Chapter 21

Descent Beneath Suwon Station (1)

I fiddled with the cracked screen of my phone and checked the time.

February 5th, 2028. 8:15 AM.

I'd gotten up early.

Partly because I was nervous.

Partly because I was excited.

After all, today was the day the government and military would finally begin making full-scale use of magicians.

This development came hand in hand with Gyeonggi Province's transition into a wartime economy and an active frontline zone.

The social welfare office that had been reopened for operators had transformed once again.

This time, it looked more like a military surplus store, packed with military supplies and equipment.

Out front, Captain Kim Houn and First Lieutenant Shin Hangi were directing soldiers as they sorted materials.

As I approached, Shin Hangi—who knew me fairly well by now—noticed me first. Tapping a clipboard with his pen, he flashed a grin.

"You're here early, Operator."

"Are these the support supplies?"

"Yes. They're the result of headquarters' policy to encourage civilian operators to participate in missions and improve survival rates."

He smiled.

"Though I wouldn't call them free."

"Not free?"

I frowned.

Wasn't the whole point of support that it was free?

Captain Kim Houn answered kindly enough, though his cheek twitched.

"From now on, Gyeonggi Province will issue military scrip instead of using won or dollars. Anyone who cooperates with military administration and performs labor will receive it. It can be exchanged for priority access to rationed goods or used to acquire specific supplies."

The wartime economy was actually quite simple.

The Korean won had likely become little more than scrap paper.

Foreign currency, meanwhile, had become too valuable.

If supplies were distributed equally to everyone, it would be like pouring water into a bottomless pit.

So instead, they intended to lure people with rations and effectively revert society to a barter-based economy.

From now on, military-administered distributions would only be provided to those carrying military scrip.

Supposedly, this was an attempt to maintain military control amid extreme unrest and deteriorating public order.

To summarize:

It was basically a new regional currency for Gyeonggi Province.

Standing beside Captain Kim, Shin Hangi gestured proudly toward rows of supply-filled containers like a television shopping host.

"Civilian operators can select military equipment that ordinary civilians aren't authorized to receive. Not just Korean gear, either. American equipment brought through Pyeongtaek Port, firearm accessories, survival kits, medical supplies—everything. Apparently several American firearms companies see this crisis as an opportunity to enter the Korean market and are treating it like a giant promotional campaign. Other companies are doing the same. Thanks to that, operators are in a pretty comfortable position."

"Wow. Gun legalization can't be far off."

On one side, North Korea would probably be selling old AK rifles through the western coast.

On the other, sleek American AR-15s were arriving through Pyeongtaek.

At this rate, fifty million Koreans might soon settle arguments by pointing guns at each other instead of raising their voices.

Curious, I wandered around the containers.

AR-15s.

Rails.

Optics.

Foregrips.

Tactical lights.

Every imaginable attachment was stacked in neat rows.

The scent of metal hung heavily in the air.

"What about Korean equipment?"

"That's issued by default. K2 rifle, one grenade, three magazines, a gas mask, and a poncho."

"A poncho?"

I grimaced.

The thought of wearing that miserable thing again was enough to make my skin crawl.

Shin Hangi balanced a pen on his upper lip and grinned.

"All the chemical-protection suits and production stock are being sent to frontline containment units. Want to join them?"

"Hmm... no."

After a moment's thought, I shook my head.

Running into the fog was exciting.

Running into the fog for a reason was even better.

But frontline containment units existed to keep the fog out, not to enter it.

They would be constantly exposed to monster attacks while gaining very little in return.

"Then how do we earn military scrip?"

"Work one day at a military-designated job and you'll receive two by default. One scrip can be exchanged for five packs of ramen, one instant rice meal, or two two-liter bottles of water. Firearms start around sixty scrip."

He shrugged.

"Operators will receive considerably more by volunteering for dangerous missions. Around ten per mission."

So basically...

A quest system.

Since traditional currencies had either become worthless or excessively valuable, the military had built an entirely new structure where cooperation was rewarded directly.

Operators could freely choose military-sponsored missions and earn scrip.

They could also access equipment unavailable to ordinary civilians.

Naturally, switching to a wartime economy like this would provoke outrage.

The military's solution was surprisingly capitalist.

Shin Hangi twisted his eyebrows and gave a bitter laugh.

"One hundred military scrip can purchase a priority evacuation slot. A second containment line will be established throughout Gyeonggi Province, centered on Suwon and Gapyeong."

Allowing refugees to pour out unchecked might help spread monsters like the Amalgams.

But sealing everyone in place would trigger backlash.

So instead, they decided to sell evacuation rights.

To Gyeonggi residents, it probably sounded outrageous.

But after abandoning Seoul and northern Gyeonggi, the iron-blooded government hardly cared.

"Baek Jemin, you're here already?"

"Pastor, you made it too."

"Now we can finally start moving for real."

Pastor Park Yohan cleaned his glasses and sighed deeply.

By then, more magicians from Suwon had begun arriving.

For the moment, they were all familiar faces.

Captain Kim surveyed the room before ordering soldiers to display several document binders attached to a whiteboard with magnets.

"Military and academic interest in civilian operators is extremely high right now. You won't be limited to combat duties. Headquarters and rear-echelon units may request assistance in non-combat situations as well. Keep that in mind and choose whichever assignments suit you."

Since we weren't soldiers but civilians with independent authority, mission selection was remarkably unrestricted.

Imagine that.

A mobilization order had been declared, yet I could freely choose where I went.

It was a privilege I'd never imagined possessing.

No wonder people were always trying to grab more power.

Grinning to myself, I approached the board and began reviewing the assignments.

One involved supporting research into magical perception abilities.

Apparently operators would work with American consultants, scientists, and theologians to investigate the principles behind magic.

Sounds boring.

Rejected immediately.

Surely there was something better.

Something where I could receive stable support while sharing danger with others.

A mission likely to bring contact with the fog.

I only sought danger when there was a chance of gaining magic.

I wasn't the sort of lunatic who charged into fog simply because fog existed.

Fortunately, there was exactly such a mission.

[Secure and Occupy the Underground Levels of Suwon Station]

While everyone else sought to eliminate risk entirely, I preferred risk at a manageable level.

And right now, manageable risk was staring me in the face.

Without hesitation, I tapped the assignment with my finger and looked at Captain Kim.

"I heard power was restored and the area was already cleared."

"...Only the B1 concourse. Access to the B2 platforms remains difficult because of derailed trains. The concourse itself has since been sealed to prevent further incursions."

"Then why go back?"

"The answer's in the briefing file."

I removed the magnet and flipped through the pages.

The purpose became clear.

Suwon Station was a major transportation hub where multiple rail lines converged.

If surviving Amalgams—or the predatory spinal organisms believed to have entered alongside them—remained underground and spread elsewhere, containment efforts could become significantly more difficult.

To address this, the military had cut power again over the previous two weeks and conducted chemical warfare operations using heavy gas agents.

Experts believed the creatures, being composed of transformed human biological material, would be vulnerable to biochemical weapons lethal to humans.

However, most available special forces units were occupied.

Likewise, many of the military's magician recruits—officially classified as specialist personnel—were already tied up with frontline containment operations.

As a result, the task force structure had changed.

Apparently the unlucky magicians assigned to frontline units were stuck performing endless defense operations under vague titles like specialist soldier or specialist operative.

Life was cruel.

In any case, after regaining control of the station, the military intended to determine whether routes leading into Seoul should be permanently demolished or converted into logistics corridors for future operations inside the city.

The moment I finished reading, a huge grin spread across my face.

"I volunteer."

Captain Kim's expression hardened.

"Mr. Baek Jemin, this mission is extremely dangerous. Isolated Amalgams can be neutralized with headshots, but they've begun learning human tactics and weapons. They won't expose their weaknesses so easily anymore. There's also a significant chance predatory spines remain underground."

Captain Kim seemed like a genuinely decent person.

Despite the twitching cheekbones.

He was actually trying to talk me out of it.

Unfortunately, people consistently misunderstood me.

I wasn't reckless.

I was a careful investor who calculated acceptable levels of risk.

"Is there fog down there?"

"Very likely."

At that moment, I saw my own reflection in Captain Kim's eyes.

And finally understood something.

A human being really could smile that beautifully.

"Before hell seeps into this world, we advance into hell."

Quoting the motto of our organization—the Supreme Archmages, as it should rightfully have been called—I smiled contentedly.

"So that we won't be conquered by fear."

Captain Kim glanced sideways toward Shin Hangi.

Shin Hangi merely offered an awkward smile and shrugged.

Eventually, Captain Kim reached into a box behind him and handed me a fluorescent identification armband.

"Operator Baek Jemin. A vehicle will be waiting for you at the City Hall parking lot."

I received:

• A fluorescent civilian-operator identification band
• A helmet
• A gas mask
• A poncho
• A K2 rifle
• Three twenty-round magazines
• One grenade
• One bayonet
• A bag of hardtack
• A brand-new canteen

Once I'd gathered my gear and slung the straps over my shoulders, First Lieutenant Shin Hangi approached me and said—

"Mr. Baek Jemin, your parents have been sent to Pyeongtaek Port. The Americans are actively helping the families of operators relocate to the United States. If your parents agree, they'll receive immigration assistance funds and benefits. They'll enter as refugees for now, but... depending on the results you achieve in this crisis and the standing operators gain, they might even qualify for permanent residency."

"Sounds like you've had ties to America for quite a while, Lieutenant Shin."

"Works out well for everyone, doesn't it? I keep my promises, and America gets to build a good relationship with operators like you."

I laughed and turned away.

Good.

Now I really didn't have to worry about my parents anymore.

If becoming a great archmage automatically led to the American Dream, what greater act of filial piety could there be?

Surely my parents would understand why their son had blocked their calls in pursuit of glory and success.

Civilian operators were essentially treated like mercenaries—people with no formal military training but capable of using magic.

The government and military seemed to prefer it that way.

If South Korea couldn't fully control them, then no other country should be able to either.

Guided by soldiers, I climbed into the back of a two-and-a-half-ton military truck.

As it rolled forward, the battered city of Suwon gradually came into view.

Most storefronts were closed.

Soldiers carrying rifles patrolled the streets with vigilant eyes.

Roadblocks had been established, and only military vehicles or specially authorized cars were allowed through.

The sidewalks, however, were crowded.

Many people had gathered in protest against the newly announced military-scrip policy and wartime economy.

"Guarantee the rights of Gyeonggi residents!"

"Guarantee our right to survive!"

"Guarantee it! Guarantee it!"

The rest had already accepted reality and were lining up under military police supervision in hopes of obtaining jobs that paid even a single military scrip.

Between the protesters and the MPs lay a distance neither side could bridge.

And through that divide rolled the military truck carrying me.

I exhaled softly into the filter of my gas mask to test it.

At the same time, I reflected on the beginning of my first true journey as a magician.

The strong smell of fresh rubber confirmed it was brand new.

Before long, more soldiers boarded the truck.

The moment they noticed the fluorescent identification band wrapped around my arm, they subtly increased their distance or avoided eye contact altogether.

"Move out!"

With the command of the senior passenger, the truck lurched forward.

February 5th, 2028. 9:14 AM.

I checked my cracked phone.

Battery: 88%.

Good enough.

After switching it to power-saving mode, I tucked it into my inner pocket.

***

When we arrived at Suwon Station and I jumped from the truck, soldiers and officers wearing full chemical-protection gear were moving about busily.

Several spotted the newly arrived personnel and waved us over.

Each of us was handed a chemical decontamination kit.

"We've ventilated the area for three days, but residual gas may still remain. You know how to use the injector, right? Into the thigh. Never remove your gas mask. You'll each receive an extra filter. We'll also get you spare leather gloves..."

Like a mother fussing over her child before a school trip, the chemical warfare officers relentlessly hounded the soldiers.

Taking a moment to survey Suwon Station, I noticed decommissioned buses pushed into barricades.

Three armored personnel carriers and a tank had been deployed nearby and were undergoing constant maintenance.

Yet even that felt inadequate.

"Ugh... fuck..."

My eyes watered so badly I could barely see.

Squeezing them shut, I rubbed away tears with my ungloved left hand.

Magic still worked outside the fog.

The problem was that the backlash seemed much stronger.

I massaged my eyelids with the cool leather glove, trying to dispel the unpleasant sensation.

Then I heard another military truck arrive.

Orderly footsteps followed.

And soon those footsteps became familiar voices.

"Mr. Baek Jemin, are you crying because you saw us?"

"Shitboy? What are you doing here?"

"Shitboy...?"

"Why'd you skip the easy missions and come here?"

As Shin Nain tilted his head, Staff Sergeant Lee Sejun yawned from behind him.

"Actually suits him pretty well. Every time Shin Nain goes into the bathroom, he takes twenty minutes."

After wiping my eyes and recovering my vision, I saw them clearly.

Lee Sejun checking his K2 rifle.

Shin Nain removing one earbud with a grin.

"Obviously I'm here to drive out the minions of Satan."

"We can't let Suwon Station fall. Gyeonggi Province alone is already this bad. If Chungcheong, Gangwon, Gyeongsang, and Jeolla end up like this too, the country's finished."

Rather than argue with their beliefs, I simply nodded.

Checking my rifle sling, I looked at Lee Sejun.

"Good. Before we head into the Suwon Station dungeon, there's something we need to settle first."

"Settle?"

"Lee Sejun, you little bastard. I overlooked it when you casually started speaking informally to me, but are you seriously going to keep pretending not to notice?"

Lee blinked in confusion.

His face reddened as he stepped forward.

Before he could say anything, Shin Nain planted a hand against his chest and dragged him aside for a whispered conversation.

"You heard Mr. Baek Jemin's reasons earlier..."

"What? He really shot his own hand?"

"And grabbed the barrel while firing full-auto into it..."

After the short but impactful exchange, the two returned.

Lee Sejun had transformed into the picture of a respectful junior.

"I believe I became overly familiar with you, Mr. Baek Jemin. I apologize for my rudeness."

"Let's maintain proper manners. We're professionals, aren't we?"

"Yes, sir."

Thus, by the time the operation's start time of 10:15 AM arrived, our trio had finally established a healthy relationship.

"You don't have to call me sir. Just call me Mr. Baek Jemin. As long as we respect each other, we're fine."

"Understood, Mr. Baek Jemin."

Shin Nain watched us and snickered endlessly.

Still, these meaningless conversations served an obvious purpose.

They hid the tension.

The excitement.

As the operation drew closer, Lee Sejun repeatedly fidgeted with his canteen, his lips dry.

Shin Nain rubbed his earlobe and twitched at the corners of his mouth, seemingly suppressing a grin of pure anticipation.

This lunatic religious fanatic was genuinely treating the mission like a holy war.

Still.

Love them or hate them, they were fellow members of our secret society.

As the infinitely generous founder of the Supreme Archmages, I was willing to embrace all the eccentric flaws of my comrades.

***

Not long afterward, around thirty fully equipped soldiers assembled before the underground entrance of the bus transfer terminal—the same route we had used to escape before.

The commanding officer was a lieutenant named Baek Hanseong.

His gas mask hid his face, but the slight tremor in his voice revealed his nerves.

"Check chambers."

"Check chambers!"

With the echoed response, soldiers loaded live ammunition.

Our trio followed suit.

Bolts slammed forward.

Metal clicked.

Dozens of rifle barrels pointed skyward.

"Chamber check complete!"

"Load live rounds."

"Load live rounds!"

"Listen carefully. Memorize the rules of engagement. Fog sighted: shout 'fog' three times. Any unidentified person: immediate aim. Act first, report afterward. Civilian rescue prohibited. Corpse recovery prohibited."

"Fog three times! Immediate aim! Act first, report afterward! No rescue! No recovery!"

"Hoo..."

Ahead of us, fluorescent lights had replaced the red emergency lighting.

Without hesitation, I unslung my rifle and gripped it in both hands.

"Before we go, let's recite the motto of the Supreme Archmages."

"It's Aphorism..."

"Shh."

Shin Nain instantly shut down Lee Sejun's complaint.

The three of us stepped forward first.

Only after reassuring the soldiers did Lieutenant Baek Hanseong approach.

"We're ready. Once the operators enter, we'll provide covering support."

At last, we pulled on our gas masks and raised the hoods of our ponchos.

After tightening every strap, I naturally took the lead.

Ahead stood an emergency shutter.

Crushed.

Twisted.

Then neatly cut apart as though sliced open by a welding torch.

Beyond it lay the restored station concourse.

"We are madness opposing madness."

"Absurdity opposing absurdity."

"Before hell seeps in, we advance into hell."

Damn.

That was exactly how the Supreme Archmages should sound.

I savored the sound of my breathing through the gas-mask filter.

Hoo. Hoo.

Let's go.

Toward magic.