Chapter 316
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 316
Chapter Title: 128. Tower (2)
Running into people in this apocalypse isn't exactly a positive thing.
These days, as long as someone has a gun, they can kill another person without fear of legal repercussions or much guilt.
The more people you run into, the higher the risk, naturally.
But what if you run into way too many? How do you even assess that?
Beneath the shadow of The Hope—South Korea's last luxury apartment complex—a massive crowd had formed, visible even from a distance.
Cheon Young-jae, our scout, returned with precise intel.
"They say it's people who came up to Seoul during Kim Byung-chul's time and just stayed."
During Kim Byung-chul's ambitious Seoul reclamation operation, he'd sweet-talked folks from the Incheon shelter into relocating to Seoul.
When his regime collapsed, the gathered masses scattered, but plenty of citizens still wanted to stay.
"This is my hometown where I was born and raised. What's the point of going elsewhere?"
"My roots are across the river, but isn't it better to live somewhere closer to my neighborhood?"
"I'd rather die in Seoul. I can't stand the thought of some unfamiliar place anymore."
After the fall, those left in Seoul fragmented into small, scattered groups. But one event brought them all together.
"That leaning apartment over there—what's it called? Pizza Tower or something. Anyway, they say the government hid supplies under it."
"Supplies enough to feed a million people? How could anyone stay away? It's not like oil's gonna sprout if we sell the land."
"I dunno. But if everyone's going, we should too. We're already at rock bottom—might as well grab any crumbs that fall, right?"
Despite this ragtag mix of groups banding together without infighting, it was because of a mediating force.
Men in military uniforms patrolled everywhere, rifles at the ready, keeping watch.
They'd stripped rank insignias and taped over unit patches, but it was easy to spot trained soldiers.
Their formations, weapon checks, periodic efficient comms, and sharp responsiveness under a single chain of command.
Calling them soldiers was a thousand times simpler and more convincing than anything else.
"Hey, truck! Vehicles over here, please. No room that way."
The soldiers didn't seem wary or hostile toward us.
No one had granted them authority, yet they acted like they owned the place.
"Legion faction, for sure."
Defender, sitting beside me, whispered while eyeing them.
"One hundred percent. Smells like Legion faction."
Hong Da-jeong, riding in the cargo bed, nodded in agreement.
And just like that, we stumbled into this impromptu little society that had sprung up around The Hope.
In the makeshift parking area lined with vehicles, we chatted with folks who'd arrived in similar rides.
"...Heard it on the broadcast."
In this world, a cheap smoke buys instant goodwill.
A guy about my age—but looking a decade older—rambled about his experiences.
"Not radio. A truck with a loudspeaker. It drove around everywhere yelling about something under that apartment."
He sucked on his last cigarette regretfully, exhaled gray smoke from nose and mouth, then continued.
"Everyone was skeptical at first. I mean, out of nowhere? Supplies for a million under that building? Who'd buy it? But people are like that—if others go, you wanna go too. Then some guy who went radioed back: free nutrition bars at least."
Crowd psychology, chronic shortages, free meals—that's what drew this mob.
But it wasn't just that holding them together.
People could leave anytime.
Yet none from this crowd had broken ranks.
"What if there really are supplies in there to keep us alive?"
"If this winter's as brutal as last, we won't make it. No wood here either. But I don't wanna leave Seoul."
"Eh, we believe. What else can we do? Let's just trust there's something in there to save us."
These folks pinned their hopes on that leaning tower—Mgu's tower.
The tower itself wasn't some holy idol.
They believed because they desperately wanted their choice to be right.
Talk shifted from the tower to the soldiers guarding it.
"Those soldiers?"
The guy scowled.
"Eh, good is good, right? Nice having armed guys when this many people pile up. Arrogance aside."
Another confirmed they were Legion faction, as we'd guessed.
But the Legion was old history—no one knew who commanded these troops.
The mystery unraveled ridiculously easily.
"Isn't that Kim Byung-chul?"
It was during the broadcast announcing meals. Defender and I headed to the distribution point when Kim Byung-chul pointed at a masked, sunglassed man among the soldiers handing out bars.
Face hidden, but he had that Kim Byung-chul vibe I'd encountered before.
"Looks like it."
Decisively, a late-teens girl next to him—Kim Byung-chul's spitting image—beamed while distributing bars.
"Kim Byung-chul's daughter."
Defender said with certainty.
"His daughter?"
Oh yeah, that Viva! Apocalypse! account user—his kid.
Yerim, was it?
Short meeting, but her vibrancy stuck out among our board buddies.
"Yeah, seen her with him sometimes. No doubt. These soldiers, this outfit—all Kim Byung-chul's."
"Makes sense."
High probability.
His Wonju base destroyed, his survival unconfirmed.
Everyone assumed dead, but nope.
Without Wonju, few places to go. East and around: rivals from the old Legion who'd toppled him.
Fallen emperor Kim Byung-chul had nowhere but the wilderness.
He'd chosen Seoul—the wasteland he'd pioneered, that contributed to his fall—as his new hub.
Not coincidence he'd emerge from hiding somewhere in Seoul.
Government-hidden assets could be his comeback key. Plus, he was armeegruppe_B on Viva! Apocalypse!
He'd gotten intel from Mgu's streams and posts.
Why gather so many people? Smoke screen maybe.
Prep for attacks from rival Legion splinters.
Or lure 'em in, slay the government dragon himself, use the crowd as witnesses for a grand coronation.
Either way, Kim Byung-chul—seemingly exited stage left—was back.
"Excuse me. Park Gyu the hunter?"
While masked Kim Byung-chul glanced our way, an armed soldier approached.
I nodded lightly to Kim Byung-chul over the soldier's shoulder.
*
"Never thought I'd meet you."
Kim Byung-chul's camp was in The Hope's underground parking.
Military vehicles, modded civilian ones, crude DIY rigs lined up. Riflemen and auto sentry guns ringed them tightly.
I hadn't expected this meet, but seeing the crowds and their controllers, I knew it was necessary.
Even a slight boon.
Our goals didn't align perfectly—we could coexist mutually.
Straight to the point: our business.
"Ah, this vehicle. You want it?"
"Precisely, we'd like to use it for three days. After that, keep it, give it away—your call."
I trusted it'd fly because our ask was tiny.
Pro hunter help for three days' vehicle rental?
No loss for him.
But when he removed mask and glasses, a bad feeling hit. Things wouldn't go smoothly.
Not just the scars and loss etched on his face.
Legion infighting had stripped away his faith in basic trust.
His mangled lips twisted coldly.
"Mind if I ask why such terms?"
No secrets.
I laid out my real intent.
"Necropolis?"
He looked puzzled.
Didn't know it.
Makes sense—older folks ignore stuff outside their bubble.
"Just for that, you'd ally with us?"
I nodded.
He smirked crookedly.
"Go ahead then."
Not the warmest tone.
But better than no.
"You know what's blocking us isn't a monster, right?"
"Brought experts."
"Experts?"
"Drone pros."
He nodded.
"Fine. Let's do it. But make it quick. We have our own experts."
He held up three fingers.
"Three days. Three."
Couldn't push more.
His hand only had three fingers left.
Anyway, deal struck—imperfectly.
Three days, but precious: no pointless human fights.
His eyes were sharp too.
"That guy you roll with."
Defender, probably.
"The zealot who put a bounty on him, right?"
Like Defender recognized him, vice versa.
I nodded.
"Keep him in the truck."
Donning mask and glasses again.
"People remember more than faces. Gestures, posture, habits. Face is just one marker."
Solid advice. Note it.
Defender doesn't fit crowds.
Heading back post-deal, light footsteps chased me.
"Hey!"
Kim Byung-chul's daughter.
Yerim.
Spitting image, especially those sunken eyes and stubborn sharp nose.
No gaps, strict rule-follower vibe—"intense" face.
What'd she want with me?
I stared curiously.
She fidgeted, then blurted:
"Are you... SKELTON?!"
What?
She knew me.
Kim Byung-chul knew my identity too.
If he told her, no surprise a stranger—his daughter—recognized SKELTON.
She was a Viva! Apocalypse! user too, borrowing dad's account.
I nodded proudly to her.
"Yeah. SKELTON here."
"Whoa..."
"?"
I raised a brow, but felt a spark of anticipation inside.
"..."
Did I have a fan?
Not just for Twelvesquare—SKELTON too?
Looking back, solid board presence: no diaries, no flaming, always entertaining, sharing intel, healthy 1:3 post-comment ratio.
Stoic pride as I awaited Kim Ye-rim's words.
She snapped curtly.
"Why act like that online when you look so normal?"
"?"
"SKELTON flusters and SKELTON advice—where'd you learn that crap? Nobody around me says stuff like that!"
A flash of disappointment and anger.
But bigger: pity overwhelming it.
She doesn't know?
"John_nenon"?
Our board giant?
"You don't know John_nenon?"
"John_nenon? What's that? Sounds weird..."
"Search it."
"Huh?"
"Keyword: John_nenon. You'll get it. What he means to us."
"...Huh?"
Kim Byung-chul.
Lousy parent too.
Pitying his kid's upbringing, I rejoined the crew.
They were prepped to slay the government's dragon.
Da-jeong at the center, naturally.
"SKELTON. Ready. Just say go."
Anti-jamming gear, high-sens antenna, VR monitor, Chinese mil drone controller.
Best available. She gripped it—whirr—and a small high-speed drone zipped around us cheerily.
Far off, Ji Chang-su and daughter had plasma-cut the steel plate, a paper-thin tear visible.
Black void to our eyes, but inside: the government's monstrous dragon lurked.
Not easy.
But no labyrinth unconquerable.
Especially man-made.