Chapter 89

We Must Stop It

1:10 PM, May 4, 2028

I turned off my authorized smartphone and took in the bleak sight beyond the reinforced glass.

The room was soft and cushioned, with every edge rounded off, giving it an adorably harmless appearance.

The kind of place where little kids would happily run around and play.

And here, the historic sixth member of the Zizon Mages, Goryeoha, was bouncing a rubber ball against the floor and laughing cheerfully.

She was dressed in a tracksuit with slightly loose sleeves for ease of movement.

"Bounce, bounce, bounce~."

The glass must have been treated somehow, because it seemed she couldn't see us from inside.

If anyone ever caught me smiling that brightly while bouncing a rubber ball against the floor, I'd probably choose murder and cover-up out of sheer embarrassment.

Goryeoha smiled as if she'd forgotten every worry in the world, as if her brain had undergone an aggressive cleaning. She skipped around the room with a bright grin plastered across her face.

Before long, even bouncing the ball around became boring. She picked up a stuffed cat doll, hugged it tightly as though she might tear it apart, and spent her time spinning around in circles while giggling.

That was when Shin Nain approached.

After speaking with the medical personnel responsible for Goryeoha and reviewing the relevant records and precautions, she came over to me.

Standing beside me, she watched Goryeoha's childlike antics through the reinforced glass and spoke calmly.

"The command headquarters also noticed the discrepancy between Pastor Park's explanation and Goryeoha's behavior, so they've been monitoring her closely."

Pastor Park Yohann had testified that all the Konkuk University survivors died while Goryeoha was absent.

But anyone who spoke with Goryeoha couldn't help sensing a strange incongruity beneath that bright, carefree laughter.

It was too unnatural.

The pastor had been blinded by affection and failed to notice.

Among the Zizon Mages, Shin Nain and I seemed to have been the first—and most strongly—to instinctively sense that something was off about Goryeoha.

Looking back, we had been the two most determined to uncover exactly what happened to the Konkuk University survivors.

At the time, we were desperate to learn the truth and understand why Goryeoha had gone insane.

Now it was different.

Now I thought I understood why we found her unsettling.

Why she felt wrong.

"It may be a Stage Three or Stage Four Hand-Type spell. They believe the penalty is emotional detachment."

"Emotional detachment?"

"Perhaps depersonalization would be a better term. A state where your own emotions feel like someone else's, making reality feel unreal. We don't know whether the penalty can be chosen, but headquarters currently suspects that Ms. Goryeoha erased either her guilt or her fear."

"So that's what it was."

Shin Nain and I stood side by side, staring through the reinforced glass at Goryeoha as she laughed and played energetically.

We Zizon Mages feel fear.

We fear the grotesque appearance of those nauseating monsters, the horrible deaths they bring, and Shin Nain and I fear something beyond even that—

The Beginning of Eternity waiting for us after death.

It was merely a strong suspicion, so we deliberately didn't mention the Beginning of Eternity to headquarters.

Ordinary people wouldn't believe it anyway.

And if they did believe it, they'd probably kill themselves immediately.

Who could endure an eternity spent trapped inside a monster's body, drowning in sensations beyond their control while retaining their sense of self?

That's why all of us Zizon Mages—especially Shin Nain and I—carried a fundamental obsession deep within our minds:

Never get captured by the monsters.

Even while enjoying good food and receiving admiration from others, that fear remained.

But Goryeoha showed none of it.

She laughed and joked with us, but there was no fear inside her.

A human without fear is hollow.

The unusually vibrant energy and sense of alienness surrounding Goryeoha stemmed from that emptiness.

And so the Pyeongtaek U.S.-ROK Joint Command concluded that it would be difficult to make active military use of her.

She was certainly a strategic asset—a high-ranking mage and a friendly local survivor—but they couldn't ignore the risks posed by her mental instability and its potential consequences if she were formally integrated into the military supply chain.

Of course, they could use her if necessary.

But if a better alternative existed, they were more than willing to pass her over.

"That's good."

"Jemin."

"Waaah, everyone died because I wasn't good enough. I should've done better. Comforting people who say things like that all day long is pointless. It just becomes exhausting."

Few things are as tiring as listening to endless complaints about irreversible mistakes.

I could only give a bitter smile as I watched Goryeoha's innocent grin through the glass.

"We're not exactly in a position where we have spare time to listen to someone cry all day. We're busy enough laughing, talking, eating, and sleeping. How are we supposed to become someone's emotional garbage can too?"

"Returning the fear or guilt that Ms. Goryeoha forgot is the only way to truly help her."

"Who throws away trash carelessly these days? If Ms. Goryeoha buys an official emotional-trash disposal bag, I'll gladly be her emotional garbage can."

I thought about the people causing chaos back at the Zizon Mage barracks.

The pastor, probably carrying coat racks over to create partitions and private space for Goryeoha.

Hamza, gathering feminine necessities and wondering what else she might need.

And Lee Sejun, grumbling with his lips stuck out while hauling luggage around.

Each of them was unbearable individually.

Put them together, and somehow they became even worse.

Still, even a garbage dump looks beautiful when a single wildflower blooms in it.

So I decided to become that fragrant, spotless dandelion blooming in the garbage dump known as the Zizon Mages.

"Let's go. Time to pick up Ms. Ryeoha."

"Mr. Jemin, you truly deserve to be crowned King of the Trash. Amen."

When we officially entered the playroom, Goryeoha—who had been rolling around on the soft floor—looked up at us in surprise.

"Junior! And... I thought you were an uncle, but you're actually an older brother?"

"Master, let's go."

"Huh? Go where?"

Goryeoha blinked repeatedly.

At that moment I noticed Shin Nain wearing an unusually complicated expression.

Not the kind of expression someone should make in front of a crafting genius who could build practically anything.

I jabbed Shin Nain in the side with my elbow and then raised the corners of my mouth into a bright, hopeful smile.

"Ms. Goryeoha, you've passed the selection process for the Zizon Mages. Everyone has already prepared to welcome you. Let's go."

For a long moment, Goryeoha simply stared blankly.

Then—

She jumped to her feet.

Her eyes sparkled.

And she burst into laughter.

"Ahaha... Zizon Mages? That was funny, Junior. Seriously, who comes up with such a childish name?"

Chapter 66

If Goryeoha hadn't been a mage with exceptional talent for crafting magical items, she would have been demoted back to Aphorism long ago.

But she wasn't someone who could easily be replaced.

For one thing, headquarters' treatment of us improved considerably after she officially joined the Zizon Mages.

Even Instructor Song, who taught us marksmanship, hinted as much.

"Mr. Baek. I understand you have some connection to Anderson Makenford. I've heard that Mr. Anderson has promised substantial financial support to the U.S. Congress for the sake of improving the standing of you and your companions. He seems particularly excited about the newly joined member."

"Really?"

"How would I know? But the tabloids claim that Mr. Anderson has recently been meeting frequently with numerous wealthy elites and upper-class figures. Not all of it is true, of course. But I suspect it's because he appears to have established a direct sponsorship relationship with your group."

Instructor Song Smith, our firearms instructor, was extremely valuable because he conveyed news from the mainland—that is, America—from a civilian perspective.

Naturally, military influence couldn't be avoided entirely.

Still, he gave us some idea of how the wealthy and powerful viewed the Zizon Mages.

Zizon Mage.

Or Best of Best.

Apparently people familiar with Korean affairs preferred those names because they carried more impact than the vague designation of Aphorism.

Furthermore, someone had somehow obtained information about Stage Four Hand-Type magic.

Following Goryeoha's recruitment, volunteer forces were reportedly being organized around the world.

Of course, they were called volunteers.

But their true interest was obviously magic.

As he corrected my shooting stance more firmly, Instructor Song warned me:

"PMC operators employed by conglomerates, billionaires, and national leaders—as well as civilians in name only—will be on a completely different level from Korean conscripts. You have magic, Mr. Baek, but you already know magic alone can't solve everything. You need to understand how gunfighters think and operate, then use magic at the decisive moment to end an engagement overwhelmingly. That tactical mindset must be burned into your head."

"Headquarters allows people like that?"

"If it saves manpower and money for the Seoul expedition, they'll probably overlook a rich person's hobby."

10:46 AM, May 7, 2028

Standing in a firing lane under Instructor Song Smith's supervision, I gradually began to realize something with every gunshot.

A truth that became even clearer after Goryeoha joined us.

Many people still failed to grasp the situation.

They saw the phrase U.S.-ROK and assumed Korea was still alive.

They saw local administrations functioning and Korean soldiers still standing and concluded that the Republic of Korea continued to exist.

But living under the U.S.-ROK Joint Command taught a much simpler lesson.

Why wasn't it called an Allied Command?

The answer was simple.

Because Korean opinions and Korean intentions no longer carried any influence whatsoever in the international community.

Even America's so-called ally no longer regarded Korea as an independent national actor.

The Korean military existed in name only.

Under the Pyeongtaek U.S.-ROK Joint Command, it had effectively become a force serving the world's ruling elites—unable even to launch nuclear strikes, reduced to maintaining containment lines while waiting.

The Republic of Korea had become little more than that.

As fog began appearing in localized areas around Incheon, public outrage intensified against the government that had abandoned Seoul's ten million residents.

At the same time came news that a referendum would be held to replace the entire administrative leadership.

Naturally, this announcement was accompanied by China's reassuring declaration of its principles of non-interference in elections and non-interference in domestic affairs.

The Republic of Korea was already finished.

It was falling apart.

Only those unwilling to admit it remained.

At least that gave me an opportunity to crawl into Seoul and plunder knowledge.

Of course, if Goryeoha had been nothing more than a simple trigger, I never would have allowed her to remain with the Zizon Mages.

11:50 AM, May 7, 2028

By the time I returned to the barracks, the supplies we'd ordered had already arrived via express delivery.

At the center of it all stood Goryeoha, pointing fingers at people and directing them around while busily moving several boxes at a time with invisible hands.

"Mr. Sejun, those are valuable items, so don't toss them around too roughly!"

"Tch."

Lee Sejun carried armfuls of boxes.

"Mr. Muslim, please sort the items according to the list I wrote down!"

"My name is Hamza."

Hamza frowned while following the note and hauling things around.

"Pastor, did you find the Bible verse?"

"Ah, well... I'm still lacking when it comes to Hebrew studies..."

"Ahaha, that's understandable! This isn't commonly used Hebrew!"

"Pastor, I'll help you."

"Oh, Nain."

The pastor and Shin Nain sat at a table, busy flipping through a Bible.

I quietly backed away and decided to take a walk around camp.

1:35 PM

After wandering around the camp three times, I returned to find all preparations complete.

"Baek Jemin, you son of a bitch. You came by earlier and just left?"

"I've got to train and open up my Heart pathway first."

Ignoring the pastor's grumbling, the Zizon Mages found themselves staring at piles of ponchos and all sorts of bizarre materials scattered throughout the barracks.

Having acquired knowledge of sorcery from the 66 Society, Goryeoha placed her hands on her hips and began explaining in a dignified tone.

"The 66 Society paid special attention to ancient languages with significant religious influence. One of them was Ancient Hebrew. Not reconstructed Hebrew based on modern versions, but genuine Ancient Hebrew found in fragments of the Book of Numbers."

She pointed one by one at the small containers laid out before us.

"I'm going to inscribe useful phrases using the knowledge I learned from the Society. Considering both the powerful religious influence and the age of the language, ink used in Jewish Torah scroll production seemed like the best choice."

"That's a lot of ingredients for something called ink."

"It works better if you make it yourself! Come on now, stop looking at me with those dead eyes and enjoy arts-and-crafts time~."

Thus began a crafting session none of us had ever asked for.

Making Torah ink was a miserable process.

The first step involved gathering soot-like substances resembling oil or tar and kneading them together with acacia sap and a drop of honey.

Then something called gallnut extract had to be added as well.

Goryeoha possessed Stage Three Hand-Type telekinesis and manipulated the mixture with invisible hands.

The rest of the Zizon Mages weren't so fortunate.

We spent ages crushing and kneading everything by hand until it formed a cake-like lump.

By the time it was finished, my arms were aching despite producing only a tiny amount.

"Good work, everyone!"

"Huff... huff... We can't use this immediately, can we?"

"Nope. It has to dry first..."

As Shin Nain caught her breath and stared at her hands, Goryeoha suddenly produced a neat-looking container with a confident grin.

"Ta-da! I asked for a finished product, and they actually sent one!"

A slip of paper fluttered down alongside her smile.

Shin Nain picked it up.

"An additional note from Mr. Anderson. He says it's unfortunate that he can't join us because he's busy helping all of you. He also says he'll do everything in his power to obtain more heretical materials like these, so we should feel free to send detailed handwritten reports of our experiences. I suspect that's one of the conditions of his sponsorship."

"Oh my, if it's a request from Mr. Anderson, we should definitely oblige."

The pastor instantly became warm and generous when the subject of financial support arose.

Though Goryeoha was the culprit responsible for dragging us into this ridiculous task, once the ritual began she shed even her usual cheerful smile.

Dipping a brush into the Torah ink, she carefully began painting strange symbols onto the back of a poncho laid out on the table.

Ancient Hebrew looked bizarre enough on its own to make me appreciate King Sejong all over again.

The ink resembled ordinary black ink, yet every stroke carried a strange atmosphere.

I honestly doubted any of this would work.

But as Goryeoha dug her fingernails into her clenched left hand, drawing blood that dripped onto the floor while she wrote, strange changes began to occur.

The black ink rippled as though it were breathing.

And each time Goryeoha wrote a line, the pastor responded.

יברכך יהוה וישמרך

Yevarechecha Adonai v'yishmerecha.

"May the Lord bless you and keep you."

יאר יהוה פניו אליך ויחנך

Ya'er Adonai panav elecha vichuneka.

"May the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you."

ישא יהוה פניו אליך וישם לך שלום

Yisa Adonai panav elecha v'yasem lecha shalom.

"May the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you peace."

When Goryeoha finally stopped writing, the strange characters painted onto the poncho neither smeared nor washed away despite its waterproof coating.

It looked as though they'd been printed there from the beginning.

Sweat beaded across Goryeoha's forehead as she wiped it away and sighed in relief.

"Whew. These verses carry the meaning of warding off evil. The 66 Society never told me exactly how they use them, but I thought they'd help against monsters. When the effect starts wearing off, the writing will turn red, so bring it back when that happens!"

I stared at her with wide eyes.

"Master, would you like a shoulder massage?"

If it meant getting a few more lines inscribed onto my poncho, who cared about masculine pride?

If Goryeoha kept producing treasures like this, I could even double as her emotional garbage can.

While the Zizon Mages were enjoying this unusually harmonious moment, everyone except the perpetually grumbling Lee Sejun laughing and chatting together, a vehicle suddenly screeched to a halt outside.

Captain Kim Ho-un came running toward us.

"Aphorism. Headquarters is calling."

The moment I heard the words headquarters is calling, only one thought came to mind.

"Did our sponsorship arrive?"

"Major General Jeon Minho would probably love to shower you with funding if he could."

Judging by Captain Kim's expression, however, that wasn't the case.

"Okay. Give us a minute."

"Mr. Jemin, I'm not joking. This is a genuinely urgent situation."

"We're busy too. Can't you see we're upgrading equipment?"

Under the blank stares of the Zizon Mages, Captain Kim's face cycled through red, blue, and finally pale white.

"...Fine. Fuck it. We'll wait."

3:01 PM, May 7, 2028

The Zizon Mages responding to headquarters' summons were myself, Shin Nain, and Lee Sejun.

Goryeoha's brushwork was painfully slow, and only our three ponchos had been completed.

Personally, I wanted every inch of mine covered in inscriptions.

But Captain Kim eventually grabbed my pant leg and practically begged, forcing me to compromise.

Apparently the reputation of the Zizon Mages had spread even among the American soldiers stationed in the situation room.

Both former Korean officers and U.S. military personnel could only blink stupidly as the three of us marched in proudly, our enchanted ponchos fluttering behind us.

I met their gazes with complete confidence and smiled in satisfaction.

"Shin Nain. What's their reaction?"

"Disbelief. They're wondering whether we're really the people headquarters called in."

"That's understandable. The shock of seeing a Zizon Mage for the first time."

While Shin Nain and I basked in the prestige accumulated by the Zizon Mages, Lee Sejun alone kept his hood pulled over his head.

Tightening the drawstrings until his entire face disappeared, he muttered:

"You embarrassing bastards."

I had no idea who he thought he was talking about.

We eventually approached Major General Jeon Minho, who was already handling his subordinates in a grim voice.

The moment he saw us, his face brightened.

He gestured toward chairs that had clearly been prepared in haste.

"Aphorism. Please sit."

"No, thank you."

Before I could answer, Shin Nain spoke first.

This bastard acted like he was the protagonist.

Even when I shot him a glare, he remained completely unfazed.

In fact, he became even calmer.

"The situation appears urgent and likely involves a deployment request. We'll listen standing."

"...Mr. Shin Nain. You're not at all what I expected."

"Wherever the authority of the Four-Horned Devil advances, there lies the place to prove my faith."

"..."

Major General Jeon looked as though he had countless things he wanted to say.

As though he wanted an explanation.

I remained silent.

Aphorism was, well...

More like a cooperative than an organization with a leader.

There was no reason for responsibility to fall on me.

Finally, remembering he had more important matters to deal with, Jeon Minho sighed repeatedly, paced around, and then motioned for nearby soldiers and officers to move out of earshot.

Only then did he speak.

"Haven't you ever wondered why we don't censor the media?"

"No. I find it entertaining."

"That's exactly why. Censorship is already taking place. You know the First Containment Line has nearly reached its limit."

"Huh?"

I recalled the foreign news articles I'd been reading while eating ramen with Hamza.

Soldiers acting like armed enforcers.

The collapse of democracy.

People disappearing.

Was that really what it took to satisfy the dopamine cravings of South Koreans whose capital had been destroyed by monsters?

No.

The real dopamine hit was something else entirely.

Major General Jeon quietly pulled a map of Gyeonggi Province from beneath a stack of documents and laid it before us.

"Localized fog zones have started appearing."

"Not ordinary fog?"

At those words, Lee Sejun immediately threw back his hood.

I realized what that meant too.

After observing our reactions, Jeon Minho finally revealed the truth the military had been desperately hiding.

"Sections of the First Containment Line have begun to fail."

He looked directly at the three of us.

"We urgently need Aphorism's cooperation to stabilize the containment line."