Yohan's Apostle
As soon as Yohan vanished, Briel shuddered violently.
“Ugh! That was gross.”
She fussed like bugs were crawling all over her skin.
Zeon let out a sigh.
“They just won’t leave us the hell alone. What’s with all that greed...”
Even before Zeon had left the slums long ago, Yohan had been the ruler of Dongdaemun.
Zeon had briefly ventured into Dongdaemun back then, only to flee in disgust.
It was crawling with fanatics under Yohan’s rule.
They worshipped some unknown god, blindly following him.
Normal conversation was impossible, and any semblance of civilized life was even harder.
Zeon had given up on adapting there and returned to Shinchon.
After that, he’d steered clear of Dongdaemun entirely.
“Moving on Shinchon right after Goran’s gone. Faster than I expected.”
The slums maintained a delicate balance among their local tyrants, each keeping the others in check.
Goran had been one of them.
With him gone, Yohan was the first to bare his teeth.
“Wonder if Iton can hold off Dongdaemun.”
Zeon shook his head slightly.
In a way, all this chaos stemmed directly from him eliminating Goran—a chain reaction.
He wasn’t entirely blameless.
But that didn’t mean Zeon had to take responsibility for the mess.
That was just how the slums worked.
Show even a hint of weakness, and they’d rip you apart without mercy.
Even a wide-eyed kid with an innocent face was no different from a beast.
To survive here, half-assed mercy or a sense of justice had to be tossed aside.
Briel asked,
“What god do the humans worship?”
“Hell if I know. Why?”
“His eyes were full of greed... even for a god-worshipper.”
“Elves are the same.”
“What? Elves are pure!”
“Not a single elf I’ve met was pure. If one of them crossed paths with Yohan, they’d corrupt fast.”
“No way. Elves have strong minds.”
Briel denied it vehemently.
“Doesn’t matter how strong your mind is. If there’s greed lurking inside, corruption’s always one step away.”
The elves from Kurayan had invaded Earth for their own survival.
Every world had a fixed capacity for lifeforms.
If outsiders poured in, the natives had to make room—by dying.
The elves knew that.
They knew their survival meant death for Earth’s people.
And they’d come anyway.
Sure, the terraforming backlash had turned Earth into a desert unexpectedly, but that didn’t change the facts.
For survival, they’d hardened their hearts.
That’s when greed took root.
The elves on Earth now were utterly different from their Kurayan kin.
Though they’d deny it to the bitter end.
Briel shot Zeon a pouty glare.
He ignored her and kept walking.
In the end, she trailed after him.
The buildings in Dongdaemun were uniquely massive and labyrinthine.
Like most slum structures, endless haphazard expansions had bloated them into grotesque shapes.
But Dongdaemun took it to extremes.
They’d prioritized cramming in as many people as possible over structural integrity or safety, making them dwarf other districts’ buildings.
As a result, residents lived in constant fear of collapse.
Weaving through the maze-like sprawl eventually led to one standout: a towering, colossal structure.
It evoked memories of ancient churches long vanished from this land.
Minus the crosses on the exterior, it was a dead ringer.
People just called it the church.
Atop its highest spire lay a grand chamber.
This was the domain of Dongdaemun’s ruler, Yohan.
Hands clasped behind his back, Yohan gazed down on his territory.
Before he’d seized control, it had been a lawless battlefield of the weak devoured by the strong.
Slum-dwellers barred from Neo Seoul, yet still preying on each other in hierarchies of plunder.
“Humans without discipline are no better than monsters. The strongest discipline comes from divine law.”
Using “the word of god” as his excuse, Yohan had reorganized the slums and imposed Dongdaemun’s iron command structure.
Conflicts vanished after that.
Minor squabbles and incidents persisted, but the mass slaughters ceased.
Yohan was content with that.
It confirmed he was right.
“Jay, we must build the Third Dongdaemun.”
Strip away all order, leave only one unyielding one—to quell the world’s chaos.
That was Yohan’s ultimate goal.
His gaze drifted to the distant walls of Neo Seoul.
“In the end, spreading god’s word to the fools beyond those walls is why I live.”
“All shall bend to your will, Lord Yohan.”
A woman’s voice echoed from behind.
Without turning, Yohan knew who it was.
“Jae-kyung. I was just about to summon you—perfect timing.”
“I figured as much.”
“Your sharp mind pleases me.”
Yohan turned with a smile.
A plainly dressed woman in a nun’s habit stood there.
Her downcast eyes radiated an inexplicable holiness.
Her name: Kim Jae-kyung.
An orphan.
Yohan had taken her in from the streets and raised her.
She’d grown into his most devout follower.
Kim Jae-kyung asked cautiously,
“What task do you have for me?”
“You’ll go to Shinchon.”
“Shinchon?”
“Yes. Use your powers to convert one unbeliever.”
“An unbeliever has offended you. Who is it?”
“Name’s Zeon.”
“Zeon? Understood. I’ll meet him and persuade him.”
“Be careful. His will seems unusually strong.”
“You know as well as I do—no matter how ironclad the mind, they crumble before me.”
Kim Jae-kyung smiled softly.
Blushing like a shy girl, she drew a nod from Yohan.
He’d raised her from childhood; he knew her abilities best.
She’d accomplish the mission flawlessly.
“Go carefully.”
“Yes!”
With that, she departed.
Alone, Yohan knelt and murmured,
“May all unfold according to your will.”
On the way home, a fierce gust suddenly whipped up.
Briel grimaced, clutching her conical hat with both hands.
“Ugh! This damn sandstorm. So annoying.”
Desert winds inevitably carried sand.
Fine grains invisible to the naked eye mingled in the breeze.
Even cooling winds weren’t welcome.
Briel ducked her head low to evade it.
Zeon, meanwhile, faced it head-on, chin high.
To others, an unwelcome nuisance—but to him, it felt as comforting as a mother’s long-forgotten touch.
The sand never harmed him.
It swirled gently around him, caressing like a lover.
A faint smile played on Zeon’s lips as he savored it.
The sands almost seemed to be coquettishly nuzzling him.
Briel, head down, missed the sight.
The wind died soon after, scattering the sand away.
Only then did Briel look up, brushing the pile from her hat.
“Eww! I hate sand.”
Zeon smirked at her tantrum and kept walking.
As she followed, Briel tilted her head.
“Hey, why’s there no sand on your shoulders? You shake it off already?”
“Yeah.”
“Faster than it looks. Makes sense—you probably hate sand too, right?”
“Nah. I love sand.”
“Well, you do control it, so...”
“Shh!”
“Huh? Why?”
“Daytime words, birds hear. Nighttime words, rats hear.”
“What?”
“Watch your mouth. That’s why I made you swear...”
“Oh!”
Briel finally remembered: Zeon wielded sand.
As a Sand Mage, sand wouldn’t bother him.
Zeon told her,
“You go ahead.”
“What about you?”
“Got a detour.”
“Where? Dokkaebi Market?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
“Quit yapping and get home, kid.”
“Tch!”
Briel clicked her tongue.
She knew pestering wouldn’t work, so she headed home alone.
Zeon watched her go, then turned toward the outer desert beyond the slums.
Briel hadn’t noticed, but he’d caught a scent in the wind.
An alien stench, hard to detect amid slum odors.
Only as a Sand Mage could he sense it; other Awakeners couldn’t.
Leaving the slums was easy.
Unlike Neo Seoul’s towering walls, these were low and unguarded.
Neo Seoul’s anti-magic field deterred monsters, and none had approached in decades.
Slum-dwellers, like city folk, dismissed monster threats.
Humans were the real fear.
Awakeners hunted monsters routinely, but ordinary folk might never see one.
Zeon activated Sand Step beyond the wall.
Shrrk!
Sand surged, propelling him forward.
“Should be around here...”
Kilometers from Neo Seoul, he scanned the dunes.
All was sand.
He heightened his control.
Something stirred deep underground.
“Hmph.”
Zeon frowned briefly and swept his hand.
Sand rippled like waves, parting outward from his feet.
A massive pit formed instantly—thirty meters deep.
Kieee!
At the center, an adult-sized larva writhed.
Ghostly patterns marred its surface.
Zeon muttered, brow furrowed,
“Ghost dragonfly larva, as expected. Why the hell are you here?”
Ghost dragonflies were flying monsters.
Not particularly combat-strong, so not too threatening.
To Zeon-level Awakeners, anyway—disasters for civilians.
But their habitat wasn’t here.
They lurked hundreds of kilometers away.
Their larvae were especially sensitive to external energies, avoiding strong anti-magic zones like Neo Seoul.
If the field were intact, it wouldn’t have dared approach.
“Something’s definitely wrong with Neo Seoul’s anti-magic field.”
Kieee!
Exposed, the larva thrashed, assaulting Zeon’s nose with its foul reek.
The slum scent he’d caught: ghost dragonfly larva.
Once smelled, its pungent rot was unforgettable.
Chwiiik!
Acid spit flew at him—melt-flesh venom.
“Tch.”
Zeon flicked his wrist.
Crimson flames erupted from his Superheat Gauntlet, incinerating larva and spit alike.
Whoosh!
He silently watched it reduce to ash.