Chapter 97
Chapter 97
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: 52. Boiler (2)
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Coldly speaking, the chances of me taking in those kids were next to none.
It wasn't even a matter of morals—it was about survival.
Hesitating to take in even the sniper mother-daughter duo I'd built a long rapport with, deciding to take in kids out of pity would be a betrayal of how I'd survived this far.
"Halt."
I had no intention of lowering my guard just because they were kids.
I'd seen raiders use children as bait before, and I couldn't view these kids as innocently pure like in the old days.
Click.
As I raised my gun, the kids froze in their tracks.
"Turn around. Hands up."
A gun in hand meant even a kid could kill.
The kids in front of me looked to be between early and late elementary school age.
If they knew how, killing a careless adult would be child's play.
The kids who'd shown themselves weren't armed.
"Up there."
I issued a warning toward the railing leading to the second floor.
"I know you're hiding. You've got ten seconds."
As I aimed my gun, I watched the kids' reactions.
The youngest seemed clueless about what to do, but the two bigger ones exchanged glances.
Bang!
I fired a warning shot toward the kids.
They screamed, crouching or flattening themselves on the ground.
"Eight."
I shifted my gaze to the railing, voicing the count I'd been tallying in my head.
"Seven."
A white handkerchief fluttered from the railing.
"Coming out. I'm coming out."
An adult male voice.
One closer to middle-aged, rough and gravelly.
Soon, its owner appeared atop the railing.
A man with wild, unkempt hair and a blackened face limped into view.
"Come down. Hands up."
He slowly descended the spiral stairs to the first floor.
But he wasn't alone.
Trailing behind him like ducklings after their mother came a string of small children.
It was obvious at a glance that these kids weren't his own.
"Whose kids are they?"
The man smirked bitterly and shook his head.
"Strays I picked up. Bait kids."
"Bait kids?"
"I brought 'em out."
The man spread his arms wide.
"I pulled them out of that hell!"
He didn't give his name, but the kids called him Sergeant Jang.
I had no intention of chatting, but since he insisted so strongly, we faced off briefly in front of the house while the kids watched.
He jumped straight to a proposal.
"Need any kids?"
"No."
"Pick some if you do. A bit of food's all it takes."
"I said no."
He was getting too clingy, so I reluctantly pressed the pistol barrel to the tip of his chin, covered in scruffy whiskers.
A small white bug writhed amid his beard.
Disgusting.
I backed away at once and said coldly,
"That all you wanted?"
"Need a boiler?"
Sergeant Jang grinned.
"Saw you eyeing the wood-fired one next door. Planning to haul it off?"
I had been, before running into these people.
"No. Thought about it, but didn't know you were here. I'll just go."
Wood boilers were everywhere; I could find another.
Worst case, Defender could help.
"We'll help. Just load it on that motorcycle, right?"
"......"
"Close your eyes and give us a little. Look at the kids' state? They'll starve soon."
I hadn't looked at the kids.
Deliberate aversion.
I didn't want needless pity.
Especially since I wasn't planning to raise them.
Sergeant Jang stared straight through me and continued.
"You don't have to do a thing. Just food. Not much. We'll load the boiler. We'll handle everything. See the kids? They're not slackers. They can work. Smart as whips."
Before I could respond, Sergeant Jang yelled at the hollow-eyed kids clustered behind him.
"What're you waiting for? Get ready to dismantle that boiler! Grab tools! Get the cart!"
He groveled obsequiously to me but roared at the kids like a tiger.
"Hey."
I pointed my gun barrel at the mansion interior.
"What's with the ones inside?"
At my remark, Sergeant Jang's lip twitched awkwardly upward.
"What're you talking about?"
"Two more."
"......You got sharp senses."
Click.
I shoved the barrel forward.
I preferred talking things out, but this place—the unfamiliar swarm of kids, the sleazy, filthy Sergeant Jang, and the eerie vibe permeating the abandoned complex—stirred impatience in me.
"Who are they?"
I snapped irritably.
Sergeant Jang rolled his eyes.
"Well......"
"We're done talking. Go home. Take the kids."
"No, wait! Listen. See, they were kids. Kids who grew big. Big heads. You know. Puberty! Hit puberty, won't listen to me."
From his rambling, I gleaned two facts.
One: Sergeant Jang was backed into a physical and mental corner.
Two: He feared the other kids watching from the shadows.
"Y-you tell 'em to come out! They won't listen to me."
His whisper, loud enough for me to hear, was likely his last-ditch effort to save face before the watching kids.
I sighed and addressed the other kids in the house's shadows calmly.
"Come out."
At my words, they emerged.
One boy, one girl.
Mid-teens.
The girl was especially tall, rivaling Sergeant Jang.
"We got no guns. Just didn't wanna come out, so we watched."
The girl stared straight at me.
No fear in her eyes.
The boy, meanwhile, harbored faint hostility in his sunken gaze—aimed not at me, but Sergeant Jang.
"Send the kids home."
I told Sergeant Jang.
He gestured to the kids.
"Heard the cool uncle? Inside, now! Hustle!"
The little ones obeyed promptly, but the bigger kids—especially the reluctant teens—muttered irritably as they trudged in.
The boy even kicked a pebble in frustrated rage.
Sergeant Jang glared slyly at their backs and muttered,
"That insolent little shit?"
"What happened?"
I handed him a pack of ramen noodles and probed casually.
A spark of interest had ignited.
In this bizarre man and his kids.
"Used to be a soldier. Guarding the front lines."
Crunch!
Sergeant Jang started his tale, munching the ramen dry.
He'd been one of the troops holding the DMZ.
He'd weathered North Korea's final offensive and, when China entered the war, been assigned to a defense unit on Ganghwa Island, guarding key positions.
Later, deployed to the front, he'd blocked monsters and mutations until the line collapsed. His unit turned warlord, and he'd followed a rebellious company commander into banditry.
"Ended up killing our own instead of the enemy. Happened in a flash. Snapped out of it in hell. Couldn't stomach using bait kids, though."
As everything crumbled around him, he'd found the bait kids dubbed "scavengers."
"......Wrong choice. Should've ditched 'em. My weak-ass conscience played tricks."
Sergeant Jang looked up at me admiringly.
"Should've acted like you."
"Like me?"
"Didn't even glance at the kids. Like our company commander."
"......"
Guess we're all the same deep down.
Even if he looked ragged, suspicious, and pathetic, he saw me too.
Gauged my actions, guessed my intent.
He'd read my mind spot-on.
Embarrassed at being seen through, I kept a straight face.
"So you took the bait kids?"
"Yeah."
"Your company commander and old comrades?"
"Dead, probably. Set the barracks ablaze."
Sergeant Jang's hands and eyelids trembled violently.
"......Boiler."
He looked unwell.
His already dark face blackened further—some kind of seizure?
Luckily, it passed quickly.
He exhaled deeply, then asked casually as if nothing happened.
"Boiler—can we move it?"
"Sure. But will it fit on my motorcycle?"
"Got a cart. Hook it up. Easy."
"Don't have tons of food."
"Even a little helps. Saw the kids? Won't last long. Littlest one's dying soon."
I didn't 100% trust him, but doubting now would be an insult after coming this far.
The boiler was useful anyway, and free labor was a steal.
"Deal."
And so, we struck the bargain.
Sergeant Jang's health was poor.
He limped, coughed often, and sometimes froze statue-still for minutes.
But soldier skills shone; even I, an experienced carpenter, marveled as he dismantled, disassembled, and packed the tricky boiler onto the cart like magic.
He snapped at slow kids, berating them tearfully.
Once, he even unbuckled his belt as if to whip one.
The kids followed out of fear, not fondness.
The teen boy and girl from earlier didn't help.
They sneered coldly from behind the building, glaring daggers at Sergeant Jang's back.
Soon, the job was done.
A sturdy-if-crude cart secured behind the motorcycle, loaded with the hefty wood boiler.
"There—boiler loaded as promised! Fine gentleman."
I was honestly impressed.
A big chore wrapped up effortlessly.
Payment: brick-hard rations and a few ramen packs.
Dirt cheap.
"......"
This place still creeped me out.
Especially next to the filthy, pathetic Sergeant Jang and those hollow-eyed skeleton kids—not a second longer.
But fair work deserved fair pay.
"Seems a bit short, so I'll grab extra food."
Lying if I felt no pity for the kids.
"R-really? More?!"
"......I'll swing by tomorrow daytime."
"Sorry, but—got booze? Just a little!"
I mounted the motorcycle, eyeing his trembling plea sidelong.
"See you tomorrow."
Baek Seung-hyeon's bike groaned but soon roared off jauntily.
"Truly grateful. Didn't believe you'd really come back."
I handed over heaps of surplus food.
Including a bottle of soju.
Not just for him—a tribute to soldiers who'd defended and sacrificed for this country.
Sergeant Jang was an alcoholic, like most in these times.
Downing soju straight from the bottle, no chaser.
"Ahh~! That's the stuff!"
Drunk or sober, his demeanor barely changed.
Still unstable, cowering, terrified of the teens behind him.
I knew his shadow from the start.
Emboldened by booze, he bared his soul gravely.
"......Shouldn't have taken the kids. Just left 'em."
They were kids.
"Couldn't ditch mid-way?"
"Couldn't."
"Hating them that much?"
"If I ditched 'em, they'd all die. Last winter, two died—with me there. Without? Frozen corpses all. Damn right."
His feelings toward the kids eluded me.
Irrational, clumped together.
Pity mixed with loathing; inspiring their fear while fearing them back.
I pinpointed the dissonance.
No clear purpose.
What drove this contradictory life?
So I asked.
"Why do this?"
Sergeant Jang licked an empty soju bottle's neck, smirking oddly as he muttered,
"Dunno. But snapped to it and had 'em thrust on me."
His eyes gleamed.
"Nah, I know."
With conviction, he declared,
"To avoid hell."
"Hell?"
"Done so much evil—gotta do one good deed or I'm hellbound. I know hell's real. Can't die a total bastard, right?"
"......"
Still incomprehensible.
Atonement, maybe?
That's as far as I could grasp.
Our worlds probably diverged greatly.
I shifted to practical matters.
"What about those big kids?"
The boy and girl.
No wonder he feared them.
Dangerous.
Leave as is, and either he'd die or they would.
"Gonna kill 'em?"
In his shoes, I would.
"Nah."
Different breed.
"Might put you at risk."
"Can't be helped."
"Part of atonement too?"
"Atonement? Nah, not that lofty. Anyway! Kill 'em, rest all die. You see it—I ain't long for this world."
"......"
"Taught those ungrateful shits survival. Rotten bastards, but kids follow 'em more, and they like the kids better'n me."
Growing somber recounting his plight, Sergeant Jang suddenly grinned boyishly.
"Got a K-walkie-talkie?"
"Yeah."
"Know CQ?"
"Of course."
CQ.
Radio signal calling random listeners on open freq.
Often skipped, but protocol starts with CQ on public bands.
"Told 'em C8. Grab a radio, they'll CQ CQ ya?"
Whatever amused him, his flushed face chuckled nonstop.
I hadn't just come for his life story.
With the food, I offered another gift.
Woo Min-hee's sheet.
Explained its use.
"White or near-white? Radio me. Can't take all, but can save that one kid."
Story over.
With a wrecked face, he waved me off, kids in tow.
"Fuck!"
Our private signal—I ignored it.
Sergeant Jang never radioed again.
I forgot him—and the boiler.
It was sweltering summer; northern monster surges wreaked havoc; Incheon flipped in unprecedented chaos.
I recalled him only when early chill cooled late August.
Boards cheered "fall-like weather," but I unpacked the wood boiler for a test fire.
Whoosh—
Performed perfectly.
No faults, no tweaks needed.
Still forgotten—until the K-walkie-talkie crackled on open freq.
"Fuck."
A young girl's voice echoed through.
Why the swearing?
As I puzzled, it repeated.
"Fuck fuck."
Then I remembered Sergeant Jang.
One of his kids.
The one who'd hated him most.
"Anyone there? Answer, please."
If she was broadcasting, Sergeant Jang was likely gone from this world.
One nagging doubt.
Did the kids kill him?
Or natural causes?
"Hello? Anyone? Fuck fuck."
No way to know.
I wouldn't respond.
"Hey! No one's there?!"
At least her innocent voice brimmed with hope.