66. Baek Seol-hwa (3)
Whether it was good luck or bad, Baek Seol-hwa possessed exceptional talent even as a mere magic wand.
"……."
"Wow, the performance on this thing is insane."
First off, her magic required no verbal incantations or activation phrases. The "fire" she occasionally shouted was little more than a routine to make explosions smoother—without it, conjuring flames or blasts in the air was child's play for her.
That left the problem of friend-or-foe identification. Her attacks specialized in mass zombie slaughter with overwhelming firepower, leaving them inherently vulnerable to catching allies in the blast. Get swept up once, and it inflicted devastating damage on friendlies—true caution was essential in its use.
In a sightless state where she couldn't even gauge distances properly, how had this ragtag survivor group managed to wield her without a single accident?
"…."
"Ah, zombies over there too?"
"…."
"Then steer clear of that spot."
"…."
Simply put, her ability to sense her surroundings through temperature—even without eyes—was fully intact. It relied not on vision but on magic and raw sensation, and losing her sight had only honed it sharper.
Unwittingly, her blindness had supercharged her capacity to detect the heat signatures of living creatures and zombies alike, surpassing even her sighted days. As long as she could sense them, unleashing mass explosions on zombie hordes from afar was as routine as ever.
She even spotted zombie movements and approaches faster than the able-bodied survivors around her, directing the one gripping her wheelchair to safer positions.
"Hey, ice."
"…."
In truth, Baek Seol-hwa's body was so shattered she couldn't survive without aid, but her magical prowess endured. No one matched her efficiency at mass slaughter, and she could still chill the air to spawn ice from nothing.
With Pohang's water systems long offline, her ice generation for potable water was invaluable—one of their few reliable sources.
It was the power that let her lead a survivor camp despite her youth and lack of political clout. Shame she couldn't wield it for her own sake.
"Wow, this kid's seriously capable. She really led Pohang Airport?"
"But she can't survive without us now."
"Haha, yeah, fair point."
"………."
She still got bottom-rung treatment as their magic wand. Flaunting her talents earned only scorn and torment.
To live without eyes or legs, she needed these survivors' help and care. Add overt gaslighting and brutal violence, and her will to resist had already shattered.
She parroted that she was just a magic wand, a tool for their survival. Perhaps it was self-abandonment, a flight from reality.
A girl scarred by survivor guilt had resolved to save others under some fatalistic creed, only to crash from the sky and become their plaything.
She could've broken completely or withered into a hopeless invalid.
Yes. It's all my fault. For abandoning my parents. For failing to kill that mutant spider zombie... my fault.
Instead, wracked by guilt, she blamed no one—not even her exploiters. She turned her remorse on herself for outliving others, feeling shame toward every new victim. Letting them use her might absolve that gnawing guilt, so she offered herself up.
But that arrangement didn't last.
"Balhut Cult?"
"Guys from Gyeongju."
After Pohang Airport crumbled and mid-sized camps reformed nearby, outsiders arrived. Calling themselves the Balhut Cult, they'd unified Gyeongju and now marched on Pohang under the banner of liberation, seizing the Geonpo Industrial Road. They sought local collaborators.
Unfortunately, her survivors despised the newcomers.
"If they go wild, we lose our say."
"We were this close to retaking the airport. They'll swoop in and claim it all."
They branded the cult invaders, thieves of their hard-won power. With her, they'd forge a new camp rivaling Pohang's three majors—the cult was a clear obstacle.
The cult had stuck to the industrial road, reclaiming the steelworks junction without clash at first. Then they veered toward Yeongilman-daero, aiming to control the airport.
Seeing their interests threatened, the survivors planned a hot reception for the arriving cultists.
"Target 'em."
Snipe from afar using Baek Seol-hwa. Harness her mass-kill specialty, and they'd make the cult regret it.
But alas for them.
"……."
She refused the order. Zombies were one thing—people, no.
Submitting to exploitation stemmed from her guilt over failing her parents and others; this command clawed right at it.
"Hey, you deaf? Magic wand acting up?!"
"…! …!"
She endured their violence but clung to her conviction. At least her suffering didn't drag on.
Before brutality could crush her spirit further, the Dragon God Bahamut descended upon Pohang in person.
"What the hell is that? Freaky as shit."
The looters crumpled before his majesty. A dragon dwarfing skyscrapers swept away the city's zombies, rendering their prized wand insignificant.
They rued their folly in challenging the cult with just her, will utterly broken.
Incredible.
Baek Seol-hwa, her magic intact, could only marvel at the colossal mana and might Bahamut unleashed. Waves of power that dwarfed her own sent shivers through her body.
Blindness let her feel its profound depths clearer than sight ever could.
If gods exist... is that one?
True to her thought, Bahamut's advent liberated Pohang swiftly. City zombies were mostly purged, remnants mopped up by cult soldiers and allied camps.
Baek Seol-hwa lost even her value as a zombie-slaying wand.
She'd lost all reason to live.
"No obligation to babysit this bitch anymore."
"Useless now. Totally."
Ah.
Demoralized by Bahamut, the looters scrambled to bury their crimes before the cult noticed—no bandwidth for their wand.
Her value had evaporated. Zombies still infested parts, her mass-kill talent would've shone—but no more.
I'm worthless now.
Pohang reclaimed meant no internal zombie fights. Her specialty was obsolete; her other skills held no appeal.
Detection useful for raiders? They were ditching that life, blending into chaos as civilians—no need.
Ice-making handy for water shortages, but with her spirit crushed, she'd never pitch it.
How do I live now?
Wand value gone, body a wreck. Hoping to endure the apocalypse like this? Delusional.
Fading from all notice, hope ebbing—luckily, one took interest.
"This is that Baek Seol-hwa?"
"Yes, sir Seo Un-jae. Pohang Airport's ex-leader? This cripple."
"Good lord..."
Seo Un-jae, fresh from cult negotiations, eyed her for mayor.
To him, she fit perfectly: unaligned with the three camps, influential, popular among Pohang folk, strongest awakener. Ideal figurehead.
Locals would buy it; power blocs would compromise on an outsider over their own. Her title proved she lived.
He'd assumed the vanished powerhouse endured, tracking her down—
But her state exceeded his worst fears.
"This kid... really?"
"Yeah. Hey, show your specialty."
"……."
The fierce warrior he knew? Gone. Just a child needing protection.
Trembling at survivors' words, she unleashed her power before his eyes.
"Baek Seol-hwa."
Deny it all he wanted—the crippled blind girl in the chair was her.
Pohang's mightiest, now too frail to survive alone.
"Haha. Hahahaha."
The pathos drew hollow laughter from Seo Un-jae.
He'd never meant her as a puppet. She was a credible leader the camps would accept, bridging compromises.
But ruined like this? Elect her Dragon Priestess, and the cult suspects puppetry; camps reject a broken boss.
Backroom politics would splinter the camps vying for sole power.
"But they won't accept any priestess but her!"
No replacement matched her fame or feats.
Son Sang-hee? Impossible! She's cult-aligned now—others would riot!
He considered her deputy first, but no dice. She'd serve the cult, not Pohang. Camps would demand their own over a cult stooge.
"Ahaha. Everyone's suffering in this apocalypse."
"……."
He was blocked. Another priestess meant civil war; none existed.
Take the fall alone? Best case.
Public scorn, career suicide—anything for less blood.
Seo Un-jae chuckled bitterly, lamenting to the mute girl, gently taking her hand.
Her palms still worked; she felt the grasp, the tremor, the anxiety.
"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. All my fault—my incompetence."
He loathed betraying his morals for power. Even a schemer had lines as a human.
Exploiting this wounded girl? What gain?
Her small hand clasped his shaking one, stroking gently to soothe.
"………."
"Haha. Hahaha..."
A broken child comforting him. Hollow laughter escaped him.
Blame would've been easier to swallow. But comfort? It shattered him further.
Had she been a heartless monster, no agony. A ruthless politico, blind to sacrifice—no pain.
But Seo Un-jae was ordinary at heart. Ambitious, yes—but with a normal man's conscience.
"Sorry. Really, truly sorry."
All he could say was sorry.
"I don't want to die. Don't want anyone dying."
His tears fell childlike, a luxury. Now, he must sacrifice one girl to avert Pohang's war.