Hiding a House in the Apocalypse

One thing was certain—this outing wasn’t a picnic.

“Skelton, why did you suddenly stop?”

They say the best training ground is the real battlefield.

I don’t fully agree, but there are things you can only learn in real combat—so it’s not entirely wrong either.

“Sue. What do you think will happen if we just keep driving ahead like this?”

Just as training programs vary, so do real battlefields—they come in thousands of forms.

It’s an oversimplification, but if you reduce it far enough, there are easy battlefields and difficult ones.

Trying to teach someone on a difficult battlefield is practically black comedy.

The one doing the teaching has a high chance of becoming a corpse—though, if dying becomes a lesson for those behind you, maybe there’s meaning in that too.

Assuming those behind you don’t end up as corpses themselves.

A live training ground should be favored. It should be easy.

The lower the difficulty, the better.

Someone might argue that if there’s no threat at all, it’s just a training camp—but it’s different. Definitely different.

The experience of doing something you’ve never done before, seeing something you’ve never known, is a huge discovery for the person living it.

I’ve never raised a child, but people who have are often amazed by the small, slow discoveries their children make each day.

It’s something like that.

“Hmm. I don’t know?”

Sue was definitely talented with firearms—a skilled shooter—but all her experience came from static assignments: boring sentry duty, mostly just standing watch.

If she could live the rest of her life doing just that at one secure base, there’d be no problem. But life doesn’t work that way.

Our territory could collapse for any number of reasons. Rebecca and Sue might someday have to walk on their own two feet, searching for shelter in a world that’s no longer familiar.

It’s not what I want—but even if we just find ourselves short on fighters, we might need Sue’s help. She needs at least a bit of experience.

Kids grow fast.

That girl, who now stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with me, might even outgrow Rebecca—or me—soon enough.

In this world, if you can hold a gun and fight, you’re an adult.

You’re free to cling to pre-war notions of innocence and age, but the people out there trying to kill us don’t care about those rules.

“See how those two cars are blocking the road at an angle? Any vehicle coming this way has to slow down.”

So I had to teach her.

“Speed won’t help you dodge bullets—but the faster you’re going, the better your chances of avoiding them. More importantly, your odds of escaping improve.”

Teach her a way to survive—even if neither I nor Rebecca were around.

“So it’s a trap?”

“Exactly. Road traps usually start by forcing your speed down.”

“Why? Isn’t it better to just end it without warning?”

“Vehicles are precious resources. Especially ones that still run—that means they’ve got at least a good battery or some fuel. Anyone ambushing here is likely someone who’s been waiting days, even weeks, for a car to pass. They’ll want to get the most out of that one shot. That’s what makes a good score for a raider.”

“Sounds like you’re right, Skelton.”

On our way to Sejong—just a short ride away—I gave her a lot of lessons.

Not in combat or killing, but in observation and decision-making.

Especially that—decision-making. Sue really needed it.

“Skelton!”

She reacted sharply to even the tiniest changes—and immediately raised her gun.

That kind of defensive instinct is valuable for women and kids.

But even that defense needs limits.

The target Sue had aimed at wasn’t even a threat—it was a non-mutated deer.

At least 600 meters away.

Similar incidents happened a few more times on the way to Sejong.

The most dangerous one was when we spotted a small refugee camp on the roadside.

At about 800 meters away, Sue, just like her mother, raised her rifle at the tiny, ant-sized people watching us.

“Sue.”

I snatched the rifle from her hand with one arm.

“What? What is it, Skelton?”

She looked at me with a mix of confusion and frustration.

“Sue. You don’t have to treat everyone like an enemy.”

“But they’re watching us.”

“Think from their side. Wouldn’t you be scared too if some strangers suddenly showed up out of nowhere?”

I gently tapped the top of Sue’s knit cap and handed the rifle back before speaking into the K-walkie.

“Just passing through. We’ll be on our way.”

I sped up the motorcycle and put distance between us and the scene.

Of course, I didn’t let my guard down until they were completely out of sight.

“Weren’t you suspicious of them too, Skelton?”

Sue asked, catching my reaction.

“Of course I was. But that doesn’t mean we have to fight everyone.”

Sue looked puzzled.

“Why not?”

“Do you shoot everyone you don’t like?”

“Well... no.”

“Why hesitate?”

“I didn’t hesitate!”

As we continued down the road, an interesting visitor caught our eye.

A group of wild boars.

They looked normal at first glance, but compared to the barn nearby, you could tell just how huge they were.

As big as a one-ton truck. Mutated.

Sue’s eyes widened. She raised her rifle—almost as big as she was—and aimed at the boar.

Distance: 1,200 meters.

Not an effective range.

Especially not against a skull that thick.

Sue seemed to realize it too. She kept the rifle up but didn’t shoot.

I let the moment pass.

Waited.

Eventually, the boars noticed us.

They stared.

Snorted.

Then turned and disappeared behind the brush.

“What do you think?”

I asked Sue.

She lowered her rifle, brow furrowed in thought.

“They ran away?”

“Why do you think?”

“Because... they were scared of us?”

“Wrong.”

“What, then?”

Smiling faintly, I looked out at the vast farmland fading into wilderness where the boars had gone.

“Not every mutation wants to kill humans. Sure, mutations are hostile to us—but that doesn’t mean they’re all driven by bloodlust. In fact, the ones living freely in nature usually avoid people.”

No one teaches this in school.

I wouldn’t teach it either, honestly.

Because the ones we meet in the field—the mutations we have to kill—are almost always aggressive and dangerous.

If you hesitate in the face of some vague uncertainty, you’ll die instantly.

Still, I’d seen it for myself in China. There were plenty of mutations just living in peace, untouched by violence.

Even the Gold Pack had their own community—they coexisted.

“...They told us in camp that every mutation is a killer, desperate to slaughter humans.”

Sue kept staring where the boars had gone, her gaze fixed.

That lesson had clearly shaken something in her.

“Some just avoid us out of disgust. Of course, if there’s nothing else to eat and people are the only food around, they’ll come. But not all of them.”

“So... we don’t have to kill every mutation?”

“To be exact, we don’t have to fight every mutation. Same as with those people earlier.”

“The ones watching us?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what kind of training you got in camp, but people like us—those with no backup—need to avoid combat altogether.”

“Then... we talk to them?”

“Sometimes, yeah. But with strangers? Talking isn’t always wise.”

“Then how?”

“You read the tension. Like when two wild animals run into each other. They growl, they stare—and eventually, they back off.”

“...That’s hard.”

Sue mumbled, looking uncertain. I reached out and gently patted her knit-covered head.

“You’ll learn by watching. No one gets it right from the start.”

There was something I didn’t say.

That this collapsing world is often far harsher for someone like Sue—a girl, a foreigner—than it is for a guy like me.

But that wasn’t a conversation for now.

That was... an advanced lesson.

As we passed through the deepening autumn fields and forests, we finally arrived at our destination—Sejong.

A massive ruin lay nestled in a vast plain between mountains, a river winding through it.

It was a ruin, yes—but smoke was rising from countless chimneys.

This was Sejong—currently the largest city in all of what was once South Korea.

“That’s Sejong?”

“Yeah.”

“It looks huge.”

“It is. Lots of people too.”

Sue’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

Kids always crave something new.

It’s instinct.

That curiosity is what helps them learn.

“You brought your sunglasses, right?”

“Yeah.”

Now we’d just have to see whether that “something new” was good... or bad.

“Let’s go.”

Sorting the good from the bad—that was our job, as adults.

*

Cities grow as fast as children.

Every time I returned to Sejong, it had grown larger, more prosperous.

Back when I first arrived, the streets were divided into the slave zone and the raider zone—but now, the entire area surged with the liveliness of unchecked prosperity, no divisions in sight.

There were too many people.

So many that it was overwhelming, even now.

“Skelton, there’s so many people...”

Sue, still straddling the bike, leaned in close and whispered as I walked the motorcycle forward by hand.

“Keep your guard up. In cities like this, you can lose your nose and not even notice.”

To be honest, I was the one who needed to stay sharp.

There weren’t even gatekeepers anymore at Sejong’s entrance.

Sure, there were a few stationed nearby, but no one bothered greeting every vehicle that loitered around. That was how common traffic had become here—cars, bikes, bicycles, carts, all moving in and out without fuss.

What had once been wasteland had been transformed into farmland. The crops—soon to be harvested—bowed their golden heads, and several ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) windmills spun steadily in the distance.

Street stalls lined the wide roads, overflowing with goods both pre- and post-war. Small makeshift bands played music and begged for supplies.

“Skelton! This place really feels like a city!”

It was.

A real city.

A city of real people, built by one of our own—King, from our message board.

“Oh! Skelton!”

King was still very much alive and well.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Still clad in his flashy suit, still hiding his partially zombified face with a vivid lion mask—where he’d found a fresh one, I had no idea.

Sue looked at him with a mix of awe and nervous curiosity.

“And who’s this?”

King had taken notice of Sue.

“She’s the daughter of a comrade from my territory.”

“Ah, I see.”

With that brief exchange, we followed him into his office.

As soon as we stepped inside, King turned his back to us, removed his mask, and let out a deep, heavy sigh.

We couldn’t see his face, but the patchy hair on the back of his head said plenty.

“......”

King’s death was still in progress.

“He contacted you? Iamjesus?”

He turned to face me again, mask back in place.

I nodded.

Clack.

King placed something on the desk.

A gold bar.

A hefty one—must’ve weighed at least 5 kilograms.

People say precious metals are meaningless in an apocalypse. I’m not so sure.

Gold still holds the power it always did.

Its value isn’t intrinsic—it’s something we gave it. Something we still give it.

Especially gold—it has captivated human souls through every age.

“The Chinese love gold,” King said, nudging the bar toward me.

“Five hundred grams of silver would be enough.”

Reject excessive payment.

That’s common sense.

Nothing in this world comes for free.

I pushed the gold bar back toward him.

“I can’t accept something that big. We’re only talking about a laptop and a game console, maybe.”

King pushed the bar forward again.

There was a stubbornness in the way his gloved hand moved.

“Buy everything iamjesus wants.”

So that was his angle—iamjesus.

I’d figured as much.

I’d been meaning to bring it up anyway.

“You still think of iamjesus as your successor?”

King nodded.

Without a hint of hesitation.

“...Really?”

There’s no doubt iamjesus is a powerful Awakened.

At least Over Level 10.

He’s on the same level as Woo Min-hee.

But even if he has godlike power, he’s immature.

No—he’s not just immature. He’s below average, all things considered.

He had a rough childhood.

Sue had a hard time too, but she always had her loving mother by her side.

Iamjesus, on the other hand, was wounded from the start—and he rotted from the inside, carrying those wounds with him.

The real breaking point came when he saw the corpse of his father—a man he hated and loved in equal measure.

The cicada act he pulled... it was probably his way of saying he didn’t even want to pretend to be human anymore.

I like iamjesus. But I don’t believe for a second that someone that broken can run a city like this.

Honestly, I consider it a miracle he even messaged me, asking for a game console.

“He doesn’t have what it takes to run this city. He’s nothing like you.”

King replied calmly.

“This city still needs strength.”

I shook my head.

Then I said what I’d been thinking.

“He’s all strength, but he’s still a child. A boy whose body grew up while his mind never did. Worse than that, he’s deeply wounded. And you’re planning to entrust this city—home to tens of thousands of people—to someone like that? This city you built with your own life and soul?”

Sure, the world had fallen apart, but people still remembered democracy. People today had lived through it. They knew the past. They knew how foolish history could be.

You could rule over a small group with force.

Like Dies Irae did.

But a city this big, this alive—can you really rule it with strength alone?

“I can teach him.”

With a sigh, King leaned back in his chair, uncharacteristically weary.

“I can teach him.”

I was about to say something more—but stopped.

Because the moment he said teach, Sue’s face flashed in my mind.

Instead, I just stared at him.

Behind the eye holes of that mask, I could see the faint glow of an Awakened’s eyes—the resolve, the stubborn will. But also something else.

Something he couldn’t hide.

A deep, inescapable fear.

“...I don’t think I’ve got much time left.”

I already knew.

The cylindrical capsule in the corner of his office—it was completely empty.