Chapter 88

The Most Productive Week of My Life

A week had passed since the Supreme Mages returned from Seoul.

That week was spent realizing just how thoroughly the Republic of Korea had been wrecked—and trying to strengthen ourselves for whatever came next.

Of course, we weren't the only things that had changed.

As information from the Seoul expedition was gradually released, public perception began shifting.

Once people learned that magic was real, they couldn't even begin to imagine what Seoul had actually become.

Instead, they fixated on monsters like Amalgams and Devouring Spines and began overcoming fear with greed.

Even after creatures such as Human-Skin Flies, Teratomas, Tadpole Bellies, Lung Trees, and Odok were officially categorized as identified species, people still thought the same way.

Surely there can't be that many.

Even if all ten million people in Seoul became monsters, the military's been killing them for months.

As long as I don't run into one, I'll be fine.

A stupidly optimistic mindset.

Yet people genuinely believed it.

After all, monsters died when you shot them.

And if they never noticed you, there was no problem.

Because of that, countless people began throwing themselves into magic.

But we Supreme Mages—

The Best of the Best who had actually survived Seoul—

Knew better.

Magic knowledge?

Absolutely necessary.

Magic items?

Incredibly useful.

But when it came to raw firepower, firearms dominated.

If you already possessed a weapon capable of instantly killing your opponent before revealing anything about your own magic, why wouldn't you use it?

Master magic.

Don't become dependent on it.

Anyone who viewed magical knowledge as the only thing that mattered while dismissing humanity's greatest weapons as insignificant would never survive Seoul.

I could guarantee that.

I'd literally injected myself with morphine to cope with magical backlash.

Pain could never truly be overcome.

Human willpower was meaningless in the face of it.

Pain could only be driven out by even greater pain.

Which was exactly why you had to spend that pain wisely.

So during that week, I focused on everything other than magic.

While people inside Seoul relied exclusively on magical power, we concentrated on improving our fundamentals, developing tactics, and acquiring better tools to fight monsters.

Alongside an American firearms instructor.

The instructor waiting for me at the range removed his sunglasses and offered a polite handshake.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Baek. I'll be your instructor. My name is Song Smith."

Instructor Song Smith was an Asian man with a disciplined appearance and narrow eyes.

The most important thing about him, however, was his Korean.

"Oh! Korean?"

"Hahaha. Third-generation Korean American. But I speak Korean fluently, so don't worry."

Thankfully, unlike the generals, my firearms instructor could actually speak Korean.

Another benefit of the command's efforts to support us.

Little details like that made a noticeable difference.

After shaking my hand, Song immediately got to the point.

"Mr. Baek. The reason you survived is entirely because of magic. You understand that, right?"

"Yes. Magic was incredible. But its limitations were obvious too."

Magic.

It truly was the kind of power worth dedicating a lifetime to.

Unfortunately, reaching the pinnacle of magic required maximizing every available tool and environmental advantage.

Magic always demanded a price.

And, at least in terms of killing power, it wasn't always enough.

At least, that was how I saw it.

Instructor Song seemed to appreciate that mindset.

"Your tactical way of thinking impressed me greatly."

He began clapping enthusiastically.

"Magic comes with pain as feedback. Attempting to overcome that through narcotics causes severe impairment of judgment, which is disastrous in an environment like Seoul where you'll be facing countless magical phenomena and monster species."

"Therefore, to use magic effectively when it truly matters, you also need to excel at firearm-based responses."

"I'd love to have the others come train later as well."

"Let's start with me first."

The pastor was busy proselytizing.

Shin Na-in was helping him.

Lee Se-jun was apparently exploring the armory by himself.

Hamza had been summoned to headquarters.

That left only me.

Song looked disappointed but proceeded with training anyway.

And honestly?

I quickly realized it had been worth it.

After observing my shooting stance, he physically corrected my posture before making a declaration.

"Mr. Baek. Forget everything the Korean military taught you about shouldering a rifle."

"I qualified Expert with this stance."

"I'm not saying it's bad."

He adjusted my shoulders.

"But traditional shouldering drives the stock deep into the shoulder pocket. It's excellent for precision shooting against stationary targets."

"However, anchoring the rifle like that slows torso rotation and delays sight alignment."

"You mentioned hostile mages possessing superhuman mobility."

Immediately, I thought of Jeong Nari—the Dubai Sticky Witch.

The mage I'd first encountered in the Jangji Station department store.

I found myself nodding.

"Mr. Baek. Stop driving the rifle into your shoulder."

He repositioned my arms.

"Pull it toward your centerline. Elbows down."

For a while I repeatedly practiced awkward-looking stances.

Then he started criticizing my aiming method.

"Stop closing one eye."

"..."

"If you're operating in Seoul, you need the widest field of view possible."

"Practice keeping both eyes open."

"If you're using Eye Magic, learning binocular aiming becomes even more important."

"It dramatically expands your tactical options."

"Single-eye aiming is outdated. Let it go."

Apparently my method for improving accuracy had been declared obsolete.

It stung.

But survival mattered more than pride.

So I began retraining myself to align sights with both eyes open.

The habit was deeply ingrained.

My left eyelid twitched constantly.

Every time it happened, Song grabbed the barrel and shook it until I corrected myself.

"Hold the stance."

"Ugh..."

"Good. Now let's do it again with a gas mask."

Things became even stranger once the gas mask came out.

Back in the military, I'd learned instinctive shooting techniques.

Song pointed out things I'd never even considered.

Usually while pressing down on the back of my neck.

"Too much neck bend."

"Mr. Baek, don't lower your head trying to weld your cheek to the stock."

"Raise the rifle instead."

"Bring it to your jawline."

"You've already learned this."

"Don't twist your body to fit the gun."

"Move the gun so it fits your body."

"Again."

It wasn't just marksmanship training.

My AR-15 and gas mask received upgrades too.

Captain Kim personally delivered the modified rifle and a new-generation gas mask.

He spent forever explaining the details.

I wasn't a gun nerd, so I summarized it myself.

"So the mask doesn't fog anymore, right?"

"Well... yes..."

"The rifle won't corrode from moisture."

"There's a folding backup iron sight."

"A vertical grip."

"A low-output downward-facing light."

"That's all I need to know, right?"

Captain Kim looked devastated.

He'd apparently wanted to explain materials, coatings, treatments, and dozens of other details.

I cut him off immediately.

The reason I'd insisted on the gas mask was simple.

Walking around Seoul with my face exposed sounded terrible.

A gas mask was the most practical accessory imaginable.

And thanks to Stage 2 Hand Magic—Blood of the Left Hand—I could enchant it whenever necessary.

The thing would be useful in countless ways.

Still, soldiers seemed just as obsessed with equipment details as Lee Se-jun was with Delta Force.

Captain Kim protested.

"Mr. Baek. You have no idea how many military vouchers were spent customizing that AR-15 for you."

"I thought this was a free service."

"Operational motivation, remember?"

"I miss Mr. Lee Se-jun."

"He'd appreciate it."

"Why won't he enlist?"

"I heard he even applied for long-term service."

"..."

I could have destroyed Captain Kim's hopes by explaining Lee Se-jun's deeply questionable personal ambitions.

Instead, I stayed quiet.

I had no interest in ruining someone else's dreams.

Captain Kim deserved to keep believing in his version of Captain Korea.

***

Of course, preparing to stand at the boundary between magic and ordinary combat involved more than guns.

"Mr. Je-min! One more lap!"

"Huff... Huff... God damn it..."

Being dragged into running drills by the absurdly healthy former NCO known as Lee Se-jun was a special form of suffering.

As someone who firmly believed exercise was harmful to one's health, the sight of myself sprinting through an American military camp felt surreal.

Several American soldiers saw us running and burst out laughing.

Then they joined us.

"Mr. Je-min! The Americans are running too! One more lap!"

"Hell yeah, let's do one more!"

"Huff... Huff... Fuck..."

If it weren't for my awakened Heart-path magic, I never would have agreed.

As we passed the barracks housing the Supreme Mages, Pastor Park and Shin Na-in stood outside grinning and waving.

"Hey! Looking good, Baek Je-min!"

"Mr. Je-min, you can rest. You already possess four branches of Holy War Rituals."

I wanted to tell them exactly where they could shove their encouragement.

Unfortunately, I didn't have enough breath left to do it.

Crack!

Absolutely impossible.

Trying to steady my breathing, I continued running behind Lee Se-jun and the laughing American soldiers.

Baek Je-min.

Future Archmage.

This was the hardest I'd ever worked in my entire life.

Of course, training wasn't all I did.

One afternoon, Hamza and I were stretched out on a rooftop of a requisitioned building near the Pyeongtaek U.S. military camp, lazily enjoying the warm sunlight.

An empty ammunition can served as our side table.

Two cans of Spam.

One container of kimchi.

And beside the ammo can, Hamza was diligently cooking ramen.

The smell alone was incredible.

Even while working over the portable gas stove he'd brought, Hamza somehow managed to perfectly season the broth while performing bizarre noodle-handling tricks with his chopsticks.

"If you want ramen to taste good, you need to expose the noodles to air. Makes them chewier. Since we added Spam, we can use a little less seasoning packet and it'll still be perfect."

He scooped some broth into a small bowl and handed it over.

I took a sip.

Slurp.

"Ahhh..."

The difference was immediate.

Hamza's ramen really was something special.

The two of us sat there blowing on noodles and slurping them one strand at a time.

The reason we weren't eating inside the American camp was simple.

Technically we were on duty.

We just happened to be slacking off under the protection of headquarters.

Below us, tanks rumbled through the streets while soldiers moved in formation.

And standing before them were civilians being forcibly evicted from their homes.

One middle-aged man finally snapped.

"Hey! You sons of bitches! Who the hell are you to throw us out?!"

"This evacuation is for the safety of the area surrounding the camp. You may refuse."

The soldier's voice was flat.

"However, if you fail to comply and an incident occurs later, you will be classified as infected and immediately neutralized."

"The military can do this?!"

The man shouted back.

"You shot people in Seoul! Now you're threatening to shoot us too?!"

In normal times, the soldiers probably would've bowed their heads and apologized.

But soldiers who had spent time on the blockade line were broken people.

The men who survived monster assaults and rotated back from the front no longer bothered hiding the killing intent that fear had carved into them.

Clack.

The moment the civilian took a single step forward, several rifles rose.

Unfortunately, the civilian completely failed to recognize the danger.

"Then shoot! Go ahead, you bast—"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The first shot drew screams.

After the third shot, everyone became silent.

The crying continued.

Quiet.

Suppressed.

The smell of gunpowder drifted all the way to the rooftop.

I calmly swallowed another mouthful of noodles while watching.

The civilian writhed on the ground, clutching a leg that had been shot.

Only after he was reduced to crawling like an insect did the soldiers lower their weapons.

At least they hadn't turned him into a sieve.

One soldier lifted a radio.

Almost simultaneously, our own radio crackled.

[10:41. Individual ignored directives and approached military personnel. Subject was shot. Confirmed ordinary civilian.]

I picked up the radio and looked toward Hamza.

Hamza immediately understood.

With a piece of kimchi stuffed in his mouth, he nodded.

"Mmph."

"Understood. No nearby threats detected."

Beep.

After ending the transmission, the soldiers resumed their work.

Civilian laborers jumped from trucks to deal with the wounded man.

The tanks rolled away.

Infantry squads spread out in three-man teams, fully prepared to shoot anyone else who ignored orders.

The civilians finally understood what "blockade-line veteran" actually meant.

And they obeyed.

I set my chopsticks down and drank another spoonful of broth.

"Ahhh..."

Eating while watching other people suffer really was the best.

Naturally, I pulled out the greatest invention of the twenty-first century:

My military-authorized smartphone.

The internet was a disaster.

No surprise there.

Despite heavy censorship, foreign media and online outlets were painting an increasingly dramatic picture of Korea.

[U.S.-Korea Joint Command: How Is It Different From the Combined Forces Command? Citizens Fear Permanent Collapse of Democracy Under Indefinite Martial Law.]

[Field Commanders Under Martial Law Accused of Illegal Detentions. Fate of Detained Civilians Unknown.]

[Testimonies Continue Regarding Brutality by Soldiers Returning From the Seoul Blockade Line. Military Officials Refuse Comment.]

[Joint Command Announces Strategic Relocation for Securing Safe Zones in Gyeonggi Province. Critics Condemn Forced Evacuations.]

[Civilian Contracts Opened for Exploration Missions Into Seoul. Are Blockaded Citizens Being Given Any Real Choice?]

The last headline naturally caught my attention.

Exploration efforts inside Seoul were accelerating.

I blew on another mouthful of noodles.

"So people are already running into Seoul?"

Hamza nodded.

"They got basic equipment and supplies."

"And?"

"They said training doesn't matter. Learning doesn't matter. They can just shoot things or learn magic."

"Mm."

I clicked my tongue.

"What meaningless lives."

People who treated preparation and rest as pointless and chased immediate rewards always ended up like this.

Dopamine burned through their brains.

Dreams of freedom.

Dreams of fortune.

And eventually they made stupid decisions with their lives on the line.

Learning was a long-term investment.

People looking for easy shortcuts through magic would never amount to anything.

They were proof of that.

***

Because overseas communications were restricted, even contacting my parents in America wasn't easy.

Not that we had much to talk about.

Still.

Now that I was practically qualified to be called an Archmage outside Seoul, I finally lifted the block and called home.

I wasn't prepared for what happened next.

[Baek Je-min, you little bastard! You stayed there because you wanted to become some grand mage?! Why'd you block us?! You want to see your mother collapse from worry?!]

I held the phone away from my ear.

"Father. I'm doing fine."

[Fine?]

"I'm literally eating ramen right now."

[You can afford ramen?]

"Of course."

Below us, newly displaced residents crossed paths with civilian laborers cleaning up the aftermath of the shooting.

I lifted another bundle of noodles.

"How's Mom?"

[The government's paying relocation support and gave us a house. She's already made friends in the Korean community.]

I could practically hear him sigh.

[She's out talking to people about Korea right now. If she finds out you called, she'll lose her mind.]

"Is life good over there?"

Crunch.

I bit into a piece of kimchi.

My father sighed again.

[Anywhere's better than where you are.]

Exactly what I wanted to hear.

"That's my dad."

[You little shit. If you don't come back in one piece, I'm taking a baseball bat to your thighs.]

"Better prepare several bats."

I ended the call.

Across from me, Hamza had quietly been stealing pieces of Spam.

When our eyes met, he awkwardly smiled and offered me two slices.

"It's cooked perfectly."

"Good."

Steam rose from the Spam as I picked it up.

Then I glanced back at my phone.

And froze.

Several familiar usernames stared back at me.

Old Discord gaming buddies.

Guys who used anime girls or vacation photos as profile pictures.

Now every profile had changed.

Serious expressions.

Formal photographs.

Obituaries.

[GameSlave: Obituary. April 23, 2028. If you're an acquaintance, I'm sorry. I won't be responding.]

[GameBro: 2003.08.21 – 2028.04.21]

I silently decided that if I ever saw those idiots again, I'd put a bullet in them for making me worry.

Then I turned my phone off.

At that exact moment, Shin Na-in appeared carrying grape juice and paper cups.

"Everyone, get up."

"Why?"

Can't you see I'm busy wasting time?

Naturally, he ignored me.

He sat down beside us, casually stole a piece of Spam, and began chewing.

I was about to complain.

Then he spoke.

"Go Ryeoha's interrogation results are out."

Immediately, I sat upright.

"They got information about Hand Magic?"

Go Ryeoha.

The woman who had promised me legendary magical equipment and then spent an entire week under military custody instead.

The opportunity to pressure her had finally arrived.

But information came first.

Na-in seemed to read my thoughts.

After pouring grape juice into a paper cup and handing it to Hamza, he raised three fingers.

"Thank you."

"The Lord's blood."

Na-in nodded solemnly.

"Even heretics deserve salvation."

Then he continued.

"Hand Path Stage Three is telekinesis."

"...Telekinesis is only Stage Three?"

That surprised me.

I'd seen Go Ryeoha hurl monsters around with invisible force.

If that was only Stage Three, what in the world was Stage Four?

Na-in raised a fourth finger.

"Material substitution."

I blinked.

"Meaning what? Turning things into gold?"

"According to the reports, practitioners can transform blood from their left hand into different materials."

He paused.

"Or substitute materials during magical rituals."

CRUNCH.

The paper cup in my hand collapsed instantly.

My grip crushed it flat.

A burning sensation surged from the depths of my chest.

I stood.

"Hamza."

"Yes?"

"Pack everything up."

"...What?"

"There's still ramen left."

"You heartless bastard."

I wiped my mouth with my sleeve.

"Go Ryeoha has been imprisoned and you're worried about ramen?"

"Excuse me?"

Ignoring him, I turned to Na-in.

"And stop giving her attitude."

"Mr. Je-min."

"She had her reasons. Extreme circumstances deserve understanding."

Na-in's look of utter contempt didn't matter.

I'd already achieved enlightenment.

So what if she was a little crazy?

So what if she was socially awkward?

From the moment we rescued her near Konkuk University—

She had been one of us.

A Supreme Mage.

"The command can forget it."

I stood up completely.

"I'm going to headquarters."

Because there was absolutely no way I was letting the military keep custody of a goose capable of laying magical golden eggs.