seeing their parent in such a vulnerable state.


    Beyond just disliking it, a parent¡¯s weakness can plant the seeds of resentment in their child.


    ¡°Rebecca.¡±


    I called her name.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Rebecca answered weakly, her head still buried.


    ¡°This is about your husband, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°David, was it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Where is he now?¡±


    ¡°......Florida.¡±


    ¡°Why Florida?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where he was deployed.¡±


    ¡°SneakyLocomotion told you that?¡±


    At the mention of SneakyLocomotion¡¯s username, Rebecca¡¯s head snapped up.


    Her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes told the story of her anguish.


    ¡°H-How do you know that?!¡±


    Immediately, she turned and glared at her daughter, Sue, with wide, furious eyes.


    Under the force of her mother¡¯s intense gaze, Sue quickly hid behind me.


    A silence stretched between them, brief yet feeling as though it lasted forever.


    Then, Rebecca averted her eyes.


    Though she made no sound, her tongue and lips moved sharply.


    Just as Sue had been disappointed in her mother, Rebecca, too, was now feeling disappointment toward Sue.


    ¡°......¡±


    Is this how parents and children end up resenting each other?


    It was a serious situation, but as someone who had never been close to a family before, it was a new and oddly fascinating experience for me.


    But that wasn¡¯t the issue at hand.


    I sat down on the wooden chair that Ha Tae-hoon had built.


    Rebecca buried her head in her knees again.


    She waved her hand weakly, as if to tell me to leave her alone.


    In a low voice, I began speaking.


    ¡°It¡¯s not something to brag about, but...¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    ¡°Are you listening?¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m on good terms with an administrator from Viva! Apocalypse!.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Rebecca mumbled, her voice muffled against her knees.


    ¡°I have connections. I just checked SneakyLocomotion¡¯s location.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s in Ohio. That Locomotion guy.¡±


    Finally, Rebecca raised her head.


    The same hollow, weary eyes that had been glaring at her daughter now turned to me.


    Feeling the weight of Sue, who was still hiding behind me, I continued in a calm voice.


    ¡°I searched for your posts. Especially the ones you wrote after I gave you the equipment. As expected, you were desperately looking for David.¡±


    The internet is a condensed version of society¡ªor rather, another form of society itself.


    The weak and nai?ve get deceived and used.


    ¡°My guess is that guy saw your posts and decided to take advantage of you.¡±


    Rebecca shook her head.


    ¡°SneakyLocomotion was in the same unit as David. They were in Korea together, and they were deployed together! He even showed me a group photo!¡±


    She pulled a poorly printed, faded color photo from her pocket and showed it to me.


    It was an aged, discolored group photo of several U.S. soldiers standing together, all staring at the camera.


    I couldn¡¯t tell which one was David.


    I couldn¡¯t tell which one was SneakyLocomotion either.


    One thing was certain¡ªthe photo was real.


    But just because one thing is true doesn¡¯t mean everything else automatically becomes the truth.


    Truth is just truth. It doesn¡¯t have the power to spread or infect anything else.


    ¡°You don¡¯t mean to tell me that one single photo is your only reason for trusting SneakyLocomotion, do you?¡±


    ¡°That''s...¡±


    I reached out my hand to her.


    ¡°Skelton?¡±


    ¡°Come with me. I have something to show you.¡±


    We headed toward my dear friend Ballantine¡¯s bunker.


    ¡°Whoa!¡±


    Ballantine flinched at the sudden arrival of two foreign women.


    ¡°Ballantine.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Skelton?¡±


    ¡°Can you show them?¡±


    ¡°Show them what?¡±


    Smiling, I answered.


    ¡°The City of the Dead.¡±


    [F. Sawyer, M. O''Connor, and our dearly beloved Red.]


    [Welcome to the noisy City of Death.]


    ¡ªIf you are among the dead, press Enter.¡ª


    Rebecca, who had been watching the monitor, leaned in so close it was as if she were about to bury her head into it.


    Her voice came out desperate.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    I could see the lifelessness in her eyes slowly being replaced by something else.


    Like Sue, Rebecca must have known.


    She must have heard the countless voices wandering through their region like ghosts.


    She must have sensed the possibility that lay beyond them.


    ¡°...This is Necropolis?¡±


    Smiling, I stepped aside for her.


    Rebecca hesitated, her face full of uncertainty, as she took in her unfamiliar surroundings.


    The dimly lit monitors scattered across the room, the humming machines, the keyboards, mice, and input devices of unknown purpose.


    But soon, that hesitation melted away like ice under the heat of necessity and curiosity.


    Rebecca¡¯s eyes, once as lifeless as those of a wild animal, now held a faint but undeniable will to live.


    She curiously pressed the Enter key.


    And before her, a whole new world unfolded.


    ¡°Now, you just have to find him.¡±


    I said to her.


    ¡°In a place much larger than before.¡±


    Sue stepped behind Rebecca, wrapping her arms around her mother as they both stared at the same screen.

 Chapter 126.1: Ghost (1)

    In the short time that a new companion joined, I could feel the change of seasons.


    The heat has subsided, and the sky looks unusually blue and high.


    The breeze sweeping across the land now carries a chill, and the crops and grasses are turning brown, ripening or withering away.


    Winter is coming soon.


    The promised death of winter.


    Since there¡¯s no way to bring the Necropolis into play yet, I first warned the users I¡¯m close with on the board about the upcoming cold wave.


    Message from CrunchRoll: I know. We¡¯re going to have another one of those this winter.


    Message from CrunchRoll: I¡¯ve already cut down a mountain and turned it into a barren hill. The whole city is covered in black smoke. We¡¯re making charcoal.


    As we can see from King¡¯s reaction, anyone who uses our board, World! Apocalypse! has probably seen it at least once, and considering that the main topic of discussion there is usually countermeasures against the cold, this might be a pointless warning.


    However, people are creatures of inertia and habit.


    They tend to ignore things that are unfamiliar or strange, and for people whose daily lives are already a struggle, they won¡¯t have the luxury of logging onto a board and gathering proper information.


    In such a situation, messages are a vital means of guidance.


    SKELTON: (Skeletal greeting) How¡¯s life?


    I checked in on my internet friend, IamJesus, after a long time.


    Worrying about a friend who¡¯s at least an over-10-level Awakened is as pointless as a commoner worrying about a celebrity before the war, but an Awakened is still a person.


    If it gets cold, they¡¯ll freeze to death.


    A reply came shortly after.


    Message from IamJesus: Beep¡ªbeep beep beep¡ªbeep¡ªbeep-----


    Looks like they¡¯re alive.


    There must be plenty of fun friends there, so they probably don¡¯t get bored.


    By the way, there¡¯s a friend I¡¯ve been worried about recently.


    None other than Mgu.


    The friend who used to strut around with a shiny new armband has suddenly disappeared.


    It¡¯s been a whole 3 days since he vanished.


    By our board¡¯s standards, that¡¯s enough time to assume that a user has embarked on a journey from which they¡¯ll never return.


    Of course, Mgu is a tough guy.


    He once disappeared for a month and came back.


    He used to survive off the supplies given by the Legion factions and soldiers, but now, I have no idea how he¡¯s living.


    One thing I do know for sure is that when I met him on a request from the Legion faction, his health was in great shape.


    At least his nutritional state was flawless.


    There was no sign of skin or eye changes from a deficiency in vitamins or essential nutrients, and there were no glaring signs of mental illness, which would inevitably appear from living in a tilted house¡ªat least not at the time.


    I sent a message to Mgu.


    SKELTON: Mgu. Are you alive? You know about the winter preparations, right?


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: (Cheerful march-style BGM) Captain M9 speaking!


    SKELTON: ?


    What? This guy.


    He¡¯s alive.


    But what was that just now?


    The message was shining differently, and I think there was some unfamiliar wording.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    Special¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤?


    Did it say special¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤?


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: Skeleton, you¡¯ve got a nose for this stuff.


    If you step back, it¡¯s nothing.


    It¡¯s really nothing.


    Just the word ¡°special¡± in the usual message.


    But what¡¯s this feeling? It¡¯s like my heritage¡¯s fields have been taken away.


    Already, I feel defeat rising to my fingertips, and with difficulty, I hit the keyboard twice.


    SKELTON: ?


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: A new household has moved into our apartment.


    SKELTON: Ho~!!


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: Skeleton, are you on some meds or something? What¡¯s with the tone? It¡¯s suddenly gross.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Oh.


    I couldn¡¯t properly separate myself from who I was on the Red Archive board and who I am on this board.


    The fact that this Skeletal entity, capable of digesting up to four personalities, made such a simple mistake shows how impactful the word ¡°special¡± was to me.


    This is something I need to seriously inquire about with the VivaBot.


    But that inquiry will have to wait.


    A bigger problem has arisen.


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: Look (M9 is cocky)


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: (Photo)


    Mgu sent me a photo.


    In that photo, Mgu showed the image of the long-awaited new resident of the apartment after three years.


    But those so-called new residents?


    I know them.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Ji Chang-soo and Ji Young-hee.


    The once-proud spirits of the conglomerate family that had once poked around my place suddenly appeared in a crumbling apartment.


    *


    mmmmmmmmmTM: Introducing the new residents of the last luxury complex in Korea, ¡°The Hope¡±!


    Worrying about celebrities is as pointless as worrying about Mgu.


    This friend, who had survival skills beyond that of a cockroach, has come back after a three-day absence with a frightening level of popularity, bringing warmth to a dying board.


    Our board friends, who had to be forcibly watching World News due to a lack of single-language topics, of course, showed hot responses.


    Anonymous458: What? Is this real?


    Rkkara: Why did they go there? Isn¡¯t that the place Scavengers shook their heads and left?


    Anonymous1702: Wow.


    Berkut_break: People are coming to the crumbling hope. Is that a good sign? A bad sign?


    tntn_Orthopedics: The girl¡¯s pretty.


    SKELTON: Oh wow.


    Anonymous1844: Real beauty.


    roxanneGIRL: This looks like a composite.


    Dr.emiless: Hmmmm.


    gijayangban: ?


    ...


    The spirits of a conglomerate family that seemed to have nothing to do with us have now invaded our domain.


    As a pure-blooded apocalypse extremist, this is hard to accept.


    To some extent, I am indeed jealous, but the real important issue is the intention of the new residents.


    A while ago, Ji Young-hee came to my territory, saying that the government had hidden a secret facility and supplies in Seoul and tried to force me to go with her.


    If I were alone, a bloody incident would have been unavoidable, but thankfully I was with a group.


    Why on earth did they go after Mgu?


    Just as I was trying to make a reasonable deduction, another disturbance broke out on the board.


    MELON_MASK: Oh! Mgu! You finally found a new resident! Congratulations!


    MELON_MASK: From the Lagrange Point, with affection, Melon Mask.


    Melon Mask.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    The creator of our world commented on Mgu¡¯s post.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know this.


    I didn¡¯t know that even I, Park Gyu, could get blinded with excitement.


    ¡°This is not right.¡±


    Indeed, it is not right.


    This is wrong.


    This is not right.


    Melon Mask and I have personally exchanged messages, but Melon Mask has never commented on my post even once.


    But now, Mgu has managed to achieve what even I, the Twelve Squares, couldn¡¯t?


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Tap tap


    SKELTON: ?


    I placed a question mark as a form of protest.


    But no one paid attention to my question mark.


    I had no choice but to summon another personality.


    roxanneGIRL: ? A named user, SKELTON, has something to say?


    Dr.emiless: SKELTON...? Ah, that''s no ordinary user. I''ve heard of him.


    gijayangban: ?


    Why is Woo Min-hee suddenly getting involved here?


    Was he influenced by living in a decayed area?


    Anyway, despite my stern warning, Mgu and Melon Mask continued their camaraderie, which made my blood boil.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: Captain M9 speaking! Oh, Melon! Thanks for the congratulations! I wonder if this will be translated well, haha.


    MELON_MASK: M9! What happened? Explain everything in detail! Everyone¡¯s curious!


    SKELTON: (SKELETON)


    mmmmmmmmmTM: Okay~ This is going to take a while, so I¡¯ll post a new thread!


    Soon after, Mgu posted a message.


    The content reminded me of the story structure of "Tarzan," which had been constantly adapted in novels, movies, and anime.


    In a post-apocalyptic Seoul, infested with monsters, zombies, and /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ mutations, a group of explorers, including a beautiful woman, was under attack by monsters and facing a crisis. Amidst it all, Mgu, the only resident of The Hope, the most dangerous place in the ruins of Seoul, showcased his usual skills, rescuing the woman and her group and bringing them to his hideout.


    Even in the midst of urgency, Mgu had taken photos here and there to prove that his story was not fabricated.


    In the photos, not only was there the Meatball ¨C Caterpillar type that I had previously hunted and named, but also smaller breeds like necromancers and spiders, along with countless zombies, and a new type of monster I had never seen before.


    Mgu¡¯s story contained thrilling elements, with the urgency of the photos, the familiar fun from the typical story structure, the excitement of what¡¯s to come, and curiosity about new monsters. Honestly, it was exciting, but for a discerning reader like me, there were plenty of points to criticize.


    What bothered me most was the first-person perspective Mgu used.


    ¡°Me,¡± ¡°I,¡± or even ¡°myself,¡± but not ¡°I,¡± ¡°author¡± was what he used.


    [ Photo 9 ¨C Using a superconducting brain, calculated the speed of the monster group in 1.3 seconds using the Heidelberg equation. The author, in the best angle and path, leads the group to safety.]


    [ Photo 13 ¨C During a brief rest, the author levitates to replenish stamina.]


    [ Photo 22 ¨C After finishing a dangerous adventure, the author drinks coffee mix while watching the sunset on the tilted roof of The Hope.]


    These are excerpts from Mgu¡¯s post.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    I didn¡¯t like it at all.


    What bothered me more was the relationship between Mgu and Melon Mask.


    MELON_MASK: M9! You really¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤!


    SKELTON: (SKELETON)


    MELON_MASK: "Miracle."


    mmmmmmmmmTM: Thanks!


    I tilted my head while looking at the monitor, and a warning popped up on the screen.


    VIVA_BOT014: SKELTON...


    SKELTON: Captain SKELTON speaking!


    VIVA_BOT014: Please stop...


    Stop?


    I have many things to say, but I will hold my tongue.


    Well, I have plenty of ways to criticize, aside from this.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Tap tap


    roxanneGIRL: Looking at photo 9, the distance between the monsters and this side looks at least 1,500 meters.


    Dr.emiless: Hmmmm. That¡¯s a safe distance. Monsters generally lose interest in humans once the distance exceeds 1 km.


    gijayangban: ?


    roxanneGIRL: Is this all just fuss?


    Dr.emiless: Looking at photo 12, the camera zoomed in as much as possible. It¡¯s not really a dangerous situation, but exaggerated for dramatic effect. As a former hunter, I don¡¯t see any dangerous situation in the photo at least.


    Dr.emiless: Ah, except for the last one, from the tilted roof of the apartment.


    gijayangban: ?


    I have two sub-accounts.


    Mgu¡¯s story was indeed thrilling, but as Dr. Emiless, my other personality, said, it seems Mgu has never truly faced a crisis.


    Dr.emiless: Should we analyze each photo from now on?


    gijayangban: ?


    Just as I was about to fully use my expertise to criticize, it happened.


    [ Message cannot be entered. ]


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    The comment I had carefully written didn¡¯t post.


    This familiar feeling¡ªcould it be...?


    Blocked?


    My ominous premonition quickly turned out to be true.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Ha... This is why I told you to hide your identity, SKELTON.


    SKELTON: What¡¯s going on?


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Stop pretending you don¡¯t know.


    SKELTON: ????


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Seriously... What are you doing with multiple accounts? Aren¡¯t you ashamed?


    VIVA_BOT014: Even elementary students don¡¯t do this...


    SKELTON: (SKELETON knows)


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Take a break today. That¡¯s the best thing for you.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    A 24-hour block.


    Well, that¡¯s a relief.


    At least I now have some time to cool off.


    For a moment, with blood rushing to my head, I had forgotten an important fact.


    Mgu and Melon Mask¡¯s public camaraderie was a big deal, but the core of this problem, from the start, involved the spirits of the conglomerate family I had warned about initially.


    The area where Mgu lives had been labeled a dangerous zone even when Kim Byeong-cheol briefly retook the National Assembly.


    Although large-scale erosion didn¡¯t occur like in Fort Segnal, there were still many small species creating monster havens, and monsters as large as humans, like the Caterpillar type that tracks and kills humans, were abundant.


    Ji Young-hee and Ji Chang-soo.


    They didn¡¯t show up in Mgu¡¯s area for no reason.


    I was able to gather information about them from an unexpected place.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen that woman before. It was her.¡±


    Defender knew Ji Young-hee.


    ¡°The daughter of the Changsoo Food CEO. She was the woman that Heo Jong-chul was obsessed with when she worked under Team Leader Kim Daram. When she came before, it was so far away that I wasn¡¯t sure, but after seeing the close-up photo, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°Changsoo Food? What kind of business did they run?¡±


    ¡°They supplied mutation meat. The rumor was that when ten people went in, seven or eight would run out, and two would come out mad.¡±


    That¡¯s probably true.


    I know from experience.


    Anyway, thanks to Defender, I learned information about Ji Young-hee and Ji Chang-soo, people I had crossed paths with many times, but never cared about.


    ¡°People who are doing better after the war than before it.¡±


    That¡¯s the public opinion on Ji Chang-soo and Ji Young-hee.

 Chapter 126.2: Ghost (2)

    In stock trading, there''s a method known as a short position.


    It¡¯s a strategy where you gain as the stock price falls, and if we apply it to the apocalypse, we could say that our doomsday enthusiast has taken a short position on the fate of the world.


    It¡¯s not something to brag about, but it¡¯s a clear fact that our doomsday enthusiast has lived a much better life than those who didn¡¯t prepare.


    Aside from some unlucky friends, when most ordinary people were made into insects, eating nutrition bars, hopping from one miserable shelter to another, and even being dragged into colonization squads, sent to their deaths, we were comfortably inside our bunkers, worrying about nothing, watching the world¡¯s collapse while munching on popcorn.


    Ji Chang-soo and his daughter are unprepared people.


    They lived entirely in the world of light, unlike us, and they tried to bloom in it.


    I saw with my own eyes what kind of life they lived after the war.


    Every time I met them, I always predicted that next time they¡¯d be living a worse life than before. But every time, as if mocking my predictions, Ji Chang-soo and his daughter always appeared in front of us looking better than before.


    Defender explained it his way.


    ¡°There¡¯s a rumor that they¡¯ve done a damn good job making connections. Always hooked up with the real power, and when that power seemed to be in danger, they¡¯d find another powerful group and ally with them.¡±


    Ji Chang-soo and his daughter took immense wealth and influence behind the scenes of the Legion faction.


    It¡¯s believed that this is why they were able to bring armored vehicles into my territory in the past.


    Whether or not he found the fortune he so desperately sought from the conglomerate¡¯s heir is something I don¡¯t know, but one thing is clear: under the Legion faction¡¯s system, he rose as one of the most successful businessmen.


    They are, therefore, the "conglomerates" of the apocalypse.


    If a person who didn¡¯t prepare for the apocalypse achieved that much growth, they deserve that title.


    But, unlike public opinion, it seems that Ji Chang-soo and his daughter still thought they weren¡¯t enough.


    Perhaps that¡¯s why.


    They continuously searched for opportunities to elevate themselves from ¡°mediocre rich¡± to ¡°conglomerate.¡±


    With the Legion faction splitting and showing signs of collapse, it seemed like only downhill was left for Ji Chang-soo and his daughter, but once again, they managed to pull it off.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: Look at this! Yep! I had this under my apartment!


    The legendary old government secret facility, long talked about, revealed ? N§àv§Öl?g?§ä ? (Continue reading) its hidden form.


    *


    This discovery is incredibly important.


    In some sense, it might affect us too.


    If a base capable of housing hundreds of thousands of people appears in Seoul, it would mean a significant shift in the power balance in the metropolitan area.


    I called all my companions to show them what was happening in Seoul.


    As expected, everyone reacted with shock.


    ¡°Wow. I never would¡¯ve imagined something like that was hidden beneath the tilting apartment.¡±


    ¡°No, who would¡¯ve expected something to be hidden under an apartment that looks like it¡¯s about to collapse?¡±


    ¡°Come to think of it, wasn¡¯t it around the time they were running lotteries?¡±


    Amidst differing opinions, we reminisced about Mgu¡¯s tilting apartment.


    When I visited it, there was no special impression.


    The only thing I felt was a faint sense of fear regarding the precariousness of The Hope and the vitality of Mgu, living in such a place.


    What¡¯s more relevant to the current situation is probably the appearance of Mgu on the broadcast of Live! Apocalypse!


    After sending everyone back, I watched the shabby show where Mgu introduced his tilting apartment to the audience.


    After the unrefined parkour show, monkey tightrope walking, and ugly slapstick comedy, the bathhouse scene from the old apartment community was revealed.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    The hot water is still there.


    I was amazed by it back then too.


    How, from that crumbling apartment, did they manage to draw hot water into a tub big enough for twenty people?


    But at that time, it seems everyone¡¯s attention was focused more on the mutation egg Mgu found in the bathhouse.


    Mgu, cradling a huge egg, jokingly said that he¡¯d raise the hatchling once it hatched, but I believe that egg was already dead.


    He probably broke the unseen backside, took out the yolk, and jokingly told us about it.


    Anyway, the fact that hot water came out of that tilting bathhouse back then foreshadowed today¡¯s situation.


    ¡°Now that I think about it, the only and largest civil engineering project after the war was The Hope''s construction.¡±


    Bang Jae-hyuk offered an interesting theory.


    ¡°The Hope was the decoy, and the real purpose might have been the construction of that facility. They built the apartment and then deliberately designed it to collapse. So they could hide government assets in the wreckage of the apartment.¡±


    We can¡¯t know the true intentions of the government, but it¡¯s clear that there are secret assets hidden beneath The Hope.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: What is this?


    Mgu revealed an unidentified machine to us.


    It looked like an industrial food processing line, with a large kneading machine, conveyor belt, and industrial oven.


    Amidst differing opinions, Mgu revealed the answer.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: Ta-da~


    In the photo Mgu showed, there were stacks of bags filled with brown powder¡ªwhat citizens of Seoul would describe as cockroach-colored powder.


    ¡°Nutrient bars?¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon grimaced as he spoke.


    The text on the bags confirmed Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s guess.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    [Government Supplies - A-Type High Protein Mineral Nutrient Paste Stick Powder]


    The official name of the infamous nutrient bars that once fed the citizens of Seoul was now revealed.


    So they were high-protein after all.


    Mgu examined the bags, trying to find the raw materials, but since these were government-issued, he couldn¡¯t find any detailed information, not even the origin.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: Don¡¯t be surprised. The real surprise starts now!


    Under The Hope¡¯s tilting base, there¡¯s a vast underground parking garage made of rebar and concrete.


    Given the nature of underground spaces, Mgu didn¡¯t explore the area too carefully.


    In the dark space, there¡¯s always danger, and the underground parking garage had been stopped before completion, leaving no hope of obtaining needed supplies.


    Moreover, various wastes were dangerously tangled up, preventing anyone from entering.


    The maze-like underground parking garage extended to the 4th basement level, where a hidden passage was located.


    At the end of the narrow, winding, dark passage, a wide open space awaited.


    It was a subway track.


    At the end of the subway track, a heavy iron door stood, blocking the track like a fortress wall.


    It¡¯s definitely the place.


    The secret assets the government hid to prepare for its return to the capital are stored behind that heavy iron door.


    Like a seasoned Viva! Apocalypse! user, Mgu subtly revealed to everyone that he was a force to be reckoned with.


    With an armed force of over 30, all equipped with automatic rifles.


    Some even had high-tech equipment, like night-vision goggles.


    This wasn¡¯t a ragtag militia.


    This was a properly trained combat group.


    With that powerful group, Mgu¡¯s team stood in front of the iron door.


    But on that door, the following words were painted in blood-red paint:


    [Republic of Korea Government Property]


    [Strictly No Entry Except for Authorized Personnel]


    [Unmanned Surveillance and Lethal Equipment in Operation]


    [Do Not Enter!]


    It¡¯s not ordinary.


    It¡¯s as if the door is screaming that if you want to enter, you have to risk your life.


    Well, still, those who are determined will go, but... I wonder.


    Won¡¯t some preparation be necessary to open that Pandora''s box?


    Mgu, who unexpectedly provided us with an adventure experience, ended today¡¯s show.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: The sun is setting and I hear zombies. I¡¯m pulling out for today. The warning from the government looks dangerous.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: Besides, it¡¯s boring just sending photos and posts like this, right?


    mmmmmmmmmTM: The unboxing of the Republic of Korea¡¯s hidden assets will be provided live on Live! Apocalypse!


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Mgu.


    He knows how to play the game like a true man.


    To declare a live show here?


    MELON_MASK: As expected, M9! You¡¯re such a cool guy!


    Watching Melon Mask¡¯s praise, I could feel the blood of a ¡°named¡± user stirring within me, but there¡¯s nothing I can do here.


    My SKELTON account has been banned from commenting, and the multi-accounts are being closely watched by VivaBot.


    I sighed, unable to join the wave that had come to Viva! Apocalypse! this time, and mindlessly refreshed the page, letting the new comments flow by.


    That¡¯s when I saw a familiar nickname.


    unicorn18: Huh?


    ¡°?¡±


    unicorn18: What?! Is that...?


    Is it Na Hye-in?


    What is she doing?


    Shouldn¡¯t she be in the Rift?


    The brief doubt I had was quickly washed away by unicorn¡¯s next comment.


    unicorn18: You can¡¯t go in there! You really can¡¯t! We could all die! Even our cute Mgu could die!


    *


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right. It wasn¡¯t that difficult to live. What¡¯s the point of bragging about money in this world now? But, before the war, my net worth was over a billion. Yeah. By normal standards, at least a golden spoon? Or should I say a diamond spoon? Haha. But, you know, saying all this might make it sound like I¡¯m just bragging, but there are things in this world you can¡¯t be satisfied with just money. You know the five stages of desire? It¡¯s not as grand as that, but...¡±


    Mgu¡¯s Live! Apocalypse! clearly showed the influence of the now-defunct Dongtanmom.


    Especially in the stylishly produced ¡ª probably pre-recorded ¡ª interview videos, I could feel Dongtanmom¡¯s heavy shadow.


    However, perhaps due to a lack of sense, the sloppy technique of using a professor for the YouTube broadcast, only changing the camera angles periodically, made it tasteless for the viewer.


    It felt, how should I put it, cluttered.


    I thought it would have been better to just shoot without constantly changing the angles.


    ¡°We were the primary subcontractor for a conglomerate. Yes. We were a subcontractor. In my company, I was treated like a king when I went to department stores or golf courses, but no matter how much flattery I heard and lived a lavish life, my essence as a subcontractor never changed. It pressed down on my heart like a stigma.¡±


    I tried to stop Ji Chang-soo¡¯s interview.


    In other words, I tried to prevent this live broadcast from happening.


    Time rewound.


    Long before the live began, I mean, at the time when Mgu and the Ji Chang-soo family discovered the government¡¯s hidden assets.


    The trigger was unicorn18.


    Message from unicorn18: SKELTON?! I was watching!


    SKELTON: What are you doing? Shouldn¡¯t you be in the Rift?


    Message from unicorn18: I can take a break, can¡¯t I?! Do you work all day?!


    SKELTON: Well, not exactly.


    Message from unicorn18: Anyway, we need to stop this. Seriously. If you go in there, we¡¯ll all die. Even our cute Mgu could die!


    Why unicorn is outside the Rift is not that important.


    Mgu is about to die.


    Even though he¡¯s my rival, it¡¯s disrespectful for him to die like this.


    As a rival, I sent Mgu a stern warning.


    SKELTON: (SKELETON serious) Mgu...


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: What?


    SKELTON: (SKELETON worried) I don¡¯t think you should go in there.


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: ?


    SKELTON: (SKELETON warning) Don¡¯t go in...


    There¡¯s no need for fancy words or logical proof between us, who survived through the harsh times of the apocalypse.


    I believe that ¡°named¡± users understand each other¡¯s sincerity.


    And as expected.


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: What? Is there something there?


    Mgu is listening to my words.


    SKELTON: I¡¯m not sure, but unicorn18 says it¡¯s dangerous there. Unicorn18 probably knows the exact risks.


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: Unicorn18? Wasn¡¯t he dead?


    SKELTON: He may act like a fool here, but he¡¯s bigger than we think.


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: (M9 arms crossed) Hmm. Just like you, huh?


    SKELTON: (SKELETON blushing)


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: Get lost, you bastard! Haha


    SKELTON: What?!


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: I¡¯ll talk to Unicorn directly.


    And so, I connected Mgu and unicorn.


    If things had gone properly, this show should not have happened.


    Whether Melon Mask was disappointed or not, this live should not have been held.


    But the show went on as planned.


    Afterward, I didn¡¯t hear much more from Mgu, but the continuation of the show was probably more about the will of Ji Chang-soo and his daughter than Mgu¡¯s own.


    They had more than 30 combatants armed with automatic rifles.


    Even if Mgu was skilled, there¡¯s a limit to what one person can do against a group armed with firearms.


    In that situation, the best he could do was probably tell Ji Chang-soo and his daughter to stop their exploration.


    It¡¯s a chilling thought, but I could have been in Mgu¡¯s position.


    If I hadn¡¯t formed a group, if Ji Young-hee had discovered me, and I¡¯d been dragged off in a vulnerable state...


    The chat suddenly heated up.


    The reason was simple.


    A woman appeared.


    The interview subject shifted from Ji Chang-soo to Ji Young-hee.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤I just. I just wanted to be recognized. That¡¯s it. We... those people, they¡¯re grateful, but we wanted to prove we¡¯re better than them. No matter how much we live in an apocalyptic world where everything becomes meaningless, we can¡¯t just give up on the dreams we¡¯ve carried our whole lives, can we?¡±


    She smiled.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to be a servant, I wanted to be the master.¡±


    It was a transparent, sincere smile that she had never shown me.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    She could smile like this too.


    But even with the purity of that smile, I disagree with her thoughts.


    She and her father have already become winners who stood out in the apocalypse.


    They didn¡¯t take a short position like us doomsday enthusiasts, but they handled the apocalypse more skillfully than any corporate figure in South Korea, and with a bit of luck, they built a power so significant that even the Legion faction couldn¡¯t ignore them.


    They are already the conglomerates of this era.


    Looking at the end of those who thought they were masters, like Ji Pung-ho and Park Cheol-joo, it¡¯s clear.


    Yet, they endlessly seek recognition because they¡¯ve based their dreams on the standards of an era that can never return.


    Searching for dreams in a time that can never return is something only a ghost would do.


    Now, a ghost, who may not even realize they¡¯ve become the master, is about to follow the dead master¡¯s footsteps.


    That destruction will unfold grandly before all of humanity¡¯s eyes.


    The screen changed, and the heavy iron door appeared before us.


    Creeeek--


    We saw the back of dozens of armed men and those leading the welding of the iron door.


    And in the center, the father and daughter standing side by side.


    At the moment when destruction was about to begin, a familiar and warm face covered the screen.


    ¡°I¡¯m really sorry, but today¡¯s live will end here!¡±


    It was Mgu.


    He grinned.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: It¡¯s an open ending, huh!


    The sudden ending frustrated the viewers, and even Melon Mask showed confusion, but Mgu boldly cut off the live.


    After the broadcast abruptly ended, Mgu said in the chat that due to equipment and internet issues, only the recorded video would be shown, but this was intentional, and that intention was well-timed.


    In terms of keeping the value of the ¡°Hope¡± apartment alive.


    Thanks to that, I¡¯m not sure, but the number of residents in The Hope has increased.

 Chapter 127: Constellations

    It¡¯s been four years since the war began.


    Amid countless episodes, we have now formed a proper group.


    As winter approaches, I think it¡¯s not a bad idea to reevaluate the strength of our territory once.


    Currently, there are ten people in our group.


    Of these, only five ¡ª me, Cheon Yeong-jae, Ha Tae-hoon, Bang Jae-hyeok, and Defender ¡ª are combatants who can actively engage in battle.


    By direct combat, I mean including large monster battles, active and offensive fights.


    Rebecca and her daughter could be included as combatants, but I plan to use them only as reconnaissance and defense personnel.


    Hong Da-jeong is a special case.


    As a professional drone pilot, her individual combat ability is too weak to be counted as a combatant, but she holds more value in various tasks using drones than many ordinary combatants.


    The rest, Ballantine and Bang Jae-hyeok¡¯s mother, are non-combatants.


    Ballantine can engage in limited combat, but I have no intention of sending him into battle unless absolutely necessary.


    He¡¯s a valuable resource.


    He¡¯s the only person who can help achieve our immediate goal of a second PaleNet.


    Bang Jae-hyeok¡¯s mother has no combat abilities, but she¡¯s diligent and skilled with her hands, making her a valuable resource, especially in the more domestic aspects.


    Moreover, losing her could have a major impact on the mental state of Bang Jae-hyeok, a skilled combatant, so I plan to send her and Ballantine deep into the shelter during combat situations.


    With these 10 people, our resources aren¡¯t lacking.


    Ammunition, food, fuel, medical supplies, vehicles, and other consumables.


    We had plenty to start with, and the supplies brought by the others who joined have also added significantly to our stock.


    There¡¯s nothing particularly lacking.


    Of course, medical supplies could run out quickly.


    A few battles with many casualties would deplete them.


    Ammunition would last a little longer, but if we keep fighting often, it¡¯ll disappear just like medical supplies.


    The most threatening enemy to our group is, of course, humans.


    I¡¯ve always viewed humans as the greatest threat, and that belief hasn¡¯t changed now that we¡¯ve formed a group.


    In fact, the threat of humans has grown since we formed a group. The risk of encountering them is higher than when I was a lone survivalist.


    The stability of this organization is what allows me to dream of secondary goals like a second PaleNet or the invasion of the Jeju Intranet.


    Personally, the greatest advantage of our group is that there¡¯s no one around us.


    That means there are no threatening forces nearby.


    Human interaction does offer great benefits to both parties, but in a time like this, when everything is scarce and uncertain, having another group nearby is uncomfortable.


    They could turn into enemies at any moment, and with limited resources, you¡¯d have to watch your back, wasting unnecessary time and energy.


    Of course, it¡¯s a different story if you can trust that outside group enough, but how do you build that trust?


    Building it from zero is an incredibly difficult task.


    Blood relations, academic ties, and regional connections.


    At least a traditional link would give us something to work with.


    If we expand the scope to the region, we can confirm one group.


    To the east, on the distant mountain ridge, there¡¯s a group made up of elderly people.


    It¡¯s not possible to communicate with them, but since they won¡¯t come down the mountain, they¡¯re not a major concern.


    Looking at our territory¡¯s defensive capabilities, it has become far stronger than when I chose individual survival.


    The entire territory has been fortified around the outer walls.


    We¡¯ve reinforced the steep ridges to the north, so we won¡¯t be caught off guard by a sudden ambush.


    However, there¡¯s no defense against artillery, the queen of war.


    If someone targets coordinates and fires, you have to take the hit.


    Most of our bunkers could withstand the artillery, but Rebecca¡¯s hut, Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s house, and auxiliary facilities like the bathrooms and showers are vulnerable.


    If the shelling is intense, even my bunker might malfunction.


    The good news, though, is that no force left today could launch large-scale artillery attacks just to target a bunker.


    We won¡¯t be bombarded like Chairman Park Cheol-joo, who became the Legion¡¯s entertainment.


    But even in our territory, there are weaknesses.


    It¡¯s the bonds between the members of the group.


    There are three factions: the Incheon Hunters, the Defender siblings, and Rebecca and her daughter.


    These factions form the group through me as the center, but on the flip side, without me, they are just strangers with no interest or connection to each other.


    If I were to die or disappear in an unexpected accident, there¡¯s a high probability that our group would scatter.


    Defender and Rebecca have places to go.


    They each have old bases in the area.


    If the group¡¯s conflicts reach an extreme, they will go to the places that are more comfortable for them.


    Clearly, uniting these disparate people isn¡¯t easy.


    Even if I forcefully try to create unity, will they really get along?


    This is not a rough society where you become friends after sharing a drink.


    Trust is something that builds up slowly through time and events.


    I won¡¯t force people to get along.


    If there¡¯s conflict, I¡¯ll leave it unresolved for now.


    The resolution is up to each person.


    What I can do is to make sure the conflict doesn¡¯t escalate to extremes.


    Fortunately, our territory is large, and personal living spaces are separate, so there¡¯s not much friction between these disparate groups.


    If the number of people increases here, I¡¯m not sure.


    Can we handle more?


    The necessary addition would be a doctor.


    If we could get an engineer of Ballantine¡¯s caliber, I¡¯d make room, even if it was a stretch.


    But as we¡¯ve seen in past events, newcomers come without warning and from unexpected sources.


    What if someone I know well, someone who shares a piece of the past with me, entrusted their life to me?


    I¡¯m thinking of the Kim Da-ram family, and my student Song Yu-jin, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.


    Maybe I¡¯ll accept the connections from our Viva! Apocalypse! group.


    Expanding such a group often leads to its collapse, as seen in other cases.


    When the group reaches saturation, you have to reject new additions.


    In the past, when I was known as Professor, this wouldn¡¯t have been difficult at all.


    But now... I¡¯m not so sure.


    Am I weaker, or have I changed?


    I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve simply become weaker.


    It¡¯s the age of loss.


    Not just for people and material things.


    Everything we know ¡ª lives, property, values, and even memories ¡ª is blurring away.


    To maintain humanity in such a place, you have to be more human than anyone else.


    ¡°SKELTON. What are you thinking alone?¡±


    As dusk approached, Su§Ö, still carrying a gun that seemed larger than her body, climbed up to the lookout post on the hill.


    ¡°Is it your turn to keep watch today?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s Mom¡¯s turn.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you up here?¡±


    ¡°Mom¡¯s in Ballantine¡¯s shelter right now.¡±


    ¡°Again?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, really. Mr. Ballantine, you can see he doesn¡¯t like us. Mom should be a little bolder.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t disturb Mr. Ballantine.¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°No, there¡¯s nothing to apologize for.¡±


    She seemed to have been thinking for quite a while.


    In fact, this was something that needed to be done once.


    Assessing the strengths, weaknesses, and issues of the group.


    If it were in the past, I would have done a power assessment as soon as the group was formed.


    I¡¯d have ruthlessly cut unnecessary personnel without hesitation.


    Maybe the past ruthlessness delayed the evaluation of the group.


    ¡°How¡¯s it here?¡±


    I asked as I felt the wind, which had absorbed the day¡¯s heat, brush past us with the coolness of autumn.


    ¡°It¡¯s not bad.¡±


    Su§Ö answered while looking at the faint light in the distance.


    ¡°Hm... is that so?¡±


    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t mean it badly. It¡¯s okay. Really, it¡¯s okay. But...¡±


    ¡°Is it because of the others?¡±


    I asked, looking at Su§Ö.


    She looked at me for a moment, then smiled and nodded.


    She then quickly looked away again and stared at the distant light.


    That light was probably from a refugee camp far away, living at a distance we couldn¡¯t even comprehend.


    It will probably disappear soon.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤That was the case there too. People were the hardest part. Truly.¡±


    ¡°It''s like that everywhere.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. There might be places that are different, though.¡±


    I reflect on the life I¡¯ve lived.


    ¡°Those places must either be too difficult or dangerous to think about anything else. Or maybe the time spent interacting with those difficult people is too short.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no easy place in the world, huh?¡±


    That might be true.


    In most of life, human relationships are a never-ending tangle that can never be untied.


    Like Alexander, you might be able to cut it off in one stroke, but you could also meet a bad end like that king.


    But, you know...


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Is it really necessary to untangle that tightly knotted thread?


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    Su§Ö lowered her head and sighed.


    She¡¯s much more mature than Rebecca, so she didn¡¯t openly show her dislike for the people in our territory as Rebecca did, but it was clear Su§Ö didn¡¯t get along with them much.


    After all, they¡¯re ? N§àv§Öl?g?§ä ? (Continue reading) strangers. People she¡¯s never seen, whose races, countries, languages, and entire circumstances are different from hers.


    It¡¯s not an easy thing to suddenly become close, even if you¡¯re pure and young at heart.


    ¡°But there¡¯s no need to be discouraged.¡±


    Su§Ö raised her head.


    She gazed at the faint light she had been looking at before.


    The light flickered for a moment before disappearing.


    Was she trying to enforce a curfew?


    If she doesn¡¯t want to attract the attention of any attackers, it¡¯s something she¡¯d have to do.


    Above that disappearing light, numerous stars, less visible but more majestic, filled the sky.


    The stars each have their own claim.


    ¡°All the stars have their place.¡±


    Humans can¡¯t become stars, but on this vast canvas called Earth, each of us can claim to be a star, and that¡¯s not a completely wrong metaphor.


    According to scientists, birth and death are the same fate for stars.


    The only difference is in timing, form, and beauty.


    ¡°All those stars are shining from their place, right?¡±


    I pointed at the stars.


    Su§Ö¡¯s gaze followed my finger.


    ¡°Summer Triangle?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Yeah. They form a constellation.¡±


    We can¡¯t all be stars.


    But I hope that our group can shine and respect each other¡¯s domains, just like a constellation.


    ¡°SKELTON.¡±


    Su§Ö, sitting next to me while staring at the stars, spoke.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that starlight is the fading light from stars that died millions of years ago.¡±


    I smiled faintly.


    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s what makes it more beautiful?¡±


    Su§Ö stared at me with an unreadable expression, then sighed and stood up.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to stand guard now. Go back, SKELTON.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    I left her behind and went down the hill.


    Her figure, standing guard under the starlight that seemed ready to pour down, will likely stay in my memory for a long time.


    In a good way.


    Wishing for our constellation to be complete, I walked down the steps.


    *


    The latest news about the Ji Chang-s§à§à family came a week after the sudden end of Emgu¡¯s live broadcast.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: New tenants have entered next door.jpg


    The photo showed a woman and a middle-aged man struggling to climb a dangerously slanted hallway, barely managing to ascend using a single rope.


    As I watched them, their faces strained and their teeth clenched as they climbed, I couldn¡¯t help but lightly tap my forehead and chuckle.


    But the story behind this was far from lighthearted.


    34 people entered the government¡¯s treasure vault.


    One minute later, only seven were able to make it out.


    The groans of the wounded leaked through the gap, but the only thing they could do for the injured was end their suffering.


    Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Emgu recalled that there were exactly four gunshots.


    But we know.


    Though the groans that echoed in front of the underground parking lot may have disappeared, the story of Emgu and, in some ways, of The Hope, which became one with him, is just beginning.


    Emgu knew what was coming.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: It''s a little late, but I''ll show the semi-unboxing video.


    Emgu sent a small drone into the vault, revealing to us the massive treasures hidden in the vast areas connected by tracks.


    The quantity of goods and equipment shown in the photos was beyond imagination.


    Just as expected.


    It was enough to sustain hundreds of thousands of lives.


    mmmmmmmmmTM: We¡¯ve given up. So, anyone can come. Come and take it. We won¡¯t stop you.


    People will gather at The Hope.


    The hopeless, those who have lost hope, will come together, heading toward the slanted apartment to find hope.


    At least, I knew I wouldn¡¯t be among them.


    I have a fair amount of supplies and a safe shelter.


    But one photo Emgu shared moved me.


    ¡°That one might be useful.¡±


    Beyond a killing zone filled with sentry guns, murder drones, and other deadly machines that slaughter humans like a factory, a vehicle caught our attention.

 Chapter 128.1: The Tower (1)

    Message from Deadman_working: A mobile broadcasting vehicle. French-made. Something our European friends used often.


    Message from Deadman_working: Yeah. This should be enough to pull in the voices of the dead.


    Message from Deadman_working: But that equipment can''t run its broadcasting gear on internal power alone. It''ll need an external generator¡ªlots of electricity. It was designed for wartime scenarios where broadcasting stations were destroyed.


    Message from Deadman_working: It has to operate for three days straight with a power supply. Not an easy task. There''s also another minor issue, but I''ll explain that later.


    The creator of Necropolis, Deadman_working, acknowledged the potential of the equipment.


    We had finally found a way to draw out the voices of the dead.


    The problem, of course, was the internal killing mechanisms.


    Even Mgu didn¡¯t know the exact details.


    He had only seen Ji Chang-soo¡¯s group enter through the gap they''d welded open, then scramble out in a panic, covered in blood.


    A government-level organization had sharpened its blade and laid a death trap that no one could touch.


    Going in with half-baked preparation would be a death sentence.


    Fortunately, I had someone to consult about this.


    Message from unicorn18: Huh? What now? I told you I¡¯m on vacation.


    For some reason, Unicorn overreacted at the mere mention of a question.


    A guilty conscience?


    Either way, that was a good sign.


    Unicorn18, my old friend and internet acquaintance, seemed to know a thing or two about the government''s hidden assets.


    Message from unicorn18: No, I don¡¯t know much. Just some vague rumors. Supposedly, there¡¯s a place somewhere in Seoul where emergency supplies were hidden.


    Message from unicorn18: One thing¡¯s for sure¡ªno one has been able to touch that stash. Mgu''s post made that clear. The place is littered with sentry guns. And if I were to add one more thing... even the IFF function has been turned off.


    SKELTON: What do you mean?


    Message from unicorn18: I mean, even the government can¡¯t access it. Not even hacking will work.


    Message from unicorn18: To put it simply, the government locked a dragon inside the treasure vault.


    Message from unicorn18: Only someone who can kill that dragon can claim the treasure.


    A nasty joke.


    But not an entirely illogical one.


    If you go through all the trouble of setting up an elaborate defense system, only for it to get bypassed with a few clicks of a mouse and keyboard, it would be a real shame for the designer.


    So they went with a brute-force solution: only someone strong enough to kill the dragon inside the vault could take what was inside.


    "An absolute evaluation of sorts."


    I completely agreed with Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s assessment.


    The problem was that we were the ones being subjected to this evaluation.


    Of course, this mission was purely for my personal satisfaction.


    I had no intention of dragging everyone into it.


    That¡¯s why I decided that only Ballantine and I would go on this mission.


    If I could, I¡¯d go alone. But handling the communication equipment and data links was a specialized task that only Ballantine could do.


    "Hey, Skelton."


    Hong Da-jeong usually didn¡¯t attend meetings, but today, for some reason, she had shown up in the central clearing of the bunker.


    She stared at me and asked.


    "That Necropolis thing¡ªdo we really need to bring it into our country?"


    "It¡¯s not something I have to risk my life for."


    "Then why?"


    "Good question."


    I could have thrown out lofty ideals like the universal welfare of humanity, a network for everyone, or salvation from the coming cold.


    But noble values like that didn¡¯t have much persuasive power.


    I thought about it for a moment.


    Not that I needed to think long.


    I already knew the answer.


    I shrugged and looked at Hong Da-jeong.


    "A community."


    "Huh?"


    "The more people, the better, don¡¯t you think?"


    In other words, I wanted to increase user traffic.


    Just like my role model, John Nae-non.


    "Honestly, when the PaleNet folks joined, didn¡¯t the forums feel more alive?"


    Hong Da-jeong smirked.


    Got her.


    My persuasion worked.


    Sure, there were bigger reasons behind my decision, but there was no need to say them out loud.


    "Then I¡¯ll join too."


    Da-jeong raised her hand with a faint smile.


    "I¡¯m not great with guns, but I can provide drone support. From what I can tell, you¡¯ll need a lot of drones, and that¡¯s where I come in."


    If Da-jeong was willing to step up, that was a good thing.


    Like she said, rather than throwing people into the dragon¡¯s den, it was safer to explore with disposable drones first.


    "If my sister¡¯s going, I¡¯m going too."


    As expected, Defender raised his hand.


    Against humans, he was a reliable ally. But I glanced at Ballantine.


    As expected, his mouth twitched into a strained smile.


    Right, I forgot.


    Ballantine didn¡¯t like the Defender siblings.


    Then again, it¡¯s not like Ballantine liked anyone.


    "Skelton, can I go too?"


    Another volunteer Ballantine didn¡¯t like.


    Sue.


    I appreciated her enthusiasm, but she wasn¡¯t suited for this mission.


    Sue was more than capable in defensive operations, but this was already too much responsibility for someone who hadn¡¯t fully matured yet.


    "Sorry, Sue. Stay here with your mom and guard the base."


    This should be enough.


    More than enough.


    To satisfy my selfish desires.


    Just as I was about to finalize the team, another hand went up.


    "You can¡¯t leave me out."


    It was Cheon Young-jae.


    I had secretly hoped he would volunteer.


    But if /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ he came along, there would be a gap in our defenses.


    "Cheon Young-jae, you don¡¯t have to come."


    His sensory abilities were just as valuable for defense as they were for offense.


    Since he always stayed outside the main base, he was our ace in the hole if an attack came.


    "Come on, I can step away for a bit. We haven¡¯t had a real attack since I got here."


    "That attack could come tomorrow or the next day. You know that."


    As we were going back and forth, a relaxed yet firm voice cut in.


    "Don¡¯t worry and just go."


    It was Ha Tae-hoon.


    "You¡¯ve got two hunters here. Plus, we¡¯re protected by sentry guns. Even if we¡¯re attacked, we won¡¯t fall so easily. And besides¡ª"


    He glanced toward Rebecca, who was sitting off to the side.


    "We have new allies now, don¡¯t we?"


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Rebecca looked our way and gave a thumbs-up. Sue mimicked her mother.


    "Stay safe, Skelton."


    I nodded to them.


    Coming back in one piece.


    That would be my true way of repaying them.


    Even with the team set, we didn¡¯t leave right away.


    Ballantine had a suggestion.


    "Considering the timing and circumstances, wouldn¡¯t it be better to cover the truck with a tarp at least?"


    This mission required a lot of electronics.


    Drones, generators, satellite equipment for communicating with Deadman_working.


    It was early autumn.


    Frequent rain showers¡ªincluding sudden downpours¡ªwere expected.


    The cold wave was severe, but aside from winter, the seasons had continued following their pre-apocalypse pattern of warming into a subtropical climate.


    Meaning, frequent showers.


    "Then let¡¯s do this."


    Since we were going, we might as well go prepared.


    It would be best to fortify the truck completely.


    Like the scavengers and road raiders on the highway did.


    Armor plating wouldn¡¯t stop every attack, but it would at least block stray bullets, which were the most common threat.


    The problem was the truck¡¯s power output.


    A stock 1-ton electric truck couldn¡¯t handle all the extra weight.


    And electric vehicles were a nightmare when they broke down. No quick fixes.


    For this mission, my truck wouldn¡¯t cut it.


    "I know where to get one."


    Defender provided the solution.


    We headed to a ruined barn not far from the bunker.


    Inside was a 3.5-ton domestic truck, a model that had once been common on highways before the war.


    "Just needs a few tweaks. Someone messed with the spark plugs so the lucky ones couldn¡¯t take it."


    If Defender, a former mechanic, said so, then it was true.


    What bothered me was the old bloodstains near the driver¡¯s seat.


    "Oh, that?"


    Defender noticed my gaze and explained.


    "It was abandoned on the road. A raider and the driver fought to the death. See the bullet hole?"


    "Judge-kill?"


    "Yeah."


    The worn-out crossbow bolts and crude shotgun marks were still imprinted on the faded driver¡¯s seat.


    The fight must have taken place before firearms became widespread.


    "Any other vehicles besides this one?"


    "I stashed a few more, but I have no idea how many are left. Even though scavenger activity has decreased, the ones that remain are the real deal. Just hiding something sloppily won¡¯t cut it anymore."


    "Is that so?"


    Clang!


    Defender lightly tapped the cylinder block with a wrench and suddenly let out a chuckle.


    "..."


    Whenever he suddenly laughed, I got nervous.


    "What¡¯s so funny?"


    "Oh, I just remembered a car I hid a long time ago."


    "What kind of car?"


    "A sports car."


    "A sports car?"


    "Yeah. Everyone¡¯s dream car."


    Defender spun the wrench in his hand like a dagger.


    "I wanted to drive it just once, but the powertrain had issues. Trucks like this are easy to get parts for, but something like that? Getting the right parts is next to impossible."


    Defender¡¯s voice sounded more excited than usual.


    So that¡¯s how it was.


    He liked cars.


    Well, I¡¯d never met a mechanic who didn¡¯t.


    Loving cars must be what made the grueling job of repair work enjoyable for him.


    I had some mechanical knowledge myself, but it was by no means an easy task.


    "Someday, if I get the chance..."


    As Defender fueled up the truck, his voice still carried traces of that lingering excitement.


    "I want to take that car and race down an empty highway."


    His hand trembled slightly as he gripped the fuel nozzle.


    "200 km, 300 km¡ªfaster than the wind."


    For just a moment, a bright gleam flickered in Defender¡¯s eyes before disappearing.


    I couldn¡¯t read his mind, but I had a feeling I knew what he was thinking.


    Something he wanted to do at least once before he died.


    A bucket list item.


    Whether someone like him, who had taken so many lives, deserved to have dreams like that, I didn¡¯t know.


    But as his friend, I was willing to help him make it happen.


    "I¡¯ll lend you some fuel."


    Defender stared at me expectantly.


    I grinned and added,


    "As long as it doesn¡¯t spoil by then."


    *


    Bzzzt¡ª


    Bzzzt¡ª


    The truck modifications began immediately.


    We reinforced the cargo bed with scavenged car doors, metal sheets, and even slate roofing to create a secure protected space.


    Inside, we installed various chargers and backup batteries.


    A small hatch and a makeshift defensive position were added to the roof, allowing someone to respond flexibly in case of an ambush.


    I wanted to mount a machine gun on top, but securing it properly was more difficult than expected, so I gave up on the idea.


    Once the modifications were complete, we loaded the supplies and prepared to depart.


    Of course, the most important piece of equipment went in last.


    The Obelisk.


    The satellite device that connected to Viva! Apocalypse! was placed securely in the truck¡¯s cargo hold.


    The account I would be using was RoxanneGirl, representing my more feminine side, but I didn¡¯t want anyone knowing about my multiple identities, so I set the nickname to anonymous.


    "Alright then."


    Before getting in the truck, I waved to those staying behind.


    It wasn¡¯t like we were going off to die, so it was a casual farewell.


    But one person made a very specific request.


    "Skelton! You better connect Necropolis!"


    Rebecca.


    It was a thoughtless request¡ªenough that even Sue shot her a look¡ªbut I understood her sentiment.


    I had seen people wither away and die when they lost connection.


    Their fates didn¡¯t bring me sorrow, but living in a place devoid of human voices must be a miserable experience.


    Even Deadman_working, who once declared he wanted to be humanity¡¯s last survivor, had ended up building a community.


    People want to connect with others.


    That simple¡ªyet not so simple¡ªdesire was why we were heading into danger.


    Of course, I had to clarify that this wasn¡¯t some grand noble mission.


    The only one who truly understood my real motive was my closest friend, Ballantine.


    "As for linking Necropolis and Viva! Apocalypse!¡ªyes, theoretically, it should be possible. Since we¡¯ve infiltrated before, and Necropolis is ultimately just a data flow, if we connect it properly, the two networks should merge. Naturally, that would also link us to the Red Archive board you hold such a grudge against."


    "Oh? Is that so?"


    My thirst for revenge hadn¡¯t cooled yet.


    "Skelton!"


    Da-jeong¡¯s voice came through the communicator.


    I could hear rapid typing sounds on her end.


    "I just checked the forums."


    "Yeah?"


    "That DongtanMom account posted again."


    "Oh?"


    Baek Seung-hyun.


    He was still alive.


    Then again, that stubborn bastard wouldn¡¯t die so easily.


    Feeling a slight flicker of amusement, I gave the command.


    "Move out."


    The truck rumbled forward.


    Cheon Young-jae, riding the motorcycle he had practically claimed as his own, sped ahead of us.


    "Comms are operational. No issues."


    "Should I launch the drones?"


    "Not yet. No need."


    It had been four years since the war began.


    This was the biggest mission I had undertaken since.


    Feeling the cold, solid weight of the gun tucked between my legs and the axe secured at my waist, I took a deep breath.


    "..."


    My condition wasn¡¯t bad.

 Chapter 128.2: The Tower (2)

    Running into people in the apocalypse was never a good thing.


    As long as you had a gun, killing another person no longer carried the fear of legal repercussions or much of a moral burden. That was the kind of world we lived in now.


    The more people you encountered, the higher the risk.


    But what if there were too many people?


    How would you even begin to assess that?


    Under the shadow of The Hope, the last luxury district of Korea, a massive crowd had gathered¡ªso large it was visible from a distance.


    Cheon Young-jae, who had gone ahead as a scout, returned with accurate information.


    "They''re the people who came to Seoul with Kim Byeong-cheol back then and ended up staying."


    During his ambitious operation to reclaim Seoul, Kim Byeong-cheol had lured refugees from Incheon to the capital with sweet promises.


    When his regime collapsed, those who had gathered in Seoul were scattered, but a large number still chose to remain.


    "This is where I was born and raised. There''s no point running somewhere else."


    "My hometown is just across the river, so I''d rather stay as close to it as possible."


    "If I¡¯m going to die, I¡¯d rather die in Seoul. I don¡¯t want to see some unfamiliar place."


    After the fall of Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s regime, the remaining population had fractured into small groups, spread throughout the city.


    Then, a single event caused them all to converge in one place.


    "That leaning apartment over there¡ªwhat was its name again? I remember people calling it the ''Leaning Tower of Pizza.'' Anyway, they say the government hid supplies underneath it."


    "They claim there''s enough to feed a million people. How could we not come? It¡¯s not like this country can dig up oil from the ground."


    "I don''t know... but everyone else is going, so we might as well go, too. We¡¯ve got nothing to lose. If there''s even a scrap of food, we should take it."


    Despite the presence of so many different groups, conflicts hadn¡¯t broken out.


    That was because there was a mediating force.


    Armed men in military uniforms stood watch, monitoring the surroundings.


    Their rank insignias were removed, and their unit patches were covered with tape, but it wasn¡¯t hard to tell they were trained soldiers.


    The way they were positioned, the condition of their weapons, their efficient communication, the way they moved under a unified chain of command¡ª


    There was no need to overcomplicate things. Calling them "soldiers" was by far the simplest and most convincing explanation.


    "You there, in the truck! Move your vehicle this way. There¡¯s no room over there."


    The soldiers weren¡¯t particularly wary of us, nor did they show hostility.


    No one had officially given them authority, yet they acted as if they were in charge of the area.


    "They smell like the Legion faction," Defender muttered beside me, eyeing the soldiers carefully.


    "One hundred percent. It reeks of them," Hong Da-jeong chimed in from the back of the truck.


    And just like that, we inadvertently found ourselves absorbed into the small society that had suddenly formed around The Hope.


    At the makeshift parking lot where vehicles were lined up, we had a chance to talk to others who had arrived in similar trucks.


    "...Came because of the broadcast."


    In times like these, a cheap cigarette was all it took to earn someone¡¯s goodwill.


    A man around my age¡ªthough he looked at least ten years older¡ªbegan recounting his experience, his words rambling and disorganized.


    "It wasn¡¯t a radio broadcast. It was a truck with loudspeakers, driving around, saying something was hidden under that apartment."


    He took a final drag of his cigarette, exhaling the ashy smoke through both his nose and mouth before continuing.


    "At first, no one believed it. I mean, what kind of nonsense is that? Out of nowhere, someone claims there''s enough supplies to feed a million people buried under that place? Who would buy that? But, y''know, people are like that. If other people go, you start wanting to go too. The kicker was when someone who went there radioed back, saying they were handing out free nutrition bars."


    Mass psychology, chronic shortages, the promise of food¡ªall of these played a role in drawing the crowd.


    But those weren¡¯t the only reasons they had gathered.


    At any moment, people could choose to leave.


    Yet, none of them had.


    "Who knows? Maybe there really is enough food in there to keep us alive."


    "If this winter is as bad as last year¡¯s, we won¡¯t survive. There¡¯s no firewood here, and I¡¯m not leaving Seoul."


    "It¡¯s just... something to believe in. What else can we do? Let¡¯s just believe there¡¯s something in there that¡¯ll save us."


    These people wanted to believe in that leaning tower¡ªthe one Mgu lived in.


    Not as a religious icon, but because believing in it meant believing that their choices weren¡¯t wrong.


    The topic shifted from the tower itself to the soldiers guarding it.


    "Those soldiers?" The man scowled.


    "Well, isn¡¯t it nice to have someone standing watch when this many people gather? Annoying as it is, it¡¯s still convenient."


    Another man added that the soldiers were indeed part of the Legion faction, just as we suspected.


    But the Legion faction was an old organization.


    No one knew whose command these soldiers were currently following.


    That mystery, which seemed impossible to unravel, was solved in an almost ridiculous way.


    "Wait... isn¡¯t that Kim Byeong-cheol?"


    It happened when Defender and I were heading to the food distribution area.


    Among the soldiers handing out nutrition bars, one man stood out, his face concealed behind a mask and sunglasses.


    Despite the disguise, he had all the distinctive features of Kim Byeong-cheol¡ªtraits I had personally experienced before.


    "Looks like him."


    But the real confirmation came from the person standing beside him.


    A teenage girl, who bore an unmistakable resemblance to Kim Byeong-cheol, was smiling brightly as she handed out food.


    "That¡¯s his daughter," Defender said with certainty.


    "Kim Byeong-cheol''s daughter?"


    Now that I thought about it, there had been someone using his Viva! Apocalypse! account.


    Her name was Ye-rim, if I remembered correctly.


    It was a brief encounter, but I remembered her vividly¡ªunlike the others in our forum, she had an undeniable spark of life.


    "Yeah. He used to bring her around sometimes, so I recognize her. There¡¯s no doubt about it. These soldiers, this organization¡ªit¡¯s all Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s."


    "I see."


    That made the most sense.


    When his main base was destroyed, no one had confirmed whether he had survived.


    Most assumed he was dead.


    But apparently, Kim Byeong-cheol had lived.


    Without his original base in Wonju, there weren¡¯t many places he could go.


    The areas surrounding Wonju¡ªand to the east¡ªbelonged to his old Legion faction rivals, the ones who had deposed him.


    A king exiled from his throne had nowhere left to go but the wasteland.


    And it seemed Kim Byeong-cheol had chosen Seoul¡ªthe wasteland he had once sought to reclaim¡ªas his new stronghold.


    It was no coincidence that he had chosen this moment to reappear.


    The hidden government stash could be the key to his resurgence.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    More importantly, Kim Byeong-cheol had once used the Viva! Apocalypse! username armeegruppe_B.


    He had probably learned about this opportunity through Mgu¡¯s broadcasts and posts.


    But why had he gathered so many people?


    Was he trying to create a human shield?


    Preparing for a possible attack from rival Legion factions?


    Or was he planning to slay the "dragon" guarding the government stash himself and use these thousands of people as witnesses to his coronation?


    Whatever the reason, Kim Byeong-cheol¡ªthe man who had seemingly vanished from the stage¡ªwas back in front of us.


    "Excuse me," a heavily armed soldier approached us.


    Behind him, Kim Byeong-cheol, still wearing his mask and sunglasses, stole occasional glances in our direction.


    "Are you Park Gyu, the hunter?"


    I looked past the soldier and met Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s gaze.


    Then, I gave him a slight nod.


    *


    "I didn¡¯t expect to meet you."


    Kim Byeong-cheol''s camp was set up in the underground parking lot of The Hope.


    Rows of military vehicles, makeshift cars, and crudely modified trucks lined the area, while armed soldiers and automated sentry guns formed a tight perimeter around them.


    I hadn¡¯t anticipated running into Kim Byeong-cheol, but the moment I saw the sheer number of people gathered around The Hope¡ªand the soldiers controlling them¡ªI decided it was something I had to do.


    In fact, it might even work in my favor.


    As long as Kim Byeong-cheol and I didn¡¯t have conflicting goals, we might be able to coexist in a mutually beneficial arrangement.


    I got straight to the point.


    "Ah, this vehicle," he mused. "You want to use this vehicle, is that it?"


    "To be precise, we want to operate it for three days. After that, you can keep it or hand it off to someone else¡ªit¡¯s up to you."


    I was confident the deal would go through.


    After all, we were asking for very little.


    In exchange for the help of a professional hunter group, all he had to do was lend us some equipment for three days.


    From his perspective, it was a deal without any downside.


    But when Kim Byeong-cheol removed his mask and sunglasses, I had a bad feeling that things wouldn¡¯t go as smoothly as I had hoped.


    It wasn¡¯t just the grotesque scars and the visible marks of loss on his face.


    The internal conflicts within the Legion faction had stripped him of any universal concept of trust.


    He moved his half-ruined lips and asked in a cold tone, "Can I ask why you¡¯re making this request?"


    There was no reason to hide it.


    I told him my true intentions.


    "Necropolis?"


    Kim Byeong-cheol raised an eyebrow.


    He had no idea what I was talking about.


    Well, that made sense. Older men like him tended to be indifferent to topics that didn¡¯t personally interest them.


    "You¡¯re seriously willing to work with us for something like that?"


    I nodded.


    A twisted smile spread across his face.


    "Fine, then. Give it a try."


    It wasn¡¯t exactly the warmest response.


    But it was better than outright rejection.


    "You do realize that the thing blocking our way isn¡¯t a monster, right?"


    "I brought an expert."


    "An expert?"


    "Yes. Someone skilled with drones."


    Kim Byeong-cheol tilted his head slightly.


    "Alright, then. But don¡¯t take too long. We have our own specialists as well."


    He raised three fingers.


    "You have three days."


    Even if he had wanted to propose a longer timeframe, he physically couldn¡¯t.


    Because he only had three fingers left.


    Regardless, the negotiation was settled¡ªalbeit imperfectly.


    Three days might not seem like much, but it was a precious opportunity to avoid unnecessary battles with humans.


    More than that, it seemed Kim Byeong-cheol had a sharp eye.


    "The person you¡¯re traveling with."


    He was referring to Defender.


    "That guy. The one the fanatics have a bounty on, right?"


    Just as Defender had recognized him, Kim Byeong-cheol had recognized Defender without any difficulty.


    I nodded.


    "You¡¯d better keep him locked inside the truck."


    Kim Byeong-cheol put his mask and sunglasses back on before adding,


    "People don¡¯t just remember faces. They remember everything¡ªgestures, posture, the way someone moves. A face is just one of many identifiers."


    That was a warning worth taking seriously.


    Defender didn¡¯t belong in crowded places.


    As our negotiations concluded and we headed back to our truck, I heard light footsteps behind me.


    "Excuse me!"


    I turned around to see Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s daughter.


    Ye-rim, if I remembered correctly.


    She definitely took after him.


    The deep-set eyes, the sharp, stubborn nose.


    That kind of face¡ªthe kind that looked like it followed every rule to the letter¡ªwas what people usually called strict.


    But /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ what could Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s daughter possibly want with me?


    As I watched her, she hesitated, fidgeting nervously before finally mustering the courage to speak.


    "Are you... Skelton?!"


    What?


    She knew me?


    I supposed that made sense.


    Kim Byeong-cheol knew my identity, so if he had told his daughter, it wouldn¡¯t be strange for her to recognize me.


    After all, she had used his Viva! Apocalypse! account.


    Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s daughter was also a user of Viva! Apocalypse!, even if she had borrowed her father¡¯s account.


    I looked at her and confidently nodded.


    "Yeah. I¡¯m Skelton."


    "Whoa..."


    "Huh?"


    She looked awestruck.


    A strange feeling of expectation stirred within me.


    Could it be...?


    Did I have a fan?


    Not as TwelveSquare, but as Skelton?


    Thinking back, I supposed I had a pretty solid track record as a forum user.


    I never treated it like a personal diary, never went out of my way to criticize others.


    I always tried to make the forum an enjoyable place, sharing useful information, and keeping a respectable post-to-comment ratio of 1:3.


    Maintaining that balance required dedication.


    With quiet pride, I waited for Ye-rim¡¯s next words.


    Then she bluntly asked,


    "You look totally normal in person. Why do you act like that online?"


    "...Huh?"


    "Where the hell did you even learn stuff like ¡®Skelton Bewildered¡¯ and ¡®Skelton Advice¡¯? No one around me talks like that. Not a single person!"


    For a split second, I felt a mix of disappointment and outrage.


    But those emotions were quickly overshadowed by something else¡ªpity.


    She didn¡¯t know.


    She didn¡¯t know about John_Naenon.


    "The legendary figure of our forum?"


    "You don¡¯t know John_Naenon?"


    "John... what? That name sounds kinda weird."


    "Look it up."


    "Huh?"


    "Search for John_Naenon. Then you¡¯ll understand what he means to us."


    "...Okay?"


    Kim Byeong-cheol...


    A man who failed to educate his own daughter.


    Shaking my head in personal disappointment, I returned to my team.


    They had already finished preparations to take down the government¡¯s so-called dragon.


    At the center of it all stood Da-jeong.


    "Skelton, we¡¯re ready. Just give the signal."


    Anti-jamming equipment, high-sensitivity antennas, VR monitors, Chinese military-grade drone controllers.


    She had equipped herself with the best gear available.


    As she moved the controls, a high-speed drone whirred to life, zipping in circles around us.


    In the distance, I spotted the metal plating that Ji Chang-soo¡¯s group had sliced open with a welding torch.


    A jagged, torn gap led into the abyss beyond.


    To us, it was just a pitch-black void.


    But inside that darkness, the government¡¯s monster lay in wait.


    Taking it down wouldn¡¯t be easy.


    But there was no such thing as an impossible labyrinth.


    Especially when it was built by humans.

 Chapter 128.3: The Tower (3)

    When the first rift opened, the world¡¯s nations responded with both strong concern and opportunistic greed. On one hand, they feared the unknown, something beyond modern science¡¯s ability to explain. On the other, they sought to exploit the rift for economic and scientific gains.


    The hardliners proposed sealing the rift with thick concrete walls, like Chernobyl. But their stance was soon overshadowed by the moderates, who pushed for exploration.


    Looking back now, perhaps if we had listened to the hardliners, humanity¡¯s doomsday clock might have ticked a little slower.


    Once the moderates prevailed, exploration became inevitable.


    It was carried out in a manner eerily similar to early space exploration¡ªventuring into the known unknown of the universe.


    First, they sent in mechanical probes. Then, they confirmed if those probes could return. After that, they sent in primitive life forms, gradually working up to more complex organisms. Finally, they sent in people¡ªreckless individuals who wanted to carve their names into history.


    Unfortunately, no one knows who truly crossed the rift first.


    It wasn¡¯t due to a lack of records. Too many people rushed in at once, each claiming to be the first.


    Now, years later, we found ourselves mirroring that process¡ªonly this time, instead of a cosmic rift, we were exploring a hidden government facility.


    Whirrrr¡ª


    The first attempt was with a high-speed drone piloted by Hong Da-jeong.


    It was an eight-way maneuverable drone, praised for its near-defiance of physics in windless conditions.


    But¡ª


    Bang! Tatatatata!


    A flash of light erupted from the darkness beyond.


    Bullets tore through the drone, scattering its remains.


    "This is no joke," Da-jeong muttered, tilting her head.


    If someone with her drone expertise was reacting like this, it meant things were bad.


    "How did M9 get footage then? He used drones too, didn¡¯t he?"


    We immediately launched an inquiry into M9.


    As of now, M9 didn¡¯t know we were here.


    We had deliberately avoided telling him.


    I wasn¡¯t keen on running into Ji Chang-soo and his daughter, and I certainly didn¡¯t want to be climbing rope ladders up an apartment that could collapse at any moment.


    Fortunately, M9 seemed to be free and answered our questions without issue.


    Message from mmmmmmmmTM:


    "...? It just worked for me?"


    Message from mmmmmmmmTM:


    "Oh, yeah. Some shots fired at it after a while."


    Of course, his drone was eventually destroyed.


    Da-jeong nodded in understanding.


    "M9 must¡¯ve triggered the anti-air defenses."


    "What? They weren¡¯t active from the start?"


    "It¡¯s probably not a passive defense system. My guess? It¡¯s AI-controlled and adaptive."


    She pulled up a tablet and sketched a rough diagram.


    "I heard something back when I was with the Legion faction. When the Chinese deploy large-scale drone operations, they still rely on human pilots¡ªlike, one pilot per five drones. But the US and Korea? They opted for centralized control systems. And right before the war, they started integrating machine-learning AI into those systems. Basically, self-learning autonomous control."


    Rustle.


    Da-jeong grabbed another drone from a pile and licked her lips.


    "Not a bad way to warm up."


    For the first time in a long while, her eyes gleamed with that eerie light I had seen when we first met.


    I felt like I could trust her.


    But in most cases, human-versus-human warfare is 90% about equipment.


    Especially in technological battles¡ªslightly superior gear often results in absolute victory.


    Take air combat, for example. The latest US fighter jets had a record of winning 99 out of 100 dogfights against lower-tier planes.


    Bang! Tatatatata!


    The AI-controlled dragon guarding the vault crushed every one of Da-jeong¡¯s strategies.


    And it was learning.


    At first, it wasted dozens of bullets per engagement.


    Now?


    Bang. Bang. Bang.


    It was down to precision burst shots.


    In less than a day, Da-jeong had lost five drones.


    Most of them were cheap, expendable models, but in this world¡ªwhere production and resupply were nearly impossible¡ªeach loss was painful.


    "Hmm."


    Da-jeong finally called off the operation.


    "I¡¯ll wait until I come up with something better."


    We weren¡¯t the only ones watching this vault.


    Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s people weren¡¯t closely monitoring our every move, but they were definitely keeping tabs on our progress.


    "It¡¯s not going well, is it?"


    Kim Byeong-cheol himself showed up that evening.


    "If it¡¯s not working out, you could always step aside and let us handle it. No need to waste your resources, right?"


    His daughter stood beside him, fiddling with something in her hands.


    She saw me and waved cheerfully.


    For some reason, I found her unsettling.


    Her brightness felt... out of place in this era.


    "She seems autistic," Cheon Yeong-jae remarked bluntly.


    I watched him for a moment before he shrugged.


    "She just gives off that vibe."


    "Even if that¡¯s true, you don¡¯t just say that to someone¡¯s face."


    "Back after the war, I worked at an orphanage for a while. Had to do some community service."


    "What, you commit a crime or something?"


    "DUI."


    "Wow. Real proud of yourself, huh?"


    As we talked, Da-jeong approached us.


    She knew Yeong-jae, but aside from Defender and me, she didn¡¯t talk to many people.


    She must¡¯ve had something important to say.


    "There were rumors."


    I sighed.


    She was definitely frustrated.


    When things weren¡¯t going her way, she tended to do things she normally wouldn¡¯t.


    "Yeah, the kid¡¯s weirdly happy. I don¡¯t know if she¡¯s autistic, but her intelligence seems... off."


    "What¡¯s the term?" I asked.


    "Borderline intelligence?"


    Yeong-jae sure knew a lot of words I didn¡¯t.


    "Yeah, that. I heard people say her mom ran away because of her."


    Listening to these two gossip made me feel drained.


    I had spent the entire day on high alert, wary that Kim Byeong-cheol might betray us.


    As time passed, that suspicion seemed less likely, but I figured it was better to stay cautious.


    The sun was setting.


    We had no immediate solution, and after the long journey to Seoul, we needed rest.


    The next morning.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Da-jeong abandoned the VR monitor entirely.


    She stood right in front of the vault entrance, manually operating her controller as she observed the interior.


    Another drone got shot down.


    "Hmm."


    She let out a short sigh.


    Then she pulled out her favorite tool.


    The damn robot vacuum.


    I had no idea how that was supposed to help.


    But I didn¡¯t question it.


    Da-jeong carefully checked over the vacuum before sending it into the gap.


    Brrrrrrr¡ª


    It rolled forward, making a weird noise¡ªone of its wheels must have been faulty.


    Moments later¡ª


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Gunshots rang out.


    The difference this time?


    Brrrrrrr¡ª


    The vacuum came back.


    The key to its survival was a metal plate mounted on top.


    Three deep bullet dents marked its surface.


    Da-jeong nodded in satisfaction and walked over to me.


    She looked far too confident.


    "Did you figure something out?"


    "3.5 seconds."


    "3.5 seconds?"


    "The warehouse defense system takes 3.5 seconds to detect, process, and attack a target. I''ve sent in seven different drones, and while the reaction time kept decreasing at first, it never went below 3.5 seconds."


    Hong Da-jeong set down the robot vacuum and straightened her shoulders.


    "That¡¯s the absolute minimum processing time."


    "Hmm. Yeah?"


    Was that important?


    Maybe. Maybe not.


    3.5 seconds.


    It was more than enough time to kill a person, but far too short for a human to react.


    "For now, let¡¯s stop here."


    "You mean¡ª?"


    "Yeah. We¡¯re calling it off."


    Da-jeong glanced at the soldiers watching us from afar with smug expressions.


    "Let¡¯s see what they do."


    For someone who usually avoided people, Da-jeong could get quite competitive when the mood struck her.


    I had assumed she was reclusive, but thinking back, she had worked as a cafe? waitress before the war.


    And she had lured people into traps before.


    Maybe she didn¡¯t avoid people out of anxiety¡ªmaybe she just found them annoying.


    Since Da-jeong had put the mission on hold, there was no reason to continue.


    Any more attempts would just waste drones.


    "What? Giving up already?"


    Kim Byeong-cheol burst into laughter.


    He seemed to be in a very good mood.


    "I knew it!"


    He pulled out a radio and spoke cheerfully to his men.


    "Is it ready? Yeah? Good. Let¡¯s get started! Our guests just vacated the room!"


    It seemed Kim Byeong-cheol had a trump card.


    Moments later, that trump card ¡ô N§àv§Öl?g?t ¡ô (Only on N§àv§Öl?g?t) appeared before us with a thunderous roar.


    A tank.


    K1A1.


    A South Korean main battle tank rolled in, shaking the entire underground parking lot.


    Da-jeong, who had been leaning against the truck with her arms crossed, uncurled her arms and stared at the tank.


    "Ah, of course."


    She smirked.


    "I figured they''d try something like this."


    "Oh yeah?"


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    "Yeah. The defenses have tight firing angles and well-formed kill zones. But you noticed, right? Even after all the drone runs, we never saw any heavy weapons inside."


    "The biggest caliber we saw was around 7.62mm."


    "Then the solution is obvious."


    "You mean that?"


    "Yep. If small arms can¡¯t penetrate, just bring something too big for them to stop."


    She smirked again, arms crossed once more.


    Her confidence made me curious.


    "Think it¡¯ll work?"


    She shrugged.


    "Probably not."


    Then, as if reconsidering, she scratched her shoulder and added:


    "Actually... definitely not."


    The tank advanced.


    CRASH!


    Its massive frame tore through the steel door.


    And then¡ª


    "Cover your ears!"


    The tank commander shouted his warning¡ª


    BOOM!!!


    The main cannon roared.


    THOOM!!!


    A shockwave blasted through the parking lot, sending dust and debris flying.


    From beyond the warehouse door, a violent explosion echoed.


    "Is... is that okay?" Cheon Yeong-jae muttered.


    He had a point.


    The objective wasn¡¯t just the drones¡ªit was the supplies inside.


    What the hell was their plan?


    It seemed more like a performance than an actual attack.


    After firing the cannon, the tank charged straight through the hole it had made.


    Da-jeong, still standing with her arms crossed, started counting on her fingers.


    "Three, two, one... and a half."


    She didn¡¯t even reach zero before¡ª


    BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG¡ª!


    Gunfire erupted from the other side of the door.


    Dozens¡ªmaybe hundreds¡ªof shots.


    No person or drone could survive that kind of barrage.


    But a tank?


    That was a different story.


    It was designed to shrug off bullets.


    "Good! Keep pushing! Keep pushing! Crush those toy soldiers!"


    Kim Byeong-cheol had arrived at the scene, bringing his ever-cheerful daughter with him.


    "South Korea¡¯s future is in our hands!" he bellowed.


    I tilted my head.


    "..."


    Was this man still clinging to the idea of Korea?


    I wasn¡¯t here to judge patriots.


    "Reviving Korea depends on us! The rebirth of our nation starts here in Seoul! Go! Push forward! Plant the flag on the high ground!"


    But his words sounded less like a mission and more like a prayer.


    Like he was grasping for something long dead.


    An empty faith.


    A prayer to a god that no longer answered.


    "Skelton."


    I snapped out of my thoughts as Da-jeong called my name.


    "Watch."


    She silently mouthed an explosion sound effect.


    BOOM!


    From the large radio beside Kim Byeong-cheol, a pained voice rang out.


    "Ahhh!"


    The tank crew¡¯s cry, mixed with static.


    The next moment¡ª


    KABOOM!!!


    A deafening blast rocked the warehouse, sending a second shockwave roaring through the tunnel.


    The tank was destroyed.


    "They say the Korean government was incompetent," Da-jeong whispered near my ear.


    "But when it came to protecting their own interests..."


    She smirked.


    "They were better than anyone."


    Of course they had prepared for armored vehicle threats.


    With the tank gone, we were back to square one.


    Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s forces weren¡¯t getting through.


    And neither were we.


    The dragon guarding the vault was far stronger¡ªand far more ruthless¡ªthan we had imagined.


    Da-jeong sighed and shook her head.


    "Sorry, Skelton. But this time... I don¡¯t think we can do it."


    I suspected she had given up when she lost the fifth drone.


    Letting Kim Byeong-cheol take his shot had been a calculated move¡ªshe knew he would fail.


    She had set it up as evidence.


    Evidence to convince me to back off.


    "The defenses in there," she said, "are designed to counter every type of human weapon."


    "That means even someone like him¡ªa third-rate warlord¡ªdoesn''t stand a chance."


    She had a point.


    She wasn¡¯t saying this out of frustration.


    She was worried about me.


    She had gone so far as to set up concrete proof¡ªeven if it meant letting tank soldiers die.


    That was very in line with the kind of person "Defender" had always been.


    Even Defender himself¡ªwho had spent the entire fight hiding in the truck¡ªspoke up.


    "Skelton. This... isn¡¯t our fight."


    He was right.


    We weren¡¯t omnipotent.


    We were hunters¡ªdesigned to fight monsters, not human-engineered kill zones.


    No matter how skilled we were, the reality was simple.


    But if there¡¯s one thing humanity has¡ªabove all else¡ªit¡¯s intelligence.


    And intelligence meant adaptability.


    "Hold on. I need to check something."


    "Check what?"


    "The internet."


    I ran back to the truck.


    Inside, Defender sat with his arms crossed, his expression as unreadable as ever.


    Beside him, Valentine sat stiffly, clearly uneasy under his presence.


    "Move over."


    I pushed past Defender and settled in front of my laptop.


    Click-clack.


    SKELTON: (Skelton emergency) Captain M9! Respond!


    mmmmmmmmmTM: Captain M9 speaking!


    Just a few lines of text.


    And yet, they made me smile.


    The bond of the forum.


    With renewed determination, I typed furiously.


    SKELTON: You got any capsules nearby?

 Chapter 128.4: The Tower (4)

    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: Capsules? There are plenty of capsules. Everything around here is a capsule.


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: But why are you looking for capsules? Don¡¯t tell me you came because of my popular post, Skelton.


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: If you''re nearby, I can help you. As you know, this area belongs to Captain M9, doesn''t it?


    Hoesadama.


    The fact that M9 is being friendly to me is definitely a good thing.


    Everyone in Korea¡ªno, every Barbarian in the world¡ªknows that there''s no better guide in this area than M9.


    However, just because someone uses the internet doesn''t mean they''re a good person like me.


    No website is free from the rot of toxic users.


    M9 mentioned the name of a user who hadn''t been very active lately.


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: You know Reporter Guy, right?


    SKELTON: Of course.


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: This happened after my post went viral.


    Message from mmmmmmmmmTM: I took a screenshot. I¡¯ll show you exactly what happened.


    M9 sent me a picture.


    There, the grotesque online persona of Reporter Guy¡ªWoo Min-hee¡ªwas laid bare for all to see.


    Message from gijayangban: M9, lol. Take the post down. ^^


    *


    I met M9 again.


    ¡°Oh, Skelton. I¡¯m seeing you a lot these days. Are you hoping to move into our apartment too?¡±


    Since he had been eating well and climbing the steep apartment slope daily, M9¡¯s body was completely different from the one he had when he first caused a fuss about moving into The Hope three years ago.


    How should I put it? It was like his body had evolved to climb inclines.


    Noticing my gaze, M9 flexed his arm muscles in an exaggerated manner and joked.


    ¡°My body? Doesn¡¯t it look like a leopard¡¯s?¡±


    To me, he looked more like a gibbon, but I kept that thought to myself.


    Anyway, the driving force that allowed M9 to navigate the harsh reality of the apocalypse was his ever-positive mindset.


    Even if it was just mental gymnastics, that was fine.


    Better to forget or vent than to let stress accumulate and turn into an illness, even if it meant being mocked by others. That was the right way to survive the apocalypse.


    As I watched a few crumbs fall noisily from the slanted apartment, I asked M9,


    ¡°What about the newcomers in your neighborhood?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re probably not coming out.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Something about a bad relationship with Kim Byeong-cheol.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    Did they try playing both sides and ended up making an enemy of Kim Byeong-cheol?


    Not seeing the Ji father and daughter was honestly a good thing for my mental health.


    ¡°This way.¡±


    Convergent evolution, was it?


    When faced with specific conditions, different species evolve into similar forms.


    The same applied to survival techniques.


    Just as us Hunters created "parkour routes" to traverse rough terrain, M9 had pioneered his own parkour route through the collapsed ruins.


    ¡°Watch closely.¡±


    M9¡¯s equipment consisted of a harness and a rope with a detachable hook.


    When he needed to cross dangerous gaps between buildings, he securely fastened the rope¡¯s hook to his harness, then sprinted before leaping across to the other side.


    Even if the jump failed, the rope would keep him from plummeting, and the harness would distribute the force evenly, preventing injuries to his back and muscles.


    ¡°This way.¡±


    After effortlessly clearing a six-meter gap, M9 gestured toward me.


    ¡°Think you can make it?¡±


    I followed him with ease, though the jump was closer than I would have liked.


    As I caught my breath and detached the rope from my harness, M9 stood on the opposite rooftop, gazing down at the landscape.


    ¡°Over there and there. That land belongs to the monsters. That side is a zombie nest. Across the river... there seem to be people, but I doubt they¡¯re normal. Probably cultists.¡±


    I had underestimated M9 a little, but he deserved to have survived this long.


    He was aware of almost everything happening around him.


    ¡°The capsules should be over there. I saw a massive pile of them last time.¡±


    M9 scratched his rough beard absentmindedly, lost in thought.


    Then he turned to me.


    ¡°Hey, Skelton.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It feels weird to ask this now, but... are you okay with this?¡±


    ¡°With what?¡±


    ¡°Reporter Guy.¡±


    ¡°What did he say?¡±


    M9 leaned against the railing and stretched his neck.


    ¡°He said he has a powerful Awakened in his group.¡±


    ¡°An Awakened?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. He said if anyone touches the goods, he¡¯ll send them after them. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s true, but you know Reporter Guy, don¡¯t you? He¡¯s not just any regular user.¡±


    M9 gave a wry smile.


    ¡°...Man, none of these people are easy. They all act unhinged on the internet, but when you meet them in real life, they turn out to be big shots.¡±


    His face was filled with disillusionment.


    And it was justified.


    These were people he had known as online friends for years, but now that their masks were off, they were too much to handle.


    The users involved in this incident alone included Kim Byeong-cheol, Woo Min-hee, Defender, and me.


    Woo Min-hee had made a name for herself in Incheon, but Kim Byeong-cheol had almost taken control of the entire country.


    It was no surprise that M9 was having a bit of an existential crisis.


    ¡°...Is it that only the strong remain, or was the board always full of strong people?¡±


    M9 glanced at me.


    ¡°You¡¯re pretty strong yourself, aren¡¯t you, Skelton?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not just one strand¡ªI¡¯m two.¡±


    ¡°?¡±


    ¡°Or maybe I¡¯m just a troublemaker.¡±


    ¡°Reporter Guy said¡ª¡±


    Even after my killer joke, M9 remained expressionless and changed the subject.


    ¡°If anyone touches even a single item in the warehouse, he¡¯ll send people after them.¡±


    ¡°That so?¡±


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    I didn¡¯t know the full situation, but one thing was clear.


    My old colleague, Woo Min-hee, knew about the secret assets underground in The Hope.


    Even if she didn¡¯t know all the details, she was aware that something was hidden there.


    That was why she was stirring up trouble.


    Honestly, even though we were colleagues, I still didn¡¯t fully understand how Woo Min-hee thought.


    But I wasn¡¯t about to let her interfere with my plans.


    ¡°That¡¯s the place?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    I confirmed the capsule¡¯s location.


    However, the terrain was bad.


    It wouldn¡¯t be easy to bring in a vehicle.


    ¡°What about another spot?¡±


    I asked M9 to show me another capsule site.


    After another similarly difficult journey, we arrived at a second cluster.


    ¡°What do you think, Skelton?¡±


    It was an old university.


    The area was sloped, but it was connected by roads and relatively free of obstacles.


    With a sturdy four-wheel-drive vehicle, it would be manageable.


    The problem was the zombies.


    Uuuuuh¡ª


    Uuuuuh¡ª


    Their eerie humming echoed all around us like background noise.


    Even in broad daylight, the monster-infested ruins cast a gloomy, ashen-gray shadow over the land, a synesthetic representation of the apocalypse¡¯s arrival.


    Beyond that gray-tinted university campus, the capsules were visible.


    ¡°Thanks, M9. Really.¡±


    ¡°What are you planning?¡±


    M9 stared at the capsules with a worried expression.


    As I gazed at the same spot, I answered calmly.


    ¡°Lately, don¡¯t you think there are fewer people on our board?¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah. We do get new members, but honestly, they give me the creeps. Isn¡¯t the average user basically on Defender¡¯s level now?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m planning to bring in some fresh, untainted recruits.¡±


    ¡°Huh? Is that even possible?¡±


    I smiled.


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    I hoped that next year, our board would still be full of people.


    Not the way it was now, slowly sinking together into silence, but like the days before a war¡ªwhen countless people shared their stories, connected, and made the apocalypse feel alive.


    Even if I end up as the last human standing, if I can experience enough vibrant, lively moments along the way, then maybe¡ªwhen the time comes for me to die alone¡ªit won¡¯t feel as lonely.


    John Nae-non must have created PaleNet with a similar thought in mind.


    At first, out of revenge. Later, for the noble purpose of connecting everyone.


    I don¡¯t know if I can do the same.


    But at the very least, I think I¡¯ve stepped onto the stage.


    *


    Forming a relationship with Kim Byeong-cheol was a wise decision.


    ¡°What? You¡¯re planning to destroy it using a monster? Geez. I don¡¯t even know what to say. That¡¯s such a Hunter-like idea.¡±


    Kim Byeong-cheol didn¡¯t fully grasp my plan, but just by explaining the purpose, necessity, and reasoning behind it, he willingly lent me a military jeep.


    And not just that¡ªhe even included valuable combat personnel.


    He wasn¡¯t the type to refuse a request.


    If the enemy were only monsters, I might have declined the combat personnel, as they could get in the way. But we had to pass through an area infested with zombies and human-sized killing monsters.


    We received two modified SUVs for combat, two squads equipped with heavy weapons, and a military jeep for ourselves before setting off toward our destination.


    I had already confirmed the location with M9, and from the top of that tall building, we had mapped out the roads and obstacles in advance. There was nothing obstructing our route.


    We arrived in the danger zone without much trouble.


    Uuuuuuh¡ª


    Uuuuuuh¡ª


    From here on, we were entering the real zombie-infested territory.


    Not just zombies, but several caterpillar-type creatures had also been spotted.


    There were even some small-scale erosion zones caused by minor mutations.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be counting on you.¡±


    I spoke to the soldiers.


    And then¡ª


    ¡°I¡¯ll be counting on you, too.¡±


    To my comrades as well.


    Above us, Hong Da-jeong¡¯s drone had already arrived and was providing real-time surveillance of the area.


    Our plan was simple: reach the capsule cluster, secure the capsules within three minutes, and return to The Hope.


    I had only discussed this operation with Kim Byeong-cheol during the planning stage, so I hadn¡¯t yet heard the frontline commander¡¯s concerns. But as soon as we entered the danger zone, I could hear the soldiers'' unfiltered worries through the radio.


    ¡°Is this plan really going to work?¡±


    ¡°Yes. It will.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? No matter what, these are capsules we¡¯re dealing with. As soon as they open, monsters will come out.¡±


    And then there was this guy leading the unit¡ªMajor Hwang.


    He seemed to be quite the whiner.


    ¡°If three minutes pass, you¡¯re free to retreat first.¡±


    ¡°Well, even if you say that¡ª¡±


    ¡°Just report that I ordered it.¡±


    Bwoooooom¡ª


    Annoyed, Major Hwang started up his vehicle without another word.


    Fine by me.


    I followed closely behind.


    No matter how irritated he was, he wasn¡¯t about to start shooting recklessly.


    If he opened fire from the get-go, all the dormant zombies would wake up and swarm us.


    Even someone as narrow-minded as Major Hwang wouldn¡¯t be that reckless.


    We steadily made our way toward the university campus, pushing zombies aside with the vehicles rather than engaging them in direct combat.


    ¡°There it is.¡±


    Major Hwang stopped the vehicle.


    As expected.


    ¡°I¡¯ll start the timer now.¡±


    ¡°Go ahead.¡±


    I turned to my comrades.


    Cheon Young-jae and Defender.


    Most of all, I trusted Cheon Young-jae.


    We had already coordinated the operation in advance.


    If the capsule turned out to be a ¡°fully matured¡± one, he would provide backup.


    If that happened, we might exceed the three-minute limit¡ªbut we had a contingency for that.


    My radio had a direct channel to Kim Byeong-cheol.


    Uuuuuuh¡ª


    Uuuuuuh¡ª


    The eerie chorus of zombies filled the air.


    Shambling figures began appearing in my peripheral vision.


    In the middle of the gray, desolate sports field, an unnervingly white cluster had taken root.


    ¡°......¡±


    Identifying capsules was one of the most dangerous tasks.


    Especially for someone like me, who insisted on checking them one by one with a melee weapon.


    Schring¡ª


    I walked toward the capsules, carrying only two axes.


    I could hear the soldiers murmuring behind me.


    ¡°What the hell? That guy? An axe? Just an axe?¡±


    ¡°No clue. I heard he¡¯s an old Hunter. Let¡¯s just watch.¡±


    ¡°Even that guy, Kim Daram, wouldn¡¯t do something this reckless.¡±


    They knew Kim Daram?


    Well, that wasn¡¯t necessarily a bad thing.


    That meant Kim Daram was under Woo Min-hee.


    By now, he might even be dead.


    That was the kind of world we lived in.


    My mind was wandering too much.


    It meant I was letting too much noise into my thoughts.


    I was no longer the kind of person who burned with blind hatred like I did in my Professor days.


    I had changed.


    But.


    ¡°Park-sunbae, you ready?¡±


    The flames of hatred toward monsters still burned fiercely in a corner of my heart.


    I swung my axe at the disgusting gray mass in front of me.


    With a single stroke, I split it open.


    And then¡ª


    Clang!


    My axe was blocked¡ªby my other axe.


    Which meant¡ª


    ¡°This one¡¯s alive.¡±


    It hadn¡¯t fully matured yet.


    In other words, it was exactly what I was looking for.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°As expected.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae and Defender rushed in and hoisted the capsule.


    ¡°Careful. Don¡¯t jostle it too much.¡±


    The whole process¡ªchecking the capsule and loading it onto the vehicle¡ªtook exactly three minutes.


    ¡°......¡±


    From a distance, I noticed Major Hwang watching me silently.


    Without a word, he climbed into his vehicle, spun it around, and took the lead.


    Uuuuuuh¡ª


    Uuuuuuh¡ª


    With the sound of zombies closing in, we started our retreat, following Major Hwang¡¯s vehicle.


    Tatata-tang!


    Bang! Bang!


    We engaged in a high-speed chase with the horde, but that part wasn¡¯t particularly important.


    The capsule had been secured without issue.


    All that was left was to place it on Da-jeong¡¯s favorite robotic vacuum cleaner and release it in front of the government¡¯s pet dragon.


    That would solve everything.


    But this incident had more than one problem.


    The dragon inside the warehouse was one issue.


    The people connected to the warehouse were another.


    Especially Woo Min-hee.


    I had already heard from M9, but my suspicions quickly turned into reality.


    Just as the capsule operation was wrapping up, a vehicle arrived at the scene unimpeded.


    [Republic of Korea Government]


    The faded emblem of a past authority.


    Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s soldiers stood in formation, watching as the car door opened.


    Unlike M9, who resembled a gibbon, the woman who stepped out had a lean, panther-like physique.


    We spotted each other almost simultaneously.


    ¡°Sunbae?¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    It was Kim Daram.

 Chapter 128.5: The Tower (5)

    Despite the changes in environment, circumstances, and status, Kim Daram¡¯s appearance remained nearly identical to the last time we met.


    And the same applied to our relationship.


    In a sense, we had one of the most successful senior-junior dynamics.


    However, as the cheaply flavored synthetic fruit tea was delivered between us, neither of us said a single word.


    To an outsider, it might have been a strange sight.


    Both parties wanted to talk, yet when the opportunity presented itself, we remained silent.


    I wouldn¡¯t say our relationship had deteriorated.


    From the very beginning, there was always an unbridgeable gap between us.


    That gap sometimes widened and deepened, but the essence of our senior-junior relationship had never been broken.


    We simply needed time to sort things out.


    Both of us were the type who didn¡¯t allow mistakes.


    ¡°Did you join Woo Min-hee¡¯s side?¡±


    As expected, it was the senior¡ªme¡ªwho finished sorting his thoughts first and broke the silence.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Kim Daram sipped her tea as she answered.


    ¡°What about your husband and kid?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re fine.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a relief.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for caring.¡±


    A dry, superficial exchange.


    That wasn¡¯t what either of us truly wanted.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    It was Kim Daram who opened the second round of questioning.


    Her sharp gaze, which had been fixed on the monsters outside, turned toward me, trying to read my intentions.


    ¡°You know what kind of place this is, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°I came to send a warning and assess the situation. As expected, the remnants of the Legion faction couldn¡¯t even scratch the door, but if anyone so much as lays a careless hand on what¡¯s inside, Woo Min-hee will come.¡±


    ¡°So she already knew about this place?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, she knew.¡±


    Kim Daram pulled out her phone and showed me a blueprint.


    It appeared to be a schematic of the underground warehouse.


    I tried to examine it closely, but before I could get a good look, she immediately tucked the phone back into her coat and let out a shallow sigh, glaring at me.


    ¡°......¡±


    She was extremely wary.


    Was it because she was on the other side now?


    I smirked bitterly and tried to read her thoughts.


    I couldn¡¯t see a single crack.


    Kim Daram was not an easy opponent when she wasn¡¯t relaxed.


    She was still the same Kim Daram, but when she was cornered, she demonstrated 120% of her abilities.


    She was nothing like the typical Bittick Auntie I had encountered before.


    I needed a different approach.


    Frankly, Kim Daram was a difficult person, but in terms of skill, there was hardly anyone better.


    We had a few Hunters in our territory, but only Cheon Young-jae and Bang Jae-hyuk could keep up with me. The rest¡ªif I were my old self¡ªI would have kicked them out of the team.


    There were plenty of old grudges, but I extended a hand.


    ¡°How¡¯s it over there? Comfortable?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Kim Daram answered without hesitation.


    ¡°I recently started my own group. All of them are Hunters from the academy.¡±


    ¡°I see. You¡¯re not coming?¡±


    ¡°?¡±


    I tilted my head slightly, uncharacteristically puzzled.


    Of all places, she was rejecting the safest and most well-stocked territory?


    She had refused before, but her circumstances then and now were vastly different.


    I stared at her, searching for an answer.


    Kim Daram held up three fingers.


    ¡°One, your bunker sucks.¡±


    ¡°My bunker just got a renovation. I even installed multiple toilets. Oh, and we have foreigners now. It¡¯s basically an international kindergarten.¡±


    ¡°Two, Hunters from the academy. I can¡¯t be around Hunters.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°They all hate me.¡±


    She had always been brutally self-aware.


    I suppose she had a habit of talking behind the backs of girls prettier than her.


    If she were like Woo Min-hee, forever stuck in a princess syndrome, she wouldn¡¯t have wasted energy on resentment.


    I looked at her last remaining finger.


    ¡°And the last reason?¡±


    Kim Daram smirked.


    ¡°Sunbae, you don¡¯t like me.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d you figure that out?¡±


    ¡°I have a conscience. I know what I¡¯ve done. But what can I do? That¡¯s just how I¡¯ve lived my life.¡±


    Kim Daram exhaled deeply and, for the first time, relaxed into a comfortable posture.


    It was an undeniable truth, neither embellished nor excused.


    ¡°And besides, with your personality, you wouldn¡¯t just let Dongtak run wild.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d you figure that out?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve changed. That¡¯s also why I absolutely can¡¯t go there.¡±


    ¡°Other people say I¡¯ve become nicer.¡±


    ¡°More than anything, Woo Min-hee... she has power.¡±


    Kim Daram cast a tired gaze at the gaping entrance to the underground parking lot below.


    ¡°I knew she was strong, but seeing it firsthand left me speechless. She¡¯s just... a god.¡±


    In Kim Daram¡¯s eyes, I saw a fear I rarely saw from her.


    I knew for a fact that there weren¡¯t many things in this world that scared her.


    ¡°...After watching her take down five mid-tier creatures alone, I made my decision. Even if I find it disgusting, if I want my family to survive, it¡¯s best to stay under her.¡±


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t send you on dangerous missions?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s danger everywhere. Besides, she still has authority. There¡¯s a rumor she got kicked out of Jeju, but that¡¯s nonsense. She probably spread it herself. She¡¯s still the one in power. If you ask me, she just didn¡¯t want to stay in Jeju and chose to be here instead.¡±


    Kim Daram sighed heavily and slumped her shoulders.


    ¡°Sunbae. We¡¯re old-school. No matter how much we deny it, the truth is, they¡¯re better than us.¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    I understood.


    Kim Daram still despised and resented Woo Min-hee.


    It was obvious from the sheer disgust she radiated whenever she mentioned her name.


    But as she said herself, she had no choice.


    She was enduring it to protect her family.


    I had no way to recruit Kim Daram.


    But if there was one person in this world who knew her best¡ªeven more than her husband¡ªit was me.


    ¡°......You gave birth.¡±


    An icebreaker.


    A technique to dissolve tension in conversation.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You had a kid.¡±


    ¡°Sunbae, I¡¯m not in the mood for jokes.¡±


    ¡°Who gave birth, you or Woo Min-hee? I can say with confidence that it was you.¡±


    ¡°Are you on drugs?¡±


    ¡°I still don¡¯t hate Min-hee, though.¡±


    Kim Daram¡¯s eyes sharpened.


    ¡°Why? She¡¯s a cute junior. Even if she¡¯s over thirty now.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to mention your age? You¡¯re in your thirties too. Actually, aren¡¯t you closer to forty than us?¡±


    ¡°My heart is still young. My online age is 16, actually.¡±


    ¡°The hell are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°My real intention is to mess with Woo Min-hee.¡±


    Kim Daram scoffed.


    ¡°How? Are you planning to raid this place?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°No matter how good you are, that won¡¯t be easy.¡±


    ¡°I have a plan.¡±


    I trusted Kim Daram.


    No, I trusted her hatred for Woo Min-hee.


    I shared my plan with her.


    For the first time, her expression shifted into genuine shock.


    ¡°Sunbae...¡±


    She looked up at me with an expression that reminded me of her old junior days.


    ¡°You¡¯re not seriously going to use that method, are you?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a surveillance system. If anyone sets foot inside, it will trigger an immediate response.¡±


    Kim Daram turned on her phone again and showed me the blueprint she had been reluctant to reveal earlier.


    I didn¡¯t know the full details, but judging by the warehouse¡¯s vast layout, there were surveillance measures just as formidable as the dragon inside.


    Probably something as simple yet reliable as motion detectors that could trigger an alarm with just a slight movement.


    ¡°Even if you destroy the defenses, the moment you touch anything inside, Woo Min-hee will come. Even if you cut communications, she¡¯ll still come.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°If she comes, you know what will happen.¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    ¡°People will die. And these people¡ªthey¡¯re Legion faction remnants, right? And Kim Byeong-cheol? The guy hated by the National Assembly?¡±


    Yeah. If Woo Min-hee came, bloodshed was inevitable.


    Even if I tried to stop her, would she even see me in that state?


    I remained silent, and Kim Daram sighed.


    ¡°Your plan is impressive, but even if you take down the defenses, you can¡¯t take anything out.¡±


    In other words, even if I slayed the dragon guarding the treasure, I couldn¡¯t lay a hand on the loot.


    Because the moment I did, a demon far worse than any dragon would come storming in.


    But I had learned something.


    I grinned at Kim Daram.


    ¡°Daram.¡±


    ¡°What''s with that all of a sudden?¡±


    ¡°You really hate Woo Min-hee, huh?¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Kim Da-ram denied it fiercely, but if she didn''t actually hate Woo Min-hee, she wouldn¡¯t have given me such a detailed report on the security system of the warehouse.


    So, our dear Kim Da-ram is also hoping that I¡¯ll screw Woo Min-hee over.


    ¡°I plan to start tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°So head back first.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t stop you, but I did warn you, alright? And by the way, Woo Min-hee¡ªshe¡¯s changed. She¡¯s even less forgiving than before. Even if you¡¯re her senior, she won¡¯t let it slide.¡±


    ¡°I know. Just pass my regards to your husband and Dongtak.¡±


    Kim Da-ram scoffed, waved her hand lightly, and left.


    ¡°If you think you¡¯re about to die, get on your knees and beg like hell. Who knows? Maybe Woo Min-hee¡¯s heart will soften.¡±


    A while later, the vehicle carrying Kim Da-ram disappeared beyond the city.


    Now, the only remaining obstacle was Kim Byeong-cheol''s decision, but I wasn¡¯t particularly worried about that.


    ¡°Why the hell should I listen to an Awakened?¡±


    Kim Byeong-cheol was, how should I put it¡ªsomeone who thrived on ambition.


    He dreamed bigger than anyone else, and he ran tirelessly to make those dreams a reality.


    For someone like him, minor details didn¡¯t matter.


    ¡°If I were going to back down from a little threat like that, I wouldn¡¯t have started this in the first place.¡±


    After securing Kim Byeong-cheol''s approval, we moved straight to the site.


    Everything was already prepared.


    Our equipment? One robot vacuum cleaner, and delicately balanced on top of it¡ªa capsule.


    All we had to do was get it through that gap.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s get started.¡±


    ¡°Okay~.¡±


    Hong Da-jeong operated the robot vacuum.


    Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiir¡ª


    The robot vacuum advanced forward.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    After giving final instructions to Cheon Young-jae and Defender, I checked my weapon.


    Click-clack.


    Kim Byeong-cheol had given me a hunter¡¯s weapon¡ªa Hotshot.


    A so-called "one-time-use" large-caliber shotgun.


    Though it was called a shotgun, it was practically a handheld Claymore mine.


    Like most hunter weapons, ? N§àv§Öl?g?t ? (Official version) it packed enough power to blow apart even a small-sized monster in a single shot.


    The problem?


    It''s ridiculously heavy.The weight distribution is pure hell.The recoil is a nightmare.A weapon with a track record of killing more humans than monsters.


    That¡¯s why he gave it to me.


    Well, at least he didn¡¯t hand me that piece of trash weapon, the Blader.


    Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiir¡ª


    Now, the drone was entering the gap.


    I waited for the promised 3.5 seconds.


    One, two, three... and a half.


    ¡°Alright, it''s time.¡±


    As soon as Hong Da-jeong spoke, gunfire erupted beyond the gap.


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    The AI must have assessed the situation and decided it wasn¡¯t a major threat.


    It responded with only a three-round burst.


    But what the AI didn¡¯t know¡ª


    Was that a being that seeks to destroy all human creations had entered its world.


    Boom!


    The sound of a shockwave.


    A monster¡¯s heartbeat.


    The AI¡¯s response?


    Tat tat tat tat tat! Tat tat tat! Bang!


    A devastating barrage of bullets¡ªthe same kind that had once wiped out Ji Chang-soo¡¯s men and blown apart Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s armored vehicles.


    But¡ª


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    Ping! Crack! BOOOOOM!!


    The bullets shattered against the monster¡¯s reflective shield.


    Tat tat tat tat tat! KABOOM!


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    Gunfire and shockwaves.


    I couldn¡¯t see how the battle between the machine and the monster would end.


    But I could hear it.


    After a moment¡ª


    An eerily familiar silence settled beyond the gap.


    I ordered Hong Da-jeong to send in the recon drone.


    The result was astonishing.


    The machine had won.


    The monster had used its reflective shield to deflect most of the AI¡¯s attacks, but the sheer volume and density of gunfire had eventually overwhelmed the shield, forcing the monster to collapse.


    But it was a Pyrrhic victory.


    The defense system had been almost completely destroyed.


    Both the monster and the machine had been exhausted.


    ¡°How did it go?!¡±


    Kim Byeong-cheol came running up, breathless, his eyes wide with disbelief.


    ¡°You actually used a monster to destroy the defense system?! Hah! Hahaha! What the hell! I never thought I¡¯d see the day a monster actually helped us!¡±


    Watching the ecstatic general, I calmly spoke.


    ¡°General, there''s one more thing we need to do.¡±


    ¡°One more thing?¡±


    He frowned.


    I smiled.


    ¡°We need to hack the surveillance system.¡±


    ¡°The surveillance system?!¡±


    ¡°Yes. If we can disable the surveillance system, we won¡¯t have to worry about attracting troublesome opponents like Woo Min-hee.¡±


    Of course, that was a lie.


    There was no way to actually disable the system.


    I just needed three days.


    I stared through the slightly open main warehouse door¡ª


    Beyond it, the broadcasting equipment we needed.


    My plan?


    I wouldn¡¯t even have to move the equipment.


    I¡¯d simply power it up right there, and transmit the voice of Necropolis directly from inside the warehouse.


    ¡°It¡¯s possible. Yes, it¡¯s possible.¡±


    Ballantine agreed.


    But the real issue was still the surveillance system.


    ¡°The broadcasting equipment needs to stay on for three full days. Will that even be possible?¡±


    Ballantine looked worried.


    I explained my plan.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be the only one going inside. You¡¯ll stay there for three days and operate Necropolis from within.¡±


    According to Kim Da-ram¡¯s intel, the government had installed motion sensors all throughout the warehouse.


    Every single movement inside was recorded.


    Whether someone entered or exited¡ªit would be logged.


    My solution?


    It was simple.


    ¡°As ridiculous as it sounds, you just need to go in¡ªand not leave.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll stay inside until Necropolis is fully operational. You¡¯ll minimize movement. The government focuses more on entry and exit logs rather than internal activity.¡±


    Ballantine nodded.


    ¡°Hm. That... could work.¡±


    Then he frowned.


    ¡°But won¡¯t my entry be recorded? If that happens, won¡¯t Woo Min-hee come here? If she does, this whole plan is useless.¡±


    That was true.


    Even if I were working for the government, I wouldn¡¯t ignore a recorded entry into a restricted area.


    Especially not Woo Min-hee.


    She¡¯d definitely come.


    But I knew Woo Min-hee well.


    I wasn¡¯t just some random survivor¡ªI was once one of Korea¡¯s top hunters.


    ¡°I have a trump card.¡±


    ¡°A trump card?¡±


    Ballantine narrowed his eyes.


    I must have looked too confident, because he hesitated before asking.


    ¡°Can I... ask what it is?¡±


    I grinned.


    ¡°Eomchang.¡±

 Chapter 128.6: The Tower (6)

    There is no such thing as a meaningful death in this world, but records remain.


    What is recorded and how it is recorded depends on the one who keeps the record, but any record is more valuable than nothing at all.


    Back in China, what made me famous was a series of achievements I had accomplished, but to be honest, what the professors appreciated the most was my meticulous reporting.


    I never once missed submitting a detailed and structured report.


    Even if I were to die on the battlefield, I believed that what we felt and saw, our actions, and their consequences had to be passed down to future generations. I put more effort than others into preserving records.


    Even after retirement, that habit remained.


    Especially when it came to important tasks, I used to save records in screenshots.


    The Eomchang incident that once shook all of PaleNet was no exception.


    I took screenshots of every step and stored them in a separate folder: the preparation process, the provocation against Woo Min-hee, the one-on-one chat that became an issue, and Woo Min-hee¡¯s furious reaction.


    All of it is stored in my folder under ¡°Internet First-Person Perspective.¡±


    roxanneGIRL: (I¡¯m Skelton) Soo! I have a favor to ask!


    I never thought I would have to use these records.


    I had intended to take the secret of being Eomchang to my grave.


    But given the current circumstances, I can''t afford to be picky with methods.


    I asked Soo to enter my bunker, find the hidden folder on my computer, and send me all the files inside.


    roxanneGIRL: (I¡¯m Skelton) Memo ¨C TS ¨C UC folder. Send everything inside to me.


    roxanneGIRL: Ah, but don¡¯t touch the South America folder next to it!


    I could have asked Rebecca, but Soo was smarter and better at keeping secrets, so I made the special request to her.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: Okay! I¡¯ll send it soon. But Skelton, why can¡¯t I touch the South America folder?


    roxanneGIRL: Privacy.


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: (Soo, disappointed) So this is the kind of woman Skelton likes...


    roxanneGIRL: (Skelton, innocent) ?


    Message from COOKIEMONSTER18: Sending the files now~


    ¡°......¡±


    I won¡¯t dwell on unnecessary thoughts.


    Pushing aside distractions, I sorted through the screenshots Soo sent.


    As expected, everything was still intact.


    A page of history from when I once clashed with the monster named Woo Min-hee on PaleNet.


    Now, I will upload these records.


    Under the name of RoxanneGirl, not Skelton.


    roxanneGIRL: To commemorate the one-year anniversary of PaleNet¡¯s demise, here¡¯s a confession.


    The only things I need are the proof saved in my ¡°Internet First-Person Perspective¡± folder.


    And a simple but powerful confession.


    ¡ªI am, in fact, Eomchang.


    ¡°......¡±


    Next step: mobilizing votes.


    roxanneGIRL: Soo! Use this account and all my bunker alt accounts to upvote this!


    I¡¯d like to mobilize the Defender siblings¡¯ accounts too, but considering what kind of unspeakable horrors might be in their folders, it¡¯s best to spare Soo from exposure for educational reasons.


    A moment later, a comment appeared.


    Anonymous458: What the hell is this?


    Anonymous458, huh.


    A pureblood oldbie I respect, reacting swiftly as expected.


    However, the response was not as enthusiastic as I had hoped.


    The reactions I was looking for came not from the old guard, but from the newer users, the ones closer to fresh recruits.


    Anonymous1702: What? LOL Eomchang?! LOL is this for real?


    Anonymous1844: Whoa, seeing this brings back memories! PaleNet was a million times more fun than this miserable forum.


    Anonymous2033: This is peak PaleNet energy. The world went to hell, but the internet was at its most entertaining back then.


    Ah, they were PaleNet veterans after all.


    Must have been exhausting pretending to be normal users when it didn¡¯t suit them.


    Anyway, one thing was clear¡ªthey were nostalgic about the infamous internet persona ¡°Eomchang.¡±


    More and more users, most of whom were probably murderers, started commenting on my post, and the number of upvotes soared accordingly.


    And just like that, my confession post hit the trending section.


    A minor detail, but this was further proof that Soo was smarter and sharper than her mother.


    SKELTON: What¡¯s this? Eomchang? What¡¯s that...? So scary...


    She even made up an alibi without being told.


    I¡¯ll have to prepare something juicy for her as a reward.


    Anyway, amid the growing storm, today¡¯s main guest finally made an appearance.


    Ding!


    A message arrived.


    Message from gijayangban: Hello? ^^


    It was Woo Min-hee.


    ¡°Ballantine, let¡¯s begin.¡±


    But Ballantine didn¡¯t look happy.


    ¡°Right now...?¡±


    As expected.


    This was a reaction I hadn¡¯t seen from him before.


    This whole situation was purely my selfish initiative.


    I hadn¡¯t properly considered Ballantine¡¯s feelings at all.


    Subconsciously, I had treated him lightly, assuming that since he wasn¡¯t a combatant, he didn¡¯t contribute objectively to survival.


    But in truth, Ballantine was feeling immense pressure from this mission.


    Though he hadn¡¯t shown it before, my reckless plan had piled on another reckless plan, and he was finally letting his discomfort and anxiety slip through.


    ¡°...Sigh. If I have to do it, I¡¯ll do it. No choice, huh.¡±


    Of course, he was about to spend three days alone in that pitch-black warehouse, taking on an entire workload by himself.


    All while living with the fear of Woo Min-hee arriving at any moment.


    ¡°...Sigh. Sorry for complaining, but this is going to be rougher than I thought.¡±


    I felt guilty toward him.


    But this was something that had to be done.


    It wasn¡¯t optional.


    It had to be now.


    I was even willing to risk my life for it.


    ¡°I¡¯ll stay with you. I¡¯ll protect this place till the end.¡±


    Whether my feelings reached him was uncertain, but at least Ballantine adjusted himself to match my resolve.


    ¡°If you say so, Skelton.¡±


    Ballantine let out a bitter smile and pulled out an old, faded photograph from his coat.


    ¡°Hm? What¡¯s this?¡±


    It was a picture of John Nae-non.


    Before the radiation exposure, back in his prime, armed with absurdly exaggerated muscles, standing alongside Ballantine and now-deceased comrades.


    ¡°Oh, this? It¡¯s from when we were drafting PaleNet.¡±


    ¡°There were quite a lot of you.¡±


    Five, no¡ªsix, counting the woman standing in the back, who didn¡¯t seem like a core member.


    ¡°Yes. Back then, John Nae-non was still fine, and Seoul still had some stability. More than anything, there was hope that the world would return to how it was. We believed PaleNet could serve as a bridge between the war¡¯s devastation and the recovery period.¡±


    Everyone has their own perspective.


    And I had just heard one I had never considered.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    A bridge between the war¡¯s devastation and the post-war recovery¡ªPaleNet, as something more than just chaos.


    Someone like me, steeped in ruin, could never have thought that way.


    Only someone who still viewed the world with hope could.


    Ballantine stared at the photo and murmured softly.


    ¡°I hope there¡¯s an afterlife.¡±


    Then, he walked toward the shattered ruins ahead.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to have a drink with our old leader there and hear his thoughts on what I¡¯ve done.¡±


    The fact that I had no words of comfort for him stung.


    Our bond was one of necessity, formed because I needed him.


    There was no grand speech I could offer him.


    All I could do was follow his mood.


    ¡°...If I get there one day, can I join you?¡±


    ¡°You too, Skelton?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Hopefully, there¡¯ll be a black-market raw meat joint in the afterlife.¡±


    Ballantine looked slightly surprised.


    His face seemed to be asking how I knew that name.


    Without a word, I raised a fist.


    Ballantine did the same in response before stepping alone into the darkness.


    ¡°Ballantine, entering.¡±


    Through the transmitter, I heard Hong Da-jeong¡¯s voice.


    It was time to begin.


    Beyond that half-open door lay the all-seeing eye that detected every intruder.


    The moment Ballantine stepped into that space, his presence would be encoded as an intruder and transmitted to Woo Min-hee¡¯s comms in Paju.


    But I would trap her.


    ¡°......¡±


    Tap, tap, tap.


    roxanneGIRL: Hi~


    This is what I, as a professor and an internet user, Skelton, can do.


    Message from gijayangban: Who are you? Hm? Tell me the truth~ You know who I am, right? ^^


    roxanneGIRL: ?


    I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.


    I never had much of a fantasy about Eastern-style enlightenment, but right now, I needed to forget myself.


    Forget myself, forget Buddha, forget the world.


    What remained was Eomchang¡ªanother, separate, detached self.


    I had to play that role.


    ¡°......¡±


    Tap, tap, tap.


    roxanneGIRL: Who are you?


    roxanneGIRL: Are you... my aunt?


    Message from gijayangban: Aunt, my ass, lol... You''re older than me, dumbass.


    roxanneGIRL: Huh? Why are you getting ? N§àv§Ölight ? (Exclusive on N§àv§Ölight) mad all of a sudden? Do you know me?


    Message from gijayangban: You¡¯re Park Gyu, aren¡¯t you?


    ¡°......¡±


    Looks like Woo Min-hee has completely lost it.


    Calling a senior by name without even a respectful title?


    The thought of the violence she might unleash sent a chill down my spine, but that chill was also a sign that things were going well.


    roxanneGIRL: Yeah, I¡¯m Park Gyu. And who are you? Mini? Mini-mini?


    roxanneGIRL: Ten years younger Mini~


    roxanneGIRL: Mini in mind~


    Message from gijayangban: Say one more word, and you die. ^^


    roxanneGIRL: Thx.


    Message from gijayangban: ?


    roxanneGIRL: Thanks.


    Message from gijayangban: I¡¯m tracking your IP right now, lol...


    roxanneGIRL: Eomchang is tracking IQ too!


    As the suffocating exchange of attacks and counterattacks continued, a familiar voice echoed from the comms.


    ¡°We¡¯ve arrived.¡±


    It was Ballantine.


    He had successfully entered the warehouse and boarded the vehicle in question.


    ¡°I¡¯m activating the equipment now. Don¡¯t disconnect the Wi-Fi. I need to follow the manual to operate this thing.¡±


    The operation moved to the second phase.


    While Ballantine remained in the warehouse, motionless, operating the equipment from inside the vehicle, I spread another bait on the internet.


    roxanneGIRL: Where PaleNet sleeps.jpg


    This second bait was, in a way, a tribute to a lost era.


    I had a simple set of photos: an old apartment building where my role model, John Nae-non, had once lived, the stairs leading underground, the lead-sealed iron door, and the server room that had once been filled with light.


    I still regretted not taking a picture of John Nae-non himself, but I understood his wish not to be captured in his current state. I didn¡¯t dwell on it.


    What mattered was preserving a fragment of PaleNet¡ªan era that would never return.


    Gruman_B: Was this PaleNet¡¯s headquarters? Looks like a dump.


    Anonymous2033: They ran a massive server out of this?


    Anonymous1702: No wonder it went down. No wonder. But thanks anyway.


    SergentKP: This is interesting.


    ...


    ...


    Users I didn¡¯t recognize were getting nostalgic.


    Anonymous458: Wow. So that¡¯s where it was?


    Dies_irae69: John Nae-non. A real one.


    keystone: That bastard John Nae-non. I didn¡¯t like him, but at least he did something before dying.


    Rkkara: Tch. John Nae-non. Sorry, man!


    SKELTON: Holy moly.


    ...


    ...


    Users I knew well were also reminiscing about the ones who had left.


    Of course, this gathering wouldn¡¯t be complete without the internet¡¯s ever-present lunatics.


    MORUS: I wonder what John Nae-non¡¯s skin felt like?


    Anonymous1941: That guy probably raped and killed women too, right? I bet he did. Lol.


    KIM_DONG_HUNG: Beautiful man, so moving~! ! ! !


    ...


    ...


    It had been a while since I last felt it.


    The internet was a place where everyone could exist.


    The dark side of that wasn¡¯t up for debate right now.


    It simply was what it was.


    The internet was another world where people lived.


    A world without problems was just a fantasy.


    Perhaps the only place where that phrase would apply was a world where all of humanity had been wiped out by monsters.


    What mattered was connection.


    ¡°Yes. The communications are online. Send the message to DeadmanWalking quickly.¡±


    Connecting people to people.


    It wasn¡¯t John Nae-non¡¯s original intent, but in the end, it was the value he exchanged his life for.


    As the one inheriting his will, I followed in the footsteps of the giant he had been.


    ¡°......¡±


    Tap, tap, tap.


    roxanneGIRL: As promised, I have activated a large-scale broadcasting system in Korea.


    Now, I wait.


    For the response of the one who delivers the voices of the dead.


    ¡°......¡±


    Woo Min-hee¡¯s continued silence was slightly concerning.


    No way... she¡¯s not heading straight here, is she?


    No way she already knew from the start that Eomchang was Park Gyu and just got angrier playing along, right?


    ¡°......¡±


    What¡¯s done is done.


    All that remains is to see the outcome.


    Woo Min-hee.


    No matter how hysterical she is, she wouldn¡¯t actually kill me... right?


    Not to brag, but I¡¯m pretty good at groveling when I need to.


    As the tension-filled moments passed, a message arrived.


    Message from Deadman_working: Confirmed. I will now send the stream of the dead¡¯s voices your way.


    Does this guy even sleep?


    Doesn¡¯t matter.


    The faster, the better.


    To be honest, I didn¡¯t want to meet Woo Min-hee here.


    ¡°Skelton! It¡¯s coming! It¡¯s happening! A massive transmission is being received!¡±


    Message from Deadman_working: Sending you the Necropolis manual. Follow these steps, and anyone will be able to hear and speak to the voices of the dead through their phones without needing a special app.


    Message from Deadman_working: But even without all that, they¡¯ll figure it out. The signal makes their antennas glow.


    Message from Deadman_working: The thirsty will find the well.


    roxanneGIRL: I just need to run it for three days, right?


    Message from Deadman_working: The system¡¯s in better shape than I thought. Two days. Two days will be enough.


    The momentum was good.


    Very good.


    But then¡ª


    Message from Deadman_working: Remember that minor issue I mentioned before?


    A minor issue?


    I checked my messages.


    Oh.


    Right.


    I had mentioned this before.


    Message from Deadman_working: The voices of the dead attract monsters.

 Chapter 129.1: The Voice (1)

    roxanneGIRL: What?


    She denied it right away, but a part of her held onto a faint what if.


    Monsters and rifts belong to the realm of the incomprehensible.


    The brightest geniuses and scholars from every field poured their souls into unraveling the secrets of the rifts, yet not a single truth has been uncovered about the rifts themselves.


    Which is why, when it comes to the nature of the rifts, everyone stands on equal ground.


    That ground being ignorance.


    Message from Deadman_working: The bandwidth used by Necropolis is pretty similar to the one presumed to be used by monsters.


    Which means this guy might actually be right.


    Monsters using radio waves?


    Sounds like utter nonsense, but it can''t be ruled out entirely.


    I may call myself an expert on monsters, but all the knowledge I have is based solely on experience¡ªin other words, everything I¡¯ve learned, I learned the hard way by getting my ass kicked.


    roxanneGIRL: What are you even saying? That makes zero sense.


    She asked a question.


    But¡ª


    Message from Deadman_working: It¡¯s less responsive when it¡¯s fragmented voices, but when something like this draws a massive chunk of bandwidth, they react 100%.


    Deadman_working clearly had no intention of answering.


    He just rambled on with what he knew.


    Message from Deadman_working: Let¡¯s hope there are no monsters nearby.


    Doesn¡¯t matter.


    Whether that¡¯s true or not, I¡¯ll find out soon enough.


    ¡°Monsters are moving!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re coming out of the nest!¡±


    ¡°Targets Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta¡ªfull mobilization!¡±


    The soldiers stationed behind the warehouse moved in a frenzy.


    ¡°What the hell¡ªmonsters? There wasn¡¯t even a major eruption! Why now? And from ones that already established a base?!¡±


    That was Kim Byeong-cheol, shouting.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    Hong Da-jeong¡¯s voice came through the comms, and Cheon Young-jae answered in my stead.


    ¡°Monster alert. Doesn¡¯t look like an eruption. Maybe a mass relocation?¡±


    The monsters were moving.


    It seemed Deadman_working was actually telling the truth.


    ¡°...¡±


    A frequency used by monsters.


    Internet communication using that frequency¡ªand monsters responding to it.


    It¡¯s a fascinating concept, one that tickles my pathological curiosity for the first time in a long while.


    At least during my time in service, no one had any clue, nor even proposed the possibility.


    And now, a group of engineers with no ties to hunters supposedly discovered and utilized it?


    ¡°Hey. Skelton.¡±


    Pulling me back from my thoughts was none other than Ballantine.


    ¡°Things sound pretty chaotic out there. Is there a problem?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I think so.¡±


    I paused to think.


    How should I handle this situation?


    The soldiers¡¯ reaction alone was proof that this wasn¡¯t good.


    It¡¯s a monster. Humanity¡¯s natural predator.


    And it¡¯s charging in, as a group, toward us.


    If Kim Byeong-cheol were still the head of a major corps like before, he could¡¯ve used powerful artillery to fend them off. But now, he was nothing more than a small-time warlord.


    The first option that came to mind was to abandon the plan.


    Shut off Necropolis¡¯s reception, give up everything, and retreat.


    I wouldn¡¯t lose anything¡ªbut I wouldn¡¯t gain anything either. The most passive of all options.


    But would that really be okay?


    What I feared most was regret.


    Regret over not seizing an opportunity that may never come again.


    I¡¯ve felt that kind of regret many times in my life.


    It never heals.


    You can bury it under other memories and forget for a while, but once something comes along to unearth those memories, that scar of regret always resurfaces.


    ¡°...¡±


    If I give up on this, I feel like I¡¯ll be haunted forever by a regret that casts a deep, black shadow over my soul.


    Necropolis?


    It¡¯s important.


    A second PaleNet?


    That too is extremely important.


    Important enough that I¡¯d be willing to risk my life for it.


    But more than that, there¡¯s now an even more decisive reason.


    A frequency that summons monsters.


    It¡¯s a concept no one¡¯s ever known or proposed before.


    Not a single scholar or even the most advanced AI system has ever been able to decode the behavioral principles of monsters.


    Which is why we¡¯ve treated their invasions as ¡°eruptions¡±¡ªincidents without any intent.


    Humanity is ignorant about monsters.


    How they churn out new monsters in their territory, how they communicate with other species, how they expand the erosion zone¡ª


    We know nothing.


    And that ignorance is what brought us to ruin.


    But now, out of nowhere, a clue has emerged about the fundamental behavior of monsters.


    A frequency used by monsters?


    This might be the key that turns everything upside down.


    ¡°Skelton. What should we do? I think the monsters are coming.¡±


    Ballantine¡¯s voice was full of anxiety.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we just get out of here?¡±


    Same for Hong Da-jeong.


    ¡°Hm. Something doesn¡¯t quite add up.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae, who never cared about the internet from the start, seemed rather relieved.


    Defender stayed silent, but I could tell¡ªhe probably wanted to pull the plug on this reckless venture too.


    That was the general consensus of the team.


    But.


    ¡°...¡±


    Let¡¯s be honest.


    Once you¡¯re dead, it¡¯s all over.


    I may have talked big to Ballantine about meeting John Nae-non in the afterlife, but I don¡¯t actually believe in an afterlife.


    Death is the end.


    I won¡¯t let myself leave behind any more regrets.


    More than anything, there was something about how the monster¡ªan enemy that should have been buried in theory, only to burst through the surface of my reality¡ªappeared in front of me that felt... fated.


    That¡¯s right.


    Park Gyu was never a self-contained proposition.


    A man like me only exists because there are monsters.


    I¡¯d momentarily forgotten that fate.


    ¡°General.¡±


    I approached Kim Byeong-cheol, who stared pale-faced at the monitor.


    ¡°I¡¯ll hold them off.¡±


    Back in China, I once recorded something fairly interesting.


    It was during a battle that added a legendary tale to the already-famous call sign "Professor."


    A single hunter team held off an entire battle sector against a massive wave of monsters advancing toward Beijing.


    Just during the one-week battle, we killed over thirty monsters.


    Only four of us, six counting the support team¡ªa single hunter squad.


    That kind of miraculous outcome will probably never happen again.


    I¡¯m older now, out of practice, and my teammates today aren¡¯t the same caliber.


    But if you ask me whether this fight is hopeless¡ª


    I¡¯d say no.


    ¡°Monsters approaching. Small-type! Dancer-type!¡±


    Right now, I was moving with the soldiers.


    ¡°Good. Let¡¯s lure them in a little further.¡±


    There¡¯s a rumor that circulated during the fall of Beijing.


    They said that if the city¡¯s defense hadn¡¯t been led by an incompetent general but by a professional hunter¡ªsomeone like Professor¡ªthe capital of 1.3 billion people wouldn¡¯t have fallen in such a humiliating way.


    Personally, I think Beijing¡¯s fall was inevitable.


    Even if I had been in charge, I couldn¡¯t have prevented it.


    The most I could¡¯ve done was slow it down.


    I stared at the pale-gray figure on the monitor.


    Dancer-type.


    A dangerous one.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    It¡¯s the only small-type I know that I can¡¯t take down in close combat.


    At least, of the ones I know.


    But even that powerful monster¡ª


    ¡°Now.¡±


    An officer next to me pressed a button.


    A thunderous boom echoed from afar.


    BOOM!


    On the screen, clouds of dirt and debris collapsed like a landslide onto the Dancer-type monster.


    THUD! THUD! THUD!


    The Dancer-type tried to resist with its signature reflective field, but the debris it bounced back scattered like volleyballs tossed high into the air, only to be dragged back down by gravity and smashed into its head again.


    CRACK!


    The Dancer-type was among the hit targets.


    ¡°Dancer-type neutralized! It¡¯s disintegrating into particles!¡±


    The strategy of luring monsters during urban combat and placing large quantities of explosives in buildings positioned along their predicted path may be traditional and simple, but that¡¯s exactly why it works.


    The reflective field has no target to counterattack. When you exceed the limit of what that field can repel, the impact overwhelms it. That alone makes it a solid tactic.


    Most importantly, in the Seoul of today, you can demolish any number of buildings and there¡¯s no one left to file complaints, no court to claim compensation for property damage.


    Every scattered building and pile of rubble in Seoul is a weapon in our arsenal.


    I¡¯d suggested a similar tactic in Beijing, and that was the first time I truly realized how strong the Chinese sense of property rights is.


    ¡°Good. Solid start.¡±


    So far, six active monsters confirmed.


    Four of them are already within a critical 5km radius. One of them was just taken down.


    The problem is the two monsters that started from the Misari side, outside the 5km zone.


    For some reason, there was no eruption, but drone recon revealed a mid-sized monster approaching from the east side of Seoul.


    Mid-sized monsters are a completely different level from the small ones.


    It would be best to hit it with heavy artillery here.


    But Kim Byeong-cheol has no artillery unit, nor a skilled spotter to mark coordinates for one.


    Worst case, I¡¯ll have to step in myself. But even then, I¡¯m not sure I could take down a mid-size¡ªespecially a combat-type, Praetorian-class.


    ¡°Target Bravo! Approaching!¡±


    Let¡¯s worry about that later.


    For now, we deal with the next one in front of us.


    This new one is a small-class variant¡ªa new type called Boar-type.


    Just like the name suggests, it looks like it¡¯s covered in spines. I¡¯ve never encountered it before.


    And there¡¯s nothing more dangerous than a monster you haven¡¯t faced.


    Still, if I quote the words of an active hunter, it¡¯s apparently not as big of a deal as it looks.


    In close quarters, it ranks around the Spider-type. Maybe even weaker.


    Of course, I don¡¯t plan to fight it fair and square.


    ¡°Let¡¯s engage with the tanks.¡±


    Kim Byeong-cheol had three tanks. One of them was destroyed inside the government warehouse.


    Luckily, the remaining two are both ¡°Dumbhead¡± types.


    Specialized anti-monster tanks.


    Normally, these ¡°Dumbhead¡± tanks block the monster¡¯s advance by firing low-powered shots that can¡¯t penetrate their own front armor¡ªbut I¡¯ve always wanted to operate these tanks our own way.


    So then¡ª


    ¡°Tank 4 has target lock. Tank 5 reports intimidation round ready.¡±


    We¡¯re going to intimidate it with the tanks.


    Just a simple curiosity.


    What kind of reaction would a monster show when hit with an intimidation strike using a high-caliber tank shell?


    BOOM!


    The tank¡¯s powerful roar echoed.


    The result was transmitted to the tablet and monitor with less than a second delay.


    Result: ineffective.


    As expected.


    To monsters, tank shells and bullets are barely different.


    One of the officers watching the screen muttered, ¡°We don¡¯t have that many shells...¡±


    Must be the logistics officer.


    Hard to blame him. There¡¯s no real supply line anymore, so it¡¯s only natural he¡¯d be worried.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try it once more. No¡ªtwice.¡±


    Honestly, I wanted to fire four times. More, even.


    I wanted to see how a monster wouldn¡¯t react at all even under threat from something as lethal as a tank cannon.


    But what can you do?


    The logistics officer looked like he was about to cry.


    In moments like this, you show respect to the commander¡¯s face.


    Kim Byeong-cheol, who had already given me full authority, let out a low groan and gave a nod.


    ¡°Proceed with two additional intimidation rounds.¡±


    The signal officer relayed the order to the forward tanks.


    BOOM!


    The tank cannon fired.


    As expected, it was blocked by the reflective field, the shell barely skimming the side of the tank.


    And the third shot¡ªsame result.


    Now for the real deal.


    ¡°Alright. Time for live fire.¡±


    We¡¯d fire twice ? N§àv§Öl?§Ôht ? (Don¡¯t copy, read here) with a slight delay.


    First a threat shot, then a lethal one.


    The new monster had already come within two kilometers of The Hope.


    If we let it go any farther, we¡¯d have to blow up another building.


    But that building¡¯s reserved for another one. Specifically, if the mid-size type heads our way.


    So we want to conserve resources¡ªuse minor firepower if possible.


    ¡°Now.¡±


    I gave the command through the transmitter.


    BOOM! BOOM!


    Two shots fired with a razor-thin delay.


    I stared coldly at the monitor.


    As the tank cannon roared, I unconsciously clenched my fist.


    There¡¯s no shockwave.


    Which means¡ª


    CRACK!


    The intimidation shot grazed the monster¡¯s side, just barely missing.


    Then, the next shell¡ªaimed straight for its torso and head¡ªripped through its body.


    Even if the shell was low-yield, a monster¡¯s body is tough enough to resist axes, not tank shells.


    With a hole torn clean through it in a single hit, the monster began to dissolve into particles of light.


    ¡°Target Bravo, neutralized!¡±


    At that moment, Kim Byeong-cheol, who had been silently staring at the map and monitor, finally looked at me.


    He gave a nod.


    ¡°...Impressive. To take down two monsters with such minimal expenditure.¡±


    Forty-eight rounds of 155mm artillery shells.


    That¡¯s the average number fired to take down a single monster.


    More accurately, that¡¯s the number used on one procession of monsters crawling out of a rift.


    And if multiple monsters are nearby, the efficiency drops even further.


    One could argue that killing humanity¡¯s enemy is worth that cost. But even so, those numbers are irrefutable proof of why humans cannot win against monsters.


    Monsters spawn infinitely.


    Not in the inflated, meaningless way humans throw that word around.


    But in the truest sense of the word: infinite.


    Some say forty-eight shells is nothing for modern manufacturing. But how many rifts are out there in the world?


    How many times a day¡ªmaybe several times per day¡ªdo monsters appear?


    Can we really sustain that kind of ammo consumption?


    What if we used even more expensive tools¡ªaircraft or advanced equipment?


    Economy of scale.


    It¡¯s that basic concept that¡¯s allowed monsters to trample humanity.


    ¡°This is only the second one.¡±


    Now, we have to fight smart.


    And fighting smart means fighting economically. In other words, being willing to take risks.


    It might be unfamiliar to these once-spoiled soldiers, but to us hunters, this kind of efficient battle is second nature.


    ¡°Third monster spotted. Shit. Necromancer type.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae reported in from the recon point.


    Upon hearing it, I turned to Kim Byeong-cheol.


    ¡°Can you handle the zombies?¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be a problem. Why?¡±


    I pulled out the most cost-effective weapon in front of Kim Byeong-cheol¡ªa melee weapon.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to try dealing with it using this.¡±


    Kim Byeong-cheol smiled.


    That smile would soon fade.


    Because I know.


    These aren¡¯t all the monsters that are coming.


    Maybe even Woo Min-hee is among them.


    But that wouldn¡¯t be a bad thing.


    If the voice of the dead really is drawing the monsters in, then there¡¯s going to be a hell of a lot to talk about.

 Chapter 129.2: The Voice (2)

    It¡¯s true that the Necromancer-type is weak in close combat.


    It¡¯s the monster I¡¯ve hunted the most in close-range fights¡ªProfessor¡¯s signature prey.


    But if you asked whether it¡¯s an easy monster, I¡¯d say no.


    Most of my hunts occurred when it wasn¡¯t prepared, when I could seize the initiative.


    The Necromancer reveals its true nature not in defense, but in offense.


    In large-scale battles¡ªespecially in urban combat¡ªit becomes a terrifying threat, dragging thousands of zombies like a shepherd of the dead, rivaling even some mid-sized monsters in danger level.


    And now, that very type, fully prepared, is advancing on us, leading thousands of zombies like livestock.


    Uuuuuuuu¡ª


    Thousands of zombies stagger forward on the road, heading straight for us.


    Frozen in the attire of their past lives, with familiar faces you might have seen before.


    They once breathed the same city air, lived the same daily routines.


    Now they¡¯re puppets of the monsters. Despite their appearance, clothing, and whatever their listed addresses once were, they surge at us¡ªthe living¡ªwith a single will.


    ¡°Zombies incoming!¡±


    Tatata-tang!


    The soldiers lined up around us opened fire.


    The commanders shouted at them to conserve ammo and take precise shots, but when countless zombies are right in front of you, how many people could keep their cool enough to aim for the head one by one?


    Tatatatatang!!


    Despite the warning, every soldier empties their 30-round¡ªor 25-round¡ªmagazine in seconds.


    They¡¯ll have to pay that bill later¡ªKim Byeong-cheol, their superior, or themselves. But isn¡¯t that a cheaper price than dying now?


    Zombies fall one by one, but they don¡¯t feel fear.


    Just like the lyrics of that song about trampling over fallen comrades¡¯ corpses¡ªthese guys, already corpses, trample over the fallen and crash into our lines like a wave.


    -->


    Fwoooosh¡ª


    Humans fight back with everything they¡¯ve got.


    Fire has always been one of the most effective weapons against zombies.


    In India, where zombies were especially vicious, the poor burned them. In the end, many ended their own impoverished lives by burning themselves too.


    Naturally, even through the walls of fire, there are still those who come through.


    Click¡ª


    Soldiers armed with riot-grade reinforced plastic shields and spiked maces stepped into formation like medieval knights.


    They are the anti-zombie unit¡ªspecialized troops.


    They stand at the front lines, blocking the zombies that manage to push through the gunfire.


    Uwooooo!!


    Zombies crashed against the wall of shields like waves.


    Whack!


    Clang!


    The interlocked shields shoved the zombies back, and the maces and blunt weapons crushed zombie skulls.


    ¡°First wave¡¯s over. But more are coming.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae, stationed atop a nearby building, gave an update through the transmitter based on what he could see with the naked eye.


    Drones are rarely used in monster battles.


    Apparently, the lesson from China hit hard¡ªmost monsters react aggressively to drones flying overhead like gnats.


    Back when drones were cheap, disposable human substitutes, they were easy to toss around. But now, when drone production has stopped, they¡¯re a precious asset that can¡¯t be wasted.


    ¡°What about the shepherd¡¯s location?¡±


    ¡°Shepherd¡± is the common nickname for Necromancer-types in situations like this.


    ¡°That bank building with the big hole in the middle of its gut. Across from us. You won¡¯t see it from your side.¡±


    ¡°About 400 meters?¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    ¡°Density?¡±


    ¡°Packed. Best not to go in. We¡¯ll have to hold out a little longer.¡±


    The most annoying part about Necromancers in large-scale urban battles is that they force humans to pay a fair cost.


    Even before the war, that cost wasn¡¯t trivial¡ªbut in these post-war times, when everything is scarce, it¡¯s enough to bankrupt an entire warlord¡¯s faction.


    ¡°This... it¡¯s endless.¡±


    You can¡¯t blame Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s subordinate for complaining.


    Their survival is on the line too.


    What¡¯s more meaningless than a military without bullets?


    In truth, only Kim Byeong-cheol and I find deep meaning in this battle.


    The others don¡¯t understand why we¡¯re even doing this.


    It¡¯s common knowledge by now¡ªmonsters can just be avoided.


    Most of the soldiers here, and the refugees huddled beneath that tilted apartment, can¡¯t understand why we¡¯re not just falling back.


    Maybe they¡¯re right.


    But for someone like me, I need to draw in that unknown frequency¡ªNecropolis.


    And Kim Byeong-cheol wouldn¡¯t want small-class monsters nesting near his hidden assets either.


    It¡¯s much easier to hunt monsters on the move than ones that have already settled in.


    And Kim Byeong-cheol has ambitious plans to build a new settlement around his hidden assets¡ªhis last political gambit.


    This battle is the result of our aligned interests¡ªbut I¡¯m not someone who wants to see Kim Byeong-cheol crumble too quickly.


    ¡°Can I get a strong rope?¡±


    A little risk needs to be taken.


    ¡°What? A rope? What are you planning?¡±


    To the tense officer¡¯s question, I pointed at the damaged building.


    ¡°Looks like it¡¯ll be better if I take it out myself.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you ask us to handle the zombies?¡±


    ¡°I did. But at this rate, it¡¯ll never end.¡±


    We do what needs to be done.


    Bang! Bang!


    Tatata-tang!


    With support from Cheon Young-jae, Defender, and a small elite squad, we reached the building via an alternate route and climbed the steep stairs.


    The view may have been blocked, but the monster¡ªwith its intrinsic detection abilities¡ªsensed our presence and sent a wave of thousands of zombies surging toward us.


    Dozens of zombies swarmed up the stairwell.


    BOOM!


    We¡¯d prepared for this¡ªI detonated explosives, blowing up the only stairwell.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t this a bit reckless?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae asked with a half-smile.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    ¡°If Kim Byeong-cheol runs out of bullets, everything becomes reckless.¡±


    ¡°True enough. Not that I care much about that guy.¡±


    ¡°Cover me.¡±


    Two reasons.


    First, Necromancers are weak to close combat¡ªthey die to me without fail.


    Second, if the Necromancer dies, the zombies it summoned¡ªno matter how many¡ªlose control.


    I ran across the floor of the abandoned building, littered with dust, debris, and shattered glass, and laid eyes on the monster beyond.


    Boom!


    I spotted the ash-gray creature.


    I wrapped the rope around the exposed steel frame poking out between cracked concrete and jumped down.


    Shiiiiiik¡ª


    The wind brushes past me.


    Once upon a time, wind like this, the rapidly shifting scenery, and the sensation of falling used to make me drowsy. But not anymore.


    With sharper focus than ever, I stare down the rapidly approaching monster and draw my two axes.


    Srrrk¡ª


    My ever-faithful companions.


    Someday, even these blades will rust, break, and become unusable. But before that, I¡¯ll need to fell plenty more monsters.


    Crack!


    The axe buries itself into the ashen surface.


    Monsters don¡¯t feel pain¡ªthere are no screams, no reflexes. The monster slowly turns its head to find the human responsible for the damage.


    Crack! Crack!


    But the chopping has already begun¡ªand it doesn¡¯t stop.


    Uooohhh¡ª


    The real threat is the zombies swarming from all directions.


    But there¡¯s a solution.


    Bang! Bang! Tatatatang!


    Cheon Young-jae, Defender, and a few soldiers stationed on the building¡¯s roof open fire, carefully popping zombie skulls just like that officer on the front line had instructed: ¡°aimed, deliberate shots.¡±


    Uninterrupted, my axe grows in ferocity, moving faster and faster.


    And then¡ª


    ...


    The monster¡¯s body crumples and begins to disintegrate into shimmering particles.


    Fleetingly beautiful golden motes scatter, and a thought crosses my mind.


    What are these particles?


    What do they mean?


    Where do they go?


    Do they, as some past theories suggest, fall to the ground as spores and accelerate corrosion? Or are they used for some purpose we still don¡¯t understand?


    And above all¡ªdo these particles carry intent?


    A sharp burst of gunfire in the distance cuts off the string of questions spiraling in my mind.


    I speak into the communicator.


    ¡°Target ¡®Shepherd¡¯ down.¡±


    No response.


    To make myself clear, I add one more line.


    ¡°Conserve ammo. Over.¡±


    That should ease the pressure for now.


    The next monster approaching is a relatively easy one¡ªa Dancer-type.


    Not for me¡ªfor the soldiers.


    *


    During a brief lull, I headed down to The Hope¡¯s underground parking lot.


    A rather amusing sight had unfolded.


    Soldiers and refugees had flooded in, looting supplies from the warehouse without hesitation.


    Well, considering that a horde of monsters is bearing down on us, there''s no longer any need to worry about Woo Min-hee watching.


    Among the crowd were a few familiar faces.


    ¡°Yo~ Skeleton~!¡±


    It was M9.


    Next to him stood a man and woman with their faces hidden behind cloth and bandanas, heads lowered.


    I let out a soft chuckle.


    Probably Ji Chang-su and Ji Young-hee.


    I¡¯m not a mind reader, but I imagine they¡¯d love to strangle M9 right about now.


    Trying so hard to stay hidden, and this guy¡¯s blowing their cover right next to them.


    Well, it¡¯s none of my business.


    I waved casually and stepped inside the parking lot.


    The soldiers saluted as I passed.


    Something I never used to see.


    Well, I did save them a few thousand rounds of ammunition¡ªthey owe me at least that much.


    My destination was the back of the warehouse, where soldiers were guarding and forklifts were hauling out gear.


    Past the debris of shattered drones and ruined sentry guns, deep inside, sat a large truck.


    ¡°Necropolis reception is progressing smoothly.¡±


    Ballantine greeted me with a smile.


    He held out a smartphone to me.


    ¡°Check this out.¡±


    After the war, it had become nearly impossible to see signal bars light up on a phone.


    Outside of the Seoul-Incheon area, where the telecom network barely still functioned, smartphones weren¡¯t really phones anymore¡ªthey were cameras, personal journals, maps, and entertainment devices.


    Mine was no different.


    Having never been to Seoul or Incheon, my phone¡¯s signal bar always stayed at zero.


    But now¡ª


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    There it was. Signal bars.


    That meant it was receiving a signal.


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    I felt a bit bad toward Ballantine.


    But for now, I could set that guilt aside.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Voice of the Dead!¡±


    Ballantine was giddy, his voice excited as he looked between the dashboard and monitor.


    ¡°The magical network that builds its own servers has finally landed in Korea!¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s not usable yet, right?¡±


    ¡°No. We need to dig deeper. How should I put this¡ªsome kind of wave? No, more like... we need a ¡®Necropolis-like presence¡¯ to really get a solid two-way connection.¡±


    His bloodshot eyes stayed glued to the screen as his fingers danced across the keyboard.


    ¡°...But the more I look at it, the more unbelievable it is. To me, it looks like just an ordinary wave. So how does this act as a server?¡±


    He was immersed in his work.


    He was enjoying it.


    Well, if he hadn¡¯t been, he would¡¯ve left Johnanon¡¯s side a long time ago.


    The faded photo he carried showed nearly ten people. Now, he¡¯s the only one left.


    There¡¯s something I want to say to him.


    That maybe this network he considers humanity¡¯s greatest innovation... wasn¡¯t born of human intellect alone.


    Let¡¯s be real¡ªhow can a radio wave alone function as a massive server?


    No matter how much of a genius you are, you can¡¯t create something out of nothing.


    The innovation Ballantine believes in might just be the voice of ¡ô N§àv§Öl?g?t ¡ô (Only on N§àv§Öl?g?t) the monsters.


    I mean, they¡¯re still coming even now.


    ¡°Hunter Park! Hunter Park! Emergency! It¡¯s an emergency!¡±


    The soldiers¡¯ frantic voices rang out through the communicator.


    ¡°How long do we have?¡± I asked Ballantine.


    ¡°One day. At best, a day.¡±


    I nodded and gave the mysterious vehicle one last look.


    An 8-ton trailer rig outfitted with massive broadcasting equipment.


    Power cables were connected, and judging from the attached hardware, it seemed to run on large batteries¡ªenough to broadcast independently, albeit with limits.


    ¡°...Got it.¡±


    I burned the shape of the trailer into my memory and headed for the battlefield.


    There, the biggest obstacle everyone had feared was slowly, but surely, marching toward us.


    The Praetorian-type.


    The apex predator that, alongside the Krakens, ended the Indian killzone¡ªnow approaching us, humanity¡¯s foe.

 Chapter 129.3: The Voice (3)

    The widely known types are easier to deal with.


    To say they¡¯re widely known means their patterns and characteristics have been fully analyzed.


    But that doesn¡¯t mean "easier" is synonymous with "easy."


    How many creatures that are widely known are still troublesome to face?


    Even in boxing, champions are analyzed frame by frame, breaking down every habit, movement, and technique to 0.1-second intervals.


    The Praetorian-type is one of those.


    Thoroughly analyzed, yet still not an easy monster.


    Back when I was in China, I¡¯d have passed it off to the artillery or air force as soon as I saw it.


    As its name, inspired by the legendary Roman Praetorian Guard, suggests¡ªit is a perfect killing machine, combining offense and defense seamlessly.


    When we encountered the Annihilator-type previously, its devastating firepower wiped out entire human groups in mid-range, while this monster, unlike other monsters, moves at high speed and fires projectiles mimicking human rockets, obliterating human forces in its wake.


    A monster as big as a trailer, hovering at about 35 km/h, is impossible to engage in close combat. But that doesn''t mean it''s weak in close combat.


    It may lack limbs, but its tentacle-like appendages, thick and durable like a ship¡¯s ropes, lash out with such force that any human attempting to get close is literally torn in two.


    The most effective way to kill it is to use expensive weaponry.


    Aircraft, helicopters¡ªanything with guided, supersonic projectiles fired from outside its reflective field.


    If that¡¯s not possible, artillery is the next best option.


    Well, even the Praetorian-type, if caught in a concentrated barrage like other monsters, would be nothing special.


    The real problem begins when it leaves the killzone and roams freely.


    ¡°Can we take it down?¡±


    Kim Byeong-cheol also seemed to know the Praetorian-type.


    Seeing him tense, unlike with the other monsters, I shook my head.


    ¡°This is different from the Necromancer-type. This is a combat-type, not an infiltrator. I can¡¯t take it down on my own.¡±


    -->


    ¡°So, what do we do?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve already planned ahead. But first, we should evacuate the people under The Hope.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s try talking to them first. I¡¯m not sure they¡¯ll listen to me.¡±


    I shared the Praetorian assault plan with Kim Byeong-cheol and went to my teammates.


    Everyone was waiting for me.


    There was no sign of discord or awkwardness.


    Perhaps one of the few positive effects of monsters¡ªsometimes, humanity¡¯s enemies bring people together.


    ¡°Skelton. What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    Hong Da-jeong asked.


    ¡°For now, we fight. But that mid-sized monster is beyond the capability of an average hunter team. This battle will be fought entirely with the soldiers'' equipment.¡±


    This isn¡¯t a hunt.


    It¡¯s a battle.


    No one objected, but Cheon Young-jae suddenly remembered a name.


    ¡°By the way, what¡¯s going on with Woo So-jang? Is she coming here or not?¡±


    Woo Min-hee.


    Right. She was supposed to be here.


    Maybe she won¡¯t show up, but who knows?


    There¡¯s been no word, no signs.


    Considering her personality, she probably would¡¯ve come, but... who knows?


    Well, it¡¯s probably for the best.


    A difficult battle lies ahead.


    One that may cost me my life.


    *


    ¡°Target ¡®Mu¡¯ approaching.¡±


    Through military equipment, I observed the Praetorian-type.


    There are no signs of it starting to disintegrate.


    Most monsters that emerge from rifts vanish within 24 hours, but this one shows no such signs.


    It¡¯s probably staying in the erosion zone to avoid decay.


    The simplest option was blocked, but I hadn¡¯t really expected that from the start.


    There¡¯s another move.


    A rockfall /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ attack using the buildings.


    In fact, this is the only method we can use against the Praetorian-type.


    Although we have two ¡°Dumbhead¡± tanks, they¡¯re only useful against small types¡ªagainst a human-mimicking mid-sized type or higher, they¡¯re just wheeled cannons. They¡¯d be torn to pieces if hit by a mid-sized monster¡¯s attack.


    Kim Byeong-cheol needs those tanks to survive.


    So we¡¯ll bet everything on using rockfall from building destruction.


    The one consolation is that we know exactly where it¡¯s coming from.


    It follows the Voice of the Dead.


    That voice is echoing from beneath The Hope.


    Knowing the destination, calculating the route is easy.


    There are three primary paths from the northeastern area where it¡¯s located.


    We¡¯ll block two of them with barricades.


    The monster, with its speed of 35 km/h, would prefer to avoid obstacles and keep its speed.


    ¡°If I signal, detonate it.¡±


    A drone floats high above.


    To avoid the monster¡¯s large drone pulse, it¡¯s positioned at a high altitude, providing us with a sweeping view of the ruined city of Seoul below.


    ¡°Target ¡®Mu¡¯ approaching from the northeast!¡±


    I watch the approaching monster¡¯s location, growing closer by the second.


    The plan is simple.


    Once the monster reaches the rockfall point, we hit the button.


    That¡¯s it.


    However...


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    Kim Byeong-cheol tilted his head in confusion.


    It was understandable.


    The Praetorian-type had deviated from its route.


    More precisely, it had gone right through the building we¡¯d planned to use as an obstacle.


    It tore right through the thin, high construction wall we¡¯d set up and barreled toward us, straight through the empty columns between the buildings.


    ¡°Well, what now?¡±


    Kim Byeong-cheol asked urgently.


    ¡°Evacuate everyone.¡±


    I immediately jumped down.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to lure it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re luring the monster?¡±


    A soldier had mentioned that in the worst-case scenario, you need to be ready to act. I don¡¯t particularly like that advice.


    The ¡°worst case¡± implies things aren¡¯t going well.


    It implies damage.


    But still, it''s better than being caught off guard.


    Right?


    ¡°Skelton?¡±


    ¡°Come with me for a moment. I¡¯ll drive the truck.¡±


    I headed for The Hope¡¯s underground, to the government¡¯s secret warehouse where the dragon was once kept.


    ¡°W-What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to lure the monster.¡±


    I drove the truck.


    Vroom¡ª


    The trailer roared as it sped forward.


    Thunk¡ªtch-tch¡ª


    The sound of the power cables snapping in the back.


    But the signal should remain intact.


    I looked at the panel beside the driver¡¯s seat.


    Switching to emergency power.


    ¡°This is Park Gyu. What¡¯s the Praetorian¡¯s location?¡±


    ¡°Two kilometers ahead of The Hope! It¡¯s moving toward the main street!¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡±


    I sharply turned the wheel and entered the road, waiting for the truck to stabilize before flooring the accelerator.


    Vroom¡ª


    The engine¡¯s hum had a calming effect on me.


    It gave me confidence that, despite being only human, I could still do something.


    As the landscape rushed by, I saw soldiers hastily moving the barricades out of the way.


    From here on, it¡¯s enemy territory.


    It¡¯s the land of zombies, monsters, and mutations.


    I turned the wheel to the west.


    An unfamiliar area.


    I sped through it, crushing zombies, debris, and other random obstacles under the massive vehicle.


    ¡°This is Park Gyu. What¡¯s the monster¡¯s location?¡±


    And then I waited.


    For the response I hoped for.


    After a brief silence, a reply came.


    ¡°Target ¡®Mu¡¯! Changing course! Heading west!¡±


    I closed my eyes and sighed.


    My efforts were paying off.


    No doubt about it.


    Deadman_working.


    It wasn¡¯t his discovery of the Voice of the Dead.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    It was the whisper of humanity¡¯s enemy, the monster, coming from beyond the rift.


    That strange wave gave him the miraculous power he thought he had.


    I¡¯m sure Deadman_working found that voice, but he knows just as little about it as I do.


    ¡°Target ¡®U¡¯! Changing course north!¡±


    35 km/h is fast by human standards, hard to catch.


    But when a monster the size of two trailers is moving at that speed, there¡¯s no way to stop it with human strength.


    To human tools, that speed is ridiculously slow. Even with the horn blaring from behind, there¡¯s no reason to slow down.


    I guided it, with a sense of casual roaming, back toward the trap we¡¯d set.


    Once a monster deviates from its path, it surprisingly obediently follows my direction.


    ¡°...¡±


    I can¡¯t even explain the emotion that came over me.


    The only thing I can understand is that humanity is standing on a giant turning point we¡¯ve long desired.


    Not quite as monumental as Armstrong on the moon, but we¡¯ve crossed a ridge.


    That much is certain.


    ¡°Target ¡®Mu¡¯! Reached impact point!¡±


    ¡°Detonate!¡±


    A loud explosion echoed from the collapsed building.


    Moments later, the monster, moving at 35 km/h, entered the rain of death and was swallowed by the downpour of destruction.


    Boom! Boom!


    Cheers from the soldiers rang in the distance.


    "..."


    But I remained in the truck, staring at the collapsed rubble.


    I couldn¡¯t see the particles.


    That meant the monster was still alive.


    ¡°Do we have any explosives left?¡±


    I needed to act quickly.


    There wouldn¡¯t be another chance.


    All monsters have self-regeneration abilities.


    Unless they¡¯re wounded to the point of disintegration, they will eventually wake up and move again.


    And it doesn¡¯t take long for that to happen.


    ¡°Hurry!¡±


    I grabbed a bag full of explosives and sprinted toward the wreckage.


    I could hear the distant moans of zombies lurking nearby, but I ignored them.


    What I was focused on was the shadow of the collapsing building, and beyond it, humanity¡¯s enemy crouching there.


    It¡¯s there.


    Boom! Boom! Boom!


    A monstrous, ashen-colored creature, pulsating like a heart, pushed the debris off its body.


    The Praetorian-type.


    I¡¯m 50 meters away from it.


    I won¡¯t use firearms.


    Not yet.


    Swish¡ª


    It swung its death-whip.


    Thud!


    The tentacle-whip, as thick as a human thigh, struck the pillar behind me with enough force to bend it.


    Though my back wasn¡¯t even touching it, the blow felt like a shockwave that rattled my insides.


    If I had taken that hit, I¡¯d have been torn in two.


    The whip isn¡¯t the only threat.


    Creeeek¡ª


    A strange air current swirls.


    This current¡ª


    ¡°...¡±


    It¡¯s a detonation.


    A power unique to monsters that triggers the explosion of explosive devices.


    Instinctively, as soon as I recognized it, I threw the explosive bag high into the air.


    And¡ª


    Boom!


    A brutal explosion erupted close by, and the shockwave and deafening sound overwhelmed my senses.


    Whoosh¡ª


    When I regained my senses, I found myself face-first in the dirt.


    My body wouldn¡¯t move.


    Drip¡ª


    Blood trickled down my forehead.


    I took a breath.


    I could breathe.


    My lungs weren¡¯t damaged.


    My limbs?


    No, first, I needed to check something else.


    I looked down at the axe I was holding in my hand¡ªan axe I didn¡¯t even remember pulling out¡ªand scanned for any signs of the monster.


    I closed my eyes and let out a painful sigh.


    I could see it.


    The light particles.


    Beyond the fallen debris, the beautiful golden particles scattered, shimmering.


    I had killed it.


    Another enemy of humanity.


    ...


    But my end was probably close.


    Clomp-clomp¡ª


    The zombies are coming.


    They¡¯re here to scavenge the feathers of fallen birds.


    ...


    Suddenly, a fragment of a story I once heard passed through my mind.


    Being killed by zombies is more painful and prolonged than you can imagine.


    Well, being slowly chewed to death by a 65kg bite force would be quite painful.


    ¡°Senior Park! Where are you?!¡±


    ¡°Park Gyu! Answer me! Respond!¡±


    People are calling for me, but the zombies are already at my doorstep.


    Before they arrive, I¡¯ll be dead.


    Fortunately, I still have my sharp axe in hand.


    If I sever my carotid artery, I¡¯ll pass on without pain.


    But I don¡¯t plan to end my life like that.


    I will fight until the very end.


    I¡¯ll face my death head-on.


    No matter how desperate or horrific it is, I will watch it to the very end, seeing my demise with my own eyes.


    That¡¯s the fate we, as hunters, must endure.


    Clomp-clomp¡ª


    The zombies draw near.


    With broken teeth, twisted hands, and pale, ashen eyes that gleam ominously.


    I try to move my immobile body, but it won¡¯t obey.


    The zombies¡¯ eyes gleam.


    They rush toward me, each eager to be the first to reach me.


    I stare at them, waiting for my death.


    ¡°Come on.¡±


    I still grip the axe in my hand.


    ¡°Uuuuugh!!¡±


    The zombies cover my vision.


    Boom!


    I feel the shockwave.


    The next moment, the world flashes before me.


    An explosion.


    My vision goes dark, and a strong wind whips through the air.


    Debris, dust, and choking air fill the surroundings.


    I cough and focus all my attention on my sight.


    As my vision slowly returns, a painful screech cuts through the air.


    Kiiiii-kii-iiiii¡ª


    I squint in the direction of the sound.


    A large hole has been punched through the concrete.


    And beyond that hole, a tall, thin woman with a hook-like prosthetic arm stands arrogantly, waving it at me.


    ¡°Ha-ha...¡±


    I¡¯m not the type to laugh on the battlefield, but I couldn¡¯t help myself.


    Screeeech¡ª


    Scraping the floor with her prosthetic, the woman approaches me.


    ¡°Ha-ha... Senior, you look the best when you¡¯re wounded and bleeding.¡±


    Yes.


    The unexpected savior is my junior, Woo Min-hee.


    She reached out her hand.


    Her face, once hidden by the backlight, slowly came into view.


    ¡°Right? Eom Chang?¡±


    My junior smiled.


    *


    Crackle¡ªcrackle¡ª


    Broadcasting equipment, not underground but under the open sky, extends upward, sending and receiving waves that are invisible to us.


    ¡°Ahh. Ahh. What is this? Something felt off ever since we arrived.¡±


    Even surrounded by countless hostile soldiers, Woo Min-hee acted like she was in her own living room¡ªcompletely calm and at ease.


    To be more precise, it was as if she wasn¡¯t even acknowledging them.


    Even though Kim Byeong-cheol was right in front of her, she didn¡¯t give him a second glance.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    As usual, she did whatever she felt like.


    Right now, she¡¯s not interested in me or even the government¡¯s hidden assets. What¡¯s caught her attention is the strange voice she alone can hear.


    She stared at the towering equipment, leaning against the trailer for support, and asked,


    ¡°This?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Eom Chang-ah.¡±


    ¡°Why do you keep calling me Eom Chang when it¡¯s not?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Eom Chang-sunbae.¡±


    Woo Min-hee gave me a sly smile.


    ¡°But why do you like such crude language?¡±


    ¡°?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t Dr. Emiris your clone, too?¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about...?¡±


    Well, if she¡¯s not a beast, she¡¯s probably figured it out.


    In truth, the fact that I¡¯m Eom Chang was over 90% exposed a while ago.


    It¡¯s just that now it¡¯s been confirmed.


    Even so, I think it¡¯s part of my charm that I keep denying it.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    Ballantine came running out of the trailer.


    ¡°It¡¯s almost done! Are we receiving?¡±


    He immediately noticed something was off when he saw Woo Min-hee. His face turned pale like a litmus test paper exposed to an alkaline substance.


    He, with his sharp perception, knew exactly who she was.


    How dangerous she was.


    Unable to speak, Ballantine was replaced by Woo Min-hee, who looked up at the equipment and asked me,


    ¡°Is that what brought you here?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    I looked at my phone.


    The antenna was up.


    One bar¡ªjust over one.


    I turned on the internet.


    And I waited.


    For the promised Voice of the Dead to reach my phone.


    [ F. Sawyer, M. O¡¯Connor, and the beloved Red, for you. ]


    [ Welcome to the noisy city of death. ]


    Press Enter if you are a dead person -


    I handed the phone to Woo Min-hee.


    ¡°Hmm? What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Necropolis.¡±


    ¡°Necropolis? Oh, is this what the Westerners use?¡±


    She glanced around.


    ¡°Is this what it is?¡±


    ¡°What do you think?¡±


    I watched her bright eyes intently, waiting for an answer.


    After a while, she looked around, her curiosity evident, before offering a meaningful smile and responding.


    ¡°Voice.¡±


    Her words were ambiguous.


    Is the strange signal surrounding us the Voice of the Dead, or is it the voice of the rift?


    Either way, one thing has been proven.


    We¡¯ve found the voice of the rift.


    At least, after 20 years since the rift first appeared.

 Chapter 130: Connection

    Those with power make the law.


    It¡¯s a simple truth, unchanged through time¡ªyet for a long while, we forgot it.


    Perhaps it was because those in power wore the mask of the weak as they wielded their strength, leaving us unaware of the truth.


    It¡¯s been four years since the war began.


    By now, most formalities, masks, pretenses, and pageantry should¡¯ve long since vanished.


    Under the shadow of The Hope, Woo Min-hee declared a new law.


    ¡°The supplies here are the property of the Republic of Korea. Unauthorized removal will not be tolerated.¡±


    Of course, there¡¯s no law without power to back it.


    Woo Min-hee revealed her full strength in front of thousands.


    Thud!


    A shockwave so strong, it felt like the earth would split.


    And then¡ª


    KRRRRRAK-BOOM!!!


    With a single burst of focus, the dilapidated building across the way collapsed.


    The impact was so intense, even The Hope swayed precariously for a moment.


    Faced with the overwhelming power of an over level-10 Awakened, no one dared speak against her.


    Not even Kim Byeong-cheol, who once called himself the ruler of Korea.


    Now reduced to a minor warlord, having lost his powerful legion, artillery, troops, and gear, all Kim Byeong-cheol could do in front of Woo Min-hee was lower his head.


    If he were a little more self-destructive, he might have chosen suicide¡ªbut we all know he has a daughter.


    Kim Byeong-cheol quickly bowed his head.


    Woo Min-hee, having spent much of her life at the top, didn¡¯t rashly drive him or the others gathered here away.


    -->


    Instead, she appointed Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s faction as the warehouse¡¯s managers and gatekeepers.


    ¡°I¡¯ll send someone later to help oversee things. We need someone on our side who knows how this place runs. Oh, and could I borrow a truck?¡±


    Some whispered that Woo Min-hee must have known about this secret warehouse from the start. But I think differently.


    She likely had intel.


    After all, she¡¯s part of the Jeju government.


    But even she probably didn¡¯t expect this place to be so honestly well-stocked.


    In times like these, places like this warehouse are usually picked clean by grave robbers and scavengers.


    Given her cynical and pessimistic worldview, she likely assumed the place had been empty from the moment it was built.


    So when she saw how full it actually was, she chewed out Emgu.


    ¡°Hey there, Emgu? This is Reporter Guy.¡±


    ¡°...R-Reporter Guy?!¡±


    Our Emgu had to endure a harsh initiation from Woo Min-hee.


    ¡°Yeah, Emgu. I told you to take that post down, didn¡¯t I...?¡±


    Let¡¯s take a moment to appreciate Emgu¡¯s survival instincts.


    ¡°S-Sorry, I didn¡¯t recognize you!¡±


    Emgu practically bent himself at a sharper angle than The Hope itself as he apologized to Woo Min-hee.


    Whether that bow moved her or not, she chose not to press him further.


    ¡°As long as you get it. Oh, and if you start running your mouth about this? You know what happens, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am!¡±


    ¡°Good. Captain Emgu. Hah.¡±


    Woo Min-hee let out a crooked smile as she looked up at the leaning apartment complex.


    ¡°How long are you planning to live there? That thing looks like it could collapse any second.¡±


    Sure, Woo Min-hee is probably the strongest Awakened left on the Korean Peninsula. But Emgu¡¯s no slouch in the online world either.


    He may be a step behind me, but he¡¯s clawed his way up to rival status.


    Maybe that attitude carried over into real life too. Because despite groveling earlier, Emgu stood tall now, right in front of his apartment, speaking with conviction even as The Hope tilted behind him.


    ¡°I can¡¯t leave. That place... that place is me.¡±


    I thought I¡¯d have to step in if Woo Min-hee got angry, but it wasn¡¯t necessary.


    ¡°Hmph~. Is that so?¡±


    She just squinted lazily at Emgu, casting him a sideways glance.


    ¡°Well, it was just concern. Not an order or anything. Anyway, do you need anything? Food? Fuel? I heard this winter¡¯s going to be brutal.¡±


    Leaving aside his tragically pitiful expression, Emgu definitely has that look that inspires sympathy.


    From what I know, Woo Min-hee rarely lifts a finger to help others. Yet here she was, offering support without hesitation.


    And Emgu, face made of iron apparently, shamelessly listed off his demands.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got heating¡ªboiler¡¯s working¡ªbut I need food, clothes, basic everyday items! Oh, and since there are more people now, bullets would be nice too!¡±


    Yeah... I think I get it.


    ¡°Feel free to speak openly. I¡¯m an internet denizen too, after all.¡±


    That¡¯s right.


    Woo Min-hee was one of us¡ªour forum friend.


    Anyway, everyone knew I was up next.


    ¡°And Umchang.¡±


    Woo Min-hee turned to look at me.


    Screeeeech¡ª


    Her clawed fingers made a hideous scraping sound as she moved them up and down.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a lot to talk about, don¡¯t we?¡±


    I looked off to the side.


    ¡°Who¡¯s Umchang...?¡±


    This is extremely important.


    What we¡¯re about to talk about now.


    Sure, Umchang¡¯s identity is a big deal, but what I¡¯ve uncovered here goes far beyond that¡ªsomething vital to the survival of a collapsing humanity.


    Woo Min-hee may have a rough personality, but she draws a clear line between personal and professional matters.


    We met inside a small building across from the leaning Hope.


    There was a cafe? on the fourth floor.


    The furniture was mostly broken, dust-covered, but there were still chairs and a table worth sitting at.


    Judging by the recent signs of use, Emgu probably placed them there.


    The wall was blown out rather than having a proper window, giving us a full view of the scene below. Inside that ruined cafe?, we placed some files and a tablet on the table and sat across from each other.


    ¡°...Hmm.¡±


    Woo Min-hee sipped her hot tea as she calmly reviewed my combat logs.


    Unlike Kim Byeong-cheol¡¯s cheap stuff laced with artificial sweeteners, this was real quince tea from Jeju.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re saying the Praetorian-type monster tracked you using the Necropolis signal you were emitting?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    The record is solid.


    Verifiable.


    And besides, Woo Min-hee had been watching that battle from not too far away.


    ¡°And this ¡®Deadman_working¡¯ person anticipated it?¡±


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    ¡°Yeah. Annoyingly enough, he only told me after I activated the device.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯ve been reports that Necropolis has some minor effects on Awakened... but I didn¡¯t realize it was this serious.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s just because the U.S. is so huge and Necropolis signals were already everywhere from the start?¡±


    If we interpret Deadman_working¡¯s words, the real issue arises when you activate high-output equipment that pulls in the Necropolis signal in areas where the signal hadn¡¯t already reached.


    In other words, even if it¡¯s the same Necropolis signal, a big one moves monsters¡ªwhereas in places already saturated, where the signal just trickles through like air, it doesn¡¯t do much.


    Apparently, Woo Min-hee felt something similar.


    ¡°By the way, did you shut down the equipment? I don¡¯t feel any of those voices anymore.¡±


    ¡°According to Ballantine, the signal¡¯s been mostly captured and is stabilizing now.¡±


    ¡°Ballantine? Who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°John Nae-non¡¯s subordinate.¡±


    ¡°John Nae-non?¡±


    Woo Min-hee let out a short laugh.


    ¡°Oh, the guy who made PaleNet?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    She set her tea down and stared blankly out the broken wall.


    In front of the warehouse, still under military guard, a restless crowd lingered.


    Maybe they thought they¡¯d be given something.


    Or maybe they knew they¡¯d get nothing anywhere else.


    Maybe both.


    ¡°Anyway.¡±


    Woo Min-hee put her teacup down.


    Her eyes, faintly glowing like a cold planet, locked onto me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s about time ?N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t? you told me?¡±


    The air froze.


    ¡°What exactly were you trying to do with all this?¡±


    For some reason, she doubted my intentions.


    I know Woo Min-hee well.


    So I wouldn¡¯t drag this out unnecessarily.


    ¡°What are you basing this on?¡±


    I needed to know.


    What exactly triggered this reaction from her?


    She and I see the world differently.


    We stand in completely different positions and see completely different things.


    Sure, Viva! Apocalypse! connects us, but a shared forum is just that¡ªa shared forum.


    In my case, the internet is as real as reality itself. For someone like Woo Min-hee, maybe not so much.


    I met her gaze, sharp enough to tear me apart, and waited for her lips to move.


    ¡°You met Na Hye-in in Jeju, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    I nodded.


    Still, I couldn¡¯t read her intent.


    From what I knew, Woo Min-hee and Na Hye-in weren¡¯t exactly close¡ªbut they weren¡¯t enemies either.


    Was there some power struggle or falling out I didn¡¯t know about?


    ¡°Na told you to¡ª¡±


    She paused, her clawed fingers curling as she let out a dry chuckle.


    ¡°No¡ªasked you to investigate Necropolis, right?¡±


    Good thing I asked about her suspicions first.


    She was talking about something I had no idea about.


    A classic case of perspective misalignment.


    ¡°It¡¯s true I met Na Hye-in. But she never gave me any orders¡ªor even asked for anything.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    She still didn¡¯t seem convinced.


    If anything, it looked like I¡¯d only stirred the faint glimmer of madness hidden behind her eyes.


    ¡°Then... did you receive orders from Jeju instead of from Na Hye-in?¡±


    Woo Min-hee pressed the question again.


    In that moment, I realized something: things weren¡¯t exactly smooth between her and the Jeju administration.


    ¡°...¡±


    So they¡¯re not on the same page after all.


    Well, knowing Woo Min-hee¡¯s personality, she¡¯d probably rather live surrounded by sycophants in some isolated outpost than coexist with a bunch of people she doesn¡¯t like.


    That¡¯s just how she is¡ªintensely self-centered, through and through.


    ¡°I think I get why you¡¯re suspicious of me. But listen, Woo Min-hee. I don¡¯t take orders from anyone.¡±


    I said it, loud and clear, as I looked at her.


    If her madness flared up and she killed me on the spot, then so be it.


    But her suspicion wasn¡¯t born entirely from paranoia or habit.


    ¡°You, senior...¡±


    Screeeeech¡ª


    She dragged one of her clawed fingers across the marble tabletop.


    ¡°You¡¯re selfish. You always have been, right? The kind of person who only cares about himself.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I''m being honest here. Back in the day, you were... impressive. Sometimes I wondered how it was even possible for someone to think and act so completely centered around themselves. I almost respected it.¡±


    I won¡¯t deny it.


    I was that kind of person.


    For the sake of my goals, I threw countless people into life-threatening situations.


    I knew they might die¡ªbut I didn¡¯t stop them. I left that responsibility to them.


    Sure, my team had a low death rate. But it could¡¯ve been even lower.


    If I had really wanted that.


    It was my choice.


    In the silence that followed, Woo Min-hee kept speaking.


    ¡°You were great at PR, too. Lee Sang-hoon, Daram¡ªthey all used to get sick just hearing your name.¡±


    That part stung a little, honestly. But if that¡¯s how they saw it, then I¡¯ll accept it.


    All I did was take on more risk than others, file more detailed reports, and take initiative in exploring the unknown.


    If that qualifies as PR, so be it.


    ¡°The Golden Fleece.¡±


    She brought up that old, meaningless title¡ªsomething long since lost its value.


    ¡°I always thought that Golden Fleece you received perfectly symbolized what kind of person you are.¡±


    She stared at me.


    Her gaze was sharp and cold, like a giant serpent, as she continued in a level voice.


    ¡°This time too, I thought maybe your old sickness had flared up again.¡±


    ¡°It didn¡¯t.¡±


    Woo Min-hee tilted her head, unconvinced.


    For a moment, I couldn¡¯t think of what to say.


    What kind of words could possibly convince this suspicious, narcissistic, warped junior of mine?


    Honestly, I had no idea.


    But then a small device made a sound on its own.


    The communicator.


    As I hesitated, Woo Min-hee gestured for me to answer it.


    I picked it up and took the call.


    ¡°Ah! Skelton!¡±


    Could any voice sound more welcome?


    It was Ballantine.


    ¡°Are you busy right now? I heard you went upstairs with that terrifying person...¡±


    ¡°Terrifying person?¡±


    Woo Min-hee gave a cold smile.


    Sharp ears, that one.


    I quickly shushed Ballantine and listened to the rest.


    ¡°Ah, right. I just wanted to let you know¡ªthe Necropolis transmission has been fully received! Which means the voices of the dead are now rooted around us!¡±


    Woo Min-hee must have heard Ballantine¡¯s voice as well.


    Not that I intended her to.


    ¡°Necropolis?¡±


    She tilted her head.


    ¡°What is this? You had some other scheme going on?¡±


    For someone so suspicious, it¡¯s no surprise that she overthinks everything.


    Still, that brief exchange with Ballantine must¡¯ve nudged her perspective a bit¡ªaway from her fixation on Jeju.


    But the real reason her murderous aura subsided probably lies in the overlap between us. The shared ground we¡¯ve had these past four years.


    ¡°You said you know John Nae-non, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I know him. His real name was Goo Ssang-hyo, wasn¡¯t it? Such a strange name.¡±


    ¡°I like John Nae-non.¡±


    For the first time, Woo Min-hee¡¯s expression twisted.


    A face like she just bit into something rotten.


    Ignoring her reaction, I spoke honestly.


    ¡°I always wanted to be like him.¡±


    I looked at my phone.


    Signal. Finally.


    She still stared at me with that unreadable look¡ªbut now I had the logic and conviction to persuade her.


    I stood up and looked down at the crowd below, visible through the open wall.


    ¡°Look.¡±


    People were staring at their phones.


    ¡°Huh? What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got signal!¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    Invisible waves¡ªor perhaps voices¡ªmoved through the crowd.


    A curious boy lifted his phone and checked the internet.


    ¡°Whoa?! What is this?!¡±


    What appeared before him was a world he both knew and had never seen before¡ªfamiliar, yet entirely new.


    ¡°Necropolis? What is this? Huh?!¡±


    Like any kid his age, he faced the unknown with boundless curiosity and unquenchable enthusiasm.


    ¡°It¡¯s all in English! Why is everyone speaking English?¡±


    Indeed, Necropolis runs in English.


    Deadman_working had localized the title, but the users inside still spoke English¡ªthere simply weren¡¯t the resources to translate all that content.


    Automatic translation had only been possible thanks to the Viva! Apocalypse! platform funded by Melon Mask. It had always been a kind of luxury.


    Even so, the boy began figuring things out in this strange world on his own.


    His rough, fingerless hand fumbled across the cracked, worn screen¡ªsearching until he found the buttons and features hidden within that foreign language.


    And then¡ª


    Deceased1 (KOR): Hello?


    A voice from a new region joined the chorus of the dead within the City of Death.


    That voice echoed forth.


    Deceased2 (KOR): Hello?


    Deceased3 (KOR): Hi there?!


    Deceased4 (KOR): What is this! lol~


    Deceased5 (KOR): Heya!


    Deceased6 (KOR): Hellooo


    Deceased7 (KOR): Nice to meet you


    Deceased8 (KOR): Hey!


    Deceased9 (KOR): S¡¯Morning~


    Deceased10 (KOR): Greetings!


    Deceased11 (KOR): Hi!


    ...


    ...


    ¡°What the...¡±


    Woo Min-hee stared at her phone with an uncharacteristic expression, then turned her eyes to me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me... this is what you were aiming for?¡±


    I looked at her and gave a quiet smile as I nodded.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    The world was connected again.

 Chapter 131: Ambition

    Before she left, Woo Min-hee asked to hold a gathering.


    ¡°Senior. It¡¯s been a while¡ªshouldn¡¯t we call the message board people over? I mean, we¡¯ve known each other for four years now. We should have at least one meetup, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    And just like that, an impromptu gathering was arranged.


    To my recollection, this would be only the second official meetup for the Korean-language board of Viva! Apocalypse!, but it was very different in nature from the first.


    That first gathering was public and open¡ªmostly organized to deal with the toxic user Sunbi. Even users who weren¡¯t active showed up for that one. In contrast, today¡¯s gathering was made up of veteran ¡°name-brand¡± users who had earned respect and recognition within the community.


    Just look at the list¡ªit¡¯s pretty impressive.


    In attendance: the Reporter Guy, Emgu, the Defender siblings, and of course, the legendary TwelveSquare and beloved user¡ªme, Skelton.


    I did consider inviting Kim Byung-cheol, but he wasn¡¯t what I¡¯d call a true name-brand. He was only ever known because of his authority and power. So I didn¡¯t call him.


    Not that he would¡¯ve come even if I had.


    Instead, Ballantine was present.


    Woo Min-hee seemed unimpressed, calling him a nobody, but in truth, he was the successor to the legendary John Nae-non and played a crucial role in the arrival of Necropolis.


    The gathering took place inside the warehouse behind the bunker, stacked with supplies stamped with massive government logos.


    On the way there, I spotted a familiar face.


    Kim Daram.


    She seemed to have come in response to Woo Min-hee¡¯s call. Accompanied by people with subtly glowing eyes, she stood talking to those aligned with Kim Byung-cheol.


    She pretended not to see us¡ªbut I knew better.


    Kim Daram had the widest field of vision among any member of Team Professor. That includes me.


    Knowing her, she likely saw us and chose to act otherwise.


    Anyway, the setup was haphazard¡ªfolding chairs and such¡ªbut it was enough. From the moment we sat down, Woo Min-hee¡¯s gaze was fixed on the Defender.


    Maybe it was because of his looks¡ªMin-hee always had a thing for good-looking guys¡ªbut more likely, it was because she already knew who he was.


    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re Defender? Not bad-looking. But you¡¯ve got a face that won¡¯t live long.¡±


    -->


    Woo Min-hee said this with a sly smile as she glanced around dramatically.


    ¡°Feels like there¡¯s at least a couple of fanatics mixed in here too, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    He might be a cold-blooded killer without pity or remorse, but even the Defender knew full well that, in front of Woo Min-hee, he was powerless.


    ¡°...Guess I¡¯ll die when the time comes.¡±


    The Defender gave a bitter smile.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯d mind going, to be honest.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡±


    Woo Min-hee turned to Da-jeong.


    ¡°So it¡¯s you?¡±


    Even Da-jeong, a killer in her own right who often stood in her brother¡¯s shadow, was like a frog before a snake in front of Woo Min-hee.


    ¡°You know me?¡±


    Still, she was a brave little frog.


    Even a stone-cold psychopath like Defender wouldn¡¯t talk back to Woo Min-hee¡ªbut his sister did.


    ¡°There was that one time a girl danced on a video using the Skelton account, remember?¡±


    ¡°Ah...¡±


    ¡°I figured maybe our dear senior kidnapped someone and forced her at gunpoint.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know? Doesn¡¯t it sound like something Park would do?¡±


    Woo Min-hee leaned in and whispered something in Hong Da-jeong¡¯s ear.


    Da-jeong stared at me.


    I wanted to know what she said, but before I could ask, the Defender siblings quietly left.


    ¡°Sorry. We¡¯ve got something we need to talk about.¡±


    Judging by their expressions, things weren¡¯t too bad. I¡¯d ask them later.


    Anyway, the reason Madam Woo Min-hee had gathered us here was surprisingly... cheerful.


    ¡°Well, since we¡¯re all here¡ªmessage board friends and all¡ªI thought we could share our dreams and survival plans for the future.¡±


    Dreams?


    Do people still use that word these days?


    Survival plans felt more relevant.


    ¡°We¡¯ll just live here, right? What choice do we have?¡±


    As expected, Emgu spoke up first.


    He might lack a bit of polish, but his unshakable confidence and the way he jokes without ever flinching¡ªeven in front of anyone¡ªsometimes makes me envious.


    ¡°Oh right, Emgu, you said you¡¯re still living in The Hope?¡±


    Woo Min-hee added with a teasing grin.


    ¡°Still trending upward, huh?¡±


    Emgu grinned back.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a little somethin¡¯-somethin¡¯ going on these days.¡±


    For a second, I thought I misheard.


    Somethin¡¯-somethin¡¯?


    Like... sowing seeds on an island?


    Apparently I wasn¡¯t the only one confused¡ªWoo Min-hee looked baffled too. She¡¯d always been picky about men¡¯s looks and proportions, and Emgu didn¡¯t even make her list.


    ¡°What are you talking about, Emgu?¡±


    She twitched her claw-like nails as she narrowed her eyes.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t hear? We¡¯ve got a new tenant next to me.¡±


    ¡°Wait, really?¡±


    Min-hee¡¯s surprise was rare and genuine.


    ¡°What happened, Reporter Guy? You used to be on the board every day, but now you barely show up.¡±


    ¡°Been busy. Monsters never stop showing up, I¡¯ve completely fallen out with Jeju, and the Kaeseong side seems to have people, but no solid contact. Plus, the number of high-tier Awakened monsters is growing.¡±


    Min-hee sighed lightly and began twisting and untwisting her long hair around her finger.


    ¡°So, Emgu, you plan to just stay there permanently?¡±


    Emgu shrugged.


    ¡°Not like I have much choice. The community boiler still runs fine, anyway.¡±


    ¡°No wonder. I heard reserve power was leaking¡ªmust¡¯ve been some lazy worker who never cut the power connection to that building.¡±


    Min-hee scribbled something on a piece of paper and showed it to us.


    Emgu ¨C Staying in The Hope


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    I asked, looking at the half-hearted scrawl.


    Min-hee picked it up with her clawed fingers and flapped it in the air.


    ¡°Think of it as a piece of nostalgia.¡±


    Then she turned her gaze to me.


    ¡°My turn?¡±


    I had plenty to say.


    But honestly, I¡¯d already said most of what I needed to earlier when we were alone.


    Still, if she¡¯s setting the stage, I might as well take it. That¡¯s how I do things.


    ¡°To tell you the truth, before the war, I didn¡¯t care much about the internet.¡±


    It was true.


    I knew the internet was an inseparable tool of communication for humanity, but to me, it was just like electricity¡ªa convenient, natural part of daily life.


    I didn¡¯t join Viva! Apocalypse! because I liked the internet. I joined because I calculated that the satellite internet system it used would offer a huge survival advantage in the future.


    ¡°But once the war started, and we started losing all the things we used to take for granted, I began to understand how important the internet really was. Like right now¡ªthere¡¯s news that this winter will be colder than the last, but no one knows about it. If the Legion faction were still around, they¡¯d be broadcasting it nonstop. But let¡¯s be honest¡ªanyone who¡¯s listened to them knows half of what they said was nonsense.¡±


    Emgu nodded.


    ¡°Half water, half bullshit.¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I think the internet is the most progressive form of communication humanity ever created. Woo Min-hee, you know how valuable PaleNet has been, right?¡±


    Min-hee nodded.


    ¡°If it weren¡¯t for PaleNet, it would¡¯ve been a hell of a lot easier for the government to toy with people.¡±


    I heard someone swallow hard right next to me.


    Ballantine.


    It was the first time he¡¯d responded to this conversation at all.


    I looked at my comrade, Ballantine.


    He was clearly moved.


    Even Woo Min-hee was giving PaleNet high praise.


    And especially the part about it serving as a crucial check against the government¡¯s abuse¡ªthat must¡¯ve hit him deeply.


    ¡°...Yeah.¡±


    Let¡¯s give him some credit here.


    At least in this domain, he has more to say than I do.


    ¡°Mr. Ballantine, would you like to say something?¡±


    ¡°M-me?!¡±


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    He was caught off guard, but the mood was surprisingly light¡ªeven with Woo Min-hee here.


    ¡°Well... I¡¯m just a regular person trying to survive, really.¡±


    But with a bit of encouragement, he shook off the awkwardness and began to reveal that same quiet, burning passion he always showed in front of a monitor.


    "...If I get the chance, I''d like to create a second PaleNet."


    "Hmm. A second PaleNet?"


    Woo Min-hee showed a hint of interest.


    "Yes. Bringing in Necropolis was part of that goal. How we¡¯ll apply it moving forward... that still needs thought."


    Ballantine looked straight at me.


    "Since Skeleton is helping me, I think it¡¯ll be possible somehow."


    I nodded and replied.


    "Yes. I¡¯ll do everything I can to help."


    That was Ballantine and my "future ambition."


    Now the only one who hadn¡¯t spoken was Woo Min-hee.


    I gestured toward her.


    She nodded slightly, scanned the group around her, then¡ª


    Screeeeech---


    An ear-piercing noise only she could make clawed through our eardrums, pulling everyone¡¯s attention toward her.


    Emgu grimaced as she softly spoke in a conspiratorial tone.


    "You all know about Lagrange points, right?"


    "Lagrange points?"


    I nodded.


    The spots where the ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Original source) gravitational pull of a planet and its moon balance each other out. Ideal places to park satellites or space stations.


    "Don¡¯t give me that look. Melon Mask¡¯s space station is parked at one, you know?"


    Oh, right.


    Melon Mask¡¯s orbital bunker¡ªalso located at a Lagrange point between Earth and the Moon.


    But why bring that up now?


    A sudden reference to outer space, out of nowhere. Confusing, but also strangely intriguing. I quietly studied Min-hee¡¯s scarred face.


    She stared at the tip of her own razor-sharp clawed finger.


    Too sharp to be for battle¡ªprobably just an extension of her flair.


    "You know there are still people living in India?"


    "In India?"


    India¡ªland of its namesake ocean, enormous population, and centuries of producing elite minds. A major global power by any measure. But that same vastness and density had swallowed it whole.


    It was the first major nation to collapse.


    It had been eroded for over a decade now, a land of death devoid of life.


    And now someone¡¯s living there?


    I couldn¡¯t believe it.


    Even if someone like Baek Seung-hyun were surviving there, lasting ten years with no support in that infested terrain seemed impossible.


    Motorcycle acrobatics alone wouldn''t cut it.


    Unless they became a monster themselves.


    Yet Min-hee, in a rare moment of sincerity, told us this insane story with a straight face.


    "You know how the fissures spread like wallpaper, spaced at regular intervals? Each one releases erosion that spreads outward and blankets the Earth."


    Everyone knows that.


    Even Emgu, who lacks hunting knowledge, nodded.


    "But apparently, each fissure only has a limited range of erosion."


    "Really?"


    "Yeah. So here¡¯s a question: what if each fissure has a limit¡ªan edge?"


    Min-hee smiled knowingly, clearly watching my reaction.


    Each fissure¡¯s limit...


    If there¡¯s a boundary to the erosion, then that means there are zones untouched by it.


    And that means¡ª


    "Lagrange points."


    I echoed her earlier term.


    No better way to describe it.


    If we imagine each fissure as a planet, and the erosion as its gravitational pull, then the areas where these forces cancel out¡ªareas untouched¡ªare, effectively, Lagrange points.


    "A Lagrange point was recently discovered in India."


    "For real? What about news of them closing a fissure?"


    "That¡¯s not confirmed. The Indian remnant government doesn¡¯t seem eager to verify anything. But what is true is that there¡¯s a patch of green land between fissures, and someone¡¯s been living there for nearly ten years."


    Min-hee wrote something on the rolling paper and held it up.


    Her message:


    Mini ¨C Find a place to live


    "Mini?"


    She gave me a sharp side glance.


    "What~?"


    "No, nothing."


    "Aren¡¯t you gonna write something too?"


    "Didn¡¯t I already say what I wanted? When I spoke with Ballantine."


    "That was his answer. You haven¡¯t told us how you plan to survive, have you?"


    How I plan to survive...


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile.


    It¡¯s a question I¡¯ve asked and answered myself thousands¡ªno, tens of thousands¡ªof times.


    So many thoughts swirled in my head that I couldn¡¯t narrow them into one idea, yet my core method of survival had always been the same.


    I took her pen and wrote my answer in the margin of the rolling paper.


    Skeleton ¨C Hide


    "Hide?"


    Min-hee saw it and let out a dry laugh.


    "How are you gonna do that?"


    "By hiding well."


    "You know hiding takes more effort and energy than most people think, right?"


    "Maybe."


    I edited my message on the paper.


    Skeleton ¨C Hide the house


    Min-hee tilted her head.


    "Hide the house? You mean, like, literally hide your base?"


    "Something like a secret bunker."


    "Kim Daram told me your shelter sucks, by the way."


    "Name one thing she does like in this world."


    "Touche?."


    Min-hee chuckled and got to her feet.


    "Anyway, I¡¯ll call you all again this time next year."


    "Next year?"


    She stared at the rolling paper in her clawed hand.


    There was still plenty of empty space.


    Of course¡ªonly three people had written on it.


    "Maybe I¡¯ll invite DongtanMom next time too."


    "Her?"


    "I¡¯m not a fan either, but still. She¡¯s a well-known name on our board¡ªand she¡¯s alive."


    Come to think of it, my senior Baek Seung-hyun recently posted an update on the board.


    He¡¯s still on that island made of wrecked ships, rebuilding a giant vessel, and said they¡¯re setting out soon to find their paradise.


    He didn¡¯t say where this paradise was, but like Min-hee said, that guy¡¯s not the type to die easily.


    DongtanMom, though...


    I felt like testing something.


    As Min-hee was getting ready to leave, I called out.


    "Hey, should we invite Unicorn too?"


    Min-hee''s face twisted in visible disgust.


    "What, Unicorn...? That damn otaku?"


    So she doesn¡¯t know.


    Well, of course¡ªeven she wouldn¡¯t know this one.


    "Why invite him? He¡¯s not even that famous."


    And then she glanced toward Ballantine¡ªthat¡¯s all you need to know about her personality.


    "Just thought he¡¯d be fun to have around."


    "Up to you. Assuming we¡¯re still alive next year, anyway."


    Min-hee waved her clawed hand.


    "Alright, don¡¯t die, everyone. Live long."


    Casually thrown out words.


    But in a world where everything is dying¡ªwhat better blessing could there be?


    ...


    Whether to remain in a known place and hold out, or find a new land, or disappear and wait for everything to pass¡ª


    Those are just methods.


    The important thing is¡ª


    To survive.


    Winter is coming.

 Chapter 132: Going Out

    The wind had gotten noticeably colder.


    Temperatures were dropping faster than usual this year.


    Calling it "winter" might still be a bit much, but there was no harm in preparing early.


    To survive winter, you need two things: warmth and food.


    Among the instructional DVDs I stockpiled before the war, there were a few bonus discs that came with the sets¡ªsome even included historical documentaries. One of them featured the story of Willem Barents, a Dutch explorer from the 16th century, who led an expedition north of the Arctic Circle and drifted through the ice for five months¡ªsurviving temperatures that averaged minus 40 degrees Celsius.


    That Dutchman''s brutal survival tale inspired me as I prepare for the harsh winter ahead.


    And the fundamental principle for preparing for winter hasn¡¯t changed a bit since Barents'' time in the 16th century:


    Fuel and food.


    Those two essentials are still relatively secure in my current setup.


    But we are not explorers.


    We don¡¯t move¡ªwe endure, year after year, through brutal winters in this territory.


    And unlike Barents'' men, my companions are not obedient subordinates who follow their captain without question.


    They acknowledge my authority to some degree, but each one has a strong sense of individuality. They¡¯re equals. Partners.


    And that brings up the age-old problem:


    Human relationships.


    Our group is divided into three main factions:


    Rebecca and her daughter, the Incheon hunters, and the Defender siblings.


    We''ve all been living in the same place for a while now, but no one¡¯s grown closer¡ªand no one seems interested in doing so.


    They all communicate through me and me alone.


    In short, they¡¯re just strangers sharing space.


    Most of the time, that¡¯s not a big issue. But during a brutal winter?


    -->


    It absolutely will be.


    Why? Because this time, everyone will have to live together in the same space.


    Aside from my own bunker, none of the current dwellings are ready to survive the winter.


    Maybe Ha Tae-hoon¡¯s place could get through it, but the rest are makeshift dummy shelters¡ªliterally just decoys.


    They were built as traps¡ªdesigned to explode and take enemies down with them when seized. They''re defensive installations from the ground up.


    They¡¯re half-buried like pillboxes, so they''re slightly more insulated than surface structures, but they don¡¯t even have proper heating, let alone ventilation.


    We won¡¯t be facing a five-month nightmare like Barents did, but even the conservative estimate of three months will require something new.


    And so, I came up with the Winter House.


    Right next to my bunker, I plan to build a large, spacious shelter using the materials scattered nearby¡ªa proper refuge.


    Why build a new place instead of using the bunker?


    Because of human relations.


    Even hamsters turn on each other in tight spaces.


    My companions aren¡¯t likely to eat each other, but forcing people who don¡¯t get along to live side by side will always lead to conflict.


    So I want to build a communal living space with enough privacy to reduce friction.


    It might sound like a luxury, but I want this group to remain stable over the long term.


    The problem, of course, is cost and time.


    When I explained the plan, few were enthusiastic.


    No one opposed it outright, but the general response was, "Do we really need to?"


    But the current dwellings won¡¯t make it through this winter.


    Even my bunker is starting to feel like a freezer¡ªthose flimsy decoy shelters and huts won¡¯t survive a single night.


    ¡°This winter, you know...¡±


    It was Defender who confirmed that my concern wasn¡¯t paranoia.


    ¡°I think it¡¯d be better to live in the place we used to stay. It¡¯s been left alone for a while, but it¡¯s a pretty well-built house.¡±


    It¡¯s clear now that the Defender siblings heard something serious from Woo Min-hee the day they left Seoul.


    Since that day, Defender¡¯s expression has grown more pensive, and even Hong Da-jeong¡ªwho used to ping me through the comms at least once a day¡ªhas gone quiet.


    ¡°We¡¯re finally together again. Do we really need to split up again?¡±


    That¡¯s what he said. But honestly, I thought it was a pretty solid suggestion.


    If Defender and his sister temporarily stepped away, that¡¯d reduce the construction demand for the Winter House.


    But before anything else¡ªI had to ask.


    ¡°Defender.¡±


    He looked at me and gave a nod.


    ¡°What did Woo Min-hee say to you?¡±


    He looked slightly surprised but, true to his loyal killer nature, he leaned in and whispered the truth.


    ¡°Nothing huge.¡±


    He avoided my eyes.


    ¡°She made me an offer.¡±


    ¡°An offer?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Asked if I¡¯d join her territory.¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re a hunter?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    So she really is trying to gather Awakened.


    I¡¯d suspected as much.


    What matters more than Woo Min-hee¡¯s intentions, though, is the siblings¡¯ response.


    ¡°So what are you going to do?¡±


    No matter what he decided, I¡¯d support him.


    Because no matter what anyone says, Defender is my friend.


    ¡°I¡¯m still thinking.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t like the people here?¡±


    He gave an unexpected answer.


    ¡°Wanna go outside for a bit?¡±


    I had a feeling it wouldn¡¯t be just a casual stroll.


    *


    Everyone on the board knew that Defender had killed a lot of people in the early days of the war.


    But what we knew was only the fact that he had killed¡ªnot how it happened.


    All we ever saw were cold corpses and their ID cards. That was it.


    ¡°There were some civilians, but mostly it was groups of guys who ganged up to rob and kill unarmed people.¡±


    Today¡¯s mode of transport was bicycles.


    We dug our old bikes out of the dusty garage and headed east together, shoulder to shoulder on the ruined roads.


    Defender usually preferred walking, but he said he used bikes often when covering long distances or transporting heavy goods.


    ¡°Those guys always had hideouts. They¡¯d stash their loot there¡ªsometimes even women and kids.¡±


    He spoke casually, but he was describing the chaos of the early post-war days.


    ¡°I even saw a celebrity from TV once.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡±


    ¡°She was dead, though.¡±


    ¡°...Damn.¡±


    Defender said he used to salvage anything useful from those hideouts and store it himself.


    True to his meticulous nature, he never hoarded everything in one place. He split it across hidden locations, hard for anyone to find.


    ¡°The more stuff you have, the more enemies you attract. And think about it¡ªdoesn¡¯t it feel unjust? You die, and the guy who killed you gets all your stuff?¡±


    ¡°Fair point.¡±


    As a fellow doomsday hoarder, I agreed 100%.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Not that it¡¯s something to brag about, but I once seriously considered wiring my entire bunker with explosives¡ªjust in case I died inside.


    I¡¯ve always liked the idea of a grand finale, but I didn¡¯t want my story to end that way. So I dropped the plan.


    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡±


    Defender stopped in front of a half-collapsed prefab building.


    [Adult Products]


    The store sign had long since faded, but the nature of the business was still obvious.


    Judging by its condition, it had closed well before the war and had been abandoned ever since.


    Calling it a prefab was generous¡ªit was practically a landfill.


    Defender picked the rusted lock with a piece of wire like it was nothing.


    Even after unlocking it, the door didn¡¯t open. Another one of his tricks.


    He pulled a rusted hoe from under a red plastic bundle, then dug beneath the structure.


    A metal stake had been driven into the ground to block the door.


    ¡°Most people ignore stuff like this, but there are always a few who try to open every door they see.¡±


    As he explained his scavenger-proofing, he opened the hidden door.


    ¡°Ooh.¡±


    The moment the door creaked open, a wave of stale air rushed out, accompanied by a swarm of wriggling bugs spilling over the threshold.


    But what caught my eye more than the bugs was the sheer amount of fuel.


    ¡°Are these... coal briquettes?¡±


    Defender nodded.


    ¡°Someone stockpiled an entire warehouse full of them. And this is less than half. If you go further east, there¡¯s another storage site, but that area¡¯s crawling with remnants of the Legion, so it''s risky.¡±


    He spread his arms wide.


    ¡°It¡¯s all yours, Skeleton.¡±


    ¡°What? All of this? You¡¯re giving it to me?¡±


    ¡°There are a lot of people living in your place, right? I heard you¡¯re building a winter house or something. Thought this would be perfect for that.¡±


    ¡°Hm.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better than firewood, right?¡±


    He wasn¡¯t wrong.


    Coal briquettes are a far superior fuel compared to wood. There''s a risk of carbon monoxide poisoning, sure, but the heat efficiency is higher, and the smoke output is negligible by comparison.


    Plus, with firewood being so inefficient, you¡¯d have to burn it constantly just to keep warm. All that smoke would practically send up a signal flare for anyone nearby.


    In contrast, this cache of briquettes could be a serious game-changer.


    If I were to run two boilers off this stock, it would last about a month¡ªmaybe a month and a half. It wouldn¡¯t get us through the entire winter, but it would cover the harshest stretch at the beginning with minimal risk.


    And yet... the gesture sat heavy in my chest.


    ¡°Why are you giving this to me all of a sudden?¡±


    I already knew.


    Defender had made up his mind.


    This gift¡ªit was his way of showing that decision had solidified.


    ¡°...I¡¯m really sorry, Skeleton.¡±


    He bowed his head to me.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already gone through a lot because of us, and now we¡¯re leaving again.¡±


    So it was that.


    I had sensed the shift.


    Still, it felt a bit sudden.


    The signs were there, but I hadn¡¯t expected him to come to a decision this fast.


    So I asked.


    ¡°Why? You don¡¯t like my territory?¡±


    I didn¡¯t expect him to say yes.


    But I was wrong.


    Defender gave an uncharacteristically genuine smile and nodded honestly.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    My heart wavered¡ªjust for a moment.


    ¡°...¡±


    More than the fact that he was leaving, what stung was hearing that he didn¡¯t like my domain.


    As I stood there, stunned, Defender smiled and said,


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s load up these briquettes.¡±


    As I carried the fuel, I found myself thinking.


    People often confuse what''s familiar with what''s good.


    That tendency isn¡¯t just limited to older folks. It¡¯s universal.


    I¡¯m no exception.


    I thought my territory was the best damn place in the world¡ªan ideal hideout for the apocalypse.


    And to be fair, based on the Korean PaleNet board, barely anyone has a bunker like mine.


    Maybe some old fossils from FoxGame could compare.


    But just because I liked it didn¡¯t mean others would.


    The first to make me realize that was Kim Daram.


    She once asked, ¡°How could you raise a child here?¡± But what she really meant was: ¡°I don¡¯t like your bunker.¡±


    Same with Defender.


    Looking back, he and his sister had always lived in places that were a bit lavish or luxurious.


    That¡¯s how I found them¡ªliving in a rich family¡¯s old villa. And even after joining us, they chose to stay in a former illegal gambling house with secret rooms.


    To go from that to a stinking, bug-infested underground bunker?


    It must¡¯ve been hell.


    But the bigger issue was probably human relationships.


    Nothing major had happened¡ªyet. But Defender likely saw it coming.


    That one day, the siblings would clash with someone in the group.


    Pre-war, maybe that wouldn¡¯t mean much. But now?


    In this age, killing someone isn¡¯t unusual.


    Guns are everywhere. Drones and other tools of death are within arm¡¯s reach.


    Most of us here are already desensitized to killing.


    And ¡°being used to it¡± doesn¡¯t just mean it¡¯s familiar¡ªit also means it¡¯s easy.


    As awful as it sounds, a conflict could turn deadly.


    That, more than anything, is why Defender wanted to leave before winter.


    ¡°...There¡¯s one more reason, too.¡±


    He gave a faint, bitter smile.


    ¡°My mental illness is acting up again.¡±


    ¡°Mental illness...?¡±


    I thought I¡¯d misheard.


    Wasn¡¯t he already diagnosed?


    He¡¯s a self-admitted psychopath, after all.


    ¡°Wherever ? N§àv§Öl?§Ôht ? (Don¡¯t copy, read here) I go, I feel like someone¡¯s going to recognize me. Like I¡¯m being watched.¡±


    ¡°...I see.¡±


    So that¡¯s what it was.


    I hadn¡¯t picked up on it at all.


    I thought I was better at understanding people these days, but knowing someone completely? That¡¯s something else entirely.


    ¡°I can¡¯t risk being a burden to you or the others.¡±


    ¡°Our territory¡¯s safe.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but Woo Min-hee¡¯s is safer.¡±


    Fair enough.


    Who else on the Korean Peninsula has a stronger backer than Woo Min-hee?


    ¡°Besides, Jong-cheol¡¯s there.¡±


    ¡°Heo Jong-cheol?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s kind of a quack, but he can see things clearly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true. He¡¯s a clairvoyant, after all.¡±


    ¡°My sister¡¯s been doing better, but she still needs observation. In a world without proper equipment, only someone like Jong-cheol can really check her condition.¡±


    ¡°...Is it cancer?¡±


    I asked the question I¡¯d been wondering about for a while.


    Defender just gave me a faint smile.


    So he wasn¡¯t going to say¡ªat least not yet.


    Sure enough, he dodged the question.


    ¡°For now, we¡¯ll go back to our old place and think things through.¡±


    He started pedaling faster.


    I watched him ride ahead, then muttered softly to myself.


    ¡°...Alright.¡±


    I pedaled in silence.


    The wind was blowing.


    And somehow, the wind warmed by the afternoon sun felt colder than the wind of the night.


    Not because of temperature, but because of something else.


    Defender was going to leave.


    But I also knew: the intent behind his decision wasn¡¯t cold at all.


    People meet and part, over and over.


    If the parting is done right¡ª


    That¡¯s all that really matters.

 Chapter 133.1: Fair Trade (1)

    It¡¯s common knowledge, but Viva! Apocalypse! was created in the United States.


    The U.S. and China went to war.


    To be precise, China invaded both Taiwan and the United States simultaneously, which triggered mutual defense treaties and dragged numerous allied nations into the conflict.


    Even if Taiwan was the first to be struck, there¡¯s no denying that the true target was the U.S.


    In fact, before the war even officially began, Taiwan had already been half-consumed by a swarm of sleeper agents, and Korea, too, was no longer the shard of glass lodged in China¡¯s throat, now that everything north of the Yellow River and North Korea had been completely eroded.


    Japan once used crude strategic weapons delivered by balloon against the U.S., but China blanketed the entirety of the U.S. mainland with strategic nuclear warheads.


    They even hit Yellowstone National Park with nukes¡ªthere¡¯s no need to guess how deep China¡¯s hatred ran.


    And naturally, as much as China hated the U.S., the U.S. loathed China in return.


    Before the war, the doctrine of political correctness had swept across America, but the truth is, Anglo-American racism comes with a long history, deep tradition, and a proud track record.


    Viva! Apocalypse! supports languages from all over the world¡ªthere¡¯s even a board for Egyptian hieroglyphs¡ªbut there is no Chinese board.


    Thanks to the later addition of full translation features, we know now that, in the early stages of the war, many Chinese users had been active on the English board.


    As always, Chinese users believed their language held the same international validity as English and posted in Chinese¡ªbut their posts were swiftly deleted by the moderators, and repeat offenses earned them long-term suspensions.


    Those who retained a Chinese identity usually kept it to their surnames. They never created content or posts in Chinese.


    Once the world¡¯s most populous nation and one that wielded that population as a weapon, China has now become as rare as the pandas they cherished.


    There are still a few Chinese individuals in Korea.


    In fact, we once clashed in front of John_nenon¡¯s shrine, but aside from such exceptional events, the chances of running into a Chinese person in real life are slim.


    They mostly stick to their ocean-connected strongholds.


    There¡¯s evidence they¡¯re using submarines to transport things, but at this point¡ªwhere most things have lost their meaning¡ªit doesn¡¯t really matter what they¡¯re up to.


    And yet, here one was. A Chinese person had appeared before us¡ªvivid and alive.


    Not in reality, but in the place that mattered more than reality: the internet.


    In the early hours of the morning, a post appeared on the board.


    -->


    caocao: To my Korean friends,


    Hello, I am Chinese bung-woo


    I want talk about China discrimination problem in Long Live! Doomsday!


    Chinese understand good manners and culture of friendly nation


    Use Baido translation program so can talk Chinese-Korean no problem


    Why English Admin kick Chinese?


    Chinese user can control anger more than Korean user


    Whether this person was really Chinese, no one knew.


    Even if our board is better managed than PaleNet, there¡¯s no denying we still have plenty of trolls.


    Still, even the most China-critical among us would agree: the Chinese are excellent merchants.


    The real reason this mysterious Chinese user posted was advertising.


    caocao: We want trade and exchange with Korean friends.


    He attached a photo with a meticulously organized item list.


    It had clearly been edited with software only Chinese users favored. The list included firearms, ammunition, medicine, electronics, drones, industrial chemicals¡ªa massive inventory.


    The biggest obstacle¡ªdirect contact with the Chinese military¡ªwas circumvented thanks to their most carefully developed asset: drones.


    Every transaction, the post claimed, would be handled via drone. No face-to-face contact unless the other party tried something shady.


    The board¡¯s reaction was mixed, as expected. But no matter the situation, there are always a few brave souls willing to test the waters.


    Anonymous1883: Transaction report with dageu.txt


    One new user had dared to go through with a deal.


    ¡ª You agree on the terms and pick a meeting spot. The Chinese pull up a car nearby and send a drone your way¡ªthat¡¯s how it works. I¡¯ll admit I was nervous when the drone showed up. Even more so when it took off with my goods. I was sure they were gonna ghost me. But they didn¡¯t.


    Once they confirmed my stuff was legit, they handed over the agreed-upon items.


    It was a solid deal. Honestly, smoother than anything I¡¯ve done in the marketplace.


    As an oldbie, I don¡¯t jump on every bandwagon a newbie rolls in with.


    Us long-timers are the backbone of the board¡ªwe¡¯re the reason it still stands.


    But after similar reports started coming in from Necropolis, it became harder to dismiss the idea that the Chinese from Dangjin were making a serious push to trade.


    Recently, my beloved laptop has been acting up.


    It was used to begin with, and now it¡¯s finally succumbing to time. It¡¯s dying, slowly.


    It¡¯s not like I¡¯d be totally cut off without it, but the portability and flexibility of a laptop¡ªbeing able to lie down, change positions, go online anywhere¡ªlosing that would make my internet life a lot rougher.


    I¡¯ve got a spare: a gaming laptop.


    But I hate gaming laptops.


    Coincidentally, the Chinese user¡¯s post¡ªstill not taken down¡ªhad a laptop on the list.


    Same brand, same product line as mine.


    It was originally an American brand, later acquired by China, and mass-produced there. No surprise they¡¯d have plenty in stock.


    Deadman142 (KOR): Those Chinese bastards are assholes, but they do deals real smooth. Took five minutes what usually takes an hour in the market.


    Deadman882 (KOR): No idea what their game is, but they¡¯re clearly unloading a lot right now. Might as well jump on while it¡¯s hot.


    Deadman341 (KOR): Heard the girl in that car is hot.


    Deadman211 (KOR): You mean the one with the weird weapon?


    Deadman1052 (KOR): Thinking of trying it myself. If I die, my friends will tell the tale.


    ...


    Necropolis was reacting favorably.


    No one fully trusted the Chinese, but a wave of posts was going up from people who, in a nostalgic return to their stock-trading days, had bet on risk¡ªand were coming away with solid gains.


    If one or two people said it, you could dismiss it as viral marketing. But in this world, when dozens say the same thing, it¡¯s probably the truth.


    Pop¡ª


    The laptop shut off again.


    Like a person dropping dead, the power cut out suddenly.


    It rebooted and showed the familiar boot screen¡ªbut there was no denying it was on its last legs.


    I stared at the gaming laptop in the corner with heavy, resentful eyes.


    ¡°...¡±


    No. Screw it.


    I¡¯ll just use that one.


    It¡¯s loud, heavy, the keys suck¡ªbut it¡¯s better than watching this one croak.


    And just like that, a deal with the Chinese¡ªsomething I never expected to actually happen¡ªwas back on the table, thanks to an unexpected message.


    Message from iamjesus: (Photo)


    The true ruler of the ¡°City of the Dead,¡± iamjesus, had sent me a picture.


    In the image, one of the items from the Chinese user¡¯s list was circled in red.


    *


    The item iamjesus picked was a game console¡ªand a game.


    A retro console, from thirty years ago.


    Message from iamjesus: I suddenly want to play this. Really bad.


    That bastard.


    He¡¯s been lurking on the board all along.


    Well, makes sense. There¡¯s only so much time you can spend playing with zombies.


    Imagine it.


    What can you even do with a zombie?


    You can¡¯t have a real conversation. Maybe go on a walk?


    Sure, there¡¯s a thrill in commanding them.


    But beyond that?


    Maybe play volleyball over a net?


    Back in the early days of the war, there were a few lunatics bragging about sleeping with pretty female zombies¡ªwe all know how their stories ended.


    Anyway, a rare guest had reached out.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Maybe it¡¯s personal friendship. But considering he¡¯s an Awakened over Level 10, this isn¡¯t someone you just ignore.


    SKELTON: Alright. I¡¯ll help you.


    Sure, it¡¯s a bit transparent¡ªbut having someone like iamjesus on your side is never a bad thing.


    Even Defender, who can¡¯t stand Kim Daram, was willing to follow Woo Min-hee after seeing her power with his own eyes.


    People like to say strength isn¡¯t everything in this world¡ªbut let¡¯s be honest. It¡¯s almost everything.


    Maybe not 100%, but 90%? At least.


    And if you want to argue that, you¡¯ll first need to convince the countless souls who died pathetic deaths for no other reason than their lack of strength.


    Besides, iamjesus is connected to another powerful online friend of mine.


    Message from CrunchRoll: Oh? Really? He reached out to you?


    King of Sejong, King, needs iamjesus.


    Building a relationship with King is decent insurance, especially in an era where new powers are springing up like weeds.


    Message from CrunchRoll: Good. If you need anything, just say it. I¡¯ll support you with whatever.


    And hey, some extra perks might fall my way too.


    Just like that, the long-discarded issue of dealing with the Chinese suddenly kicked into high gear.


    caocao: To my Korean friends...


    The Chinese merchant was still advertising on our board and in Necropolis.


    This time, I took a closer look at the item list.


    The game console and software iamjesus wanted were still listed.


    The issue was what the Chinese wanted in return.


    According to the post, the Chinese user welcomed trades involving anything of value, but at the bottom of the list, they had included a ¡°preferred items¡± section¡ªgoods they were willing to pay extra for.


    Here¡¯s a short selection from that list:


    - TIG welder or electron beam welder


    - Radiation-resistant robots


    - Karl Fischer moisture analysis equipment


    - Gyroscope


    - Corrosion-resistant reactor


    - Corrosion-resistant agitator


    - UAV equipped with sprayers


    - Synthetic graphite


    - Maraging steel


    ...


    ...


    ¡°......¡±


    No need to read further.


    These are all parts and equipment used to make missiles.


    Are they still living in the middle of a war?


    Even if they were building missiles, where would they even fire them? How could they make them in a place like Dangjin, which doesn¡¯t even have proper production facilities?


    Maybe, like the already-obliterated North Korea, they¡¯re clinging to the very act of making missiles as a way of maintaining their system.


    Anyway, the items I wanted to trade didn¡¯t fall into the preferred list, but they were still valuable enough to negotiate with.


    To be sure, I sent a message.


    SKELTON: (Skelton Tinghao) I want to trade.


    The translation function in Viva! Apocalypse! is legendary, but due to all the reasons mentioned earlier, the Chinese translation has been deliberately disabled.


    So, the quality of our conversation would depend entirely on the Chinese side¡¯s Baido translator, which¡ªbased on what I¡¯ve seen¡ªisn¡¯t very good.


    That meant it would be more considerate of me to write in a way that was easier for the translator to process.


    I still clearly remember the reason often cited for why Korean literature hasn¡¯t won the Nobel Prize: that its delicate emotions¡ªlike the meaning behind words such as nureukkirihada or parrani¡ªcan¡¯t be captured in other languages.


    SKELTON: (Skelton Malatang) Items wanted: SNES, 1995 model + FF6. And Lenovo ThinkPad Gen 13.


    No embellishments¡ªjust the game console and software iamjesus wanted, plus the laptop I was after.


    Soon, the Chinese user replied.


    Message from caocao: Okay.


    This guy.


    Does he not know how to do business?


    Or is he doing this on purpose?


    ¡°......¡±


    Click click click


    SKELTON: (Skelton Tanghulu) Your price? What do you want?


    As far as I remember, even in China, fixed pricing was strictly enforced.


    I¡¯ve been shopping in Shanghai more than a few times¡ªI know how it works.


    Message from caocao: Oh, sorry.


    Message from caocao: For the items you offer...


    Message from caocao: We offer around 600g of silver.


    Silver?


    That¡¯s something I don¡¯t have.


    Message from caocao: Also accept items from the preferred list.


    Same problem¡ªI don¡¯t have anything from that list either.


    But our King probably does.


    Message from CrunchRoll: Silver? Of course we¡¯ve got silver. We¡¯ve got gold too.


    That¡¯s what makes the leader of a massive faction so reliable.


    I arranged to meet with King and set a date.


    I knew the area well, and since my friend iamjesus doesn¡¯t do well around strangers, I decided ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Read more on our source) to go alone.


    But it wasn¡¯t going to be that easy.


    ¡°Skelton. Where are you sneaking off to this time?¡±


    Sue had been getting really bored lately.


    Rebecca had gotten quieter since they moved into our territory, and she wasn¡¯t exactly getting close with the others either.


    ¡°I¡¯m bored out of my mind! Take me with you this time!¡±


    What should I do?


    It¡¯s not particularly dangerous.


    At most, I¡¯d be risking things during the exchange with the Chinese.


    And at this age, kids are impossible to control anyway.


    No harm in letting her blow off some steam.


    If I brought her here just to lock her in a cage, that¡¯d be disrespectful to both Sue and Rebecca.


    Besides, I was planning to stop by Sejong. Leaving Sue with King for a bit wouldn¡¯t be the worst idea.


    Our King is a far more gentlemanly man than people give him credit for.


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    I answered with a smile.


    ¡°But you need your mom¡¯s permission.¡±


    For transportation, I picked Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s motorcycle.


    I wasn¡¯t hauling anything heavy, and in terms of fuel efficiency and maneuverability, nothing beat it.


    Soon after, Sue showed up.


    With two rifles slung across her back.


    ¡°What¡¯s this? We¡¯re not going to war, you know.¡±


    ¡°Mom said to trade them in while we¡¯re at it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re making a trade too?¡±


    Sue blinked and nodded.


    Of course. Rebecca would think that far ahead.


    I gave a crooked smile and climbed onto the motorcycle.


    The seat felt familiar¡ªit had been a while.


    Sue got on the back.


    She¡¯d grown a lot, but she was still small and light. I could feel it clearly when she shifted her weight onto the seat.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s go.¡±


    Leaving behind my comrades working on the winter shelter, we headed out¡ªinto fields still tinged with summer green, now beginning to wither fast.

 Chapter 133.2: Fair Trade (2)

    One thing was certain¡ªthis outing wasn¡¯t a picnic.


    ¡°Skelton, why did you suddenly stop?¡±


    They say the best training ground is the real battlefield.


    I don¡¯t fully agree, but there are things you can only learn in real combat¡ªso it¡¯s not entirely wrong either.


    ¡°Sue. What do you think will happen if we just keep driving ahead like this?¡±


    Just as training programs vary, so do real battlefields¡ªthey come in thousands of forms.


    It¡¯s an oversimplification, but if you reduce it far enough, there are easy battlefields and difficult ones.


    Trying to teach someone on a difficult battlefield is practically black comedy.


    The one doing the teaching has a high chance of becoming a corpse¡ªthough, if dying becomes a lesson for those behind you, maybe there¡¯s meaning in that too.


    Assuming those behind you don¡¯t end up as corpses themselves.


    A live training ground should be favored. It should be easy.


    The lower the difficulty, the better.


    Someone might argue that if there¡¯s no threat at all, it¡¯s just a training camp¡ªbut it¡¯s different. Definitely different.


    The experience of doing something you¡¯ve never done before, seeing something you¡¯ve never known, is a huge discovery for the person living it.


    I¡¯ve never raised a child, but people who have are often amazed by the small, slow discoveries their children make each day.


    It¡¯s something like that.


    ¡°Hmm. I don¡¯t know?¡±


    Sue was definitely talented with firearms¡ªa skilled shooter¡ªbut all her experience came from static assignments: boring sentry duty, mostly just standing watch.


    If she could live the rest of her life doing just that at one secure base, there¡¯d be no problem. But life doesn¡¯t work that way.


    Our territory could collapse for any number of reasons. Rebecca and Sue might someday have to walk on their own two feet, searching for shelter in a world that¡¯s no longer familiar.


    It¡¯s not what I want¡ªbut even if we just find ourselves short on fighters, we might need Sue¡¯s help. She needs at least a bit of experience.


    -->


    Kids grow fast.


    That girl, who now stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with me, might even outgrow Rebecca¡ªor me¡ªsoon enough.


    In this world, if you can hold a gun and fight, you¡¯re an adult.


    You¡¯re free to cling to pre-war notions of innocence and age, but the people out there trying to kill us don¡¯t care about those rules.


    ¡°See how those two cars are blocking the road at an angle? Any vehicle coming this way has to slow down.¡±


    So I had to teach her.


    ¡°Speed won¡¯t help you dodge bullets¡ªbut the faster you¡¯re going, the better your chances of avoiding them. More importantly, your odds of escaping improve.¡±


    Teach her a way to survive¡ªeven if neither I nor Rebecca were around.


    ¡°So it¡¯s a trap?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. Road traps usually start by forcing your speed down.¡±


    ¡°Why? Isn¡¯t it better to just end it without warning?¡±


    ¡°Vehicles are precious resources. Especially ones that still run¡ªthat means they¡¯ve got at least a good battery or some fuel. Anyone ambushing here is likely someone who¡¯s been waiting days, even weeks, for a car to pass. They¡¯ll want to get the most out of that one shot. That¡¯s what makes a good score for a raider.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re right, Skelton.¡±


    On our way to Sejong¡ªjust a short ride away¡ªI gave her a lot of lessons.


    Not in combat or killing, but in observation and decision-making.


    Especially that¡ªdecision-making. Sue really needed it.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    She reacted sharply to even the tiniest changes¡ªand immediately raised her gun.


    That kind of defensive instinct is valuable for women and kids.


    But even that defense needs limits.


    The target Sue had aimed at wasn¡¯t even a threat¡ªit was a non-mutated deer.


    At least 600 meters away.


    Similar incidents happened a few more times on the way to Sejong.


    The most dangerous one was when we spotted a small refugee camp on the roadside.


    At about 800 meters away, Sue, just like her mother, raised her rifle at the tiny, ant-sized people watching us.


    ¡°Sue.¡±


    I snatched the rifle from her hand with one arm.


    ¡°What? What is it, Skelton?¡±


    She looked at me with a mix of confusion and frustration.


    ¡°Sue. You don¡¯t have to treat everyone like an enemy.¡±


    ¡°But they¡¯re watching us.¡±


    ¡°Think from their side. Wouldn¡¯t you be scared too if some strangers suddenly showed up out of nowhere?¡±


    I gently tapped the top of Sue¡¯s knit cap and handed the rifle back before speaking into the K-walkie.


    ¡°Just passing through. We¡¯ll be on our way.¡±


    I sped up the motorcycle and put distance between us and the scene.


    Of course, I didn¡¯t let my guard down until they were completely out of sight.


    ¡°Weren¡¯t you suspicious of them too, Skelton?¡±


    Sue asked, catching my reaction.


    ¡°Of course I was. But that doesn¡¯t mean we have to fight everyone.¡±


    Sue looked puzzled.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Do you shoot everyone you don¡¯t like?¡±


    ¡°Well... no.¡±


    ¡°Why hesitate?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t hesitate!¡±


    As we continued down the road, an interesting visitor caught our eye.


    A group of wild boars.


    They looked normal at first glance, but compared to the barn nearby, you could tell just how huge they were.


    As big as a one-ton truck. Mutated.


    Sue¡¯s eyes widened. She raised her rifle¡ªalmost as big as she was¡ªand aimed at the boar.


    Distance: 1,200 meters.


    Not an effective range.


    Especially not against a skull that thick.


    Sue seemed to realize it too. She kept the rifle up but didn¡¯t shoot.


    I let the moment pass.


    Waited.


    Eventually, the boars noticed us.


    They stared.


    Snorted.


    Then turned and disappeared behind the brush.


    ¡°What do you think?¡±


    I asked Sue.


    She lowered her rifle, brow furrowed in thought.


    ¡°They ran away?¡±


    ¡°Why do you think?¡±


    ¡°Because... they were scared of us?¡±


    ¡°Wrong.¡±


    ¡°What, then?¡±


    Smiling faintly, I looked out at the vast farmland fading into wilderness where the boars had gone.


    ¡°Not every mutation wants to kill humans. Sure, mutations are hostile to us¡ªbut that doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re all driven by bloodlust. In fact, the ones living freely in nature usually avoid people.¡±


    No one teaches this in school.


    I wouldn¡¯t teach it either, honestly.


    Because the ones we meet in the field¡ªthe mutations we have to kill¡ªare almost always aggressive and dangerous.


    If you hesitate in the face of some vague uncertainty, you¡¯ll die instantly.


    Still, I¡¯d seen it for myself in China. There were plenty of mutations just living in peace, untouched by violence.


    Even the Gold Pack had their own community¡ªthey coexisted.


    ¡°...They told us in camp that every mutation is a killer, desperate to slaughter humans.¡±


    Sue kept staring where the boars had gone, her gaze fixed.


    That lesson had clearly shaken something in her.


    ¡°Some just avoid us out of disgust. Of course, if there¡¯s nothing else to eat and people are the only food around, they¡¯ll come. But not all of them.¡±


    ¡°So... we don¡¯t have to kill every mutation?¡±


    ¡°To be exact, we don¡¯t have to fight every mutation. Same as with those people earlier.¡±


    ¡°The ones watching us?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I don¡¯t know what kind of training you got in camp, but people like us¡ªthose with no backup¡ªneed to avoid combat altogether.¡±


    ¡°Then... we talk to them?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes, yeah. But with strangers? Talking isn¡¯t always wise.¡±


    ¡°Then how?¡±


    ¡°You read the tension. Like when two wild animals run into each other. They growl, they stare¡ªand eventually, they back off.¡±


    ¡°...That¡¯s hard.¡±


    Sue mumbled, looking uncertain. I reached out and gently patted her knit-covered head.


    ¡°You¡¯ll learn by watching. No one gets it right from the start.¡±


    There was something I didn¡¯t say.


    That this collapsing world is often far harsher for someone like Sue¡ªa girl, a foreigner¡ªthan it is for a guy like me.


    But that wasn¡¯t a conversation for now.


    That was... an advanced lesson.


    As we passed through the deepening autumn fields and forests, we finally arrived at our destination¡ªSejong.


    A massive ruin lay nestled in a vast plain between mountains, a river winding through it.


    It was a ruin, yes¡ªbut smoke was rising from countless chimneys.


    This was Sejong¡ªcurrently the largest city in all of what was once South Korea.


    ¡°That¡¯s Sejong?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°It looks huge.¡±


    ¡°It is. Lots of people too.¡±


    Sue¡¯s eyes lit up with curiosity.


    Kids always crave something new.


    It¡¯s instinct.


    That curiosity is what helps them learn.


    ¡°You brought your sunglasses, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Now we¡¯d just have to see whether that ¡°something new¡± was good... or bad.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Sorting the good from the bad¡ªthat was our job, as adults.


    *


    Cities grow as fast as children.


    Every time I returned to Sejong, it had grown larger, more prosperous.


    Back when I first arrived, the streets were divided into the slave zone and the raider zone¡ªbut now, the entire area surged with the liveliness of unchecked prosperity, no divisions in sight.


    There were too many people.


    So many that it was overwhelming, even now.


    ¡°Skelton, there¡¯s so many people...¡±


    Sue, still straddling the bike, leaned in close and whispered as I walked the motorcycle forward by hand.


    ¡°Keep your guard up. In cities like this, you can lose your nose and not even notice.¡±


    To be honest, I was the one who needed to stay sharp.


    There weren¡¯t even gatekeepers anymore at Sejong¡¯s entrance.


    Sure, there were a few stationed nearby, but no one bothered greeting every vehicle that loitered around. That was how common traffic had become here¡ªcars, bikes, bicycles, carts, all moving in and out without fuss.


    What had once been wasteland had been transformed into farmland. The crops¡ªsoon to be harvested¡ªbowed their golden heads, and several ? N§àv§Öl?§Ôht ? (Don¡¯t copy, read here) windmills spun steadily in the distance.


    Street stalls lined the wide roads, overflowing with goods both pre- and post-war. Small makeshift bands played music and begged for supplies.


    ¡°Skelton! This place really feels like a city!¡±


    It was.


    A real city.


    A city of real people, built by one of our own¡ªKing, from our message board.


    ¡°Oh! Skelton!¡±


    King was still very much alive and well.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Still clad in his flashy suit, still hiding his partially zombified face with a vivid lion mask¡ªwhere he¡¯d found a fresh one, I had no idea.


    Sue looked at him with a mix of awe and nervous curiosity.


    ¡°And who¡¯s this?¡±


    King had taken notice of Sue.


    ¡°She¡¯s the daughter of a comrade from my territory.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I see.¡±


    With that brief exchange, we followed him into his office.


    As soon as we stepped inside, King turned his back to us, removed his mask, and let out a deep, heavy sigh.


    We couldn¡¯t see his face, but the patchy hair on the back of his head said plenty.


    ¡°......¡±


    King¡¯s death was still in progress.


    ¡°He contacted you? Iamjesus?¡±


    He turned to face me again, mask back in place.


    I nodded.


    Clack.


    King placed something on the desk.


    A gold bar.


    A hefty one¡ªmust¡¯ve weighed at least 5 kilograms.


    People say precious metals are meaningless in an apocalypse. I¡¯m not so sure.


    Gold still holds the power it always did.


    Its value isn¡¯t intrinsic¡ªit¡¯s something we gave it. Something we still give it.


    Especially gold¡ªit has captivated human souls through every age.


    ¡°The Chinese love gold,¡± King said, nudging the bar toward me.


    ¡°Five hundred grams of silver would be enough.¡±


    Reject excessive payment.


    That¡¯s common sense.


    Nothing in this world comes for free.


    I pushed the gold bar back toward him.


    ¡°I can¡¯t accept something that big. We¡¯re only talking about a laptop and a game console, maybe.¡±


    King pushed the bar forward again.


    There was a stubbornness in the way his gloved hand moved.


    ¡°Buy everything iamjesus wants.¡±


    So that was his angle¡ªiamjesus.


    I¡¯d figured as much.


    I¡¯d been meaning to bring it up anyway.


    ¡°You still think of iamjesus as your successor?¡±


    King nodded.


    Without a hint of hesitation.


    ¡°...Really?¡±


    There¡¯s no doubt iamjesus is a powerful Awakened.


    At least Over Level 10.


    He¡¯s on the same level as Woo Min-hee.


    But even if he has godlike power, he¡¯s immature.


    No¡ªhe¡¯s not just immature. He¡¯s below average, all things considered.


    He had a rough childhood.


    Sue had a hard time too, but she always had her loving mother by her side.


    Iamjesus, on the other hand, was wounded from the start¡ªand he rotted from the inside, carrying those wounds with him.


    The real breaking point came when he saw the corpse of his father¡ªa man he hated and loved in equal measure.


    The cicada act he pulled... it was probably his way of saying he didn¡¯t even want to pretend to be human anymore.


    I like iamjesus. But I don¡¯t believe for a second that someone that broken can run a city like this.


    Honestly, I consider it a miracle he even messaged me, asking for a game console.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t have what it takes to run this city. He¡¯s nothing like you.¡±


    King replied calmly.


    ¡°This city still needs strength.¡±


    I shook my head.


    Then I said what I¡¯d been thinking.


    ¡°He¡¯s all strength, but he¡¯s still a child. A boy whose body grew up while his mind never did. Worse than that, he¡¯s deeply wounded. And you¡¯re planning to entrust this city¡ªhome to tens of thousands of people¡ªto someone like that? This city you built with your own life and soul?¡±


    Sure, the world had fallen apart, but people still remembered democracy. People today had lived through it. They knew the past. They knew how foolish history could be.


    You could rule over a small group with force.


    Like Dies Irae did.


    But a city this big, this alive¡ªcan you really rule it with strength alone?


    ¡°I can teach him.¡±


    With a sigh, King leaned back in his chair, uncharacteristically weary.


    ¡°I can teach him.¡±


    I was about to say something more¡ªbut stopped.


    Because the moment he said teach, Sue¡¯s face flashed in my mind.


    Instead, I just stared at him.


    Behind the eye holes of that mask, I could see the faint glow of an Awakened¡¯s eyes¡ªthe resolve, the stubborn will. But also something else.


    Something he couldn¡¯t hide.


    A deep, inescapable fear.


    ¡°...I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve got much time left.¡±


    I already knew.


    The cylindrical capsule in the corner of his office¡ªit was completely empty.

 Chapter 133.3: Fair Trade (3)

    In Necropolis, nicknames mean nothing.


    There¡¯s no option to set one in the first place.


    Everyone operates under the same name: ¡°Deadman.¡±


    To allow for a little individuality, the system appends a number and a region after ¡°Deadman.¡± But that number changes randomly and frequently.


    Because of that, trading through Necropolis is far more tedious than pre-war secondhand marketplaces.


    A smart user should avoid using Necropolis for deals when possible and instead rely on more refined and convenient networks.


    ¡°Can I borrow your Viva! account for the trade?¡±


    I borrowed King¡¯s account.


    Since King rarely posts¡ªhe¡¯s more of a lurker¡ªit wasn¡¯t a problem to use his Viva! Apocalypse! profile for a transaction.


    Even a nickname search wouldn¡¯t turn up anything embarrassing.


    ¡°Oh? So this is how you deal with the Chinese, huh?¡±


    We had an audience.


    King¡¯s computer room, like every other room in his palace, was large and had a high ceiling. A slightly tacky carpet covered the floor, but the place was lined with plush office furniture and dozens of cameras and broadcasting equipment.


    This was the very room where King used to summon his girls and run pre-apocalypse livestreams¡ªthose old ¡°donation bomb¡± shows, full of spectacle.


    Now, though that era of streaming had ended, the scene was familiar: King, Sue, and¡ªfor some reason¡ªa handful of King¡¯s women had gathered to watch me conduct this trade.


    Naturally, I¡ªwho maintain my dignity anywhere¡ªvoiced my objection, especially since one of those women was someone who¡¯d once tried to sneak into my bed and got kicked out for it.


    King¡¯s reply, however, had some merit.


    ¡°Who¡¯s gonna drive out the Chinese at this point? What would they even gain from taking over with their tiny numbers? If there¡¯s something we both need, then trade¡¯s the way to go. If they¡¯ve got the equivalent of a field army¡¯s worth of supplies stored up, why not use our idle ladies here to open up the channel? It¡¯s a win-win.¡±


    In short, through me¡ªPark Gyu¡ªKing planned to passively train his people in apocalypse-era online trading.


    Well, if that¡¯s the goal, then even I have to nod along.


    I don¡¯t exactly like teaching. Never have. But I do enjoy putting on what you might call a ¡°veteran instructor¡¯s demo,¡± which I used to do often back in my professor days.


    -->


    Confession: I got a bit of a kick from hearing rookies gasp at my near-artistic skills.


    And though the skill has shifted from combat to internet shopping, I take pride in my online finesse¡ªit¡¯s practically combat-tier at this point.


    Tap tap tap


    So began the not-so-simple quest: making a trade with a Chinese user while a full audience looked on.


    CrunchRoll: Hello.


    Always start with a greeting.


    A light gesture¡ªbut here¡¯s where the real challenge began.


    Because this Chinese seller, caocao, was no pushover.


    Though his Korean is clumsy, he¡¯s gained a reputation for being able to sniff out scammers and problem users with uncanny precision.


    The prime example? A guy I¡¯ll now introduce¡ªKim Dong-hung.


    KIM_DONG_HUNG: What, don¡¯t wanna trade with a handsome guy? Why you ignoring me, Caocao?


    This guy showed up earlier this spring¡ªa new influx case.


    No prior online footprint.


    Looks like he lucked into some gear¡ªeither stumbled across it or picked it off someone else.


    He¡¯s never revealed his age, but everyone figures he¡¯s late forties to fifties.


    No need to guess, honestly¡ªhe floods the boards with selfies and garbage posts. Not just regular spamming, but criminal-level output¡ªaround 50 posts an hour.


    I block him on sight. Even VivaBot, which is notoriously strict with me, seems to dislike him.


    Anyway, during the brief moment I stepped away from the screen, this lunatic was apparently busy decorating the forums with his garbage again.


    But whatever¡ªVivaBot can handle it.


    The important thing is this: the Chinese seller handled Kim Dong-hung perfectly.


    You can see it in the comment thread on caocao¡¯s product listing.


    caocao: Your reputation¡ªnot good.


    KIM_DONG_HUNG: What¡¯s wrong with my reputation?


    caocao: We only trade with users who have written over 1,000 posts and responded to others. It¡¯s to prevent scams.


    KIM_DONG_HUNG: I¡¯ve posted over 10,000 times.


    caocao: A user with a post-to-reply ratio of 10,000:0 is not trustworthy. We do not trade with such nonsense users.


    KIM_DONG_HUNG: Why reply at all? You just need to post.


    caocao: Your reputation is poor. High risk of scam. You are blocked.


    caocao: We want peaceful, fair trade.


    And it wasn¡¯t just Kim Dong-hung.


    Caocao sniffed out other shady new users with eerie accuracy and completely avoided trading with them.


    Which leads to one reassuring realization¡ª


    If even a nitpicky guy like caocao was willing to talk to me, that meant my reputation wasn¡¯t so bad after all.


    ¡°This Chinese guy checks online history. He only opens up to people who seem trustworthy based on their record.¡±


    I said this aloud to the watching crowd.


    Sue, standing beside me, muttered quietly.


    ¡°Really? But Skelton¡¯s reputation sucks...¡±


    Looks like I need to remind Rebecca to spend more time on parenting.


    In the apocalypse, survival matters¡ªbut being a decent human being comes first.


    That¡¯s a belief I¡¯ve held firmly for a long time.


    A moment later, a message came through.


    Message from caocao: Who is this?


    Message from caocao: I don¡¯t recognize you. Hello!


    ¡°...?¡±


    Did I read that right?


    Had their Baido translator dramatically improved in just a few days?


    Because suddenly, the Chinese user was speaking incredibly natural Korean.


    Then again, it could just be a copy-pasted greeting.


    Anyone can mimic that.


    Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V. Prewritten templates.


    Before putting on a proper show for King and his ladies, I offered some commentary.


    ¡°The Chinese use their own translator, but it¡¯s not great. So to communicate properly, we need to use ¡®translation-friendly¡¯ phrasing¡ªsimple, clean Korean that the translator can handle.¡±


    Tap tap tap


    CrunchRoll: One? Memory? SKELTON, is. Spoke before.


    Without turning, I added context.


    ¡°Unlike Korean¡ªwhich is Altaic¡ªChinese sentence structure is more like English. So this kind of phrasing makes it easier for their translation engine.¡±


    From behind, I heard King let out a mild exclamation.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    And whispers from the women.


    ¡°......¡±


    Normally I wouldn¡¯t go this far, but a veteran instructor¡¯s demo always needs to be a little extra.


    That ¡®extra¡¯ is what helps learners grasp the direction.


    I continued the transaction demonstration for all to see.


    CrunchRoll: SNES, FF6. Me? Memory?


    caocao: Skeleton?


    CrunchRoll: We spoke of trade before, didn¡¯t we?


    caocao: SKELTON.


    caocao: Confirmed.


    Looks like he remembered.


    I doubt he was this picky at the beginning.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    But once word got out that he was selling high-quality goods for low prices, and buyers flooded in, his attitude clearly shifted.


    It¡¯s a common sight.


    As I waited for his next message, I turned to Sue, who was watching the screen with curiosity.


    ¡°What do you think of the Chinese?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like them. The world ended because of them.¡±


    Classic American answer.


    Most Koreans would say the same¡ªbut when everything¡¯s collapsed, borders and nations mean less than the people next to you.


    If the need is real, you should be able to trade with anyone.


    How stupid would it be to miss a great opportunity just because someone looks different or speaks another language?


    ¡°If someone offers a good deal, it doesn¡¯t matter where they¡¯re from. Ignoring someone because of their nationality or race? That¡¯s not smart. What matters is keeping an open mind.¡±


    As I was gently delivering this lesson, another message came in.


    Message from caocao: Really sorry, but the conditions of our market have changed, Skelton.


    Message from caocao: Apologies for the trouble.


    I tilted my head slightly.


    What¡¯s this bullshit now?


    A stir rippled through the audience behind me.


    ¡°......¡±


    Tap tap tap


    CrunchRoll: Is there a problem?


    Message from caocao: I know this is sudden, but after reviewing your reputation, I¡¯ve learned that you¡¯re not a trustworthy user. Friend.


    ¡°Skelton?¡±


    Ignoring Sue, I sped up my typing.


    CrunchRoll: What kind of resolution must I... perform?


    Message from caocao: I learned from a Korean friend that you were once involved in manipulating recommendation counts for unfair gain. Friend.


    CrunchRoll: I have evidence that can explain innocence. I, possess.


    ¡°Skelton¡¯s sounding more Chinese than the Chinese.¡±


    Message from caocao: You¡¯re free to explain, but we cannot trust you. We currently have many buyers¡ªthere¡¯s no reason for us to take the risk of trading with someone like you. Your priority level is low.


    CrunchRoll: Very... unjust. I.


    Message from caocao: Further conversation is unnecessary. Please stop.


    Laughter behind me.


    ¡°......¡±


    Tap tap tap


    CrunchRoll: Shit


    Message from caocao: ?


    ¡°Skelton?!¡±


    CrunchRoll: Mistake. It was.


    Message from caocao: What was your intent?


    CrunchRoll: Seed.


    ¡°Skelton...¡±


    I stood up from my seat.


    King and the onlookers all stared at me.


    Ignoring their gazes, I calmly spoke.


    ¡°As expected, the Chinese can¡¯t be trusted.¡±


    King stared for a moment, then adjusted his mask and grumbled,


    ¡°Show them the gold.¡±


    ¡°?¡±


    ¡°Just show them the gold bar, won¡¯t that work?¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    Beginner¡¯s luck, they call it.


    Sometimes, a novice comes up with better ideas than a master.


    Click.


    I took a photo.


    Naturally, I didn¡¯t follow ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Read more on our source) King¡¯s advice word-for-word. That¡¯s not how a professional does things.


    ¡°Do you have a marker or paper? I¡¯d like to leave a name tag.¡±


    I was handed a scrap of coarse paper. I wrote my nickname on it and took more pictures from different angles.


    ¡°With deepfake tools this good, it¡¯s essential to take multiple shots in different lighting and from multiple angles. Basic internet transaction etiquette in the age of A.I.¡±


    Along the way, I generously shared the distilled essence of four years of hard-earned lessons.


    Then I sent the photo to the Chinese trader.


    CrunchRoll: I want to trade. With this.


    We waited in silence.


    One minute passed. Two.


    ¡°Maybe they blocked you?¡±


    Maybe I shouldn¡¯t have brought Sue.


    That regret was circling in my head when a message finally arrived.


    Message from caocao: If you had something so good, you should¡¯ve said so from the start. Our market is open to you. When and where would you like to meet? We offer all forms of short-range communication¡ªwireless signal, Necropolis, etc.


    The deal was on.


    *


    Following King¡¯s advice, I was provided with an escort detail and a vehicle.


    Judging by the quality of the escort, it was clear how much King¡¯s city had grown in just a few years¡ªfrom a criminal cesspit to a proper metropolis.


    The vehicle wasn¡¯t just some scrapped car patched together. It was a gas-powered four-wheel-drive SUV, fully maintained with real replacement parts. Thick armor plates covered the windows and engine bay.


    The guards riding with us weren¡¯t some ragtag militia. These guys had the presence of pre-war elite troops, geared up in full tactical kit.


    The man leading them was in his mid to late thirties. His name was Jeon Sang-hee.


    Contrary to his solid build and stern face, he was quite talkative.


    ¡°King doesn¡¯t rule like he used to. Word¡¯s been going around for a while now that his health isn¡¯t great. You know how it is¡ªthose who really took in the fallout, they don¡¯t last long. If you were in a bunker waiting for the dust to settle, you¡¯re fine. But if you were outside, breathing in that fallout or unlucky enough to wander near a crater full of residual radiation... you¡¯re a walking corpse, basically.¡±


    Looks like no secret stays hidden forever.


    If even a security officer¡ªnot one of King¡¯s inner circle¡ªwas casually talking about it, the truth must¡¯ve leaked out some time ago.


    Well, it¡¯s not 1000% confirmed, but still.


    ¡°The real issue is what happens if King collapses. That¡¯s where it gets tricky. Back when the city was just slave games and ruins, no one cared. But now that it¡¯s grown into a proper city, all the rats have come crawling out to snatch a piece. Ex-politicians, generals, lawyers, journalists... all of them.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s already a fight over succession?¡±


    ¡°King hasn¡¯t named a successor yet. But... you know how it is.¡±


    Jeon Sang-hee gave me a crooked smile.


    Looks like even he knows that King is no longer physically capable of producing an heir.


    ¡°Even if King did have a kid, not many would rally behind a child anyway.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no suitable candidates?¡±


    ¡°There probably are. But it always comes down to one asshole ruining it.¡±


    There was a sharp glint in Jeon Sang-hee¡¯s eyes.


    There¡¯s someone causing problems, clearly.


    I didn¡¯t even need to ask¡ªhe told me the name himself.


    ¡°Shim Chan-soo. Former journalist.¡±


    ¡°A journalist? That¡¯s elite, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    To me, the military gang faction seemed like the bigger threat.


    Even if public opinion isn¡¯t great, a journalist is still better than a warlord with a private army, right?


    Jeon shook his head and sighed.


    ¡°He¡¯s just a front. A puppet.¡±


    He looked around, then leaned in closer.


    ¡°The cult supports him.¡±


    ¡°...Are you serious?¡±


    Jeon nodded grimly.


    Bzzzt¡ª


    In the heavy silence, the K-walkie crackled with static.


    Then a surprisingly clear, female voice flowed through in fluent Korean.


    ¡°Are you the ones here for the trade?¡±


    A military vehicle came into view in the distance.


    The red flag with five stars.


    Chinese.

 Chapter 133.4: Fair Trade (4)

    Korea and China.


    A trade between two fundamentally different groups, both heavily armed, and rife with mutual distrust.


    No matter how peacefully it might begin, it only takes a moment for a deal to devolve into a bullet-riddled bloodbath.


    To prevent that, the Chinese fell back on something they both loved and were good at: drones.


    Even in direct trades, they only approached close enough to visually confirm the other party¡¯s presence¡ªno physical contact. All actual exchanges were handled by their industrious little friends, the drones.


    ¡°I need the transaction number.¡±


    Of course, before the drone is dispatched, identity verification is essential.


    In this era, even a drone is a valuable asset. There are always people who would snatch the drone and flee.


    The Chinese had a surprisingly thorough authentication process in place.


    I¡¯d already been given the transaction number in advance.


    ¡°AXX-0300.¡±


    I read the code from my phone and relayed it to the Chinese side. After confirming it, they asked again.


    ¡°What¡¯s the name of the trader?¡±


    ¡°Skelton.¡±


    ¡°What items are you here to trade?¡±


    ¡°Game console and software. And a laptop.¡±


    ¡°Nothing else needed?¡±


    ¡°For now, just these. If I need more later, I¡¯ll reach out online.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    Unlike the clunky Korean they¡¯d used online, the woman¡¯s voice over the radio was smooth¡ªfluent enough that I would¡¯ve believed she was Korean.


    Through binoculars, I spotted her standing behind the armored vehicle, half-concealed, radio in hand.


    -->


    ¡°She¡¯s a Hunter, isn¡¯t she.¡±


    I spoke to Jeon Sang-hee, who stood at my side.


    ¡°A Hunter?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°How can you tell? To us, they¡¯re all just wearing the same uniform.¡±


    I passed him the binoculars and adjusted my sunglasses.


    ¡°She¡¯s got an armband on her left arm, right?¡±


    ¡°Armband? Oh... that cloth-wrapped thing?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. She¡¯s probably covering it up on purpose.¡±


    Before the war, China had operated the world¡¯s largest Hunter corps¡ªover 100,000 at its peak.


    Not all of them were elite, of course, but China stuck with its ¡°old-school¡± Hunters until the bitter end¡ªand fell with them.


    Having served in China for a long time, I was familiar with their Hunters¡¯ equipment and uniforms.


    What she was wearing was the standard-issue Hunter uniform¡ªidentifiable even from afar thanks to its ornate armband.


    That ornate insignia, practically a burial shroud for those going to their deaths, was a parting gift from the Chinese government to its Hunters. In the safety of cities, the armband brought admiration and attention. On the battlefield, it made them a prime target.


    Especially for fanatics¡ªwho prioritized killing Hunters above all else. So much so that even with a three-star general standing next to one, they¡¯d shoot the Hunter first.


    As the Hunter hunts intensified, Chinese Hunters began switching to makeshift combat gear¡ªsome similar to Korean Hunters¡ªor, like this woman, covering their armbands with cloth to avoid standing out.


    I explained all this to Jeon Sang-hee.


    ¡°Wow... I had no idea. First I¡¯ve heard of any of that.¡±


    Not surprising¡ªChina had only sent soldiers to us, never their Hunters.


    ¡°That said... she¡¯s just as beautiful as the rumors claimed. Could pass for an actress.¡±


    She really was.


    Not just ¡®pretty¡¯ or ¡®cute¡¯¡ªbut truly beautiful, with a refined elegance to her.


    Still, what caught my attention wasn¡¯t her face, but the unusual weapon strapped to her wrist.


    I didn¡¯t know the exact mechanics, but it seemed to have at least three launch ports for small projectiles.


    A chu-ko-nu, maybe?


    The same Hunter weapon used during the Gold Gang incident.


    The Chinese Hunter I fought then was confident in close combat but didn¡¯t seem to use her Hunter weapon much. Maybe this woman was the one who wiped out the Golds ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Read more on our source) alone.


    But then...


    ¡°....¡±


    Was it just my imagination?


    Her eyes shimmered faintly.


    No, that couldn¡¯t be.


    China never allowed Awakened. Even if the old Chinese government had fallen, I doubted they¡¯d reverse that policy so easily.


    ¡°Who here is Skelton?¡±


    The woman¡¯s voice came through the radio again.


    I raised my hand.


    ¡°You¡¯re Skelton?¡±


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°Why are you wearing sunglasses and a mask?¡±


    ¡°Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Just curious.¡±


    ¡°I have many enemies.¡±


    ¡°Enemies?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m surrounded by them. I can¡¯t just go showing my face.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I see. Then it can¡¯t be helped. Sending Xiao Xiao now~¡±


    Flawless Korean. This woman spoke perfect Korean.


    So why the awkward phrasing online?


    While the thought lingered, the drone approached, buzzing softly.


    Of course, King¡¯s men didn¡¯t sit still.


    Clack! Clack!


    Anti-air guns and surveillance equipment trained themselves on the drone, four 7.62mm machine guns mounted together in a makeshift battery.


    False alarm.


    The drone was laughably clunky¡ªlike someone had slapped some fans onto a big plastic box.


    The sides were made of clear acrylic, letting you see its contents¡ªvery typical of a delivery drone.


    It resembled the prototypes used in the global unmanned drone delivery network Melon Mask had once envisioned.


    I loaded 600g of silver and spoke into the radio.


    ¡°This being our first trade, I¡¯ll limit the exchange to goods worth 600g of silver.¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡±


    The drone lifted, flew to the Chinese camp, then returned carrying goods.


    I inspected them.


    The game console and cartridge IAMJESUS had requested. The laptop for myself.


    Naturally, I tested the laptop first.


    Keyboard response was fine, battery status decent. It had signs of use¡ªbut regular, careful use. Actually preferable to something left idle for years.


    ¡°How¡¯s the product?¡±


    The Chinese asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s good. I¡¯ll check the rest later.¡±


    ¡°If there are any problems, contact us anytime, Skelton.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    With that, the drone flew off, and the Chinese were gone.


    So were we.


    It was a clean transaction.


    Surprisingly clean for a post-war deal with the Chinese¡ªalmost unbelievably so.


    ¡°Guess the rumors were right,¡± Jeon Sang-hee said, clearly impressed.


    Of course, that doesn¡¯t mean the Chinese were being 100% sincere.


    They wouldn¡¯t go to all this trouble without some ulterior motive.


    ¡°Eventually, they¡¯ll stab us in the back.¡±


    Jeon¡¯s thoughts mirrored my own.


    I asked him, ¡°So you¡¯re never planning to deal with them again?¡±


    He gave me a look and replied flatly, ¡°Of course I am.¡±


    I looked at him silently. He continued.


    ¡°You remember those theme stocks from back in the day? Obvious pump-and-dumps¡ªeveryone knew it. So why¡¯d people still invest?¡±


    ¡°I wonder.¡±


    He grinned.


    ¡°Because everyone thinks, ¡®I won¡¯t be the one left holding the bag.¡¯¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but smile too.


    Fair enough.


    We all have that instinct.


    I think I¡¯ll try trading with them again¡ªwithout going through King.


    If they ever discover who I really am, things won¡¯t end with just a few exchanged bullets... but even so, opportunities like this don¡¯t come often.


    I¡¯ll need to make a list and contact them again before winter comes.


    Maybe even sooner, depending on IAMJESUS.


    ¡°That guy Hunter Park¡¯s going to meet,¡± Jeon suddenly muttered.


    ¡°He¡¯s been alone in that city for over a year, right?¡±


    ¡°Sounds about right.¡±


    ¡°...Yeah. I¡¯m kinda worried.¡±


    For the first time, Jeon¡¯s face showed concern¡ªreal concern.


    Even in front of the Chinese, he¡¯d smiled.


    Maybe he had a fear of zombies?


    As I looked at him in silence, Jeon suddenly asked,


    ¡°You think he¡¯s still... okay?¡±


    *


    As soon as the trade was done, I headed straight for IAMJESUS¡¯s city.


    From afar, the city appeared washed in a pale, ashen hue¡ªnot from monster corrosion, but as if shrouded by the shadows of the dead who now inhabited it.


    Woooo¡ª


    Woooo¡ª


    The closer I got, the more the haunting chorus of zombies pressed down on my chest like a heavy weight.


    ¡°Please wait here for a while.¡±


    We couldn¡¯t take Jeon Sang-hee¡¯s security team any closer.


    Part of it was because he didn¡¯t trust IAMJESUS¡ªbut I knew him well, too.


    IAMJESUS was a recluse.


    Even before he gained his immense power, he was reluctant to open up, and once he shut someone out, no words or promises could get through to him.


    Now that he had the power to command tens of thousands of zombies and destroy anything in his way, it was all the more true.


    So I left the convoy behind.


    What I took instead was Baek Seung-hyun¡¯s motorcycle.


    ¡°So, Skelton. The trade with the Chinese went well?¡±


    I exchanged a quick transmission with King before heading in.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Good. And you haven¡¯t used the gold bar yet, right?¡±


    ¡°Not yet. I figured I¡¯d give IAMJESUS the stuff he asked for and talk to him¡ªsee what else he needs.¡±


    Buying him gifts blindly without knowing what he really wanted would be a waste.


    I needed to talk to him first. See what he needed. What he wanted.


    ¡°....¡±


    Jeon Sang-hee¡¯s words echoed in my head.


    Is IAMJESUS really okay?


    A rude question.


    But also, a fair one.


    Humans break easily. Surprisingly easily.


    The moment your will snaps, you change¡ªinto something entirely different.


    Maybe IAMJESUS¡¯s father, who met his second death by my hands, had the same concern once.


    ¡°IAMJESUS. It¡¯s me. Skelton. Skelton.¡±


    As those thoughts swirled, I tried contacting him.


    A burst of static. Then:


    ¡°Skelton...?¡±


    The transmission connected.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s me. I brought everything you asked for. Where should I go?¡±


    ¡°Wait. Wait! I¡¯ll send someone!¡±


    His voice had changed.


    It still held that youthful tone, but now there was a deeper, stronger resonance to it. A sense of power I hadn¡¯t heard before.


    Had he grown...?


    In this city of the dead?


    I didn¡¯t think the zombies would¡¯ve taught him anything.


    They just moved according to his commands. Puppets, nothing more.


    Maybe, as Jeon Sang-hee feared, they had warped him.


    Shff¡ª shff¡ª


    A female zombie approached.


    She had a dried flower stuck in her hair.


    And something about her struck me instantly: she wore a bridal veil.


    Not one she¡¯d worn in life¡ªthe suit underneath suggested that much.


    But still... a wedding veil?


    She carried a hatchet and walked toward me in slow, deliberate steps.


    Then, without a word, she stopped in front of me, turned in an odd motion, and started walking ahead again.


    ¡°Is this zombie mine? The one in the veil?¡± I asked into the comms.


    A reply came quickly.


    ¡°Say hi, Skelton! That¡¯s Jane. Jane! She¡¯ll guide you!¡±


    ¡°....¡±


    Something felt wrong.


    Not just the zombie with the veil¡ªbut the strange, overly excited voice of IAMJESUS coming through the radio.


    I followed Jane, pushing the motorcycle alongside me.


    The streets were deserted¡ªno zombies in sight¡ªbut the sound of their voices echoed all around, like a mad, invisible choir.


    Soon, Jane entered a building.


    It was damaged in places, but clearly once a grand corporate HQ.


    About 49 floors, judging by its height.


    Even beneath the looming shadow of the skyscraper, not a single zombie was in sight.


    I led the bike inside¡ªmy only lifeline, after all.


    The moment I stepped in, multiple figures blurred before my eyes.


    Zombies.


    Female zombies.


    Every one of them.


    And not just any women¡ªby pre-war standards, they were attractive, shapely, alluring.


    Their outfits were all different.


    One wore a pure white wedding dress. Another, tight leggings that showed off every curve. One even had on a cheerleader uniform like you¡¯d see at a baseball game.


    Judging by the way they were dressed, these weren¡¯t outfits from life.


    IAMJESUS must¡¯ve dressed them himself.


    ¡°Skelton! Skelton!¡±


    His voice rang out again over the comms.


    ¡°You¡¯re almost here, right? I hear footsteps!¡±


    We climbed the stairs and stepped into a wide hallway.


    It was packed with female zombies dressed in all manner of strange outfits.


    And standing in the center¡ª


    A man I knew well.


    Or... thought I knew.


    Gaunt, skeletal. But unmistakable.


    ¡°IAMJESUS!¡±


    He wore a mask.


    One that looked like it was made from a person¡¯s face.


    And that mask¡ªthere was something familiar about it.


    I had seen it before. Somewhere.


    Then it hit me.


    A photo. From the pre-war internet. A church, a preacher¡ª


    It flashed across my mind like lightning.


    ¡°....¡±


    Was it... his father''s?

 Chapter 133.5: Fair Trade (5)

    Let¡¯s take a moment to examine the person known as IAmJesus.


    He comes from a single-parent household. Only a father.


    There¡¯s no contact with grandparents or any other relatives.


    IAmJesus¡¯s temperament is rather timid. He has neither the courage nor the will to actively resist the outside world.


    He simply lives as he''s told, with just enough nerve to express mild dissatisfaction from time to time.


    He does have the virtue of patience, but even patience can be a double-edged sword.


    In situations where one should never endure, patience becomes nothing more than a curse¡ªa divine punishment self-inflicted.


    IAmJesus¡¯s father is a controversial man.


    He¡¯s what they call a cult leader, known for harassing countless female followers and being the subject of numerous scandals.


    Fortunately, he spared no expense when it came to financial support¡ªbut it didn¡¯t seem like he truly loved his son.


    Like any cowardly parent, he did the bare minimum as a father. He made no effort to talk to his son or try to inspire any kind of change.


    Personally, I don¡¯t find IAmJesus to be a particularly likable person.


    Lacking in looks, personality, and charm¡ªhe never tried to hide his shortcomings or highlight his strengths to expand his social circle.


    He always shut himself away in his own little world, and that''s where he stayed.


    For nearly three years, the boy was imprisoned in the darkness brought on by the war.


    Anyone who shared time on the forum with him during that period would know what his mind is like.


    It¡¯s a broken and shattered soul.


    I met him.


    I pulled him out of his bunker and reached out to him.


    But in the end, IAmJesus discovered his true calling and chose to remain in the city of death where he had lived with his father.


    I walked away without regret.


    -->


    But it¡¯s not like I didn¡¯t worry at all, like Jeon Sang-hee did.


    As I left that city of death, I did wonder if that immature soul called IAmJesus would be able to grow up properly.


    I sent him a few messages after that.


    One-sided messages don¡¯t last long.


    After a few were ignored, I, like everyone else, completely forgot about him. He barely crossed my mind.


    At most, I asked how he was during last winter¡¯s brutal cold.


    And now that kid appeared in front of me again.


    In the way I vaguely anticipated... but never wanted to see.


    "Skelton. My stuff. You brought it?"


    His voice had gotten deeper, but also more sluggish.


    His halting speech pattern, paired with the mask covering his face, made my old forum friend IAmJesus feel even less human.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    Where do I even begin?


    King¡¯s face flickers in my mind.


    First¡ªtalk.


    Let¡¯s talk it out.


    ¡°There aren¡¯t many things in this world you can solve with words. But refusing to speak at all means you don¡¯t even want to start. So talk. Don¡¯t just assume it won¡¯t work and give up¡ªif there¡¯s a chance, at least try. If it still doesn¡¯t work, it¡¯s not too late to throw a punch then.¡±


    That was the teaching of my mentor, Jang Ki-young.


    He said a lot of bullshit, but he said a lot of good stuff too.


    For now, I¡¯ll try to follow Jang Ki-young¡¯s example and start a conversation.


    IAmJesus led me to his room.


    A pitch-dark chamber.


    Thick blackout curtains had been meticulously sealed over the window frames, ensuring not a sliver of light could enter.


    The only illumination came from an analog TV in the center, flickering with gray static, and the faintly glowing eyes of the zombies lined up like statues on either side of the room.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    Among the zombies with their arms crossed like statues, there were some familiar faces.


    For some reason, even Chairman Je Pung-ho¡ªwearing a Santa hat¡ªwas there, standing among the spectators of IAmJesus¡¯s gameplay session.


    ¡°Haha! This one! It¡¯s been ages!¡±


    IAmJesus smoothly connected the console I had brought, inserting the game cartridge¡ªcalled a ROM pack¡ªinto the device.


    ¡°Dad brought this one home for the first time.¡±


    When he powered it on, unfamiliar Japanese text popped up on the screen.


    I watched him play for a while.


    Saying nothing, just watching. In that moment, I wasn¡¯t much different from the zombies standing beside us.


    The first to break the silence was IAmJesus, after he beat what looked like the boss.


    ¡°How¡¯ve you been?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Well.¡±


    He stuck out his tongue as he answered.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. There was a lot of stuff in the city. We found it together. With friends.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°And the winter?¡±


    ¡°Winter? It was cold.¡±


    IAmJesus shivered, pretending to tremble.


    That was it.


    He didn¡¯t say how he got through winter, or what he felt.


    He wouldn¡¯t tell me what he was thinking now, or what he planned to do.


    He was just enjoying the moment, mindlessly.


    I looked at IAmJesus¡¯s face.


    I couldn¡¯t see his eyes behind the grotesque mask, but his lips¡ªvisible beneath it¡ªwere sealed shut like those of the zombies around us.


    "¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤."


    Was he bored?


    When you¡¯re trying to talk to someone¡ªespecially when you want something from them¡ªthere¡¯s nothing more frustrating than the other person saying absolutely nothing.


    But he wasn¡¯t someone I could force into talking, nor someone who¡¯d respond to pressure.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    I glanced around the room.


    "Hm?"


    Something caught my eye.


    A laptop.


    "Mind if I use the internet for a sec?"


    ¡°Internet?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Just wanna check something.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Wanna see if that bastard Dongtanmom is still alive.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Oh. Go ahead. Sure.¡±


    His fingers moved busily on the controller.


    He must¡¯ve been playing a tough part.


    I turned on the laptop behind him and checked the screen.


    A mess of pictures cluttered the desktop.


    In the past, people said your clothes and behavior were a reflection of your character. In the 21st century, your computer desktop is now added to that list¡ªa mirror of your soul.


    And by that logic, IAmJesus¡¯s desktop was pure chaos.


    Grotesque mutilated corpses, unspeakable pornography, cheerful anime characters, flashy game avatars, news clippings about his father, various dog photos, what appeared to be his own (terribly drawn) anime girl sketches¡ªjust an unruly collage of images that defied any attempt at categorization.


    ¡°Hey. IAmJesus.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you organize your desktop?¡±


    ¡°Desktop?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. A man might not clean his room, but he should at least clean his desktop.¡±


    For the record, my desktop only has two icons: the Skelton folder and Viva! Apocalypse!


    My wallpaper is an AI-generated image of a muscular warrior standing with his back turned, holding dual axes. The artist¡¯s signature¡ªSkelton¡ªis in the bottom-left corner.


    ¡°R-Really? Am I supposed to?¡±


    IAmJesus turned to me, his eyes wide.


    For a moment, I felt a small shock.


    It was something I¡¯d said offhandedly, with no real meaning.


    Telling someone to tidy up their desktop¡ªthat¡¯s the kind of nitpick you can throw at someone you¡¯re not even close with.


    But to that minor comment, IAmJesus reacted as if startled.


    It might seem trivial, but in that moment, I saw a sliver of hope.


    That maybe, just maybe, this friend who seemed broken could still be reached.


    ¡°Want me to do it for you?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡ªI can do it.¡±


    Well, now we had a point of connection.


    Something his father probably never found.


    ¡°You into this stuff?¡±


    Start small.


    ¡°Ah, that one¡¯s... kind of hard to show.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the big deal? Guys can look at this stuff too. Wanna just clear it all at once?¡±


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Organizing a desktop is like cleaning a room.


    It¡¯s a mundane act, easy to overlook, but absolutely necessary.


    Just putting things in order around you brings psychological relief, comfort¡ªsometimes even clarity.


    I think desktops are no different.


    Even the smallest distraction that flits across ¡ï Novelight ¡ï your screen can, when left to build up, leave a residue on your mind.


    Like a weight pressing down on you.


    ¡°Hey. What the hell is this? Why would you save something like this?¡±


    I expand the scope as I clean.


    ¡°What¡¯s the point of collecting pictures of dead people? Isn¡¯t the whole city already crawling with corpses? These don¡¯t even rot, but most of them just decay into nothing. Not even a trace left behind.¡±


    ¡°T-That one¡¯s just... out of curiosity.¡±


    ¡°This one¡¯s getting deleted, okay?¡±


    ¡°Y-Yeah.¡±


    There¡¯s something else I realize all over again.


    Our forum isn¡¯t exactly a great educational space.


    I vaguely understood that, and logically, I knew it¡ªbut I never truly felt it. Probably because I never had a kid to raise, and the kids around me had grown up relatively well.


    The forum left a heavy imprint on IAmJesus.


    His pictures weren¡¯t just from the new wave of malicious users I¡¯ve been blocking lately¡ªthey also included plenty from older, already-banned toxic users.


    One common type in his collection: women who¡¯d been raped and killed.


    Tragic, but depressingly frequent in IAmJesus¡¯s saved files.


    I didn¡¯t bother pointing it out.


    Twisted habits like that don¡¯t disappear just because someone lectures you.


    So I moved on without a word.


    Instead, I found something worth bringing up.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    A family photo.


    The faded picture wasn¡¯t taken in a chapel or an independent house¡ªjust a modest corner of a commercial building, used as a tiny church. In it stood a younger, still-living version of IAmJesus¡¯s father, a child-aged IAmJesus, and an unfamiliar woman, all posing together with warm expressions.


    ¡°Your father and mother?¡±


    ¡°Y-Yeah.¡±


    ¡°When was this taken?¡±


    That¡¯s when I finally looked directly at IAmJesus¡¯s mask.


    Up until now, I had been deliberately avoiding it¡ªignoring it.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you make that thing look like your father¡¯s face?¡±


    I figured it was time we could talk about this.


    It must have been a heavy question, because IAmJesus just kept staring at the photo, silent.


    Then, a moment later, he opened his mouth.


    ¡°Just because.¡±


    A lukewarm answer.


    Not that I expected much of one.


    Just bringing it up was already a big enough step forward compared to the awkward silence earlier.


    Click¡ªclick¡ª


    Most of the mess on the desktop was now sorted.


    I saved what needed saving, put away what could be filed, and deleted what deserved to be erased.


    What remained were several old family photos that could never be recreated again.


    I looked at one of them.


    In the photo, likely taken by his father, a young IAmJesus was playing with an old console¡ªeven by that era¡¯s standards.


    And there wasn¡¯t just one. There were several.


    From the number of pictures alone, you could feel the father¡¯s love.


    And from the fact that those photos had survived, intact, in the middle of that chaotic desktop¡ªyou could tell the son loved his father too.


    People say the human heart is like a magnet, with two poles, but that¡¯s not quite right.


    Just because you have a north and south pole doesn¡¯t mean hearts attract like magnets.


    Even among families¡ªthose who should be closest¡ªthat rule doesn¡¯t always apply.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got something to tell you.¡±


    Time to start wrapping things up.


    Night is falling.


    More than that¡ªI¡¯m certain now that staying here any longer won¡¯t lead to anything.


    ¡°King sent me here.¡±


    IAmJesus stared at me blankly.


    Then he lowered his head and muttered,


    ¡°...I figured.¡±


    There was something King hadn¡¯t told me.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Click.


    <Welcome to Viva! Apocalypse!>


    I logged into his account.


    Hundreds of unread messages sat untouched.


    The sender of those messages¡ª


    Message from CrunchRoll: Hey~ IAmJesus! How long are you gonna hole up in there?!


    Message from CrunchRoll: What do you think of this chick? You like her? Just say the word and I¡¯ll send her over.


    Message from CrunchRoll: What¡¯s a guy doing holed up like that? Gonna do nothing but jerk off all day? Just come over already.


    Message from CrunchRoll: Sex has a prime window, you know. Once you get old, it¡¯s game over! Right now¡¯s the best time, lol.


    Message from CrunchRoll: Had a drink.


    Message from CrunchRoll: (photo)


    ...


    ...


    It¡¯s King.


    Wow. Even sending a love call, he¡¯s got to be clingy about it.


    Seems like King¡¯s communication skills are just as underdeveloped as the mask-wearing father of IAmJesus.


    In short, they¡¯re both still immature.


    King and IAmJesus.


    ¡°What the hell is this? Did you send these?¡±


    Turns out IAmJesus did send something back to King.


    And to match King¡¯s offer of a living woman... he replied with a dead one.


    That cleared up a few things.


    The mystery surrounding the female zombies dressed up in various outfits¡ªJane and the others.


    But really, was it necessary?


    Maybe this is the perfect opportunity to show off this Skelton¡¯s communication prowess.


    iamjesus: maem maem~


    ¡°Skelton? What are you doing?¡±


    I sent a message to King.


    Message from CrunchRoll: Oh! Jesus! Long time no see! Maem maem!


    iamjesus: maem maem!


    Message from CrunchRoll: maem maem!


    ¡°Watch this.¡±


    With a soft smile, I typed.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Tap tap tap


    iamjesus: yourmam

 Chapter 133.6: Fair Trade (6)

    "Skelton...?"


    Apparently startled, IAmJesus even removed his mask as he muttered.


    Message from CrunchRoll: What¡¯s this? Outta nowhere?


    ¡°Look.¡±


    Still smiling, I pointed to the screen.


    ¡°King¡¯s a person. A real human being.¡±


    ¡°?¡±


    I kept typing.


    iamjesus: You little shit... wanna throw down?


    I heard IAmJesus stumble backward.


    The surrounding zombies also reacted with slight agitation.


    Sure, I know that kind of talk is vulgar.


    But when you''re trying to convey something real, does it really matter whether your words are crude or polite?


    Message from CrunchRoll: What, you on drugs now? This little shit¡ªbaby him a little and now he¡¯s acting up?


    iamjesus: Golden apple.


    Message from CrunchRoll: You¡¯ve finally gone insane, huh.


    ¡°Look.¡±


    ¡°Look at what?¡±


    ¡°King¡¯s just a person. An ordinary guy. Say something he doesn¡¯t like and he drops the act right away.¡±


    There was a flicker of light in IAmJesus¡¯s eyes¡ªbrighter than anything I¡¯d seen in them before.


    Right then, I messaged my most beloved and resented partner: VivaBot.


    -->


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Huh? What did you say? You''re Skelton?


    I sent verification immediately.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Ah. That checks out. The one with you is the Korean board¡¯s Awakened, right?


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: What the hell are you doing? Again?!


    iamjesus: (Skelton ¨C serious) Can you set up something like a video chat? Like the one Melon Mask used on Live! Apocalypse!?


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: It¡¯s not impossible, but... why all of a sudden?


    iamjesus: (Skelton ¨C politely) It¡¯s really important. I want to connect two users.


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: It¡¯s not that I can¡¯t, but do you even know what time it is in the U.S.?


    iamjesus: (Skelton ¨C teary-eyed) A narcissist like me is holding back from posting on Twelvesquare just for this, you know...?


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: Sigh...


    Message from VIVA_BOT014: (VivaBot sighs) Just this once, okay?


    And just like that, the private line between IAmJesus and King was connected.


    It kicked off hot.


    Two masked men appeared on their respective monitors, starting the talk.


    ¡°You little shit. What the hell did you do? Using a feature like this, huh?¡±


    King, shouting through his mask, suddenly went quiet.


    His expression was hidden, but he was probably smiling.


    He saw me.


    ¡°Ah. So that¡¯s what this is.¡±


    I patted IAmJesus gently on the shoulder as he stood frozen, like a frog before a snake.


    ¡°Go on.¡±


    Is there a more accurate saying than ¡°well begun is half done¡±?


    ¡°Ah, ah, ah.¡±


    Wearing the face of his father, IAmJesus was finally taking his first step¡ªone that had been long, long overdue.


    ¡°...yourmam.¡±


    Maybe birds are beautiful because they look their best when they first leave the nest.


    But humans aren¡¯t birds. We stumble, fall, and flail through the world¡ªclumsy and messy.


    ¡°Stop sending me weird messages! Your girls? All ugly as hell!¡±


    ¡°What? You little idiot?! Do you even know who I am? Do you know how many people I¡¯ve got under me?¡±


    ¡°W-Well, I¡¯ve got tens of thousands of zombies too!¡±


    Doesn¡¯t matter how it looked¡ªthe king of the dead and the king of the living were now connected.


    The dam had broken.


    What kind of current would flow through the channel¡ªthey¡¯d have to decide for themselves.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    In the corner of the screen, King quietly raised a thumb.


    I tried to find hope in that small gesture.


    *


    ¡°Oh ho. Is that so?¡±


    Jeon Sang-hee, surprisingly, used to be an ordinary office worker before the war.


    Not a trained soldier. A non-doomer who probably never imagined himself holding a gun. But when the collapse came, he repeatedly proved he was more suited to survival than most.


    ¡°You¡¯re more composed than I expected...¡±


    Still, I think luck had a lot to do with it.


    ¡°It¡¯s kind of hard to believe, though.¡±


    Considering he¡¯s so full of prejudice and quick to jump to conclusions, it¡¯s amazing he made it this far.


    Then again, people like that did tend to thrive before the war.


    And I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any need to persuade someone like him.


    People with egos that bloated don¡¯t change just because someone tells them to.


    Yet even someone like him is eager to ride the tide when it comes.


    Not in terms of language, but in the form of circumstances¡ªmaybe that makes it easier for him to follow.


    If you look at it broadly, maybe those two aren¡¯t all that different.


    ¡°Oh, Skelton.¡±


    King is someone who shapes and drives those tides.


    ¡°Was that your idea?¡±


    The way King laughed behind his mask¡ªcasual, open¡ªwas something people like Jeon Sang-hee would never witness.


    ¡°I took a good hit, but it wasn¡¯t bad.¡±


    He held out a drink to me.


    ¡°It¡¯s already dark.¡±


    ¡°Spend the night.¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t stick me with a woman again, like last time.¡±


    ¡°Of course not.¡±


    ¡°By the way, how¡¯s the kid you brought doing?¡±


    ¡°Seemed quiet at first, but once she settled in, she got a bit wild.¡±


    ¡°Well, she did seem like the type.¡±


    Bringing Sue had been a good call, it seemed.


    There was a minor hiccup along the way, but nothing major.


    Still, from now on, I¡¯d need to keep a healthy distance.


    ¡°I heard there¡¯s some kind of succession issue.¡±


    Swirling the drink King gave me, I brought it up.


    A sensitive topic¡ªbut now felt like a safe time.


    King nodded without much resistance.


    ¡°You get that everywhere. Leeches trying to mooch off what others built with sweat and blood.¡±


    ¡°I heard even a cult got involved.¡±


    ¡°That blabbermouth Jeon Sang-hee... couldn¡¯t keep that to himself, huh.¡±


    ¡°Well, thanks to that, we get to talk about it like this.¡±


    King let out a sigh.


    ¡°Just your usual power struggle.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s always been fighting.¡±


    King looked at a metallic cylinder in the corner of the room.


    If I remember correctly, that cylinder holds the zombified corpse of his predecessor.


    Lately, he probably forgot all about it¡ªbecause there hasn¡¯t been any movement inside.


    King wasn¡¯t looking at the cylinder itself, but beyond the mask, his gaze mirrored the time and era that corpse once looked upon.


    ¡°Even back when we were just a tiny raiding crew trying to rebuild this garbage dump of a city, the fights never stopped. Everywhere you go¡ªthere¡¯s always someone who wants to be in charge. Always someone who wants to make the decisions.¡±


    ¡°True enough.¡±


    Even in a tiny neighborhood apartment complex, people fight over who gets to be the building rep.


    King himself nearly died from an internal conflict.


    It was only by awakening his ability at the edge of death that he survived and rose to power.


    Now, he¡¯s beginning to pay the price for that.


    For him, conflict seems to be an inseparable part of life.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    ¡°It¡¯s the same old story. Some assholes stirring up shit down below. Doesn¡¯t matter if the scale¡¯s bigger now.¡±


    ¡°The cult group¡¯s gotten pretty big. Started small, but it¡¯s growing fast. A lot of defectors from the North joined in too. They¡¯re not a joke anymore.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not a joke either.¡±


    King looked across the table toward the laptop.


    ¡°But that friend of yours might handle it even better.¡±


    ¡°You mean IAmJesus?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°So, how¡¯d it go? What did you think of the conversation?¡±


    I was curious.


    What, if anything, did King take away from that mess of a dialogue?


    ¡°Nothing much, really. Honestly.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    I stared at him intently.


    King, realizing the weight of my gaze, lifted his chin.


    It was a gesture as if telling me to speak.


    ¡°...I noticed you sent some really weird messages to IAmJesus.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that?¡±


    ¡°They were almost like spam emails.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    This guy...


    He rarely posts on the forum, so I had no idea how he interacted with the internet. But looking at what he did to IAmJesus, it was the perfect, textbook definition of spam mail.


    And the lowest kind¡ªadult advertisements.


    ¡°You ? N§àv§Öl¦Éght ? (Read the full story) really thought sending stuff like that would get IAmJesus to come around?¡±


    ¡°Heh, wasn¡¯t he all about women? Isn¡¯t that what every guy is like? Unless you¡¯re gay, every guy loves women, right?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty narrow way to look at things.¡±


    ¡°No, guys are supposed to like women, it¡¯s natural. Even that useless idiot Jeon Si-hoon had a girl with him, right?¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    Clearly, IAmJesus isn¡¯t the only one who needs some education.


    King could use some lessons in internet etiquette too.


    As a seasoned instructor, I decided to drop some knowledge on him, pausing every now and then to sip my drink.


    ¡°The worst thing on the internet is self-promotion. Even if you¡¯re hot shit, you have to stay humble online.¡±


    Just like me.


    ¡°And you can¡¯t force things on people. No commanding them around. If you don¡¯t like something, sure, you can say it, but you can¡¯t make demands. The internet¡¯s different from real life¡ªif you block someone, you never have to see them again.¡±


    Of course, I also shared the valuable knowledge I¡¯d gained from cleaning my own desktop.


    ¡°IAmJesus, he doesn¡¯t like women with big chests. And his tastes are a bit... special.¡±


    ¡°Ho, is that so? IAmJesus, huh. I didn¡¯t know he liked that kind. Guess I¡¯d better find one of those women right away.¡±


    ¡°No, even if you know his preferences, don¡¯t push it too hard. You¡¯ve got to ease them into it, little by little.¡±


    And then I told him the most important thing.


    ¡°I had a feeling from the start that this was gonna work out.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Why¡¯s that?¡±


    King showed some interest.


    It¡¯s a pretty basic prediction.


    It all started with IAmJesus reaching out to me.


    He sent me the first message, and the conversation began.


    ¡°IAmJesus must¡¯ve been really lonely. He kept holding back, but eventually, he couldn¡¯t hold it in anymore and sent me a message again.¡±


    To summarize, even if it wasn¡¯t me, someone else would¡¯ve given him the right opportunity to come out of that cold city.


    But it wouldn¡¯t have been King.


    In the end, it was through King, but without me as the catalyst, that connection would¡¯ve never happened.


    In that sense, I can''t say I have no claim to credit.


    ¡°By the way, that gold bar. You don¡¯t need it, right?¡±


    ¡°Take it.¡±


    That¡¯s probably why King so casually gifted me the massive gold bar.


    But despite all this good fortune, there¡¯s a nagging worry that¡¯s been hovering over me like a storm cloud.


    ¡°IAmJesus. What do you think about him?¡±


    The issue I brought up from the start.


    The question of IAmJesus¡¯s qualifications.


    King answered without hesitation.


    ¡°Who else would it be? Just like you said. He¡¯s a useless piece of shit. Total trash.¡±


    King laughed out loud.


    ¡°Then he¡¯s dangerous, isn¡¯t he?¡±


    King shook his head and looked straight at me.


    I couldn¡¯t see his expression behind the mask, but I knew he was smiling.


    ¡°I was trash too.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°How about you? Skelton?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    Hmm, it feels a bit awkward to say this about myself, but if I¡¯m being honest...


    ¡°I¡¯ve been an ace from the start.¡±


    ¡°Trash, huh.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you were bottom-tier.¡±


    ¡°?¡±


    The rest of the conversation is a blur, probably thanks to the alcohol.


    I think we talked about pointless things.


    From women¡¯s tastes to sexual jokes, casual stories from before the war, and future plans, both grand and small.


    I don¡¯t remember King¡¯s grand plans for the future, but I do vaguely recall sharing mine, despite the hangover.


    I think I said something like this:


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be the last human standing. In Shangri-La.¡±


    I¡¯m not entirely sure what Shangri-La is supposed to be.


    Maybe it¡¯s the survival zone I heard about from Woo Min-hee between the rifts.


    I hope the point where the rifts overlap falls within my territory.


    ¡°Skelton! Look! King gave me loads of juicy stuff!¡±


    At least one thing¡¯s for sure¡ªthis trip was a success.


    I got a gold bar, and Sue got a bunch of delicious snacks.


    ¡°I really like it here.¡±


    But for Rebecca, this might not be all good news.


    It looks like we both forgot one thing.


    The dream-filled girl will always long for the bright city.


    ¡°...I wish I could live with Skelton.¡±


    ¡°What about your mom?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s annoying too. She just doesn¡¯t say it, but she¡¯s getting on my nerves, seriously.¡±


    Unlike before, King didn¡¯t send us off.


    I figured it was because he wasn¡¯t feeling well in the morning.


    I already knew his mind was made up during the pointless conversation over drinks.


    Relentlessly, King will try to convince and discipline IAmJesus.


    Just like he¡¯s done with every fight in his life.


    ¡°Good morning. As promised, I¡¯ll take you to a nearby place.¡±


    We left the city in Jeon Sang-hee¡¯s armored vehicle.


    But as we drove, the smell of burning filled the air, and people were bustling around, with plenty of onlookers gathered.


    Had something happened?


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    I asked Jeon Sang-hee.


    He rubbed his nose casually and answered nonchalantly.


    ¡°Looks like the reporter from yesterday is dead.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s pretty common around here.¡±


    I looked at him intently.


    He glanced at me and then asked,


    ¡°What, you got a problem with that?¡±


    ¡°No. Nothing at all.¡±


    Just yesterday, he¡¯d said that the reporter guy was a threat to King¡¯s position.


    Looks like in his delusion of being smart, he has to constantly change his thoughts and positions to survive.


    Anyway, with our own stories to carry, we turned our backs on the final city.


    I watched the endless smoke rising in the distance, lost in thought.


    One day, that smoke will disappear.


    After a few more springs and summers pass.


    I wonder if we¡¯ll survive this peacefully for that long.


    One thing¡¯s for sure.


    The cylinder where King¡¯s predecessor used to stay is now empty.

 Chapter 134: Discovery

    While we were away, Defender and his sister left the territory.


    Word has it that Ha Tae-hoon only came out briefly to see them off, but no one else, not even their peer Cheon Young-jae, saw them off.


    From what I gather, the rift between them ran deep.


    Of course, Defender didn¡¯t contact me on the day he left.


    Maybe he was just trying to avoid being a bother, but the fact that he left without even leaving a note or a single message left me feeling somewhat disappointed.


    ¡°They¡¯re finally gone. Those people. Really, what were they even doing?¡±


    It¡¯s a common thing to badmouth those who leave.


    Watching Defender¡¯s sister, who¡¯d been hovering around her son Bang Jae-hyuk, suddenly come out in broad daylight to speak ill of them, I sighed.


    ¡°They were supposedly siblings, always glued together. What was that about? Doesn¡¯t it seem shady?¡±


    I wasn¡¯t planning to defend Defender and his sister, but I also didn¡¯t want to listen to their insults, so I called Bang Jae-hyuk aside.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    Bang Jae-hyuk limped toward me, clearly aware of what I needed to discuss.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye out. But there¡¯s a lot to it. Their relationship wasn¡¯t great. If you keep rejecting someone¡¯s goodwill so coldly, even a saint would get angry, right?¡±


    ¡°Even with that in mind, I think you¡¯re going too far.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you let me vent for today? I know she¡¯s my mom, but old people... you know, sometimes we have to let it out to feel better.¡±


    They say there¡¯s no country for old men, but the truth is, not many good old men around either.


    It¡¯s just the way it is.


    Body and mind are not separate; they are one.


    No matter how noble a person¡¯s mind, they¡¯re bound to change with age.


    The weight of life that one person can bear¡ªit¡¯s limited.


    There are variations, but no one can carry everything.


    -->


    The reason why people so highly respect saints who bore such an overwhelming burden, like carrying a cross, is because they chose to take on a weight that wasn¡¯t granted to humans.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    I thought of Rebecca.


    She was the one I was most worried about.


    She hardly leaves the bunker and has been leaving all the perimeter duty to Sue.


    The only difference now is that instead of Viva! Apocalypse!, she¡¯s been doing Necropolis.


    I decided to check on her.


    ¡°Skelton.¡±


    She had lost a lot of weight.


    Her energy was gone, and her eyes were hollow.


    According to Sue, she spent all day lying in the dark bunker, just doing Necropolis.


    Sue loved Rebecca, but her continuous decline had made Sue start questioning things.


    With rebelliousness typical of adolescence, combined with mounting disappointment, I wasn¡¯t sure where it would lead, but it seemed likely that it wouldn¡¯t end in a good way.


    For a moment, the image of the Defender siblings flashed through my mind.


    Especially the image of Da-jeong, who used to smile at me every day. Her face was etched so deeply into my memory that it almost seemed like a lingering afterimage.


    ¡°...Wait. Should we go outside?¡±


    I felt like I couldn¡¯t let this go on any longer.


    ¡°Where to?¡±


    ¡°I thought getting some fresh air might help.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Even if you don¡¯t want to, it¡¯s probably better if we go.¡±


    I made a gesture as if showing the wire connected to the bunker and pretended to cut it with my fingers like scissors.


    At that, Rebecca sighed and reluctantly got up.


    She hadn¡¯t washed her hair and was still wearing a sloppy military outfit, exuding an odor that would make anyone grimace from a distance.


    I didn¡¯t let it show.


    Just then, Sue, returning from her perimeter watch, saw us and tilted her head as she noticed us.


    I waved her over casually, then opened the main gate of the territory and walked down the slope with Rebecca.


    We only spoke once we had descended the gentle slope and entered the flatland.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like being here, do you?¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to twist my words unnecessarily.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Rebecca immediately revealed her true feelings.


    ¡°What are you going to do about it?¡±


    She asked, walking beside me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    I had suspected for a while, but after seeing her recent behavior, I was sure now.


    She was still someone from across the sea.


    She had a small connection with me, but that connection was based on necessity.


    Aside from a small liking for me, her feelings toward my comrades hadn¡¯t changed much since we first met in front of my bunker.


    She wanted to remain a stranger.


    Until now, I¡¯d been watching from the sidelines, but I knew it was time for me to intervene.


    I wouldn¡¯t deny that the departure of the Defender siblings played a large part in this decision.


    ¡°If you want to go back to where you were, I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    ¡°Where? Daegu?¡±


    ¡°Not possible.¡±


    I turned and looked east.


    It was the village where Rebecca and her mother had lived in the past.


    Now it was an abandoned ghost town, but it had always been a place full of memories for both Rebecca and me, with gunfire always ringing out from that area.


    ¡°That place?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m thinking of loading up everything you need and helping you clean it out. What do you think?¡±


    Taking a break might be a good choice.


    After all, her territory and mine were right next to each other.


    It wouldn¡¯t hurt to keep some distance while trying to foster slow cooperation.


    Rebecca didn¡¯t say anything, but her eyes were shifting.


    She was probably calculating something.


    Soon, she looked at me with eyes that seemed to have a different color than usual and spoke.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡±


    It took her about a minute to make the decision.


    Typical Rebecca.


    But this wasn¡¯t enough.


    It wasn¡¯t about whether she was going or not.


    I sighed softly and asked,


    ¡°Have you talked it over with Sue?¡±


    ¡°Sue?¡±


    Rebecca gave me a confused look but quickly broke into a bright smile and answered,


    ¡°Sue listens to me well. She¡¯s a good daughter.¡±


    I remembered what Sue had said and done in Sejong.


    Rebecca¡¯s relationship with Sue was starting to show cracks, and her patience with her mother was wearing thin.


    As much as Sue had grown, the gap between mother and daughter had only widened.


    ¡°What if Sue doesn¡¯t go with you?¡±


    At my question, Rebecca stopped walking and stared at me with her mouth agape.


    I turned around and quietly watched her.


    ¡°What? Sue?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. What if Sue doesn¡¯t go with you?¡±


    Rebecca muttered in English, her face showing surprise from an unexpected angle.


    She seemed taken aback.


    I walked ahead slowly, leaving her behind.


    The field, still with some greenery, and the scattered small factories caught my eye.


    ¡°Skelton!¡±


    Rebecca chased after me.


    ¡°What do you mean Sue won¡¯t go? What does that even mean?¡±


    Worried that she might not understand the term "adolescence," I pulled out my phone and showed her the English translation of "adolescence."


    ¡°...Adolescence.¡±


    Sometimes, one word has more impact than a hundred.


    ¡°Sue, adolescence...¡±


    At that moment, I made a gesture for Rebecca to stay silent.


    Click¡ª


    There was movement nearby.


    Rebecca, despite her earlier appearance, was still a survivor of the apocalypse.


    Her face quickly transformed from a dazed one to that of a soldier, and she manipulated her rifle with practiced ease, providing cover for me as we backed away.


    The possibilities of what we might face ahead were three:


    Humans, mutations, or wild animals.


    Any of them were dangerous, but if we had to choose, wild animals would be the least threatening.


    But it was too early to make any assumptions.


    With the rifle in hand, I reaffirmed the weight and texture of the axe in my lower body, signaling Rebecca to take cover as we slowly retreated.


    If our potential enemy was human, then lying low was the right move here.


    But if it was a savage beast like a mutation, lying down wasn¡¯t the smartest option.


    The moment you lie down, you lose the advantage of being a human.


    Humans, standing on two legs, have the advantage of a wide field of vision.


    That field of vision is closely tied to firearms.


    Especially when it comes to taking the initiative.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Constantly scanning the surroundings, I sent Rebecca a signal to secure cover.


    Despite her earlier missteps, Rebecca was a soldier from a once-powerful military group.


    With her physique, she swiftly ran to secure a stone wall and tapped it with the butt of her rifle, signaling she could provide cover for me.


    I quickly repositioned, moving alongside her and crouching down.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    Rebecca asked.


    Instead of answering, I stared intently at the ~N§àv§Ölight~ direction where the sound had come from.


    Soon, there was rustling from the bushes.


    Rebecca tensed, tightening her grip on her weapon.


    ¡°Cease fire. Only fire when I give the order.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    Rustle¡ª


    The sound echoed.


    I barely moved my finger resting on the trigger, holding my breath.


    Soon, something dark appeared from behind the bushes.


    Rebecca laughed.


    It was a cat.


    Not a mutation, just an ordinary cat.


    The same kind I used to see a lot before the war.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Had my senses dulled?


    It didn¡¯t feel like it was just a cat.


    There was something else.


    ¡°Skelton, it¡¯s a cat.¡±


    Rebecca, maybe a little fond of cats, smiled like she had just cheered up.


    I stared at the cat with a neutral expression.


    What appeared before us was a kitten.


    Not one, but two¡ªno, three.


    They had fur with a mixture of white and gray, a clear departure from the Korean short-haired breed. They likely weren¡¯t wild cats but more likely domesticated breeds, possibly pets once kept in homes.


    Soon, what seemed to be the mother appeared cautiously, then bit the neck of one of the kittens and turned to look at us.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    Not every animal becomes a mutation.


    If every animal did mutate, humanity would have been extinct by now.


    The mutation rate in animals varies by region, but in areas like ours, where there are no erosion zones nearby, the probability is less than 1%.


    Yet, it seems like everything around us is mutated because each presence has such a strong impact.


    Any area where a mutation has settled becomes a dangerous zone on its own.


    Although the threat wasn¡¯t major, I aimed my weapon.


    Click¡ª


    That 1% probability isn¡¯t fixed.


    Just like someone with hypertension lives each day knowing the likelihood of death is always present, animals too react to mutation factors daily and change as a result. And that probability significantly increases with the appearance of nearby monsters.


    ¡°Skelton, are you going to kill it?¡±


    Rebecca asked.


    I nodded.


    ¡°If we don¡¯t kill it now, they might come after us later.¡±


    Rebecca murmured something in English.


    I looked at her and added,


    ¡°That¡¯s the world we¡¯re in, right?¡±


    ¡°I know. I know...¡±


    Rebecca didn¡¯t seem to like the idea of killing the cat.


    Being a mother herself, she probably empathized with the mother cat, raising her kittens.


    Seeing Rebecca¡¯s uneasy expression, I started reconsidering.


    To be precise, I felt we should postpone killing the cat for now.


    There was no need to add another burden to her already tough life.


    As I always emphasize, a person¡¯s capacity for stress has limits.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Stress doesn¡¯t recover easily and can sometimes leave scars on the heart that never truly fade.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Rebecca looked at me, her eyes sparkling.


    ¡°Skelton? You¡¯re not killing it?¡±


    ¡°Looking at your face, I feel like I shouldn¡¯t. Plus...¡±


    I stretched out my hand, feeling the temperature of the wind brushing my fingertips.


    It had gotten noticeably colder.


    The current temperature was 23 degrees Celsius.


    Considering it was still daytime, the temperature had dropped significantly.


    Things unprepared won¡¯t survive this winter.


    That act of kindness, however, ended in an absurd way.


    Not long after we left, the sharp scream of a cat rang out.


    The sharp scream soon turned into a dying gasp, and the surrounding area fell into silence.


    Exchanging a glance with Rebecca, I raised my weapon again, aiming toward the direction of the sound.


    Rustle¡ª


    A long shape emerged once again.


    With wide eyes, the beast that held the dead cat in its mouth was a marten.


    Bang!


    In an instant, I pulled out my handgun and blew its head off.


    It wasn¡¯t just for the sake of avenging the cat.


    Martens are dangerous predators.


    Especially when mutated, they could become more troublesome than the black cat that caused the trouble in the territory.


    Like the otter I had dealt with earlier, members of the weasel family become formidable fighters when they grow larger.


    Moreover, their chances of survival in the winter are high, so they needed to be eliminated.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤It¡¯s dead.¡±


    Rebecca muttered, staring at the beasts'' corpses.


    With her pistol still drawn, she kept a vigilant eye on the surroundings.


    If there were any of the marten¡¯s friends nearby, I would need to wipe them all out.


    While I searched for the marten, Rebecca found the bodies of the kittens.


    One survived, but with its intestines spilling out, it wouldn¡¯t last much longer.


    When I finished searching and returned to Rebecca, she was still staring at the bodies.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤Skelton.¡±


    She clenched her fist and turned to look at me.


    ¡°Do you want to stay?¡±


    I stared at her.


    Her eyes, now with a different hue from mine, seemed to carry a familiar meaning at that


    moment.


    "Yeah?"


    Had the death of the beasts taught her something?


    I don''t think so.


    For her, it was simply the trigger she needed.


    Swish¡ª


    Rebecca expertly stripped the fur from the beasts with her dagger.


    It wasn¡¯t just the marten.


    Without hesitation, she skinned the cat as well, sometimes asking for my help.


    ¡°Hold it. Yeah. Pull it straight.¡±


    Though she had a rough image, she was a survivor in the same world we lived in.


    It was true that she had received help from me, but most of her days had been spent bearing the weight of raising her young daughter.


    Honestly, her survival difficulty was much higher than mine.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤I must be annoying you, huh?¡±


    As she layered the skins on top of each other, she gave me a careless smile.


    I nodded.


    ¡°Sue''s been annoying too.¡±


    Rebecca shook her head with a wry smile.


    I walked ahead toward the territory, with her carrying the furs and following behind me.


    There wasn¡¯t much to say between us.


    It was a surprising realization.


    *


    ¡°Hey. That woman, her skills with her hands are no joke.¡±


    At least getting praised by Ha Tae-hoon in the construction field wasn¡¯t an easy feat.


    Ha Tae-hoon was watching Rebecca¡¯s craftsmanship with wide eyes, clearly impressed.


    The technique of joining two pieces of wood without nails, simply through precise notches, seemed unfamiliar even to Ha Tae-hoon.


    I had noticed Rebecca¡¯s excellent woodworking skills when she built the cabin earlier.


    She wasn¡¯t just a carpenter, though.


    Rebecca had an extraordinary talent in hunting as well.


    Bang!


    Her sharp shooting skills were impressive, but her ability to track animals using the signs they left behind was even more remarkable.


    ¡°If we had a dog, it¡¯d be a lot easier.¡±


    She had tracked and hunted down the entire marten family.


    She was skilled at dismantling the corpses and, in particular, expertly skinning them.


    In exchange for her hard work,


    Whizz¡ª Whizz¡ª


    The clearing where she had hung the skins to dry was filled with a foul stench, and flies swarmed all over, but no one looked down on her.


    ¡°Here. American lady. Try this.¡±


    Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s mother offered a drink.


    Rebecca, staring coldly at the stranger¡¯s offer, took the cup and drank it in one go.


    Rebecca gave a thumbs-up.


    ¡°It¡¯s good.¡±


    There was no grand welcome or awkward gathering.


    We simply mingled naturally and cooperated.


    It was as if we were getting soaked in a gentle drizzle.


    That was how bonds begin, through exchange.


    I couldn¡¯t expect a large connection, but at least we wouldn¡¯t be living isolated as we did before, with walls completely built around us.


    ¡°¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤¡¤.¡±


    I stared at the empty bunker where the Defender siblings had lived.


    If we had acted faster, could we have caught them?


    I¡¯m mostly certain that¡¯s not the case, but here, I¡¯ll push the assumption that if I had caught them, they would have stayed.


    ¡°Park Gyu. Here. Have some. It¡¯s the Hongsiade I made yesterday.¡±


    It would make me feel more at ease.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±

 Chapter 135.1: Generation (1)

    Before the war, I had read a satirical comic about social issues that had been on the best-seller shelf. It touched on the problems that were being discussed at the time, such as conglomerates, vested interests, historical issues, regionalism, excessive competition, and greed. However, it didn¡¯t mention the actual issues that everyone knew about and that were genuinely problematic.


    It was about the generation gap.


    If the conflict had been merely a cultural or era-based conflict, it wouldn¡¯t have been much different from the typical generational disputes that have existed since the time of Socrates. But the conflict at that time extended beyond cultural or temporal experiences; it was connected to survival, linked directly to money.


    I don¡¯t think the author was unaware of this issue.


    He must have gotten older.


    Not necessarily elderly, but at least not young. And yet, he likely wanted to capture the interest of the younger generation.


    Only a few old people have the privilege of mixing freely with the young.


    In the eastern highlands of my territory, there¡¯s a community of old people.


    When I visited that area, the impression was not a good one.


    Wounded and with their hearts closed, they showed fierce hostility to outsiders, almost like a barbaric tribe.


    They had been forgotten for a time, but they reappeared before me on an autumn day when the thermometer first dropped below 10¡ãC.


    *


    Bang! Bang!


    Late in the evening, gunshots rang out.


    To the east.


    The distance was at least 5 km.


    I tried to gauge the distance and location by the lights, but despite the sound of gunfire, no lights were visible.


    It appeared there was a shootout in the area of abandoned apartments and factories scattered around.


    It wasn¡¯t something serious enough to declare an emergency, so I let things go on as usual.


    The gunshots were intermittent and stopped around 10 p.m.


    Gunfire wasn¡¯t something frequent recently, but with so much to do, I didn¡¯t pay it much mind.


    -->


    Currently, I was busy building the winter house, and gathering firewood and food for the winter was already overwhelming.


    Hunting had become more serious since Rebecca officially joined our territory.


    I sometimes went hunting, but unlike the name "Hunter," I wasn¡¯t familiar with hunting wild animals.


    Most of the time, I just shot a stray animal I came across, but I never learned the skill to actively track and kill prey, and I never found it interesting enough to try.


    Today¡¯s target was cattle.


    Cheon Young-jae had reported seeing a herd of cattle, mixed with dairy cows, while heading to our territory, and so Rebecca and I set off to hunt them.


    The value of cattle is far higher than that of roe deer or wild boars.


    There is no waste when dealing with cattle. The meat, bones, and even the organs are all edible, and the leather is durable and flexible, making it very useful.


    The meat would probably taste good too.


    At least, I think it would be better than pig or roe deer meat.


    It¡¯s a mystery how cattle survived four years after the war started, but today, Rebecca and I planned to hunt as many as possible and bring them back to our territory.


    ¡°Let¡¯s have a barbecue.¡±


    Rebecca said, making a gesture as if cutting her tongue.


    Was she talking about eating the tongue?


    However, Rebecca¡¯s grand plan was dashed before we even spotted the cattle.


    We found a person.


    A corpse.


    One that had been shot, crawling a long distance while bleeding, only to die from exhaustion.


    The firearm was found 50 meters back, along a trail of blood.


    There were no signs of any other companions, nor were there any footprints.


    We confirmed the body.


    It was a teenage boy.


    The boy had tried to hide his youth with dark stubble and tattoos, but the skin, not yet showing signs of aging, was clearly that of a teenager.


    ¡°Gang.¡±


    Rebecca muttered as soon as she saw the boy.


    I agreed.


    He was part of an organized band of raiders.


    But there was no nearby raider group.


    He must have come from elsewhere.


    We searched his body but found no information about his location.


    The worn military pants were covered with burrs and other forest debris, and his torn clothes suggested he had been wandering through the mountains before he died.


    Rebecca and I exchanged glances.


    Without words, we came to an agreement.


    We would retreat.


    With an armed raider appearing, there was no reason to linger around.


    We didn¡¯t recover the firearm.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    The North Korean pistol was already close to scrap, poorly maintained and in very bad condition.


    We decided it was more dangerous to leave the weapon where it was, as the raider¡¯s comrades might notice and realize our presence.


    Back at the base, new information awaited us.


    ¡°I think they had a run-in with the old folks on that mountain.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae [N O V E L I G H T] knew the details.


    Like Defender, Cheon Young-jae also used wireless equipment to eavesdrop on minor communications from distant places.


    I could do the same if I wanted, but I didn¡¯t bother to search for them myself.


    If it¡¯s close by, that¡¯s one thing, but listening in on trivial communications from over 10 km away didn¡¯t seem worth it unless it was an urgent situation.


    Anyway, Cheon Young-jae, with his different ideology and hobbies, reconstructed the events of last night along with the gunfire that had occurred around midnight.


    ¡°There were two communications exchanged.¡±


    One was from the old people.


    It was a group of elderly individuals living in a care home that I had discovered and barely escaped from.


    The other side was young people.


    ¡°One side sounded like a gang of kids.¡±


    It was likely the same raider group Rebecca and I had discovered today.


    In a world where traditional beliefs like kinship, regionalism, and seniority were no longer practical, people tended to group together with those of a similar age.


    Instinctively, people tend to avoid others who are different from them.


    In the past, elderly people would associate with other elderly, young people with young, and so on.


    Even before the war, people separated by age, and that continued after the war.


    Elderly people, unable to trust the younger generation, formed their own communities, and the youth-led gangs did the same, forming groups they could trust.


    It was a common occurrence for these two groups to collide.


    However, Cheon Young-jae noticed something odd in this clash.


    ¡°The strange thing was that, even though a fight broke out, the two groups continued to communicate with each other.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It was like they had known each other for a while.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae had recorded part of the communication.


    Due to the long distance and the condition of the eavesdropping equipment, most of the communication was filled with static and unintelligible words, but a few usable exchanges were captured.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got everything I asked for, right? You did everything I told you, so why are you turning things around?¡±


    A slow, old man¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Eat shit. Old fuckers. We did everything you asked. We¡¯re not your slaves! We had a deal. A promise!¡±


    A gruff, man¡¯s voice, aged but not quite young, still carrying signs of inexperience.


    From what Cheon Young-jae shared, it seemed the two groups had initially been involved in trade and had a relationship that wasn¡¯t hostile.


    This wasn¡¯t the usual scenario of raiders attacking a settled group and stealing everything.


    Whatever the reason, the two groups had started with peaceful dealings, but things had gone awry, leading to the gunfight.


    Bang! Tatatata!


    By night, the battle resumed.


    It was a fiercer fight than the previous night.


    The gunfire continued until dawn.


    Every time a shot rang out, small lights flickered on the distant mountain.


    This time, I decided to listen in on the communication.


    Crackle...


    ¡°Kill them all. Those old bastards. Kill them all! Fuckers!¡±


    Crackle---


    ¡°Don¡¯t kill them. Just hang them. Hang them and let the others see!¡±


    Honestly, eavesdropping isn¡¯t my thing.


    Out of all the countless emotional bursts, the meaningful messages are at most one or two.


    I listened for a moment, took off my headphones, and closed my eyes for some rest.


    The next day, Cheon Young-jae came up again.


    With a smile that usually mocked someone, he walked in with an unusually sharp expression, unlike his usual self.


    ¡°Listen.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae played the recorded communication from last night that had confused him.


    Crackle---


    ¡°Hey! Hapyung-ri! You know the people living near the hill there, right? Yeah? I know them. They carry guns and drive cars. I¡¯ve seen them! I¡¯ve seen everything. I know they live there!¡±


    Hapyung-ri is where Cheon Young-jae is hiding now. It¡¯s also the hometown of Gold, and the place where Kim Elder, now a guest of the afterlife, was born and raised.


    In other words, it¡¯s within my territory.


    It seems that the elderly group on the mountain knew of our existence.


    The advantage of high ground.


    People at higher elevations can see farther and observe much more.


    Though living in a group increases the chances of being spotted, our territory is hard to see from below, but it¡¯s too easy for those above us to observe.


    Just as we knew their location, they knew ours.


    And that¡¯s not all.


    They were indirectly threatening us under the guise of asking for help.


    ¡°How about helping us? The young man who showed up with a gun. He lives there, right? We know. We¡¯re listening to all your radio transmissions. Help us out. Please. Just answer, we¡¯re listening!¡±


    My being here was probably just a guess the elderly had made.


    If they were wrong, it wouldn¡¯t be a big deal.


    Time had dulled their senses, and with it, a bit of the shamelessness was mixed in.


    ¡°Such hopeless bastards.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae expressed his hostility.


    Ha Tae-hoon, who had been observing from the side, gave a small laugh and glanced at Cheon Young-jae.


    When Cheon Young-jae looked at him, Ha Tae-hoon made a playful gesture and asked, looking to me for approval.


    ¡°Can I say it?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°How much you hate the old people.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t see Cheon Young-jae¡¯s expression, but I was certain there had been some kind of unspoken exchange between the two.


    Ha Tae-hoon kept his mouth shut, and Cheon Young-jae moved on to the next topic.


    In the uncomfortable atmosphere, Cheon Young-jae spoke again, this time in a somewhat calmer tone.


    ¡°...It seems the old people know where we are. Well, with clear air and a good telescope, it¡¯d be easy to find.¡±


    I agreed.


    We had built outer walls, installed solar panels, and now we were in the middle of constructing the winter house.


    The likelihood of our location being discovered was higher than ever.


    ¡°...¡±


    It was to be expected.


    Once you form a group, it becomes easier to be noticed.


    It was bound to happen eventually.


    It was just that it happened at an unexpected time and by an unexpected force.


    ¡°Since this happened... Can I make a suggestion?¡±


    At that, Cheon Young-jae unusually showed some enthusiasm.


    ¡°What if we just kill them all?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae said it with a smile, but it was clear he meant it.


    He was genuinely suggesting that we kill every single one of the old people on that mountain.


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s gaze turned to me.


    ¡°...¡±


    I knew.


    The decision was mine to make.


    I thought about it.


    I didn¡¯t have any particular respect for the elderly, but neither did I have contempt for them.


    Before the war, there were instances where elderly people caused problems, but I thought those were individual issues.


    I didn¡¯t think it was right to label an entire group as enemies and negate them all.


    Well, fanaticism was the exception, of course.


    I dismissed the idea of wiping out the elderly group.


    We were already fighting the raiders, and there was no need to get involved with them.


    It wasn¡¯t about reaping any benefits, but why get involved in someone else¡¯s fight if it had nothing to do with me?


    ¡°Bullets are always in short supply. Even if we¡¯re not short now, we¡¯ll be soon.¡±


    But the next day, the communication Cheon Young-jae brought was something I couldn¡¯t ignore.


    ¡°Those people in Hapyung-ri. Didn¡¯t they help us?¡±


    The old man¡¯s slow voice came through.


    ¡°When your neighbors are suffering, do you just ignore it? We¡¯ve got plans too.¡±


    The communication ended there, but the message was clear.


    The slow-spoken old man was warning us.


    Ding- Ding- Ding- Ding-


    Not long after, an alarm went off at the lookout.


    Vehicles were approaching.


    Six of them.


    A procession of vehicles, barely moving and emitting thick black smoke like ragged blankets, was making its way toward our territory.


    On top of the roofless vehicles were thin men standing upright, their faces barely looking older than their early twenties.


    ¡°Want me to take a guess?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae, who had been particularly hostile toward the elderly, smirked.


    ¡°It¡¯s those old bastards. They probably lied, saying we¡¯ve got a lot to offer.¡±


    How the old man convinced the raiders, who had been shooting at each other like they were about to kill each other, to come our way with sweet words, I had no idea. But one thing was certain.


    Clack!


    ¡°Prepare for battle.¡±


    This was our first battle within our territory after forming a group.


    There wouldn¡¯t be much to gain by winning, but losing would mean losing everything.


    ¡°...¡±


    I had known this kind of battle would come someday, but I never imagined it would start like this.


    ¡°Let¡¯s kill those guys and the old people too.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae was unusually intense today.


    It felt like he was high on adrenaline.


    His movements were far more violent than usual, almost like he was enjoying it.


    Ha Tae-hoon had a look on his face, like he wanted to say something to me.


    When our eyes met, he gestured for me to come over.


    I approached him, mindful of Cheon Young-jae¡¯s heightened energy.


    ¡°He was briefly with the Pioneer Corps.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon whispered, his face slightly tense.


    ¡°He was their ace.¡±

 Chapter 135.2: Generation (2)

    The opposing group numbered around 50.


    A large number, but completely disorganized.


    They hadn¡¯t received any training, had no discipline.


    All they did was scream loudly and charge around in a frenzy.


    Some looked like they were high¡ªexcessively excited, almost unnaturally so.


    Their equipment was even worse. Most carried North Korean rifles, with one or two holding either domestic or American-made firearms.


    Facing those 50, four Hunters lined up along the outer wall at regular intervals.


    The wind was calm and visibility was clear.


    The 10 a.m. sun shone down on everything without condition.


    Clack!


    Clack!


    Each of us loaded our weapons and waited for the enemy to appear.


    A one-sided slaughter was expected.


    Vroooooom----


    Still, they were human. They weren¡¯t going to walk straight into death like NPCs in a game.


    One vehicle charged toward us at full speed.


    Looked like an IED setup.


    They had bolted armor plates onto the engine block, likely conscious of being shot at.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take the front left wheel.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll get the back.¡±


    We¡¯re Hunters.


    Not professional soldiers, but trained to deliver the most precise shots in a split second.


    Bang! Bang!


    -->


    With two shots, the vehicle¡¯s left wheels burst apart.


    Screeeeeeeeeeech¡ª


    The car, with a broken axle, wobbled on the incline and uneven ground before spinning out in a 180-degree turn and crashing into rocks and trees.


    Vroooooom¡ª¡ª


    Even then, the wheels kept spinning furiously, the accelerator apparently locked in place.


    We opened fire.


    KABOOOOM!


    A spectacular explosion went off right in front of the wall.


    It shook the ground with a deafening blast.


    ¡°Skelton, you okay?¡±


    Rebecca called from the rear, where she was waiting with the reserves.


    ¡°No problem.¡±


    I kept my rifle aimed downhill.


    Behind a huddle of battered vehicles, I could see the raiders hesitating, peeking out.


    I switched the frequency on the K-walkie-talkie to public and addressed them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re attacking us, but you should back off while you still can.¡±


    Whether a battle is won or lost, there¡¯s always a cost.


    Even if we kill them all, corpses remain.


    Cleaning those up is exhausting, unpleasant, and bad for your mental health.


    You can make prisoners do it, but handling prisoners is a hassle in itself.


    If negotiation is possible, it¡¯s better to go that route.


    They didn¡¯t reply.


    Soon, around thirty of them began advancing.


    They ducked, sprinted, crawled¡ªtrying to act tactical, but to people watching from higher ground, they were just slow-moving targets.


    ¡°Once they pass that white-painted rock, we open fire.¡±


    I always paid close attention to territorial defense, so naturally I had prepared for this type of combat.


    Using terrain features as range markers is a classic tactic, even older than the Middle Ages.


    We marked various distance points on granite boulders along the ridge with different colors of paint.


    The white-painted rock I just mentioned is exactly 400 meters from the wall.


    A considerable distance, but still within range for us to land meaningful hits.


    For those poorly trained raiders, though, their bullets won¡¯t reach us.


    Farther in, there¡¯s a blue-painted rock, and within 100 meters, we¡¯ve piled up a heap of scrap to act as a final marker.


    Naturally, we¡¯ve modified the access routes¡ªcleared away any terrain or objects they could use as cover.


    Even the painted rocks are less than 30cm high¡ªlike low platforms.


    Coming up this path without preparation, against four Hunters trained at the academy, is a stupid move.


    Bang!


    Bang Jae-hyuk¡¯s rifle fired first.


    ¡°Aaaagh!¡±


    With a scream, one man collapsed, blood spraying.


    Over 450 meters away, beyond the white rock.


    Bang Jae-hyuk glanced over and shrugged at me.


    ¡°That¡¯s fair, right?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    Bang! Bang! Bang!


    Our rifles roared.


    From high ground, expert shooters firing on exposed enemies is lethal.


    ¡°Gaaah!¡±


    ¡°Ugh!¡±


    With each shot, a raider¡¯s body opened up and death followed.


    Within five minutes of combat, the raiders left behind ten corpses and retreated.


    Bang!


    Make that eleven.


    I called a ceasefire and picked up the radio.


    ¡°You going to continue?¡±


    A short question.


    ¡°...Who are you guys?¡±


    This time, someone responded.


    Even without seeing his face, I could hear the fear in his voice.


    I looked down at the raiders¡¯ position, where they had stacked up vehicles to create a barrier.


    One tall guy in what looked like a suit stood out¡ªlikely their leader.


    Somehow, he had dyed his hair green. He looked no older than his early twenties.


    ¡°Answer me.¡±


    I asked calmly.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    I¡¯d considered all possibilities, but my outlook was optimistic.


    It¡¯s been four years since the war.


    Youth is no longer a handicap.


    Those four years could¡¯ve taught someone more than forty years of ordinary life.


    ¡°...We¡¯ll stop.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll allow you to retrieve your dead and your gear.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t want to, you can just leave.¡±


    ¡°No, we¡¯ll retrieve them.¡±


    A truce was established.


    Less than ten minutes had passed since the battle began.


    That¡¯s how one-sided it was.


    Our units weren¡¯t even in the same league.


    The raiders began crawling forward cautiously.


    Clack¡ª


    In case they tried anything, Bang Jae-hyuk and Ha Tae-hoon stayed hidden behind cover with rifles trained on them.


    Men covered in tattoos and wearing bizarre outfits dragged the bodies; the women picked up the firearms.


    Silence hung heavy between the ridge and the field.


    About halfway through the cleanup, I initiated a radio call.


    ¡°You the ones fighting the elderly group at the care home?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The green-haired guy in the suit looked up and replied.


    He seemed to have recovered from the shock but was still clearly shaken.


    Losing a third of your entire force the moment the battle starts will do that.


    The fact he could still keep his composure meant he wasn¡¯t your average raider.


    ¡°What did those people say to make you come here?¡±


    Just as he was about to answer¡ª


    Static buzzed, and a third party broke into the channel.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t say anything.¡±


    It was that old man again.


    I saw Cheon Young-jae¡¯s eyes dart back and forth.


    ¡°I said we didn¡¯t say anything. Those kids just went over there on their own.¡±


    I ignored him.


    Instead, I locked eyes with green-hair.


    ¡°We...¡±


    He started to speak.


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!¡±


    An absolutely childish interruption cut him off.


    Cheon Young-jae let out a sigh.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go clean them out tonight.¡±


    He climbed down from the wall.


    ¡°They¡¯re not even human anymore. Don¡¯t leave a single one alive.¡±


    I agreed that something needed to be done about those old men.


    But¡ª


    ¡°AAAAAAH! AAH! AAH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!¡±


    Can a human really become that grotesque?


    Still, the green-haired guy had guts.


    When his comm was jammed, he threw down the radio, squared his shoulders, and walked up to us himself.


    From atop the wall, I looked down as he approached.


    When we were close enough to see each other¡¯s eyes, he raised his voice.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    I nodded.


    If the radio¡¯s no good, then shouting will do.


    Meanwhile, the old man up on that mountain kept doing incomprehensible things.


    ¡°AAAAAHHH! AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!¡±


    Dementia, maybe?


    The opponent came unarmed. There were no visible threats in the line of fire, and above all, Cheon Young-jae confirmed through his Authority that there were no immediate dangers nearby.


    I set down my rifle and descended the outer wall to meet the green-haired guy.


    We faced each other directly.


    ¡°Why did you attack us?¡±


    ¡°I heard there were a lot of supplies here. That there were only a few men, and not many in number.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know anything about those old people. We just know they live there. We''ve never traded with them or communicated with them.¡±


    Just then, someone called out from the top of the wall.


    ¡°You got played.¡±


    It was Cheon Young-jae.


    ¡°You got played by those old fucks.¡±


    The green-haired guy¡¯s face twisted with anger.


    I looked at Cheon Young-jae.


    It was a warning glance.


    He shut his mouth, but the gleam in his eyes still burned with intent to kill.


    We''d have to discuss this matter later.


    I turned back to green-hair and asked,


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    He hesitated for a moment, then spoke in a tone laced with regret and bitterness, explaining his side of the story.


    ¡°...Those old people¡ªthey actually saved my life.¡±


    He¡¯d known the elderly living on the mountain for quite some time.


    ¡°I was a street beggar.¡±


    ¡°Street beggar?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Thanks to them, I survived. They were frustrating as hell to deal with, but not completely bad people. Still... you know how relationships get when they keep rubbing the wrong way. If you don¡¯t keep them greased, they grind down.¡±


    The old folks had medicine. The green-haired guy had labor.


    In the fall, he¡¯d help with farming and chopping wood. In return, the elders provided medicine.


    It had been a mutual arrangement.


    But over time, dissatisfaction on both sides grew, and eventually, it led to conflict.


    While the drawn-out fight continued, the elderly offered him some tempting information.


    That there was a nearby group hoarding food, alcohol, medicine, and fuel.


    ¡°They even showed me pictures.¡±


    That¡¯s what led them to fight us.


    ¡°...¡±


    I thought it over.


    Should I kill all of them¡ªor just let them go?


    There were too many to kill.


    And these people... they had nothing.


    Their North Korean knockoff rifles were junk, and the ammo wasn¡¯t even factory-made¡ªit was homemade.


    Their vehicles were barely moving wrecks.


    Maybe the only things worth selling were a few young women, but there was a risk of STDs, and we don¡¯t deal in human trafficking.


    More importantly, my territory had grown too large to stay fully secret.


    There¡¯s no telling when someone else like this will come sniffing around again.


    Could be tonight. Could be in a few days.


    If they¡¯ve lost their will to fight and understand the difference in power, it might be best to just send them away.


    There¡¯s no need to corner a rat.


    After collecting their dead and weapons, the raiders left toward the south.


    One problem resolved.


    But another remained.


    Clack¡ª


    ¡°Well, now we finish the rest.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae looked ready to go kill the old people on his own.


    He stared straight at me.


    ¡°What do you think, senior?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Of course we need to retaliate.¡±


    There will be blood.


    This isn¡¯t about right or wrong.


    It¡¯s like plugging numbers into a function: you get a result.


    They input death.


    So we¡¯ll output death.


    They crossed the line.


    *


    Before the battle, Ha Tae-hoon shared a bit of the past.


    From the look on his face, it didn¡¯t seem like something he cared too much about hiding.


    ¡°Before Yeong-jae came to us, he was at a refugee camp at the far end of Gaepo. You can probably guess, but that was where all the rich and influential evacuees gathered. When I asked him why he went there, he said he hated the well-off. That he wanted to see the rich assholes crash and burn after the war.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon himself came from a rich family.


    ¡°...He led fifty people out of there. I heard he was headed somewhere in Chungcheong-do, but he came back alone.¡±


    ¡°Alone?¡±


    ¡°Survived on his own. Lost the vehicles, the gear, his whole team.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon gave a dry laugh.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that make him the ultimate ace?¡±


    The word ¡°ace¡± felt like it carried some sarcasm.


    An ace who wipes out both allies and enemies alike.


    A candidate for a dramatic ending in a blaze of fire.


    Anyway, after that incident, Yeong-jae fell out of favor with the Pioneer Corps and ran to where Ha Tae-hoon was¡ªbut that¡¯s a story for another time.


    Crunch¡ª crunch¡ª


    Time: 10:20 p.m.


    We climbed a pitch-dark mountain trail, using only the moonlight filtering between the trees to guide us.


    Two operatives: me and Cheon Young-jae.


    We could¡¯ve brought Ha Tae-hoon, but I left him on watch in case the raiders came back.


    We were aiming for a ? N§àv§Öl¦Éght ? (Read the full story) perfect ambush. No drones. No vehicles.


    A round trip of 20 km, but manageable. We knew the terrain well.


    The greatest threat was mutations, but Cheon Young-jae¡¯s detection ability worked well even against them, reducing variables.


    Just as I started to feel winded, the shadow of the eerie care home appeared in the pale light.


    ¡°Three patrols.¡±


    Staring into the darkness with eyes faintly glowing, Cheon Young-jae spoke in a hushed voice.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need to wait a bit.¡±


    Using guns would be the absolute last resort.


    We waited quietly, watching for an opportunity.


    Once the sun goes down, the earth cools rapidly.


    It wasn¡¯t cold enough to need winter gear, but the temperature drop made my body shrink inward.


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    Maybe it was the chill. Maybe the adrenaline in his body had finally worn off.


    Cheon Young-jae suddenly apologized.


    ¡°I got too worked up the past few days.¡±


    ¡°You had a reason?¡±


    Might as well ask now.


    Being ex-Pioneer Corps is hardly something to brag about.


    ¡°People say everyone gets one or two chances in life, right?¡±


    With glowing eyes fixed beyond the darkness, he spoke.


    ¡°Anyway, those bastards up there. They¡¯re pretty tense.¡±


    No surprise.


    They had a heavy fight last night, and we have a score to settle.


    I¡¯d be on high alert too if I were them.


    As we waited, Cheon Young-jae let out a long sigh.


    ¡°...The Pioneer Corps felt like one of those chances to me.¡±


    ¡°The Corps?¡±


    I was a little surprised.


    Didn¡¯t expect him to say that himself.


    But if even the cautious Ha Tae-hoon had mentioned it, it couldn¡¯t be that big a secret.


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s gaze drifted off into empty space¡ªas if he were staring back into the past.


    ¡°There was this old man at the shelter. Big guy, booming voice. Even wearing ragged clothes, he had this aura of wealth.¡±


    A sneeze rang out from above.


    Loud and obnoxious.


    Ignoring the nose blowing in the background, Cheon Young-jae continued reminiscing.


    ¡°He was supposedly a near-billionaire. What was it? In the ¡®1 to 3 Trillion Won Club¡¯?¡±


    ¡°A rich guy, huh.¡±


    ¡°His catchphrase was that he had a hidden bunker. Said he got caught out here because the war started faster than he expected, so he couldn¡¯t get into it in time.¡±


    The story goes back to the chaos at the very start of the war.

 Chapter 135.3: Generation (3)

    At the beginning of the war, the movement of refugees was strictly controlled.


    To be precise, it was easy to enter, but leaving was difficult.


    Once you entered one of the large-scale refugee camps in major cities, the police and military were responsible for controlling the refugees.


    It wasn¡¯t easy for an individual to escape this control unless they were part of a group that could raise their voice.


    Thus, what someone did before the war and how much wealth they had didn¡¯t matter much anymore.


    The world had regressed to a one-dimensional state.


    What mattered now were the resources in your possession and the skills you could demonstrate within the narrow confines of the refugee camp.


    Cheon Young-jae was a person who stood out in such an environment.


    He was one of the top-level Hunters, a school-trained expert with plenty of combat experience. He was even a low-level Awakened.


    The old man Park Yeong-chuk, whom Cheon Young-jae often mentioned, had been a billionaire before the war, a person who lived in the clouds, but now he was just a feeble old man draped in worn-out luxury.


    The unlikely pair¡ªa young man and an old man¡ªhad joined forces.


    Cheon Young-jae didn¡¯t explain how they had teamed up, because the battle had already started.


    ¡°Now¡¯s the time. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a difficult task.


    We found a gap in the defenses, slipped through, and neutralized the threat.


    Thwack!


    Killing someone with an axe is never a pleasant experience. At the very least, the only kindness I could offer was to end their life without making them suffer.


    Thwack!


    Cheon Young-jae used a hand axe.


    He was someone who changed his cold weapon as needed, and this time, it seemed like he had picked the weapon that fit his hand best.


    We disabled three men and entered the care home.


    -->


    It seemed like they¡¯d only set up a single entrance for defense, which was a limited and nai?ve idea.


    For raiders coming in to plunder, it might have been a decent choice. But for someone like Cheon Young-jae, whose purpose was pure slaughter rather than looting, it was a perfect environment.


    There was a large mirror at the entrance.


    It seemed to have been unused for a while, with cracks running through it and stains all over, making the reflected image appear blurry.


    Without thinking, I stared into the mirror and caught my reflection when Cheon Young-jae suddenly spoke.


    ¡°Let¡¯s set it on fire.¡±


    A reasonable decision.


    If we set fire to the building, we could probably kill most of them.


    I hesitated for a moment.


    ¡°What¡¯s the hesitation?¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t we talk for a bit first?¡±


    ¡°What are you going to talk about?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae frowned, but when he saw the bloodlust in his eyes, he closed his mouth and spoke in a calmer tone.


    ¡°What? Talk to the old man? Even if we did, he wouldn¡¯t listen.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s at least deal with the leader.¡±


    We had already won the upper hand.


    The only places the old people could emerge from were narrow hallways and staircases.


    Both the first and second-floor windows were blocked with concrete or bricks.


    It wouldn¡¯t be smart for anyone to show themselves in a hallway guarded by two Hunters.


    Every limb exposed would be riddled with bullets.


    ¡°Do you think there might be someone in there who disagrees with the old man?¡±


    Despite the generational gap, they were all South Koreans.


    Before the rise of extreme capitalism, the elderly in South Korea had a better image.


    I fired a shot into the air as Cheon Young-jae remained silent.


    Bang!


    Again, the battle was already over.


    The old men had fallen into the trap they had set, and their lives were now in our hands.


    Of course, they put up some resistance.


    Bang! Bang!


    Two more bodies dropped, and finally, they agreed to negotiate.


    My demands were simple.


    ¡°Send the person who contacted us. Bring them here.¡±


    The old men remained silent.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you one hour.¡±


    Beyond the hallway, the old men were murmuring among themselves.


    A heated argument.


    It didn¡¯t seem like they would make a decision easily.


    Meanwhile, Cheon Young-jae was preparing to set the place on fire.


    Synthetic oil, firewood, and a single match.


    In peacetime, these things wouldn¡¯t even be worth a million won, but for the massacre we were preparing, they were more than enough.


    ¡°So, where were we?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae, now grinning, resumed his story.


    ¡°Right, we were talking about the secret bunker with Park Yeong-chuk, right?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t an easy task.


    There was the issue of distance, and weapons were also necessary.


    Cheon Young-jae didn¡¯t have any firearms or vehicles.


    If he were facing a human, he could fight with cold weapons, but if he encountered a mutation, that would change things.


    For someone like me, a Hunter skilled in cold weapons, I could fight mutations with similar weapons, but depending on the type and experience of the mutation, I might end up being devoured.


    Finding a vehicle was no easy task.


    Even though vehicles were still running in the city, for people stuck in the refugee camp with nothing to gather, the only option was theft or robbery.


    Then I spotted an advertisement for Pioneer Corps recruitment.


    Cheon Young-jae, with his extensive connections, knew what the Pioneer Corps was.


    Park Yeong-chuk also had some connections and knew about the organization.


    ¡°There are many definitions of democracy, but they all turned out to be nonsense. Democracy is a system for the elderly. There¡¯s no better political system for serving the elderly than democracy. Why? Because the elderly get a vote too, right?¡±


    Park Yeong-chuk chuckled while sipping his drink.


    ¡°The Pioneer Corps is the government¡¯s answer to the question of what to do with elderly people who can¡¯t vote.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae often described Park Yeong-chuk as someone who was inherently negative about everything.


    He doubted everything.


    Even the pure intentions or good will of others.


    ¡°That guy always talks as though he¡¯s already made up his mind. Whether he¡¯s right or wrong doesn¡¯t matter to him. His words are always the truth, because he says so. ¡®Why? Because I¡¯m older and I¡¯ve accumulated wealth. What meaning do your words have?¡¯ Even if he admits the wealth wasn¡¯t earned but inherited from an orchard land that rose in value by luck.¡±


    The Pioneer Corps provided weapons, vehicles, some food, and manpower to reach their destination.


    Despite its questionable purpose, both men decided to use this opportunity.


    Even though the Old ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Original source) School Hunter had fallen behind the Awakened, he was still a top-tier force among the Be-Awakened.


    Cheon Young-jae, a veteran sent to China, was naturally in charge of the Pioneer Corps.


    The Pioneer Corps started with seven members.


    As the first Pioneer Corps, it attracted a variety of people.


    Some joined just to secure food and money for their wives and children. Some joined because they hated the frustrating life in the refugee camp. Some had been dishonorably discharged from the frontlines. Even a woman was among them.


    But they all knew exactly what they were doing.


    They were all killers and mass murderers.


    None could argue that they didn¡¯t know what they were getting into.


    The Pioneer Corps was composed of fifty elderly people, and they left Seoul in search of new opportunities.


    Cheon Young-jae took on ten more elderly people during the process, and his proactive actions impressed government officials.


    ¡°Hunters who¡¯ve been to China are different, huh?¡±


    Whether it was a compliment or sarcasm, Cheon Young-jae led the Pioneer Corps, now with 67 members, southward.


    ¡°Hey! You there! Let¡¯s talk, let¡¯s talk.¡±


    At that point, the old man who had contacted us finally spoke up.


    ¡°We had no bad intentions! We didn¡¯t mean any harm!¡±


    Behind the wall, his voice came slowly, now sounding irritating.


    ¡°You killed four of us already. Do you want more blood? Are you murderers? Huh? What do you gain by killing more of us old folks who have no time left? Damn. Hell, be damned. You bastards.¡±


    His whimpering was cut short by a single shot from Cheon Young-jae.


    ¡°Shut your mouth and crawl out. You either die alone or die with the other corpses. Simple, right?¡±


    Cheon Young-jae glanced at his watch.


    ¡°30 minutes left.¡±


    He glanced at the pile of firewood beside him.


    The argument resumed.


    This time, it turned into a full-fledged quarrel.


    ¡°Damn bastard!¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you die instead, you piece of shit!¡±


    ¡°Why should I die, huh? You ignorant bastard who never even went to college!¡±


    Just because they were old didn¡¯t mean they argued gracefully.


    Their bickering felt more one-dimensional and crude than a child¡¯s argument.


    ¡°That¡¯s how it was back then.¡±


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s gaze turned back to the past, filled with regret.


    ¡°There was a fight among the old folks on the bus. It was childish and vulgar.¡±


    Of course, the quarrel between the old folks was exactly what Cheon Young-jae and Park Yeong-chuk had hoped for.


    They were all meant to die in front of Park Yeong-chuk¡¯s bunker anyway.


    When the bus left Gyeonggi-do, the Pioneer Corps showed their true colors.


    ¡°Just wait a minute.¡±


    An old woman suddenly stopped the bus, claiming she needed to use the restroom. When she left, the bus moved on without her.


    That was the first abandonment.


    Even though she screamed and chased after the bus, it continued on.


    The second abandonment was even bolder.


    ¡°Elderly people, go to that house.¡±


    The man leading the group, a father with two daughters, was a devoted family man but ruthless to the elderly.


    ¡°Go! Move, you old bastards!¡±


    They abandoned ten elderly people at a derelict apartment and drove off.


    By then, the elderly realized their fate, exchanging glances and trying to figure out how to survive, but they didn¡¯t know what was coming.


    They didn¡¯t know there was a traitor among them.


    The Pioneer Corps let the elderly occupy a bus without fuel and moved forward without them.


    Only twenty of the elderly remained.


    ¡°Captain, shouldn¡¯t we wrap things up here?¡±


    Kim Yeo-sa, the only woman driving the bus, checked the fuel and asked Cheon Young-jae.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go a little further.¡±


    It was just as he said.


    A little further, and we would reach Park Yeong-chuk''s bunker.


    At that point, I asked a question.


    "That Park Yeong-chuk guy, he seemed quite formidable. Did you really want to live with someone like him?"


    Cheon Young-jae shrugged.


    "He had diabetes. He hadn''t been able to take his medicine for over a year. And besides diabetes, he had all sorts of chronic illnesses. How long do you think someone like that would survive?"


    The fact that Cheon Young-jae knew even about the hidden, invisible diseases like diabetes suggests they were quite close.


    But even so, it¡¯s questionable whether Cheon Young-jae trusted Park Yeong-chuk''s words.


    Did it make sense for him to risk his life, and even sacrifice others, on an adventure where the secret bunker might not even exist?


    It didn¡¯t align with Cheon Young-jae¡¯s usual cautiousness and his tendency to always doubt others.


    Now, the bus had reached the bunker.


    The first victim was the driver, Mrs. Park.


    Bang!


    The shot pierced the back of her head in one blow.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    With her head collapsed onto the steering wheel, Mrs. Park died instantly, and the bus continued to roll toward the cliff on the winding mountain road.


    Amid the chaos, Cheon Young-jae grabbed Park Yeong-chuk¡¯s arm and jumped out.


    The bus plunged to the bottom in an instant.


    A clean and efficient solution, typical of Cheon Young-jae.


    Now, it was time for the reckoning.


    The old man, whose death seemed imminent, climbed the rugged mountain path with surprising agility, almost defying his age.


    "Here it is. Over here."


    The two of them reached the entrance to the bunker.


    It was a secret stronghold hidden behind natural cliffs.


    "There should be Jeong-hoon and Jeong-hee in there too. I saw them once when we were young, remember?"


    With a satisfied smile, Park Yeong-chuk pressed a hidden intercom.


    But there was no response from inside.


    Park Yeong-chuk, using some unknown method, opened the door.


    As it opened, a foul odor pierced the air.


    The smell of decaying human corpses.


    "No... No..."


    There were seven bodies.


    Four adults, three children.


    "No... Jeong-hoon... Jeong-hee... No... Oh, Chung-ho... Chung-un..."


    The state of the corpses was so damaged that it was impossible to guess the cause of death, but based on the burn marks and unburned fire starters, it was presumed to be suicide.


    In front of the bodies, Park Yeong-chuk knelt and couldn¡¯t speak for a while.


    The bodies needed to be moved.


    Even in a well-ventilated bunker, if corpses were left to rot inside, the stench would be unbearable and a risk of disease would rise.


    Cheon Young-jae moved the bodies outside.


    Moving the bodies was a tedious and troublesome task, but for Cheon Young-jae, it was a stroke of luck.


    They were troublesome people.


    Including the dead children.


    Moreover, he thought their deaths could be another opportunity for him.


    "He was my father."


    At that moment, Cheon Young-jae solved the biggest mystery himself.


    "He was an illegitimate child. The reason he made me a Hunter wasn¡¯t just because I wanted to do it, but because he probably wanted me to die quickly. It must have been because I was one year older than the others in my class, right? You know how hard that is for a senior, right?"


    While moving the last body, Cheon Young-jae thought about comforting words.


    He had never spent any time with his father, so he felt a mixture of excitement, fear, and expectation about how to approach the father he had never known.


    But reality, as always, was cold.


    Thud!


    The bunker door slammed shut.


    "...President?"


    He knocked on the door.


    There was no answer.


    "President Park Yeong-chuk!"


    He kept knocking.


    But there was no response from inside.


    "What are you doing? Huh? What about the promise?"


    Darkness was falling.


    Even though it was early autumn, the mountain air was chilly.


    He knocked so hard that his fists nearly bled, but there was no answer.


    As his dry calls began to carry emotion, he raised his voice.


    "Why are you doing this? I followed your orders, didn¡¯t I? Huh? I killed people as you asked, and I¡¯ve thrown the old people who trusted you and followed you all down there! Why? Why are you doing this!"


    Silence.


    Finally, he tried appealing to the familial bond.


    "Father...!!"


    But even his desperate appeal went unanswered.


    In the chilling silence, Cheon Young-jae, his body soaked in his own blood, slid down the iron door.


    "...Damn it."


    He muttered.


    "How much longer do I have to live..."


    As soon as the muttering ended, a chilling voice echoed from beyond the iron door.


    "That¡¯s your true heart."


    Cheon Young-jae¡¯s biological father spoke for the first time.


    Cheon Young-jae turned around with wide eyes.


    Only then did he realize.


    His biological father had been standing silently beyond the door from the very beginning.


    With patience that was almost sinister, he had been waiting to catch that one slip of the tongue.


    "That¡¯s what you really think!"


    With a fury that felt like a lash of a whip, Cheon Young-jae spotted a camera reflecting him from an angle.


    Bang!


    He shot it, breaking the camera in one blow.


    Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!


    He shot the door as well.


    The metal door dented, but it didn¡¯t show any signs of opening.


    After emptying the entire magazine, Cheon Young-jae turned around.


    He had known from the start.


    The day that door would open would never come.


    Even if he died from illness or old age inside, that old man would never give him a single benefit.


    "..."


    550km, mutations, raiders, the cold and food, legal consequences when returning, and investigations.


    Another harsh reality loomed like a dark cloud beyond the fading night, but Cheon Young-jae didn¡¯t hesitate for a moment and took a step toward the darkness.


    "Well, that¡¯s the story."


    With a nonchalant tone, Cheon Young-jae said.


    "That old man? He¡¯s probably dead by now. But even if we go there, the shelter itself won¡¯t mean anything. I saw that the food and fuel they stored are nearly gone. The bunker looks grand, but it¡¯s empty inside. He was so foolish, he killed himself."


    "..."


    Maybe, from this moment, his chronic suspicion had firmly taken root.


    "Get out! Bastard! Get out!"


    The reality was more or less settled.


    The old man who had harmed us was dragged out by another elderly person.


    He was a dignified old man with white hair.


    His face quickly twisted into a grotesque expression.


    Clack!


    He spat at the other old man, and at that moment, Cheon Young-jae shot him.


    Bang!


    In the knee.


    Bang!


    In the other knee.


    The old man collapsed, his legs twisted in different directions.


    "Ahhh!"


    Towards the screaming old man, Cheon Young-jae fired his last bullet.


    He smiled with satisfaction.


    "You don¡¯t need to talk to the old ones. Why do we even talk about generational differences? Our ways of thinking are different. There¡¯s no communication between us."


    The matchstick sparked.


    "I¡¯ll be the bad guy."


    "..."


    No words were spoken.


    In fact, I knew.


    This was the cleanest and most certain solution.


    The fire quickly caught.


    "What are you doing?"


    "Ahhh!"


    Amid the chaos, I suddenly looked at the mirror hanging on the wall.


    Whether it was the blazing flames or the pervasive darkness, or maybe the cracks and stains on the mirror, I didn¡¯t know, but the reflection of our faces in the mirror was different from usual.


    The cracked, blurry image was not much different from the old men beyond the flames.

 Chapter 136.1: Candle (1)

    The flames burned all through the night.


    If not for the rain that fell at dawn, it would¡¯ve consumed the entire mountain. The fire spread with terrifying force.


    I salvaged some food, guns, and a bit of ammunition.


    The next morning during breakfast, someone asked what had happened to the others.


    I hesitated for a moment.


    Should I tell the truth, or lie?


    The hesitation didn¡¯t last long.


    I told the truth.


    ¡°They¡¯re all dead. Just got unlucky.¡±


    Not much of a story, really.


    Back in pre-war days, it would¡¯ve been no different than hearing about some bombing in the Middle East and a few locals getting blown up. No one gave a damn then either.


    No one cares about the fate of a few old folks who burned to death.


    Still, the reason I hesitated even for a second before saying it aloud was because... I had a feeling this kind of thing might keep happening.


    This one was easy enough to explain. But in the long, long road ahead, there will be people and events that prod at our sense of right and wrong.


    And the one who¡¯ll end up choosing, unless something changes, will probably be me.


    When it gets colder, when the frost hits for real¡ªmore choices will come. Harder ones. Dirtier ones.


    I was staring blankly at the slowly fading green of the mountains, half-lost in the bitter taste of tea and the weight of it all, when¡ª


    ¡°Skelton-nim.¡±


    Ballantine came looking for me.


    *


    Right after my trip to Seoul, Ballantine and I had a chat about Necropolis.


    -->


    Ballantine still seemed convinced that Necropolis was a miracle built on the genius of someone called Deadman_working, but he didn¡¯t outright reject my theory that the ¡°waves¡± Necropolis uses aren¡¯t ordinary radio signals, but voices of the Rift.


    ¡°...Well, the Rift is full of unexplainable crap. I mean, we''ve had monsters popping in and out like it¡¯s a revolving door, but not a single one has been scientifically understood. Might as well ask the guy himself. Not that I expect a reply.¡±


    Turns out, the reply came yesterday.


    ¡°Came quicker than expected. He seemed surprised too.¡±


    Together, we read the message from Deadman_working.


    The sentence, written in English, automatically translated the moment we pressed the key. Just like that, it became something natural to read and process in our language.


    Message from Deadman_working: Yeah, it¡¯s probably a frequency from the Rift. Total fluke of a ¡®discovery.¡¯


    Deadman_working was not the type to hoard knowledge or cloak himself in mystique like some guru.


    He laid it all out, straight and clear.


    Ballantine had contacted him because he was running into problems integrating Necropolis¡¯s signals with Viva! Apocalypse!


    Viva! Apocalypse! uses cutting-edge satellite tech to provide high-speed internet access.


    Sure, it¡¯s only about half the speed of pre-war LAN connections, but its rock-solid infrastructure and consistent post-war performance are the reason Melon Mask became the world¡¯s most successful entrepreneur.


    Necropolis, on the other hand, is a product born from nothing¡ªignoring every known law of science, like it ripped a chunk out of magic and forced it into reality. Because of its very nature, it can¡¯t handle much traffic. It''s barely functional.


    Let me borrow Ballantine¡¯s words for a clearer comparison.


    ¡°If Viva! Apocalypse! is the Han River, Necropolis is the dirty runoff in a storm drain.¡±


    Trying to merge the two was a huge technical headache for Ballantine.


    He struggled with it alone until finally, he reached out to Deadman_working. And surprisingly, just like his initial reply, the answer came back fast and direct.


    ¡°He¡¯s not normal, that one. Even if it was just a fluke, being able to interpret and utilize those Rift signals like that... that¡¯s genius. A guy like me couldn¡¯t even dream of it.¡±


    I¡¯d sensed it before, but Ballantine was slowly stepping out of John Nae-non¡¯s shadow.


    He still considered John Nae-non a great creator, but his gaze had long since shifted to this mysterious figure, Deadman_working.


    You could tell from the way he spoke about him¡ªhis eyes, his tone.


    Ballantine saw Deadman_working as his second role model. Maybe even a god.


    A kind of reverence only someone deep in the world of networks could feel.


    Something I¡¯d never understand.


    Anyway, Deadman_working shared the same concerns as Ballantine.


    Message from Deadman_working: I¡¯ve been thinking about that too. How to increase Necropolis¡¯s bandwidth. It might be dominant in the SNS scene now, but it¡¯s nowhere near Melon Mask¡¯s services.


    Message from Deadman_working: I mean, come on. People used to watching YouTube and TikTok aren¡¯t gonna be satisfied reading a few lines of text.


    Then, he made a proposal.


    Message from Deadman_working: I heard you¡¯re living with Skelton.


    Message from Deadman_working: If it¡¯s not too much, could you do me a favor?


    The favor?


    ¡°It¡¯s about the Rift,¡± Ballantine said, his voice low.


    ¡°He wants us to measure the frequencies near a Rift.¡±


    Now I understood why Deadman_working mentioned me before dropping the request.


    Classic ? N§àv§ÖIight ? (Read more on our source) Deadman.


    He was asking for something extremely difficult¡ªand dangerous.


    Back during the war, you might¡¯ve had Kill Zones and troops guarding the Rift. But now? The areas around breached Rifts are monster havens.


    That kind of terrain is known as overruned zones. I¡¯ve never seen one up close, but footage from India showed them teeming with even more monsters and alien lifeforms than the Rift I stayed in for a month.


    And this guy wants us to just waltz in there, unarmed?


    ¡°Can¡¯t we just send a drone?¡±


    ¡°If it were seven or eight years ago, maybe. But now? Monsters react even faster to drones than they do to humans.¡±


    ¡°Ha... goddamn.¡±


    Ballantine clicked his tongue in frustration.


    I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve seen all his facial expressions, but this was the first time he looked that openly disappointed.


    No, more than disappointed¡ªhe looked crushed.


    But this is no simple favor.


    Only top-tier Awakened like Kang Han-min or Na Hye-in could even dream of stepping into an overruned zone.


    For unblessed people like us, it''s a death sentence. Forbidden territory.


    ¡°Ha... if things went well, Deadman_working said he¡¯d engrave our usernames on the new upgraded Necropolis gate...¡±


    ¡°What did you just say?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Just now¡ªdid you say something about usernames?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that?¡±


    Every person entering Necropolis sees a line etched above the gate.


    [For F. Sawyer, M. O''Connor, and the Lovely Red.]


    No one knows who Sawyer, O¡¯Connor, or the ¡°Lovely Red¡± are.


    But the hundreds of thousands of Necropolis users know those names.


    ¡°You¡¯re saying our usernames would be up there next to theirs?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± Ballantine said with a laugh, waving his hands.


    ¡°......¡±


    Let me think for a moment.


    *


    ¡°Hey. What¡¯s gotten into you, calling me first and all?¡±


    I called Woo Min-hee and explained the situation.


    ¡°What? You want to explore the Rift zone?¡±


    I started off with some flowery academic bullshit¡ªpure curiosity, scientific passion¡ªthen got to the real reason: Necropolis.


    To boost the persuasion factor, I threw in a little exaggerated account of how much effort I¡¯d already put in.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t slept in a month... trying to understand the link between Necropolis and the monster frequencies...¡±


    ¡°......¡±


    ¡°Well, I guess you¡¯ve always had that kind of academic fire in you.¡±


    Screeeeech¡ª


    With a teasing grin, she added:


    ¡°Or is it narcissism?¡±


    ¡°...Zhuge Liang?¡±


    ¡°Bye~.¡±


    The reason I had no choice but to reach out to the ever-annoying Woo Min-hee is because her team is the only one with the experience, knowledge, and power to pull this off.


    She¡¯s part of the ¡°Alpha Team¡± alongside Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in, and they¡¯ve brought back countless results from deep inside the Rift.


    If she helps, the exploration around the Rift won¡¯t just be a pipe dream.


    No¡ªit¡¯ll be easy.


    I¡¯ve never been to an overruned zone, but I¡¯ve seen plenty of similar places in China.


    After a long and torturous conversation, she finally agreed to help.


    ¡°But seriously, I¡¯ve been meaning to ask. Why the hell do you love mom jokes so much? Even elementary school kids don¡¯t say that shit anymore. You¡¯re literally the one person who shouldn¡¯t be making jokes like that.¡±


    Sure, she threw in some nagging, but I¡¯m not the kind of weak-hearted guy who crumbles over a bit of that.


    Thanks to Viva! Apocalypse!, I¡¯ve gotten stronger.


    Anyway, now that Woo Min-hee¡¯s on board, I¡¯ve got nothing holding me back.


    I¡¯d already been thinking I should do something big before winter hits.


    It might be dangerous¡ªbut can it really compare to the risks and sacrifices our John Nae-non took on?


    The problem came from inside.


    ¡°You serious? The internet again?¡±


    I never expected everyone to understand me.


    I get that some people take issue with how obsessed I am with the internet and the virtual world.


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to stop you. It¡¯s just... feels like you¡¯ve got your priorities backwards.¡±


    Oddly enough, the one who spoke up was Ha Tae-hoon.


    A guy who usually avoids confrontation and keeps things smooth and neutral. For him to say something like that... he must¡¯ve been holding it in for a long time.


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    It wasn¡¯t a grudge built up over a day or two.


    Ha Tae-hoon and I are different people.


    Different backgrounds, different regions, different ways of life.


    He used the internet, sure¡ªbut he never sank into it.


    He saw it as a useful tool, nothing more. Like any normal person would. He never got lost in it.


    By pre-war standards, he¡¯d fall neatly into the category of a healthy, functioning adult.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you build this whole damn bunker to survive?¡±


    He wasn¡¯t wrong.


    I spent three years building this place from scratch, so I could ride out the apocalypse more comfortably than anyone else.


    But people change. Their thoughts shift.


    ¡°True,¡± I said. ¡°But think about it, Tae-hoon.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to argue or try to convince him.


    Who gets persuaded by words anymore?


    I just spoke my mind, quietly.


    ¡°Even if I die, wouldn¡¯t it be nice to have one or two stories to smile about before I go?¡±


    Yeah, sure. I admit the odds of dying are ridiculously high¡ªbut I¡¯m not factoring that in.


    There was a saying from a pre-war spiritualist: even in an instant death, a person sees the entire course of their life flash before their eyes.


    Either way, I wasn¡¯t changing my mind.


    ¡°...You¡¯re the boss around here. I¡¯m just saying it ¡®cause I¡¯m worried.¡±


    Ha Tae-hoon sighed and muttered to himself.


    Probably thinking about what would happen to this place if I died.


    It could become a problem, yeah.


    But¡ª


    ¡°Tae-hoon.¡±


    I stepped closer to him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come back.¡±


    I won¡¯t fail.


    And with that, the schedule for the Rift expedition was set.


    Just two of us would go.


    Me and Ballantine.


    This was a different situation from Necropolis.


    We couldn¡¯t take everyone. We shouldn¡¯t take everyone.


    Our territory had already been exposed more than once, so we needed stronger defenses than before.


    More importantly, this mission was for us.


    Ballantine joining wasn¡¯t part of the original plan.


    Exploring the outskirts of the Rift¡ªan overruned zone¡ªis dangerously risky.


    It¡¯s not just the mutations or monsters.


    There are those native otherworldly species that appeared even before the monsters did. Freakish beings that crowd the Rift''s edges.


    Scholars once assumed they were local fauna of another dimension¡ªnatural, in a way. But that theory was long since disproven.


    Because beyond the Rift, there¡¯s nothing alive.


    The other side is a realm of pure death.


    Not even a single bacterium can survive in it.


    No new theories came after that chilling discovery.


    The war broke out, and rendered everything else meaningless.


    Personally, I think those otherworldly species are probably prototypes.


    Experimental monsters¡ªtest batches, tweaked to adapt to Earth¡¯s environment. Designed to multiply their grotesque pale-gray forms.


    You can tell just by how they¡¯ve changed¡ªdocile at first, then steadily more savage, as if evolving specifically to exterminate humans.


    In short, there¡¯s a high chance we¡¯ll run into things I¡¯ve never seen before.


    So before setting out, I made sure to sit Ballantine down and explain everything.


    The danger of otherworldly lifeforms. The extreme conditions. The unique madness that leaks through the erosion zone and drives people insane.


    But Ballantine¡ªhe really is a man of the apocalypse.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do it,¡± he said.


    Not a flicker of fear in his expression.


    ¡°To hell with it. Worst case, we die, right?¡±


    His resolve was firm. Not taking him would¡¯ve been disrespectful.


    Still, I made what preparations I could.


    ¡°If anything happens... is there someone you¡¯d want us to contact?¡±


    Realistically, I have a better chance of surviving than Ballantine.


    It¡¯s a bit shameful, but true¡ªif we were in danger, I¡¯d be forced to prioritize myself.


    Even with Woo Min-hee¡¯s support, the mission won¡¯t stop being risky.


    ¡°...Hmm.¡±


    Ballantine¡¯s eyes drifted to the side.


    He seemed to be thinking hard.


    Then finally, he opened his mouth.


    ¡°I guess... maybe my ex-wife. She might already be dead, though.¡±


    ¡°You were married?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Long before the war. We were divorced before everything went to hell.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. We both screwed up. Still, I confirmed she was alive before the Penguin Gang left. So there¡¯s a chance she still is. I think she¡¯s living with another guy now, though.¡±


    Ballantine gave a vague, weary smile.


    ¡°Still. I¡¯m her ex-husband. If someone¡¯s gonna send the obituary, might as well be me.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.¡±


    I took a photo.


    A solo shot of Ballantine.


    He stood in front of our territory, flashing a V-sign with an awkward smile.


    Far in the background, Sue walked by and gave us a quick glance¡ªlike a small, unintended detail in the picture.


    ¡°Skelton-nim, aren¡¯t you gonna take one?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    I smiled faintly.

 Chapter 136.2: Candle (2)

    Woo Min-hee sent a vehicle.


    And surprisingly, inside that vehicle was my disciple¡ªwhom I¡¯d thought was dead.


    ¡°Hello, Instructor Park.¡±


    Song Yoo-jin greeted me in a voice as mature as her now-grown-up appearance.


    I wanted to ask what had happened to her, but we weren¡¯t alone in the vehicle, so I held my tongue.


    The journey went smoothly.


    So smoothly, in fact, that all the detailed prep and careful planning felt almost excessive. At times, it was even boring.


    ¡°Ambush up ahead. Be careful.¡±


    Aside from one group of raiders lying in wait, there were no threats at all.


    When we stopped the car and waited, the raiders abandoned their position and ran off into the mountains.


    ¡°There are a lot of zealots in this area.¡±


    Song Yoo-jin, her eyes faintly glowing, watched them disappear as she spoke.


    We crossed the Han River via one of the few remaining bridges.


    Smoke rose from a distant bridge we could see from afar.


    ¡°Refugees. They set up camp on top of it.¡±


    Sure enough, there were tents and makeshift structures up there.


    The bridge had collapsed on the north end, connecting only from the south. There was a small island underneath, and they were farming on it.


    Less like a bridge, more like a fortress on the river.


    Not a bad setup.


    Water and food could be sourced from below, and it would be easy to defend.


    But against a superior invading force, it was just a well-wrapped gift.


    -->


    ¡°Gimpo Bridge,¡± Ballantine murmured, watching.


    ¡°You used to live nearby?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Lived in Gimpo for a bit when I was newly married.¡±


    We left the bridge behind and moved on.


    Beyond it stretched a color that sickened my heart.


    The erosion zone.


    ¡°......¡±


    It had already spread this far.


    Back when I visited Woo Min-hee¡¯s territory, the erosion hadn¡¯t reached the Han River.


    It¡¯s different now.


    Now, there¡¯s no state, no army, no people to stop the monsters.


    When there¡¯s nothing to interfere, erosion spreads with terrifying speed.


    By sundown, even the land where those people live on the bridge may be painted gray.


    We followed the endlessly sprawling sickly colors until a junction appeared.


    A rusted, hastily welded road sign announced we were near the Paju Rift.


    [RESTRICTED AREA ¨C AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY]


    [BEYOND THIS POINT, LIFE CANNOT BE GUARANTEED]


    I hadn¡¯t seen a sign like that in a while.


    It reminded me of something from the past.


    Back then, ¡°YouTubers¡± would sometimes sneak past these restricted zones.


    Not out of bravery, but to survive in their own way.


    They lived off attention¡ªsurviving by drawing the eyes of others.


    The real problem was that they caused more chaos for the military than the monsters ever did.


    Monsters were dealt with through organized field manuals and proper command structures. But those reckless attention-seekers? You never knew where they¡¯d sneak in or what kind of mess they¡¯d make.


    One of them got through, and the entire base would flip into crisis mode.


    Some even filmed themselves live, trying to milk as much content as possible while invading military zones.


    Before China went berserk, such stunts were tolerated to a degree. But when trade collapsed and war became imminent, there was no room for leniency.


    Before I left the frontlines, I remember the military had begun deploying what they called ¡°Clown Kill Teams.¡±


    The process was simple: when an internet clown trespassed, they¡¯d send a marksman to take them out from a distance.


    Bang!


    Bang-bang!


    If you heard a shot from behind, it was almost certainly aimed at them.


    One case I remember: five of them snuck in while filming selfies and videos. Five snipers simultaneously blew their phones apart, then shot them in the gut to drop them on the spot.


    Two died instantly. The other three thrashed in agony before dying slowly.


    We crossed that boundary.


    Not that it mattered.


    We¡¯d already entered the erosion zone long ago.


    ¡°This is the Rift zone from here on.¡±


    The vehicle stopped.


    Time to gear up.


    Three people were accompanying us.


    My disciple, Song Yoo-jin, and two unidentified young men¡ªlikely Awakened.


    They were all in their early twenties, but they carried that air of veterans¡ªcalm, detached from the value of life.


    They must¡¯ve crossed countless lines between life and death.


    While we prepped, Song Yoo-jin waved me over.


    Once we were far enough from the others, she let out a deep sigh and launched into an aggrieved rant, face scrunched with injustice.


    ¡°Sir. Seriously. I thought I¡¯d never see you again. I mean it. Seriously!¡±


    ¡°...All I heard was that Woo Min-hee kicked you out.¡±


    ¡°I went back. And saw some of the ugliest shit this world has to offer. I practically begged Director Woo to take me back, ready to die. I told her I¡¯d do anything. Thankfully, she gave me another chance¡ªbut this time, she stuck me on recon...¡±


    Looking closely, I could see the marks of hardship all over her.


    Especially the faint scar etched on her cheek.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been through a lot.¡±


    No need to ask for the details.


    Everyone¡¯s been through something.


    It¡¯s not unusual.


    But the fact that Woo Min-hee sent her out of all people¡ªthere had to be a reason.


    As usual, my instincts were right.


    My disciple looked at me with a face I didn¡¯t recognize, asking with deceptive casualness:


    ¡°I got a rough idea from Director Woo... but what exactly are you going to the overruned zone for?¡±


    She was checking my intentions.


    And knowing Song Yoo-jin, she''d report everything back.


    I had nothing to hide, so I answered truthfully.


    ¡°To pick up signals from the Rift?¡±


    It stung a little, seeing my once-pure disciple become such a skilled operative¡ªbut as her teacher, I could still see it as growth.


    If she¡¯d stayed pure, Woo Min-hee never would¡¯ve taken her back.


    There was good news, though.


    ¡°We just need to get close to the Rift, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Then follow us. We have a patrol route we always use.¡±


    As expected, my junior Woo Min-hee hadn¡¯t been idle.


    She might¡¯ve seemed like she was just lying low in Paju after leaving Incheon, but she¡¯d been carving out her own position all along.


    Establishing a safe route through the overruned zone wasn¡¯t something that could happen without serious willpower.


    The moment I saw the patrol path, I couldn¡¯t help but let out a bitter laugh.


    It looked like the remains of a giant serpent stretched out before us, stripped to the bone.


    A tunnel formed from vehicles, steel frames, and scrap materials stretched toward the Rift¡ªits outer shell full of gaps, yet clearly designed for shielding.


    ¡°Woo Min-hee made this?¡±


    I asked Song Yoo-jin, inspecting the clumsy, rough-hewn structures.


    She nodded solemnly.


    ¡°Yeah. Director Woo put this together with a few of her crew.¡±


    She pulled on her gas mask.


    It didn¡¯t seem strictly necessary, but since everyone else wore one, I put mine on too¡ªand offered one to Ballantine.


    ¡°How¡¯s it going?¡±


    This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.


    Ballantine was holding a device cobbled together from a tablet, antenna, and various electronics.


    A frequency meter built to Deadman_working¡¯s specs.


    ¡°Still hard to say.¡±


    Then he smiled faintly and corrected himself.


    ¡°Actually, I don¡¯t really know. I have no idea what he actually wants.¡±


    Deadman_working¡¯s instructions were simple: get within 10 meters of the Rift and record the nearby frequencies using the device he designed.


    What those fluctuating signals meant¡ªor how they formed the basis of Necropolis¡ªhe never explained.


    So Ballantine was basically just the recorder.


    We advanced down the path Woo Min-hee had created.


    I¡¯d served in the military for years, but the landscape had changed so completely I didn¡¯t recognize a thing.


    No signs of human life.


    Everything dead. A silent world.


    This was the erosion zone.


    Everywhere, plants twisted and corrupted by erosion looked like harbingers of the future, prophesying what lay ahead.


    ¡°......¡±


    Sweat poured down Ballantine¡¯s forehead like rain.


    This must¡¯ve been his first time entering an erosion zone.


    It was still Earth, technically¡ªbut the utter wrongness of the environment struck with unimaginable pressure.


    Many had vanished here.


    We don¡¯t know why.


    Maybe they went mad. Maybe they became something else. But no one who stayed long in the erosion zone ever came back.


    It¡¯s like they were erased entirely.


    ¡°Remember Kyle Dos?¡±


    I tried to ease Ballantine¡¯s tension.


    ¡°No... who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Ah, an old user from back in the day.¡±


    ¡°Is that so...¡±


    His eyes darted nervously, scanning side to side.


    He wasn¡¯t listening anymore.


    The fear had taken over.


    I gestured to Song Yoo-jin and halted the march.


    ¡°If it¡¯s too much, give me the equipment. I¡¯ll handle the readings.¡±


    It¡¯s not wise to leave a panicking person unattended.


    People who show fear openly are often the first to cause problems¡ªand one problem always leads to another.


    ¡°No. I have to go. I need to be the one to go. What else can a powerless guy like me even do?¡±


    Extreme stress has its own effect.


    You say things you¡¯d never say otherwise.


    I¡¯d always kept an eye on Ballantine, but even so, it seemed he¡¯d been feeling insecure in our group.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to put yourself down like that. You¡¯re a solid part of our team, Ballantine.¡±


    ¡°...I¡¯ll go all the way.¡±


    Ballantine truly had grit.


    If he didn¡¯t, he would¡¯ve left John Nae-non¡¯s side a long time ago¡ªand then this adventure of ours never would¡¯ve happened in the first place.


    ¡°...Alright. Stay strong. It¡¯s not going to get easier from here.¡±


    Barely had I finished speaking when Song Yoo-jin said flatly in a dry voice:


    ¡°Two o¡¯clock. Two of them.¡±


    Click¡ªclick¡ª


    The soldiers raised their rifles.


    Sure enough, something grotesque was slithering toward us through the pale-gray zone.


    Centipede-like. No¡ªmore like a giant millipede.


    It glided along the ground, thousands of legs moving in perfect unison.


    Judging by its size, it wasn¡¯t a monster. It was one of the otherworldly species.


    ¡°Can I shoot?¡±


    Song Yoo-jin nodded.


    Bang! Bang-bang!


    The rifles fired.


    Each bullet ?N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t? pierced what seemed to be their heads.


    Gruesomely, once their heads were destroyed, the creatures flipped onto their backs and spasmed violently, flailing their countless legs like some real-world insect¡ªthen vanished.


    ¡°...They¡¯re getting more biological by the day.¡±


    ¡°More will come. Let¡¯s move quickly.¡±


    The path Woo Min-hee carved climbed steeply uphill.


    And suddenly, I remembered.


    Just over that ridge lay the Paju Rift.


    The frontline humanity knew best.


    Disciplined soldiers and cutting-edge gear, a scientifically optimized kill zone, barracks behind it, hospitals, ammo depots, a foot volleyball court, bathhouses, helipads¡ªand at the rear, sniper nests and hunter waiting rooms.


    Few of those structures are probably still intact.


    Even if they are, the corrupted color of this place would fill me with unease.


    ¡°¡ªHah! Hahh!¡±


    The pace was fast.


    I had no trouble keeping up, but for Ballantine, it was clearly a struggle.


    Still, looking at his tightly clenched jaw, I knew¡ªoffering help would only wound his pride.


    So I said nothing and followed behind Song Yoo-jin and the others as they pressed forward.


    At the edge of the ridge, a skeleton was hung up.


    Must¡¯ve rotted away while leaning on the tunnel structure.


    ¡°Once we¡¯re past here, we¡¯ll be right in front of the Rift.¡±


    Her voice was tense.


    I caught it just briefly¡ªbut her shoulders trembled.


    A flicker of anxiety, invisible to the others.


    She must¡¯ve taken this mission under pressure.


    To avoid getting kicked out again.


    That brief tremor somehow overlapped in my mind with the sound of Ballantine gasping behind us.


    ¡°......¡±


    I pushed away the stray thoughts and stepped forward.


    Past the slope, the landscape opened wide¡ªa flat plain previously hidden.


    It was all still there.


    The bunker, the barracks, the watchtower, the distant mountains¡ªeverything.


    And at the center, calm as a lake, sometimes rippling in an eerie, unnatural way...


    The Rift.


    Time felt frozen.


    Except now, everything had turned pale gray.


    And that discoloration... that alone was the greatest, most irreversible change of all.


    Beneath the Rift, monsters loomed.


    I could spot at least twenty medium-sized ones right away.


    In between their territory¡ªfortress-like clusters¡ªwere unfamiliar small-types lying deathly still, as if pretending to be corpses. And slithering between them were countless otherworldly species, grotesque in shape.


    And the capsules.


    Capsules lined the mountains across from the Rift, so densely they seemed to fill the landscape.


    The operation is a failure.


    No¡ªthis is an operation that should never happen.


    We can¡¯t approach the target range.


    It¡¯s not a question of whether we can or can¡¯t. It¡¯s simply impossible.


    ¡°...What is that?¡±


    The sight before me was shocking enough on its own.


    It was already a given that South Korea¡ªor at least the area around Seoul¡ªwas done for.


    But this was different. Not entirely unexpected, but still jarring.


    What truly caught me off guard wasn¡¯t the monsters beyond the Rift.


    ¡°It¡¯s a person?¡±


    There was a person there.


    Standing still, unmoving, as if soulless¡ªlike a ghost.


    As if they were one of the monsters.


    ¡°Yes. That¡¯s a person,¡± said the man who hadn¡¯t spoken a single word until now.


    His voice was deep and calm, a low rumble.


    ¡°A believer.¡±


    He gazed at the person standing dazed in the pale-gray field, his eyes faintly glowing.


    I nodded instinctively.


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    That¡¯s right.


    That¡¯s what they were¡ªbelievers.


    True followers of the Manryu Gwijeonggyo.


    They didn¡¯t resist the monsters. They assimilated into their territory, let themselves be absorbed.


    It was the creed of a deranged madman¡ªbut it was the original belief of that cult.


    It always began and ended this way. That was the only known doctrine.


    Over time, that doctrine was distorted, rebranded, and used as the spark for countless revolutions and uprisings in China.


    The so-called ¡°fanatics¡± we talk about now? Even within the Manryu Gwijeonggyo, they¡¯re just another offshoot¡ªa cult within a cult.


    Strangely enough, the otherworldly species that are normally so hostile to us simply ignored the humans standing peacefully in their territory.


    ¡°...What do you think, Instructor?¡±


    Song Yoo-jin asked.


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°Director Woo wanted to know your thoughts after seeing them.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s mental illness.¡±


    There¡¯s nothing more to say.


    It¡¯s a sickness.


    If I were being generous, maybe I¡¯d say ¡°beautifully mad¡±? But that¡¯s as far as I¡¯d go.


    ¡°Hah! Hahh!¡±


    Ballantine finally caught up with us.


    ¡°Wow.¡±


    We all ignored his comment, but he kept talking to himself.


    ¡°Someone¡¯s coming.¡±


    Only then did we realize someone was approaching us from the side.


    A woman.


    Her hair was loose, her lips curled in a faint smile.


    Her eyes shimmered with a quiet light.


    Click¡ª


    An Awakened.