Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Golf (1)
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Everyone who appeared in Defender's long-awaited murder proof post was military.
They were decked out with all sorts of badges and medals, looking just like Nazi German soldiers from World War II.
They might claim on their lips that it was a product born from the plight of a country that had switched to a volunteer system in name only but had no choice but to stick with conscription in practice—but to a third party, it wasn't exactly a pretty sight.
It's common knowledge among soldiers and civilians alike that the bigger the badges, the more veteran the soldier.
The soldiers Defender had killed all had their shoulders practically covered with badges crammed on tight.
They must have been frontline veterans holding the line.
There were no external wounds on the bodies of the soldiers in Defender's proof.
They had all frozen to death.
In the sudden cold snap, they had fallen asleep not knowing what to do, and that led to their deaths.
This unannounced blizzard had claimed an enormous toll in casualties.
People living in harsh conditions where they couldn't even dream of proper heating or insulation took the brunt of it.
Countless died, and even more suffered from frostbite.
The mild days that had hinted at spring before the cold hit only amplified the damage.
Like the people who died in my territory, for instance.
They say in Seoul, every other house had a frozen corpse.
Just three years ago, white steam rose from chimneys in every home across Seoul. Now, black smoke billows from everywhere.
They're burning piles of corpses stacked on every corner and square, and crowds huddle by the burning bodies, as if to console the frozen dead with their warmth.
Seoul's decline had been underway for a while, but this cold snap dealt a fatal blow in its own way.
Fortunately, us doomsday preppers weathered this blizzard steadfastly.
A few usually quiet users vanished, but none of the ones I knew died, and the board's population didn't drop much.
Still, everyone knew things wouldn't get better from here.
And indeed, they didn't.
To the east, Legion faction deserters are running rampant.
They're a more lethal threat than any enemy we've faced so far.
To make matters worse, users near the frontlines confessed that half their territory had become monster and mutation territory.
My western sector is relatively safe.
The military, led by the National Crisis Committee centered in Incheon and western Seoul, is preserving its strength, and government functions are limping along somehow.
But in the outer fringes, old problems resurfaced.
The Legion faction weakening means the National Assembly faction regains breathing room.
They're probably redeploying the pioneers from the frontlines back to the field.
Before the peaceful winter even ended, the new year shoved a brutal bill under our noses.
My territory was no exception.
Crackle—
The K-walkie-talkie caught a frequency laced with static.
"Park Gyu? Park Gyu?"
A familiar voice called my name.
Whose voice was it again?
Definitely one I remembered.
"Baek... here... it's..."
The noise bursts meant interference nearby, or maybe solar flares, but the biggest culprit was distance.
I switched the sensitivity to long-range, and the fuzzy voice sharpened.
"Baek Seung-hyeon here. If you can hear me, respond."
So it was him.
My senior from the same class.
The guy who'd handled all the dirty work under the National Crisis Committee. What business did he have with me?
Last I saw, he was playing errand boy for some lowly junior calling him "uncle."
His survival brought a twinge of joy, but also worry.
Especially since he was reaching out from so far away.
"Kim Daram told me. You live around here, right? If you're there, get in touch. It's important."
Hearing Kim Daram's name made something surge inside me, but cold reason stomped it down like a boot on embers.
I held back and waited for his next words.
"Kim Daram said you're around here. She's in extreme danger right now. She's requesting rescue. We need you to save her. Aren't you nearby? She said you were."
Baek Seung-hyeon kept yapping.
But the longer he went on, the more the sincerity—or devotion—in his words diluted.
Soon, a grumbling voice from afar filtered faintly through the speaker.
"Doesn't seem like anyone's here?"
Not Baek Seung-hyeon's voice.
Another unidentified man.
At least two of them.
The transmission cut off, but from the distance came the long roar of a motorcycle engine I recognized.
Baek Seung-hyeon was leaving.
Leaving behind a chilling unease and nagging doubt.
"..."
I recalled a book saying that once ruin advances to a certain stage, people start eating people.
Looks like we've entered that era.
*
The incident blew up three days after the mass freezing deaths at the golf course.
"This is Pioneer Unit 22 HQ. This is Pioneer Unit 22 HQ. Any survivors from Pioneer Company 333, respond. Repeat: Any survivors from Pioneer Company 333, respond."
Pioneers had reentered my territory.
The flag fluttering on the distant five-ton truck was one I remembered.
Probably the one I saw at Cat Mom's apartment.
Where the old folks had been abandoned and slaughtered en masse.
"Looks like they're all dead. Our condolences. We'll handle the bodies and gear."
The voice crackling over the radio sounded utterly cheerful despite driving so many to their deaths.
"Huh?"
The radio went silent after that bizarre tongue-click.
Moments later, mocking laughter filtered through, followed by a man's clear voice spreading ominously.
"Someone's around here, right? Huh? You people here? Took all the good guns, left the junk with the firing pins pulled."
Human insight isn't that impressive.
You judge from your own first-person view.
I made the best call I could at the time.
Secured the usable firearms and pulled pins from the rest.
If another refugee or bandit got their hands on those assault rifles, it'd be an immediate threat to me, the closest guy.
Who could've predicted a pioneer unit would swarm in so fast and furious once the cold eased?
The ones who died at the golf course had no flags.
Or maybe they'd ditched those useless survival props in the killing cold.
"Giving you one minute."
The man on the radio demanded a roll call in a low tone.
"You messed with the wrong people. I'm Colonel Jo Sung-yong, commander of Pioneer Unit 22. Chihuahua Jo Sung-yong~ Once I bite, I never let go!"
Drones shot into the sky from the golf course ridge, leading pioneers from various trucks to fan out and search the area.
As expected, no one approached my territory, which looked like a barren cluster of tumuli.
One drone buzzed low, then veered off elsewhere.
With all power off, pipes sealed, and only the radio on, I eavesdropped on their chatter.
"Colonel, Gom In-su here. Scoured the old US base. Nothing."
"Ha Chung-su here~. Checked every unit in Shin-hwa Apartments. Nothing special~."
"Fil-seung! Sergeant Kang Min-jae. Dong-il-dong ruins swept. No survivors. Keep searching?"
These pioneers were well-armed and equipped.
Three trucks, one SUV, even a new lightweight armored vehicle. They teamed up by vehicle, constantly radioing.
Maybe that's why.
They weren't bothering much with security.
Or perhaps they were blabbing on open channels on purpose.
Forcing silence on the eavesdropper turns the flood of transmissions into psychological violence.
Jo Sung-yong clearly knew his advantage and had a knack for cornering people mentally.
"Request to search nearby streams. If someone's hiding, there'll be shit and piss smells. Never saw a single doomsdayer with a septic tank among all those bastards. Selfish pricks who only care about surviving, screw the environment—they'll just let it flow. Hunt for sewage pipes crusted with shit residue."
Any doomsdayer Jo Sung-yong described might've felt the ground crumble beneath them hearing that.
Not me, though.
I'd observed countless survivors in China and meticulously studied foreign cases while building my bunker, preparing for the worst.
That shit-stinking pipe he sought? Covered.
I have a septic tank.
Got the idea from an India case.
Mob looters sniffed out rich folks' bunkers by feces smell and dragged them out to kill.
Installing a septic isn't simple.
Expensive, needs sludge-pumping gear for what seems unnecessary, and solo preppers like me have to bail the sediment ourselves.
The effort paid off handsomely.
"Nothing, Colonel. Spotless. Found some ag water intakes, but no human waste traces."
The stream search team got as close as the valley right below my main bunker's hill but found zilch.
"Yeah?"
Jo Sung-yong sighed over the radio.
"Any bandits around?"
"Negative. Just US remnants holding a town and a mutation dog pack reported here. Heard of a nomadic bandit crew south-east. Probably them?"
"Recall drones for charging, then scour every accessible road. If they're mobile, there'll be tracks. Round up the kids."
The scattered pioneers regrouped at the golf course.
Even without the radio, their ragtag convergence screamed it.
The enemy hadn't found me and was leaving empty-handed.
My victory.
Or better: solo prepper victory.
Group survivalism like DSRA might be trending on the boards lately, but they haven't faced foes this tough.
Once those eastern deserters descend, even they'll rethink.
Tension easing, hunger hit.
I pulled a brick-hard ration, dumped it in a bowl, poured lukewarm water from the purifier.
Human feed for survival.
As I mashed the softened lump into porridge with a spoon, the radio crackled again.
"Gom In-su, take the kids and clean up bodies."
"Roger. On it."
"Sergeant Kang, pick the worst leftover guns and hand 'em to the newbies."
"Yes, sir."
"Pil-jae, call HQ for some dogs."
The endless radio chatter ended with Jo Sung-yong's icy threat.
"Hey, thief? You listening? We know everything. Wait up. We'll unleash the dogs soon. Takes about three days. Have those stolen guns and compensation ready, nice and neat, somewhere visible from the golf course. This isn't a warning—it's a notice."
The golf course truck honked; fully geared men climbed into the covered cargo bed.
Jo Sung-yong must've stayed in the vehicle start to finish—I never saw him.
Soon, the loaded truck roared over the ridge and vanished.
"...Hoo."
Crisis averted, somehow.
But too early to relax.
Classic trick: pretend to leave, leave surveillance.
And sure enough, come evening, a drone whirred overhead toward the north.
They'd left a drone.
Parked high where sound barely carried, watching the whole area.
Of course, that wasn't the end.
Jo Sung-yong said dogs in three days.
I'd prepped.
Wiped scents, sprayed US-import dog repellents everywhere, sealed bunker entrances with dirt and rocks.
For worst-case, moved daily supplies from main bunker level 1 to generator room, rigged Rebecca's gifted Claymores at intervals.
Attackers love tear gas on bunkers, so checked vent openers.
Inspected every bullet, sharpened two axes razor-keen.
Three days later, two buses rolled up to the golf course.
"?"
Bringing search dogs for two buses' worth? Ridiculous.
But reality outdid my imagination.
Jo Sung-yong's "dogs" were ordinary folk.
Neighborhood uncles and aunties.
Everyday neighbors, clueless, milling about in -12°C biting winds on the wasteland.
A megaphone boomed from beyond the golf course.
"Dear citizens! A criminal who killed dozens is hiding here. Your job: find the bastard. Finder gets a first-class Jeju evacuation ship ticket, family included!"
To find me, Park Gyu, over a hundred people mobilized.