Chapter 38

Hello, Seoul

The front line where the bombardment had ceased was like a graveyard.

The faint sounds of coughing and boots kicking through trash scattered around the trenches could be heard, but not a single human voice. Whenever the thick gray fog cloud—hundreds of meters deep and engulfing all of Seoul—shifted and writhed, ominous shadows flickered within it.

The wind blowing through the ruins of the devastated city carried strange sounds mixed into it, like human screams and groans. Despite spring slowly approaching, a chilling cold seeped into the air, forcing people to pull their collars tighter.

This was a place where soldiers covered head to toe in chemical protection suits and gas masks moved in squads of eight, carrying flamethrowers and drum-fed shotguns, laboriously exhaling breaths instead of exchanging idle chatter.

A place where soldiers sat on ammunition crates, removed their gas masks, stared with wide eyes as they jabbed syringes into their arms, and drooled uncontrollably.

A place where people rattled spoons beside piles of burned corpses and forced waterlogged rice down their throats.

Land defended by those who had crossed the boundaries of humanity in order to fight monsters.

As I examined the reality of the first containment line surrounding the outskirts of Seoul, I continued into the command tent.

The command staff had judged the first communication attempt a failure due to the emotional reaction of the other party. After a brief adjustment period, they resumed communications.

Soon, after the signal operators busily adjusted cables and antennas, results came through.

A major general with two unremarkable stars on his shoulders gave instructions to us civilian operators as he strolled into the tent and put on his gas mask.

"Beginning the second communication attempt. Everyone, gas masks on. Those wearing combat uniforms, cover your name tags. Just listen comfortably."

I had no idea why we needed gas masks just to communicate, but I put mine on anyway.

After adjusting the frequency, we reconnected with the same person who had answered first.

[... Can you hear me? I said, can you hear me?!]

"Yes, we can hear you."

[You motherfuckers. Must be nice, being the only ones who get to live.]

The man who had previously ranted about ordinary people had a rough, gravelly voice.

He sounded like the type of hotheaded drunk you might run into causing trouble at a bar.

But aside from his anger, proper negotiation quickly became impossible.

His emotional outburst soon turned into sobbing.

[You bastards... Just let me out...]

"Sir, due to our current situation, immediate rescue is difficult. Please remain calm and hold your position—"

[I'll do anything you tell me to. Just let me out...]

The man on the other end broke down into miserable sobs.

But instead of responding immediately, the major general merely looked toward a white-collar woman sitting in a corner of the command tent.

Aside from the wrinkles around her eyes, she looked remarkably well-maintained, with smooth skin.

She tapped her lips with a pen, then shook her head.

That was the signal.

The major general lowered the volume, cut the communication, and asked her:

"Couldn't we persuade him?"

"No. Judging by his condition, he's already psychologically broken. Even if he endures, it won't be for long. He lacks confidence in his survival. It's a perfectly normal reaction for an ordinary person, but he isn't the type of talent Headquarters is looking for."

"... Next."

It was obvious what Headquarters meant by "talent."

Those quick on the uptake realized what these communications truly meant and silently chewed on the bitter reality.

Psychics like Shin Nain, or mages with similar abilities, had already fallen silent.

I, Baek Jemin, was no different.

Mages.

The only people qualified to speak with the government or military through these communications were mages.

Mages who had survived.

Mages who continued living with unwavering faith in their own survival.

Feeling a cold chill brush against my chest, we waited for the next contact.

After a short search, the next respondent turned out to be a man with a calm, composed voice, like a university professor.

[... This is Nowon District, Seoul. Can you hear me? Are you survivors?]

"This is the Seongnam First Containment Line. It's good to meet you, sir."

The professor, who had clearly felt both joy and caution at discovering other survivors, fell silent as soon as he heard the transmission.

The major general continued speaking and eventually presented the government's proposal.

"Please understand that this was a difficult decision made in consideration of international pressure and quarantine concerns. If the practitioners of localized penetrative alteration phenomena within your group identify innocent civilians through primary screening and take measures to protect them, the Republic of Korea Army will spare no effort in providing supplies to your shelter."

Here, the military had taken a step back.

They avoided explicitly discussing escape from Seoul.

Instead, by using the term primary screening, they left open the possibility that evacuation might eventually be permitted.

The major general glanced at the white-collar woman.

She casually spun her pen and nodded.

An unpleasant silence followed.

Then the professor answered with unmistakable hostility.

[Ha. You've got to be kidding me.]

"Sir?"

[You're not even the Combined Forces Command in Pyeongtaek. Why should I trust some major general guarding a containment line?]

The major general frowned.

A ripple of unease spread among the civilian operators.

Only the white-collar woman remained calm.

[What? Do you think we're dogs? Bark when told to bark? Jump into a pot when told to jump?]

"Sir, we are trying to consider the difficulties of the situation—"

[Sure. You handled it better than any zombie movie. Shot everyone dead and quarantined the city. The outside world is safe now, right? While leaving us here to die. You dragged things out with excuses about riots and unrest, trapped people inside, and shot anyone who tried to escape. That's how you made things safe, isn't it?]

"Approaching this conversation in that manner will only produce bad outcomes for both sides."

[So what? You're saying you'll let us out if we obey? Why should we believe that? Do you think we should still listen to outsiders telling us to die or obey? You're the ones misunderstanding something.]

The professor's voice sharpened.

[Do you really think we still see you as our fellow countrymen? Our family?]

[You're all dead men. The reason we survived here without guns? The moment we come outside, we'll show you. The president, the politicians, the generals, the soldiers who fired on civilians, and every ordinary bastard outside. Not a single one will be spared. I'll make every one of you beg for your lives. Don't die before then. Wait for us. You said Seongnam, right?]

Click.

The major general ended the transmission.

The white-collar woman clicked her tongue sympathetically and immediately began writing notes.

The third communication linked to a middle-aged woman whose voice sounded talkative and meddlesome.

[Oh dear, I understand. It's not the soldiers' fault. It's the politicians.]

"The military is attempting to earn survivors' trust by suspending bombardment. If you could disclose your precise location—"

[That's one thing, and this is another. If I tell you where we are, how can you guarantee you won't use those coordinates for artillery strikes? Right? You soldiers have to follow orders, don't you?]

"Ma'am, this communication is intended to arrange supply deliveries and assistance."

[Let's be honest. We want to escape. You want to keep us trapped in Seoul. What's the easiest solution? I've never served in the military, but I've watched enough movies and read enough novels. There's even that Chinese idiom... the one about cutting grass...]

The major general's eyes visibly darkened.

[Eliminate the roots after cutting the grass. Right? Just bombard us. No need to deliver supplies. No need to worry about escapees. Then you can bow your heads once and call it an accidental strike.]

"Ma'am."

[We'll tell you where to drop supplies. Don't ask where our shelter is. That's our minimum condition. Whether we respond to future communications will also be our decision. Good day, soldiers.]

The white-collar woman evaluated this exchange very positively.

"She has confidence in her survival and displays good judgment. We should be able to exchange information. That's actually a very positive sign."

[You people are all wearing gas masks and hiding your name tags, aren't you?]

The major general slowly nodded and searched for the next contact.

The fourth respondent remained silent for a long time.

Only after hearing "First Containment Line, Seongnam" did they finally speak.

The voice was hoarse and rough enough that it was difficult to determine the speaker's gender.

Yet it carried a chilling coldness that seemed to crawl down everyone's spine.

[Looks like you've got people who know about magic too. Pretty cautious. Contacting us from Seongnam instead of Pyeongtaek... afraid Headquarters would get wiped out if you called directly?]

The major general hurriedly adjusted the dial.

But the connection did not break.

Instead, the signal became clearer.

[Hand over the president, the politicians, the generals, and every military commander responsible for the containment order.]

"Terminate the communication! Terminate it!"

"Cut the cables!"

Panicked shouts erupted outside the tent.

Several of the mages present began backing away in fear.

[Hand over every bastard responsible for the containment.]

Then the transmission ended.

Not because of any mechanical operation.

Only after soldiers outside reported back through sweat-covered gas mask lenses did we learn why.

"All cables disconnected."

"Resume in ten minutes. Check all cable conditions. Avoid that frequency."

Even the normally composed white-collar woman had gone pale.

She dropped her pen and pulled a necklace from inside her coat.

It looked strikingly similar to the pentagram necklace Mr. Anderson had once given me.

Only the material was different.

But there was one crucial difference.

The pentagram necklace had been split cleanly down the middle.

Hic.

The woman hiccupped, deathly pale, and fled the tent.

She never returned.

For ten minutes, a suffocating silence hung over the gathered mages.

Then communications resumed.

The fifth contact was a young woman with a desperate yet resolute voice.

[... Can you hear me? Are you there? Are you still alive?]

"This is the First Containment Line, Seongnam."

[The First Containment Line...? Seongnam?]

This respondent was comparatively friendly.

In fact, "comparatively" barely described it.

She was surprisingly cooperative.

She asked about the military's situation and openly shared details about her own circumstances.

Among them were several important pieces of information.

[Listen carefully, mister soldier. If you're really planning to rescue people here, don't meet the mages. I'm a mage too, but... anyway.]

"It would help if you explained."

[I don't know the details. We focused on hiding. But people who joined us later said most of the mages have gone insane. Don't trust them if you can help it.]

"May I ask your name and location?"

[Not the location. The people who maintained regular radio contact have been disappearing. My name is Go Ryeoha. There won't be anyone else with the same name. Hopefully we'll meet someday. Tell us where you're dropping supplies and we'll collect them.]

That was the final communication.

No one else answered.

March 23, 2028 — 6:12 PM

The mages still gathered inside the command tent listened as the major general delivered what amounted to the outside world's final ultimatum.

"Effective immediately, artillery bombardment of the outer zones will resume. Citizens remaining in Seoul are advised that if military reconnaissance assets are sighted, please send visible markers or light signals from secure locations to receive supplies safely. The Republic of Korea Army and the government remain committed to restoring order and ensuring the safety of all citizens. Avoid artillery zones during daylight hours and do not approach the containment perimeter without military coordination..."

At the same time, footsteps echoed outside the tent.

There were groans of exertion.

Metal clanked.

Machinery whined.

Then the heavy sounds of artillery returned once more.

"Thank you all for remaining standing and listening. However, the reason you were gathered here today concerns a much larger decision."

"A decision? What kind of bullshit decision?"

Beanie-and-makgeolli man asked from the floor.

The other mages already serving along the containment line looked equally puzzled.

Even we Supreme Mages merely shrugged.

Surely they weren't about to let us leave beyond the second containment line.

But our imagination could not match that of the military.

"Beginning the first follow-up infiltration operation into Seoul. We are accepting volunteers among our operators to enter Seoul along routes secured by U.S. and Korean special forces conducting forward reconnaissance, and establish contact with local practitioners of localized penetrative alteration phenomena."

At that moment, the major general turned toward us and slowly removed his gas mask.

As communication equipment was dismantled around him, he studied each of us carefully.

For a brief moment, our eyes met.

The major general was an old man.

His hair and eyebrows had turned completely white.

Deep lines marked his face.

He looked at least in his late fifties.

After surveying us once more, he spoke.

***

The operator quarters established along the First Containment Line were relatively spacious thanks to housing mage groups together.

We Supreme Mages removed our shoes and collapsed onto our cots, left with no choice but to ponder why the military had made such a decision.

Pastor Park Yohan sighed endlessly.

Lee Sejun sat on a cot with his arms crossed, nervously shaking his leg.

The pastor eventually stopped him.

"Mr. Sejun, you're shaking away your luck."

"I'm more worried about losing my head than my luck."

"Hoo..."

Honestly, there was nothing strange about it.

South Korea had already collapsed.

The industrial zones and rear areas remained intact, which was the only reason the nation still stood.

But with Seoul lost, both South Korea's economy and human resources had plummeted.

Official reports claimed thirteen thousand casualties.

But there was a catch.

That figure was thirteen thousand out of the one hundred fifty thousand soldiers maintaining the First Containment Line.

The troops stranded and cut off inside Seoul during the early stages of the disaster weren't even included.

And even those still holding the line weren't truly enduring.

I licked my lips as I recalled the soldiers injecting syringes into their arms.

Apparently alcohol and cigarettes weren't enough.

To maintain the containment line, the military had either distributed psychotropic drugs or deliberately looked the other way.

Under such circumstances, there was an obvious reason why the United States and South Korea were willing to send special forces—and even mages—into Seoul.

Alteration magic.

A supernatural power that could be learned if one possessed magical script and fog.

Only a few Supreme Mages and some military personnel knew my ritual had succeeded.

But it would not remain secret for long.

Soon, occultists around the world would discover it as well.

The true golden goose that would make every billionaire and tycoon pour money into Korea.

Magic was Seoul's legacy.

The final industry capable of supporting a fallen South Korea.

"Not an industry. The Lord's grace and blessing, Mr. Jemin."

"Same difference."

I replied grumpily to Shin Nain, who had somehow targeted my inner thoughts.

Still, I corrected myself.

Actually, calling it an industry was ridiculous.

The existence of magic had stopped those advocating nuclear strikes against the monsters.

It was also the Korean government's final bargaining chip against the rest of the world.

South Korea had become a nation that was nothing without magic.

Then I noticed an empty bed.

One cot sat abandoned.

"That bastard Hamza ran away."

The ungrateful traitor.

I couldn't hide my sense of betrayal.

After eating several spoonfuls of my luncheon meat, he was refusing to join the mission to save South Korea?

But Pastor Park Yohan calmly stopped me.

"Let him go. He's not even Korean."

The pastor absentmindedly mimed holding a cigarette butt despite having nothing in his fingers.

The Supreme Mages who had once sworn to die together had suddenly been reduced to four.

As I lamented that fact, Auntie Poppy peeked into the tent.

Her gaze swept over us.

Then she locked eyes with me and beckoned.

Pastor Park Yohan, Shin Nain, and Lee Sejun all ignored her.

But Baek Jemin, kind gentleman that he was, answered the call.

Outside, the chilly wind greeted me.

Auntie Poppy pulled several strange objects from inside her clothes and handed them over.

"Auntie? What's this?"

"Call me noona. I'm not that old."

They were talismans covered in hastily scribbled characters and tiger illustrations.

After shoving an entire bundle into my hands, Auntie Poppy sighed deeply.

"You've got death hanging around you. Looks like you're going in there. I haven't been possessed by the spirits for very long, so don't expect miracles, but they should help somewhat. These aren't random doodles, either. They're drawn on genuine yellow talisman paper with real cinnabar ink. Keep them inside your clothes. Don't eat them!"

“No…”

I felt a little wronged by her added remark.

Did this lady think I was some kind of herb that swallowed anything the moment someone said it was effective? It was almost hurtful, being treated like a kid who would actually gobble down random things just to become a mage.

“Even before the world turned upside down, these cost several million won. They're even more expensive now!”

“Thank you, noona.”

I humbly tucked the talismans inside my shirt.

Once I had put them away, Noona Poppy raised her index finger to her lips and whispered:

“Good. Now that you've got them, don't go around telling people I'm a shaman. Got it?”

“You were a shaman?”

“Oh my, little brother catches on quick!”

Smack.

After giving me a loud slap on the back, Noona Poppy scurried off toward her tent.

I watched her retreating figure with mixed emotions before hurrying back inside and immediately looking for Shin Nain.

Anyone who had an all-purpose mind reader and didn't use him was an idiot.

Who knew? Maybe despite her sweet words, she was actually trying to dump some curse on me.

“Nain, so is this really legitimate?”

“Tsk... If you're going to rely on superstition, why not just go to church? Anyway, she did give them to you with good intentions. Apparently you looked like the most clueless and stupid one here, and she felt sorry because you seemed likely to die first.”

“That lady, honestly...”

I couldn't help feeling relieved by Auntie Poppy's kind and warmhearted nature.

Sure, she gave them to me because I looked dumb and helpless, but it still took a good person to want to look after someone pathetic.

March 26, 2028

Volunteer recruitment began.

Pastor Park Yohan submitted his application first and returned to the quarters to look around at us.

“I can't blame that foreign Muslim. We've all seen the monsters ourselves. You boys have probably seen things even worse. Seoul will be far more horrific than anything we've experienced. If I weren't a pastor, I'd have quit too. If I didn't have a duty to save God's lambs, I would've run long ago.”

Clutching his Bible with trembling hands, he continued:

“Don't go trying to be brave. If you can run away, then run. You've already done more than enough.”

March 27, 2028

The sound of news broadcasts from Lee Sejun's phone filtered through the heavy artillery fire.

As we Supreme Mages dried our socks, we listened to the news alongside Sejun's occasional comments.

“This is a historic moment. For the first time since the founding of the United Nations, all five permanent members of the UN Security Council are demonstrating unity in confronting the transnational biological catastrophe surrounding the Republic of Korea. More than 180 nations around the world recognize the severity of the situation. Some political analysts predict this could become the first precedent of humanity acting with a single collective will and may serve as a major catalyst for global unity.”

“Bullshit.”

Lee Sejun's cold response alone seemed to describe South Korea's future.

April 2, 2028

While washing our faces with damp towels, we heard soldiers screaming curses outside.

Soon afterward, the mages summoned to Seongnam Command received the news everyone had anticipated.

“The Chinese military has forcibly entered Ganghwa Island. Under the pretext of stabilizing the situation and evacuating refugees to islands in the Yellow Sea, they are claiming responsibility for the northern Gyeonggi and Incheon coastal containment lines in coordination with North Korea. Therefore, effective immediately, all administrative authority of the Republic of Korea Government, which had relocated to Incheon, is being transferred to the Combined U.S.-ROK Command in Pyeongtaek...”

When I unconsciously glanced outside the tent, the soldiers gripping their rifles seemed to be squeezing them harder than usual.

April 3, 2028

The monsters launched several scattered attacks against the First Containment Line.

Over two hundred military casualties.

Not even the bodies could be recovered.

The mages were stationed in the rear as reserve personnel, but those occasionally summoned to the trenches all returned trembling in fear.

That night, two mages attempted to desert and were captured.

Nobody revealed what happened to them afterward.

Nobody asked.

April 5, 2028

Listening to news broadcasts through our phones became the new daily routine for us Supreme Mages.

Unsurprisingly, the news wasn't good.

On the screen appeared city streets engulfed in flames and filled with crowds whose roars drowned out even gunfire.

Not the First Containment Line.

Not the Second Containment Line.

The rear areas.

Chuncheon. Daegu. Ulsan. Gwangju.

The announcer tried to conceal their emotions but couldn't hide their despair.

“As of April 5th, clashes are occurring between martial law forces and civilians across major metropolitan cities. Roads are packed with protesters condemning the military maintaining the containment lines as murderers. With orders to open fire already issued, the situation continues to deteriorate.”

People carrying signs and wearing headbands marched directly toward rifle barrels.

Across from them, soldiers knelt in firing positions while commanders shouted through megaphones.

“Murderers, go away! Save our families!”

“Martial law remains in effect! Disperse immediately! Failure to comply will result in live fire!”

“Then shoot, you bastards!”

The soldiers actually fired.

People died.

The crowds retreated briefly, but their fury did not subside.

A heavy silence settled over our quarters.

Only Shin Nain, listening through earphones, swayed slightly and smiled.

“If this country's downfall is God's will, then I am prepared to accept it. We all must.”

April 7, 2028

Countless fighter jets crossed the skies north of Seongnam's First Containment Line.

Their thunderous roar overwhelmed even the artillery.

Whenever they passed, the fog itself seemed to tear apart before the inevitable explosions followed.

As we stared blankly at fighters performing impossible maneuvers through the mist, news came from Lee Sejun's phone.

“Despite objections from China and Russia, the U.S. Seventh Fleet has been deployed. The U.S. government has further declared its intention to demonstrate leadership in the face of humanity's shared crisis and is currently reviewing the deployment of the Third Fleet, the Pacific Fleet's primary striking force.”

April 8, 2028

Shin Nain returned from passing by the command tents and removed his earphones.

“The fog has reached Uijeongbu. Apparently Headquarters' worst-case scenario is becoming reality.”

No one dared speak.

I smacked my lips.

Lee Sejun shut off his phone and closed his eyes.

Only Pastor Park Yohan clasped his hands together and raised his voice in prayer.

“Lord, protect them through this tribulation...”

April 9, 2028

Hamza returned.

Without waiting for anyone to speak, he collapsed onto his empty cot with hollow eyes and trembling lips.

“The angel told me.”

Covering his face with both hands, he bowed his head.

There was profound despair in his voice.

“If I run away, I won't even be given the chance to fight.”

April 11, 2028

Volunteer recruitment ended.

Only five people gathered inside the Seongnam command tent.

The nameless major general wasn't disappointed.

If anything, he seemed on the verge of tears because there were five volunteers.

“Volunteering today does not guarantee deployment. However...”

Turning away, he stood with his back to us for a long moment.

His shoulders trembled.

“Just coming here is enough. Thank you.”

April 12, 2028

A familiar face visited our quarters.

Lieutenant Shin Han-gi from the military supply store had arrived carrying all the belongings we had left behind at Suwon City Hall.

That wasn't all.

Each of us received an additional one hundred military vouchers.

I accepted mine but couldn't help asking:

“Why give us a hundred vouchers each?”

“Maybe they'll be useful someday. The voucher economy is one of the government's and Headquarters' big projects. Tell Seoul survivors they'll need these to get through the Second Containment Line and they'll become valuable.”

Lieutenant Shin Han-gi then handed me my AR-15.

Except it had changed.

Shorter barrel.

Weapon light.

Red-dot sight.

When I looked at him suspiciously, he shrugged.

“A gift from the colonel. He asked me to pass along a message.”

Pushing the rifle into my hands, he smiled.

“He said he's sorry for doubting you. He hasn't forgotten that you saved his soldiers' lives. Whatever your secret is, he'll protect it until the end.”

I immediately understood what secret he meant.

Apparently he still hadn't reported my hand-type magic to higher command.

Standing with his hands behind his back, Lieutenant Shin Han-gi smiled.

Part relieved.

Part bitter.

“Your parents arrived safely in America, Mr. Jemin.”

“Huh? Ah... they made it?”

“They thought you'd be heading somewhere safer.”

I examined my newly modified AR-15 and chuckled.

“The country's falling apart. Where exactly is the rear anymore?”

That finally made him laugh.

A dry laugh.

But a genuine one.

April 15, 2028

For the first time in a long while, the artillery stopped.

Panting breaths and groans echoed through the shattered buildings and powder-stained air.

Discarded syringes littered the ground.

Broken liquor bottles and cigarette butts crowded the roadsides.

Three military trucks and two armored vehicles were busy preparing for departure.

In front of them stood Pastor Park Yohan, hands clasped in prayer.

His words sounded like desperate self-hypnosis.

“Our faith will endure until the end...”

Then footsteps approached.

I was the first to step forward.

Walking behind the pastor, I tapped his shoulder.

He turned around.

His eyes widened.

“You lunatics?”

Though his true feelings slipped out, nobody took offense.

Hamza, looking half-dead, awkwardly stared at the pastor before bursting into a laugh mixed equally with tears.

“The fear shall become fear itself before it can conquer us.”

He climbed into the truck bed and slumped against the backrest.

Next came Shin Nain.

Smiling at the pastor, he pulled out a headset.

“We are the madness that opposes madness.”

He settled into the truck and closed his eyes.

Lee Sejun sighed deeply, checked his K2C1 and an absurdly large revolver he'd apparently acquired from Lieutenant Shin Han-gi, then climbed aboard.

“Absurdity against absurdity.”

He hugged the weapons tightly.

Clearly nervous.

Finally, I handed my old K2 rifle to the pastor.

“Before hell seeps in, we advance into hell.”

The pastor accepted it instinctively.

After stroking the trigger several times, he began grinning.

Adjusting his glasses, he slung the rifle over his shoulder.

“Yeah. If not you idiots, then who else would be the Best of the Best?”

Clunk.

When even the pastor climbed aboard, I slowly looked around.

Soldiers sat smoking with gas masks removed.

Their soot-covered faces were drenched in sweat.

Among them stood Lieutenant Shin Han-gi carrying a heavy envelope.

Thunk.

He handed it to me with a grin.

“Here.”

“What is it?”

“Spam. Just like you wanted.”

I immediately stuffed the envelope into my duffel bag.

But I hesitated before boarding the truck.

I knew.

The Supreme Mages knew.

The soldiers staying behind probably knew too.

Even Lieutenant Shin Han-gi.

We weren't particularly close.

Most of these soldiers were people I'd exchanged only a few greetings with.

Still.

It wasn't easy to walk away.

Then Lieutenant Shin Han-gi extended his hand.

“At least we avoided nuclear strikes. Right?”

“Right. That's true.”

I shook his hand briefly.

“Mr. Baek Jemin. I know you don't trust the military. But please understand.”

“...”

“Right now, we're the only people desperately trying to save forty million Koreans.”

The major general had given us three objectives.

First, locate and establish contact with the friendly survivor group led by Go Ryeoha.

Second, acquire as much magical knowledge from Seoul as possible.

Third, help determine the supernatural cause behind the fog and monsters.

These weren't tasks meant for civilians.

Yet they had been given to us.

Knowing exactly what that meant, I climbed into the truck with a heavy heart.

South Korea would probably not survive.

Clunk.

The two-and-a-half-ton truck still had terrible suspension.

Combat uniforms were still uncomfortable.

Guns were still heavy.

But the world had changed beyond recovery.

Soon, more soldiers boarded the other vehicles.

The convoy began moving.

Beyond the ruined city, drones buzzed like hornets while fighter jets streaked across the sky.

The soldiers watched the convoy heading toward Seoul.

Some simply stared.

Some waved.

Others silently saluted.

Meanwhile, Lee Sejun kept his phone on, determined to hear the final news from the outside world.

April 15, 2028.

The day the President of the United States made his declaration.

The broadcast translated his English speech sentence by sentence.

“Today, we have moved beyond the boundaries of nations, ethnicities, ideologies, and parties.”

The truck bounced over a speed bump.

All five of us rose into the air together.

“Today, we undertake the most righteous fight.”

The cold dampness was already creeping in.

We hadn't even crossed the bridge yet.

When had the fog begun spreading this far?

Everyone at the front knew the truth.

The fog was expanding.

Nobody simply said it aloud.

“Today, in the name of humanity, we stand against this catastrophe. May God protect us.”

Soon afterward, the news anchor excitedly added:

For the first time in history, all five permanent members of the UN Security Council had unanimously approved a United Nations deployment.

No abstentions.

A miracle.

Though it was a remarkably cold miracle.

The fog had already risen to our waists in the truck bed.

Without anyone saying a word, we checked our weapons and pulled out our gas masks.

Even Hamza.

Lee Sejun even handed his absurdly huge revolver to him.

Naturally, Hamza tried to refuse.

“I don't know how to shoot.”

“If you put it in your mouth and pull the trigger, you'll die quickly.”

“Thank you.”

Moved by Lee Sejun's kindness and consideration, Hamza gladly accepted the revolver.

One by one, we put on our gas masks.

Shin Nain was first.

After putting his on, he donned his headset and pulled up the hood of his poncho.

The others followed.

Hiss— Hiss—

Lee Sejun and Hamza masked up as well.

Hamza clumsily copied Sejun's movements and checked his filter.

Hooo—

The pastor seemed surprisingly experienced.

He put on his mask in one smooth motion and began pulling on his issued poncho.

Watching them, I put mine on as well.

Moisture from the fog had already condensed inside the rubber mask.

I had to wipe it away with my hand.

There were two reasons for wearing a gas mask.

One was to avoid detection by eye-type mages like me.

The other was a primitive revulsion toward becoming mixed up with the monsters—and the risk of infection.

I wore mine for the first reason.

Hooo— Hooo—

Our breaths vanished into the sea of fog.

The mist had risen to our necks.

Seoul was close.

A symbol we could never reclaim.

A place I never wanted to enter again.

We were heading toward the place most deserving of the word hell in the modern world.

And yet, my heart was beating harder than ever.

Hello, Seoul.

At long last, I'm finally achieving my dream of moving to the capital.

I'm coming.

Baek Jemin is on his way.