Chapter 90
Chapter 90
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 90
Chapter Title: 48. Mortal Enemy
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Before the war, I'd heard the story of a serial killer in India who murdered a staggering 102 people before getting caught.
He was just an ordinary low-class guy with no proper education. He couldn't comprehend why the hellish scenes unfolding around him were happening, but he'd figured out on his own how to survive.
The survival method he discovered resembled the great nature he so loved.
A chain of slaughter and plunder: kill whatever crossed his path, steal, kill again, steal again.
There were claims of rapes, tortures, and desecrations of corpses along the way, but the man screamed that it was all fabricated evidence.
In his final statement before the judges, he reportedly said this:
"Is it wrong to become someone's mortal enemy rather than picking someone to be my mortal enemy?"
A considerable amount of time has passed since the war began.
Our minds growing slack is probably no different from food spoiling or people aging.
Defender got shot on his way home.
A stray bullet.
Something I'd only ever imagined happening turned into harsh reality right in my own backyard.
According to Defender's little sister, he's in no immediate danger of dying, but he's locked in a tense standoff with some nameless enemy, just a wall between them.
"We'll gear up and head out. Hold tight until then."
No matter how urgent, charging in without prep is worse than not going at all.
I packed meticulously.
Medical supplies and tools, weapons, and bulletproof gear.
I rarely wear the bulletproof vest and helmet.
They're heavy and uncomfortable for the middling protection they offer.
But in a pinch like this, even they provide a sliver of peace of mind.
I chose the motorcycle for transport.
Vrooooom!
I descended the steep northern slope like it was a stunt show, crossed the stream, and hit the road.
I pulled over on the roadway for a moment and surveyed the landscape.
The scenery looked different from before.
"......"
If I had to put it in words, it resembled the post-war desolation I'd seen right after the fighting started.
I couldn't pinpoint exactly when the fear of stray bullets had faded.
At some point, I'd let my guard down, figuring that even if I heard gunfire, it probably wouldn't hit me.
Truth is, I could get shot anytime.
Even I, Park Gyu, could take a dumb bullet while strolling along and end up as a skeleton in some ditch or drainage canal.
Not likely, but zombie Park Gyu might wander the wasteland, embarking on a journey to find new friends.
"......"
In the distance, pockmarked craters dotted the ground like a bad case of smallpox.
Traces of Chinese artillery.
Defender's turf.
This is where it gets real.
Vrooooom!
The motorcycle roared across the abandoned fields.
"SKELTON!"
Soon, his sister's voice crackled through.
"That you, SKELTON? If yes, raise your right hand."
"Got it."
"Wait, that's your left! Right hand. Yeah, good boy."
She must've spotted me via drone.
I couldn't see it from here.
Probably hovering somewhere in the sky.
Likely a small recon drone, under a kilo but capable of altitudes up to 6km.
"Where's Defender?"
"Hold on. Sending a sparrow your way."
Moments later, a black speck appeared from the west, streaking toward me fiercely.
The instant I saw the drone, I instinctively braked the bike and raised my gun.
"Hold fire! It's ours."
"This your drone?"
A wry smile tugged at my lips.
"Yeah. Sparrow."
Sparrow, my ass.
Chinese suicide drone.
I'd used one to kill a fanatic, and fanatics had used them to kill Chinese troops.
I'd heard of another team getting wiped out by a drone swarm—no bodies left.
"Follow it."
The suicide drone led me to Defender.
She stayed silent en route, so I fired off questions.
"Enemy numbers, positions, weapons?"
"Defender's condition?"
"Why isn't Defender responding?"
She answered my barrage as best she could.
She seemed mentally rattled at a glance, and there was a bigger reason.
"Ah!"
She suddenly yelled, so I asked why.
"Forgot to charge one. Dropped it!"
She'd deployed every drone she had.
To protect her brother.
It's a common mistake: overcommitting resources when a loved one is in peril.
I told her calmly.
"How many'd you launch?"
"All of 'em. Like twelve?"
"......Put back everything but the essentials."
"Why?"
"They're in the way."
"......Okay."
Defender's sister seemed reluctant but complied.
If she hadn't seen my combat skills before, she might've ignored me.
She's a bit quirky and brother-obsessed, but her temperament isn't to be trifled with—clear from her occasional outbursts.
Ahead, beyond fields riddled with shell craters, stood a building with a red roof.
Used to be a café called Lucky Day.
Surviving all that bombardment? Its name fit—loaded with bad luck.
And that bad luck had Defender pinned down inside with one or two assailants.
Defender couldn't use comms because the enemy was too close.
Every little sound could be life-or-death.
I saw hope here.
A prolonged standoff in such a small building meant they had no sure way to take him down.
An ambush was probably their best shot.
"SKELTON here. Entering the building now."
A combat drone circled overhead.
"Nothing in sight."
Her voice.
Defender probably owed his life to her.
Gun at the ready, I advanced slowly, sometimes jogging, toward the café.
Main watch points: windows and corners.
I kept requesting recon from her.
"West wall."
"Clear. Nobody."
"Signs of reinforcements?"
"You're the only living thing moving around."
"Check long-range. Any snipers?"
"On it. Clear."
Her clipped responses brought me comfort.
Like when we built the dummy bunker—her value was immense.
If I built a group as big as DS's, hers might even exceed her brother's.
She's a drone expert.
In China, drones were dominant.
Distrusting Awakeners, they pinned humanity's hopes on drones against monsters.
Masses were produced, including freakish ones barely qualifying as drones.
The tech was top-tier, and pilots were elite.
I'd seen a skilled Chinese drone operator herd dozens of fanatics with just two units, like a game, flushing them into a building.
Her handling so many drones so well? Her interest played a part, but Defender witnessing drones' potential firsthand in China surely influenced her.
He'd bought the first batch, after all.
Anyway, we had the edge.
Air superiority, intel, firepower—all ours.
My job: slip in and extract wounded Defender.
But death often comes from complacency.
Like now.
As I smirked at her utility, something flickered at the window.
A person and a gun.
I dove for cover and hit the deck just as gunfire erupted.
Bang!
The bullet grazed the spot I'd been standing.
A split-second later, and I'd have a hole in me.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Prone, I fired back.
Not to hit—just to threaten any follow-up.
Luckily, my shot hit the glass near the enemy.
"Argh!"
No hit, but a short scream.
Startled or nicked by shards.
Young voice.
Crawling through brush for sightlines, her drone beat me to the window.
"Nobody there."
"Park a drone in front of the window?"
"Got it."
She had three active: high-alt recon overseeing it all, a hovering micro-suicide drone behind, and this 15kg Chinese beast terrorizing the field.
The hefty 15kg combat drone hovered before the second-floor window, cannon trained ahead.
Window threat neutralized.
I charged full tilt.
30 meters to the café.
A sprint away.
But,
"!?"
Right after takeoff, a dark shadow emerged from the corner.
I rolled sideways.
Rat-tat-tat!
Gunfire.
That was close for real.
Perfectly timed for my sprint.
One question hit me.
Two enemies?
Or surveillance?
They knew my moves.
Coincidence twice is no coincidence.
Especially in a battlefield where every moment ties to death—it's gospel.
Click.
Holstered the rifle, drew my pistol, and crept toward the building.
I got why Defender ditched comms.
Not fear of position reveal.
To track them by sound.
"Hana!"
Defender's shout echoed from inside.
Opposite window, likely the entrance side.
"One guy! Careful! That bastard's an Awakener."
"Awakener?"
"Low-level, not high. But he has Detection at least."
That figured.
Those two ambushes were too precisely timed.
"......"
I sighed shallowly.
Like the inevitable had arrived.
Pistol ready, hunkered behind concrete, I listened for the enemy.
Not on the first floor. Probably not.
I'm no Awakener, so no certainty.
But their Awakener likely lacked god-tier powers.
Wave-level (Lv5+), and Defender'd be dead already.
Expected ability: Detection.
Sensing my position for shots.
But others possible.
Common low-level Awakener skills: Detection, Notification, Perception, Foresight.
The "Four Knows."
Lowbies might have one incomplete, or multiples perfected.
Least useful: telepathic Notification (replaceable by phone/radio).
Others aren't revered much.
Foresight, for instance: sounds grand, but max 3 seconds ahead.
Dodge a punch, not a bullet.
Might evade a shot or two.
Tough.
Even scrub Awakeners outmatch us unchosen.
But they're human.
Non-wave Awakeners closer to human than monster.
So hunt human-style.
"Defender! See his face?"
I bellowed from cover, uncharacteristically loud.
No reply.
I yelled again.
"What kinda bastard is he? No, what're you gonna do if we catch him?"
Hoping he'd catch on.
Moments later.
"Kill him! Rip the fucker apart alive!"
Defender delivered.
Psychological warfare.
"I'm at the entrance!"
"Second-floor hall secured."
"Entering first-floor lobby. Clear."
"Stairs to second secured. Wait—hear that scampering?"
"Yeah."
Verbal pressure on the enemy.
Like Jo Sungyong.
Won't faze vets, but rattles skill-noobs.
We're no green soldiers—me and Defender, seasoned old-school hunters.
It worked fast.
"Defender."
"SKELTON."
Rendezvoused without interference.
I eyed his thigh.
"You good?"
Whisper this time.
He nodded, whispering back.
"Stemmed the bleeding."
He pointed to the rooftop stairs.
"Up there."
Definitely real siblings.
"Not on the roof~ Probably crouched at the base of the stairs~."
Who sticks speakers on drones? But psyops via loudspeaker?
"You fucker!"
Finally, a sharp voice from the stairs.
Cornered.
"You're going to hell, murderer!"
Undeniably youthful.
No more talk from him.
Bang!
Gunshot as words ended.
A rifle slid down the stairs amid sliding thuds, clattering to the floor.
We followed the blood trail a step behind and ID'd the body.
The shooter was a boy.
Sixteen-ish?
"Ah."
Defender recognized him instantly.
"That kid from a year ago."
He limped.
"Raiders who jumped us included a rich family. Only killed the dad."
"You?"
I asked skeptically; he grimaced, patting his wound.
"Nah, the kid fled toward where his dad got strung up."
"Ah."
"My mistake."
One word—"mistake"—lacked all our values.
Still, I nodded.
"Fatal one."
The easiest way to avoid mortal enemies: kill everyone who might see you as one.
In this hell, probably the straight path.
"This Justice Min kid?"
"Nah, doubt it. Justice Min leads a group. This guy's hand—older."
"Got it."
No pity for the boy, though.
His phone had pics: him and dark men grinning V-signs before battered, naked women whose faces were unrecognizable.
Like the Indian convict said: better to be someone's enemy than make one.
Defender just became his.
Anyway.
"This."
I checked Defender's wound.
Thigh.
Brought surgical tools, but beyond my skills.
"Know a doc?"
Pulling antibiotics.
"One in Incheon."
He trailed off.
"But he's a psycho."
"Alive?"
Defender glanced at the boy.
"......Awakener."
"Awakener?"
He sighed, nodding.
"My old colleague."
Even Defender's eyes shook violently.
This colleague's no pushover.