Reclaiming the Fortress
The interior of the house was much roomier than it appeared from the outside.
Zeon's home had been built in the early days when the slum first formed. Early constructions like this were rundown but spacious by comparison.
Newer shacks crammed together so tightly that two adults could barely fit inside. With land so scarce for building, there was no helping it.
Zeon had no idea how many owners the place had gone through while he'd been away. None of them could have maintained it properly.
The air inside reeked with a nauseating stench.
Drug fumes mingled with the metallic tang of blood and countless other foul odors, assaulting the senses.
First things first: purge the layers of ingrained filth built up over years.
Zeon flung open every window to air it out. But the smell clung stubbornly.
He pulled a musk sac from a one-horned giant deer out of his subspace.
The one-horned giant deer stood over three meters at the shoulder—a monstrous beast. Near its genitals was a gland called the musk sac, which emitted a peculiar aroma.
Slice off a bit and soak it in water, and it released an invisible gas that worked wonders at neutralizing all sorts of foul smells.
Zeon filled a washbasin with water and dropped in about a third of the sac. Bubbles erupted immediately, releasing the gas.
While it worked, he stowed all the household junk into his subspace.
The furniture was caked in grime and filth—beyond salvaging. Better to toss it and start fresh.
Luckily, his subspace held plenty of odds and ends scavenged from his desert treks.
One was bloodwood, harvested near a lake where he'd hunted a leviathan.
Bloodwood was a tree that doubled as a monster.
Sensing nearby life, it would lash out with branches to ensnare and drain its victim dry.
Once caught, escape was impossible until it sucked you lifeless.
Zeon had killed one and taken a good chunk of the trunk.
Wood like that was valuable on its own.
He framed beds and a sofa with the bloodwood, then draped them in sand devilfish hide. Simple, sturdy furniture took shape.
The leftovers fixed the splintered door.
By then, the air had fully cleared.
The choking stench was gone, replaced by a crisp, refreshing scent filling the space.
"Not bad!"
Plenty more repairs needed, but this would do for now—a quiet spot to crash without a care.
Zeon flopped onto the bed he'd made.
Surprisingly plush. Sleep tugged at him.
He surrendered to it without resistance.
Deep slumber claimed him.
He had no clue how long he slept.
When Zeon opened his eyes again, dusk had fallen outside.
The dead-quiet slum by day now buzzed with life as night fell.
Neon signs flickered on across ramshackle walls, bathing the dingy alleys in garish light.
A crossed gun-and-sword emblem marked an arms dealer. A lurid red sign with suggestive art signaled a brothel.
The brightest glow came from a casino.
Streets teemed with faces unseen by daylight.
Junkies hawking drugs openly. Lines snaking into dive bars. Whores beckoning passersby.
Boom!
A massive brawl erupted a few blocks away, the explosion echoing. Yet no one showed fear or panic.
This was just daily life here.
The slum was home to people, after all.
And where people lived, turf wars were inevitable.
Especially in this teeming hive of ten million souls. The stakes were sky-high.
Gangs clashed daily over territory.
Monsters weren't the real threat here.
The deadliest danger in the slums was other humans.
That's when it happened.
Bang bang!
Someone pounded furiously on Zeon's door, bellowing.
"We know you're in there! Come out, you fucker!"
Zeon instantly recognized the voice.
The squatter he'd booted.
The guy wasn't alone.
He'd brought over a dozen thugs.
The man belonged to Red Skull Gang, a small-time crime outfit based in Shinchon.
Not huge, but packed with vicious bastards—nobody fucked with them lightly.
The boss, Jo Sang-hyeok, stood with arms crossed, glaring at unit 1820.
His goons hammered away, but the door didn't budge. Looked flimsy enough to shatter with a tap.
Jo turned to the squatter. "You reinforce this door or what?"
"Nah, boss! I ain't got that kinda cash. It's the original."
The squatter's face burned red.
He'd been pounding with all he had. Door fine, him winded and wheezing.
Then—
The door they'd battered swung open silently. Zeon stepped out.
"What?"
"This fucker! He barged in outta nowhere, claimed it was his place, and beat the shit outta me!"
The squatter shrieked, pointing at Zeon.
Jo scowled.
Hated the childish tattling. But the guy was his man.
Let him get jumped without payback? Lost face.
Everyone had to learn: touch him or his crew, you bleed.
Jo stepped forward.
"Who the fuck are you? Why'd you touch my boy?"
"The homeowner."
"What?"
"Came back to find some unauthorized fuck squatting. Kicked him out."
"You call that shit an excuse?"
Jo gaped in disbelief. Zeon was dead serious.
"Why not? Original owner returns, trespasser leaves. Makes sense."
"Proof this is your place?"
"Nope."
"You bullshitting me? No proof and you claim it's yours?"
"Yeah!"
"You little shit..."
Jo's rage boiled over.
His crew surged first.
"Make him kneel."
"Puny fucker..."
They flexed hulking muscles, circling Zeon.
Thud thud thud!
Sudden impacts rang out in rapid succession.
The thugs encircling Zeon crumpled like sandcastles.
Eyes rolled back, foam at their mouths.
"You're an Awakener?"
Jo's eyes widened.
No normal human drops a dozen buff guys that fast.
Zeon shrugged.
"As you see."
"Ha! Fucking hell. Cocky on that weak-ass power?"
"Never been cocky."
"What's your rank? Show the rank badge, asshole!"
"Show mine, you die."
"Huh?"
"Dead. Told you."
"Big talk from a..."
"Sound like bluff?"
Zeon grinned.
Jo shivered, chills racing over him.
Primal instinct—life-or-death warning.
Last felt it after a brutal gang war.
His gut screamed: this guy's no joke. Run.
But pride wouldn't let him.
"Fuck you!"
Jo swung a massive fist.
F-rank martial Awakener strength—solid punch. But to Zeon, laughable.
Zeon sidestepped, tapped Jo's chest lightly.
The shockwave? Devastating.
Kaboom!
"Guweeeek!"
Jo flew back squealing like a gutted pig. Chest caved in.
Without mercy, instant death. Even so, near-fatal.
Awakener durability saved him.
Jo felt his body disintegrate from one punch.
Muscles limp, guts melting.
Vision blurred to nothing.
Sensation returned much later.
"Kuhuk!"
He hacked up a basin of blood. Paralysis lifted.
Zeon crouched, locking eyes.
Bottomless black depths stared back.
Meeting them, Jo's pupils quaked. Brain melting just from the gaze.
Power gap phenomenon.
Now he got it.
This guy was way above him—untouchable high-rank Awakener.
'D-rank? No, maybe C-rank or higher.'
C-rank was peak in his world.
F-rank ran small crews like his. E-rank bossed multiples.
D-rank+ got scouted to Neo Seoul.
Jo's dream: escape this shithole for civilized lights.
Zeon qualified easy. Why slum it? Didn't matter—he was unbeatable.
Zeon asked, "Still a problem me living here?"
"N-no probwem."
"Knew it. Do what you want, I don't care. Just let me live quietly. Promise?"
"Pwomise."
"Good."
Zeon smiled, standing.
Jo? Pinky-flick dead. But no point—another cockroach takes his spot.
Better keep this one alive, scared shitless, policing the block.
Moments later, Jo and his crew staggered up, recovered.
As Zeon turned to leave, he said, "Best not blab about today. When your mouth itches, remember this."
A massive fireball erupted around Zeon.
"Gasp!"
Jo and crew's eyes bulged.
'Magic type—fire affinity, no less.'
Magic Awakeners outranked martial same tier. Fire was top-tier destructive, rivaling lightning.
Neo Seoul coveted fire mages.
"Won't breathe a word. Swear."
Jo slurred through numb tongue, shock-locked.
Zeon smirked, satisfied, snuffing the flames.
"Busy, so leave your contact."
"Contact?"
"Don't wanna?"
"No!"
Jo scribbled his address quick.
Zeon checked it. "Now go."
"Thanks."
Jo and crew bowed frantically, bolting down stairs.
Outside, Jo pummeled the squatter who'd led them—the ex-tenant.
"You fucking idiot! 'No big deal'? That no big deal?!"
"Sorry! Agh!"
"Almost got us all killed, you prick!"
"My fault. Mercy!"
Jo stomped the begging man mercilessly.
Venting all humiliation.
The once-tenant lay mangled, unconscious.
Jo glared at his crew, heaving.
"Keep your fucking mouths shut. Word leaks, you die—I die."
"Yes!"
"Got it."
They chorused.
Jo scowled at Zeon's building.
'Fuck! Why'd a monster like that crawl into my turf?'
He sighed deeply.