Chapter 295
Chapter 295
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 295
Chapter Title: 119. Tools (2)
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It's an intensely personal journey.
So I planned to go alone.
If, by any chance, the area got attacked and collapsed while I was out with companions in tow, it would be purely my responsibility.
I couldn't risk putting everyone in danger over something as trivial as a single nightmare.
"I'll come with you this time."
Even though I'd resolved to go solo, Defender insisted on tagging along.
"I know that place well. I scouted it recently, back when I was under Team Leader Kim Daram."
His stance was so firm that I relented and allowed it.
Before heading to Incheon, Defender suggested stopping by his old hideout.
"I've got a ride stashed there."
It turned out to be an SUV little more than a pile of scrap.
The thing was tilted so far to the left that it was a miracle it even rolled, but Defender swore by it.
"It's best to leave your vehicle with the shelter folks if you're heading there. You have to go in on foot."
The old dock area used to be one of the most coveted spots in Incheon, back when the whole city had turned into a shelter.
They called it "Priority Zone" or something.
People who couldn't shake their old habits of ranking neighborhoods and apartments tried to assign grades even inside the shelters, filling their fragile sense of superiority.
But now, that dockside had devolved into a corrupted wasteland crawling with living corpses.
"Assume every road is blocked. That zombie den's got cultists hiding out in it too."
That's why Defender was dragging this barely functional wreck along—he didn't trust the shelter.
"If you show up with a prime rig like your truck, they'll stash it somewhere and play dumb. That's exactly the kind of scum they are."
The vast region now called Incheon territory was a Warring States era of countless factions, each carving out domains and claiming sovereignty.
There were alliances like Park Penguin's, but his turf was just a fraction; most areas were ruled by local bosses who'd dug in deep.
The trendy organizational model these days was called a "complex."
"They used to form groups by subway station, but now they base around mid-to-large apartment complexes. Easier to defend, and they can use the on-site infrastructure. That's why they call 'em complexes."
Defender knew someone in the complex closest to the docks.
The vehicle chugged along, somehow.
According to Defender, it looked rough on the outside, but the guts were solid enough.
The body was canted left, suspension swaying like a rickety carousel horse, but it handled fine.
I sat in the passenger seat, lost in thought.
"......"
When had communication between me and Jang Gi-yeong broken down?
The trigger was his tumultuous final years.
Desperately fighting the unstoppable torrent called Awakening, he'd pulled every desperate stunt in the book.
Media plays, lobbying, anonymous tips, lawsuits galore.
He hadn't pocketed a dime personally, but he'd fudged accounts, taken kickbacks, and handed out illegal favors to fuel his delusions.
Administrative penalties and lawsuits scarred the man who claimed unbreakable hunter spirit, and the press tore into those wounds like sharks smelling blood. When he hit rock bottom, he became a plaything for YouTubers.
I knew his plight but never reached out.
It wasn't about liking or disliking him.
I'd hit my limit too.
Spending a month half-dead beyond a rift with shattered limbs isn't something even iron-willed folks handle easily.
On top of that, my long-buried inferiority complex, the helplessness of being powerless, and existential doubt made even self-care a chore.
Though once, Jang Gi-yeong had called me first.
I saw it but didn't pick up.
When I eventually sought him out, he was a stranger in every sense—not the Jang Gi-yeong I knew.
In that moment, I decided he'd reached narrative closure, on my terms.
But the story doesn't seem finished.
That's why I'm in this city now.
"You know how dead people can't talk? In ghost dramas or tales, spirits just pop up and stare right through the living?"
Hong Da-jeong loved creepy stories.
Over the radio linked to the vehicle, she recounted my nightmare in a thrilled tone.
"Dream ghosts are the same. Their souls are bound to the afterlife. They want to speak but can't."
"Hm......"
"What is it, Skeleton? You sound dissatisfied."
"Reminded me of something a subordinate who died in China said in my dream."
"What'd he say?"
"Give me your leg."
"Ah."
I'm not one to buy into ghosts.
If spirits existed and could harm the living, there'd be too many overdue for a visit.
But as we all know, plenty of sinners live long, happy lives.
It'd be nice if hell existed, but no one's proven it yet.
"About Jang Gi-yeong."
Defender spoke up from the driver's seat.
I glanced silently at him; he swerved the wheel and continued.
"I saw him on some internet stream."
"Yeah?"
I hadn't watched.
I knew he'd sunk to trashy broadcasts, but I didn't want to see my old mentor as a laughingstock.
"Not a fan of his, but watching our old principal get toyed with by human garbage... I don't know. Made me want to kill them."
Those so-called creators filming it should thank their stars it was pre-war.
Though most are probably bones by now.
"Jang Gi-yeong was off his rocker too. Senile, maybe. Couldn't make sense of anything. Kept rambling, no clue if they were mocking him on purpose......"
"Drop it."
I don't want to hear it.
Not the pathetic tale of my mentor hitting bottom.
His misery overflowed from what I'd seen in that cramped rental apartment.
"Fine. But he said he's building a robot? Even when I wanted that Rex bastard dead, that sounded nuts."
"Robot?"
What wild scheme now?
Hadn't he learned in China that robots don't cut it against monsters?
As head of The Guard—Korea's sole hunter academy—he'd gotten boatloads of combat data from the government.
"Not a robot exactly. Like those powered suits people wear? You know, powered armor?"
"Something like that."
Yeah, the Americans built them.
But against monsters' new electronic disruption powers, those fancy suits snapped their wearers' joints backward, twisting them like pretzels.
"That'll be tough."
An abandoned apartment loomed by the road.
Mid-level windows flashed light.
Mirror signals.
No idea what it meant, but someone in there was signaling someone outside.
Defender eased off the gas.
"Turn back?"
"Fuel?"
"Eh. Might not make the round trip."
"Then try trading at that complex you know. They've got a drum of synthetic oil, right?"
"Roger."
As the vehicle rerouted, Defender circled back.
"That robot thing earlier."
"Nonsense."
I cut him off.
"Yeah, absurd. But Jang Gi-yeong has this knack for making crazy talk sound plausible."
"Hm."
True.
My mentor was silver-tongued.
"Robots don't work, but the reasoning stuck with me."
"What'd he say?"
"Monsters are scary foes, sure, but each one has rigid limits, like human-made machines."
"Hmm."
"Take reflex fields—they perfectly repel sub-threshold projectiles, but overload them and the field breaks."
"Like artillery?"
"Yeah. Principal Jang claimed every monster has such limits."
"Not exactly groundbreaking."
"True. But he added a twist."
"What?"
I turned to Defender.
"Their individual powers might be surprisingly low."
"What're you talking about?"
My voice rose involuntarily.
He looked startled but stayed cool.
"Basically, their abilities are tuned just enough for humans as prey. So he figured powered suits could overpower the data on 'em."
"Huh."
I scoffed.
"Yeah. If monster powers are optimized for single humans, just make a human who exceeds their specs."
Doubtful.
I couldn't buy my mentor's theory.
Monsters are strong.
Insanely so.
Jang Gi-yeong never took a wave head-on.
Never blacked out from the shock.
Never witnessed the miracles those waves wrought.
Him pontificating on limits? That's why my cynicism toward him lingers.
Reminds me of his ignorance.
Amid those heavy thoughts, we entered the ruined city.
Obviously, before breaching, Defender donned a mask, sunglasses, and pulled a ratty baseball cap low.
*
Fragmented factions riddling the city don't mean constant life-or-death battles.
Quite the opposite.
A rough order and truce had emerged.
Conquest sounds sexy, but the fights it entails? Neither appealing nor practical.
Not when every bullet's irreplaceable—reckless combat just hands the third wheel a free lunch.
"Heading to the dock complex."
At a ruined crossroads blockade, Defender stated our business calmly.
A gas-masked guy turned, radioed someone, then waved us through.
"Surprisingly polite."
I said, watching them recede.
"Mutual aid."
Defender's got psychopath vibes.
Doesn't sweat even when betrayal could strike from behind.
"Mutual aid?"
"Prep for when their crew crosses another turf. One junker truck? Low risk."
I'd seen ruins aplenty, but not ones teeming with people.
High-rises loomed, every window a threat.
Sure enough, along the avenue, low-rise buildings had gunmen peering down at intervals.
Defender knew the area.
"......Came here hunting a guy named Heo Jun. High-up cultist who'd snuck into Incheon for illegal preaching and terror. Kim Byung-cheol ordered Kim Daram to take him out, so we mobilized."
"What happened to the cultist?"
Defender sighed shallowly, shaking his head.
"Slipped away."
"Real name Heo Jun?"
"Nah, no one knows. Earned the moniker conning folks with 'healing' Awakenings."
"Healer Awakening."
Come to think of it, there was that Heo Jong-cheol guy.
Unlikable back then, but valuable now.
"No word from Heo Jong-cheol?"
"Heard he went under Kim Byung-cheol."
"Kim Byung-cheol? He still alive?"
"Who knows."
A pileup blocked the road ahead.
Another barricade, another faction.
"Hey. Where you headed?"
A rough-looking woman with piercings everywhere and a mask swaggered up, voice husky.
"Dock complex."
"Ah, dock complex?"
She snorted.
"Customers?"
Defender nodded.
"Not in a great spot lately."
She smirked meaningfully and cleared the way.
Second pass.
Just the beginning.
We cleared over eight distinct faction zones.
Checkpoints went smooth, but their consistent smirks about the dock complex—like that pierced woman's—bode ill.
After the ninth, the afternoon sun glinted off distant sea and a towering apartment complex.
"That the one?"
I remembered it.
The gleaming-named place visible from the lab window that night.
Kaiser something-or-other.
The rattling truck belched black smoke into the complex.
We knew things were bad before entering.
Battle scars everywhere, unburied corpses rotting under debris.
Death stench thick.
Armed folks emerged.
Defender stripped his face gear and stepped out.
Guns lowered.
They knew him.
Defender scanned grimly.
"Where's Part Leader Lee Soo-chil?"
One gunman replied weakly.
"Dead. Twelve hours ago."
He pointed to a corner.
Plastic-sheeted corpses lay lined up, feet protruding.
Defender's face blank, he pressed on.
"What happened?"
The gunman slumped, bitterness twisting his features.
"......Cultists brought monsters."
"Capsules?"
I asked.
Because his words defied common sense.
He shook his head.
"Not capsules. Fuck...... Real monsters. Live, moving ones."