The Prelude to Madness
An appearance of an unidentified mysterious animal, a UMA? "What the hell is wrong with this now?" My computer was acting up again. I was in the middle of reading a news article about Israel warning North Korea that they would bomb Pyongyang if they exported missile technology to Iran, when the screen suddenly froze up. But this wasn't just a one- or two-time thing; it was happening constantly. Was I being hacked? Anyone would suspect hacking if their smartphone screen randomly lit up or their computer suddenly slowed to a crawl. I didn't know who it was, but it felt like someone had hacked my phone and computer to keep tabs on me. I couldn't even browse the internet in peace anymore. I didn't know exactly when it started, but whenever I walked down the street, I could feel the hidden gazes of people watching me. Judging by the sheer number of them, it wasn't just a single stalker—it was an entire organization. Because of that, I gradually cut back on meeting people and rarely went outside.
Today, after wrapping up my studies, I made sure to check if the gas stove was off before leaving the house. Before going anywhere, I always double-check if I have all my essentials. I review my to-do list for the day and confirm that everything is checked off. It had been a while, so I met up with some people from our neighborhood emergency response committee at a restaurant to grab some soju and pork belly. As we ate, the men at the opposite table kept stealing glances at us. When this first started happening, I just brushed it off, but lately, it had been repeating so often that it was getting highly suspicious. "Don't those guys over at that table seem weird? Why do they keep staring over here?" "Right? Suspicious, isn't it? Do you think they're monitoring us?" When I asked the middle-aged man who served as the committee's treasurer, he agreed that they looked shady, adding that this wasn't the first time something like this had happened. After parting ways with the committee members, I started heading home, only for the men from the adjacent table to suddenly approach me in a threatening manner.
"#########. ################." I didn't think I had drunk that much, but their voices were a muffled, buzzing drone, and I couldn't make out what they were saying. "What do you want? Why are you picking a fight out of nowhere?" Fearing I'd get beaten to death if they ganged up on me, I had no choice but to strike first in self-defense. But since there were three of them, I ended up taking a beating anyway. Soon enough, the police arrived, arrested me, and took me to the local substation to give a statement about the incident. The three of them had perfectly aligned their stories, claiming that I was stumbling around like a drunkard, and when they approached to ask if I was okay, I suddenly lunged at them. With no CCTV footage or witnesses around, and the police facing three consistent statements, they completely ignored my side of the story and sided with them. Since they were a group of three, it was ultimately written off as a mutual physical altercation.
Fuck, I might be a lazy piece of shit, but if I'm going to be constantly monitored and attacked like this, I have to protect my own life. Wouldn't anyone feel the need to find a way to defend themselves after facing a direct physical threat? So, I signed up for an MMA gym. But less than a month in, they suddenly threw me into a sparring match. The head coach had always talked down to me and clearly disliked me. "Ah, fuck, I almost got my nose broken from just one sparring session. My head is spinning... is this a concussion?" In the end, I quit before even finishing my first month. After leaving the MMA gym, I registered at a fitness center just to build some muscle.
As I was eating boiled eggs, carefully removing the yolks, a random thought crossed my mind. What if Park Hyeokgeose wasn't born from a heaven-sent egg, but rather from an egg transported from another world? What if he belonged to a dragon-kin race, but because our world lacked mana, his dragon traits couldn't manifest, making him look perfectly human? Well, it wasn't a serious theory, just a passing thought. Around the time I started getting bored of the gym and skipping more days than I attended, I signed up at a kendo dojo to learn swordsmanship. "Ah, yes, this is what martial arts should be. Wearing the kendo uniform and protective gear makes me feel like a general from the Silla Dynasty." As I practiced kendo, I began to crave a real sword. But apparently, any blade longer than 15 centimeters required a sword possession permit. So, I went online and bought a camping knife with a 14-centimeter blade. The seller claimed it was a replica of an 18-centimeter bayonet, modified with a shortened blade specifically for camping use so it could be sold without a permit.
As I continued my kendo training, my desire for a longsword only grew. Searching the internet, I found a sword shop located in Daejeon. I browsed their designs and price ranges online. The expensive ones cost millions of won, but the cheaper options started around 500,000 won. As a proud descendant of the Three Han States, there was no way I was going to buy a Japanese katana, so I looked for a Hwandudaedo—a traditional ring-pommel sword. Unfortunately, they didn't have any. They did, however, have Hando—traditional Korean military sabers—and I set my sights on the cheapest one, which was priced at 700,000 won. I boarded a train from Suwon Station to Daejeon Station, watching the sign for Daejeon Marshalling Yard pass by the window. I got off at Daejeon Station. I've been here once before, I recalled. Back when I took a trip to Gyeongju to visit the birthplace of my ancestors, the train had stopped briefly at Daejeon Station. From the station, I took a bus to the sword shop.
I entered the shop, picked out the sword I had already selected online, and asked the owner about the metal collar fitted just below the blade. "What is this metal piece attached to the base of the blade for?" "That's the habaki. It keeps the sword from accidentally slipping out of its scabbard." "How long is the blade, and what's the overall length?" "Excluding the habaki, the blade length is 70 centimeters, and the overall length is 103 centimeters. It weighs 1.79 kilograms. The blade has a hexagonal cross-section, and the hilt is 26 centimeters long." So, the metal collar at the base of the blade was called a habaki. When I asked if I could take it home today, the owner shook his head and said I could only collect it after obtaining a sword possession permit. He noted down my personal details and handed me a sword possession permit application along with a certificate of origin.
"Take these to a psychiatric clinic to get a medical certificate. You should probably call ahead before you go. Once you get the possession permit from the police station, just send me a photo of it, and I'll ship the sword to you via courier." Returning home, I searched for nearby psychiatric clinics and looked up their numbers. "Hello, I need to get a psychiatric evaluation certificate for a sword possession permit. Can I make an appointment for that here?" I booked an appointment at a psychiatric clinic that offered evaluations for sword permits. On the day of my appointment, a nurse escorted me to the testing room, and shortly after, an examiner arrived. I had to fill out a questionnaire on a sheet of paper, selecting the answers that seemed most appropriate.
I sometimes feel like someone is watching me. -> [Strongly Disagree]
I sometimes feel an urge to hurt someone. -> [Strongly Disagree]
I marked the answers that I knew were the most appropriate to pass the test. Why did they even bother with such useless evaluations? Once I finished writing down my answers, the examiner asked me a few questions, and I gave my replies. Afterward, I stepped out, and the nurse told me to wait since the results would take some time. Finally, my name was called, and I entered the consultation room for a brief chat with the doctor. "What is your reason for applying for a sword possession permit?" "I've been practicing kendo lately, and I developed an interest in real swords." I answered very smoothly. "Exercise is always good," the doctor said, issuing the psychiatric diagnostic certificate. It felt like a waste of several tens of thousands of won.
Armed with a copy of my driver's license and the medical certificate from the hospital, I finally headed to the police station. I submitted the documents and the processing fee to the female officer at the civil service desk, who gave the papers a cursory glance. "You don't have a criminal record, right? Once the permit is issued in about a week, you'll receive a text message." A week later, the text arrived, and I went back to the police station to collect my sword possession permit. I immediately pulled out the permit, took photos of both the front and back, and sent them to the sword shop via a messenger app.
Two days later, the package arrived, and the longsword was delivered in a peculiar, elongated box. I had finally acquired a longsword. I kept the short camping knife on my person, while the longsword remained stored at home. Carrying a short knife or a longsword without a valid reason, like transporting it to a storage location, was technically illegal, but it was fine as long as I didn't get caught. Gangsters couldn't even get permits, so they carried raw fish knives that were classified as kitchen utensils and didn't require licensing, right? I figured I should also buy a hatchet, which was classified as a tool and required no special permit. But even these preparations felt futile. Recently, things seemed to be escalating; a truck had suddenly lunged toward me in what felt like an assassination attempt, and the neighbors upstairs were constantly bombarding me with noise attacks to keep me from sleeping. Lately, living my life felt exactly like being trapped inside an apocalyptic novel.
To make matters worse, my lease at the officetel was coming to an end, and the landlord was threatening to deduct money from my security deposit, claiming the room's condition was worse than when I first moved in. I needed to upgrade my arsenal. Since I had only trained in close-quarters combat, it was time to acquire skills for ranged warfare. I initially planned to buy a crossbow, but it required a possession permit. And to make things worse, crossbows, like hunting shotguns, had to be kept stored at the police station under normal circumstances! That rendered it completely useless in an emergency if someone were to ambush me. Fortunately, there was a traditional Korean archery experience center at Yeonmudae in Suwon Hwaseong Fortress. Since Yeonmudae was located on the eastern side, it was also called Dongjangdae, the Eastern Command Post. Naturally, there was a Seojangdae, the Western Command Post, as well. Standing at the archery experience center, a thought struck me.
Isn't Suwon Hwaseong Fortress just a relic left behind after the fall of the Joseon Dynasty? In most zombie apocalypse novels, even if the story goes on for five hundred chapters, barely a year passes in-universe. They never properly depict the harsh, freezing Korean winters where survival becomes nearly impossible due to the lack of food. What if the apocalypse dragged on not for just a year, but for ten, twenty, thirty, or even several decades, until human civilization was rebuilt to the level of ancient tribal alliances or medieval European feudalism? What if they managed to restore some modern technologies? Would modern buildings remain as bizarre, out-of-place relics in that reconstructed civilization, much like Suwon Hwaseong Fortress stood today? Since I was already at Yeonmudae, I decided to try out the archery experience. Wanting to learn more professionally, I signed up for a three-month course at a traditional archery range.
The archery range that taught traditional Korean archery was located east of Changryongmun—the East Gate of Suwon Hwaseong Fortress—about a seven-minute bicycle ride or a thirty-minute walk away. However, because it was so far, I ended up skipping classes frequently. Just walking from my place to the East Gate took twenty minutes, making it hard to go regularly. Instead, I occasionally went to practice at a modern archery range that was much closer. The modern archery range was located southwest of Paldalmun, the South Gate, about a twenty-minute walk or a five-minute bike ride away. They charged by the hour or by the number of arrows shot. Eventually, I decided to purchase a traditional bow and arrows, which didn't require a possession permit. Conveniently, the shop where I had bought my longsword also sold traditional bows and arrows. The expensive bows cost several hundred thousand won, but the cheaper ones started at just a hundred thousand won. The arrows were about twenty thousand won each, which felt a bit pricey for consumables. I bought one bow and twenty arrows. Since neither required a permit, the payment went through smoothly, and they were shipped out immediately.
While living like this, I ended up getting fired from my temporary job, leaving me to scrape together living expenses through part-time gigs and day labor. Today was Saturday, so the daily wage for day labor was higher than on weekdays. Walking home after a hard day of manual labor, I thought to myself: When will this hell finally end? It was already March. March 12th, to be exact. Sometimes, while reading post-apocalyptic novels, I couldn't help but wish the world would just end. If it did, wouldn't I be able to live without all this stress? I could just slaughter everyone who was monitoring me! It would either end with my death or the destruction of the organization watching me. Lately, the few friends I had left kept telling me I was acting strange. But I was perfectly sane. My nerves were just frayed from being constantly watched. Just look over there. Now that was a truly crazy person. He was literally biting a woman who had collapsed on the ground. It wasn't like this was a zombie movie, so why the hell was he biting someone?
"Grrr..." No matter how much martial arts I had trained in or how many knives I carried, the best course of action was always to steer clear of crazy people. Besides, if I tried to save that woman by stabbing the guy with my knife, it wouldn't even be recognized as self-defense, and I'd end up in prison because of some stranger. Even if I got hurt, I'd have to pay for my own medical bills. It was better to quietly slip away, and once I was far enough that they couldn't hear me, I'd call the police. After backing away a few meters, I pulled out my smartphone and dialed 112.
"Hello, I'm near the Haenggung-dong Community Center. There's a man literally biting a woman who's collapsed on the ground."
"Understood. If there are no other details to report, we will dispatch officers immediately."
Watching from a distance, I noticed the woman's skirt had ridden up her thighs, and her torn blouse revealed glimpses of bare skin. Suddenly, I felt a strange urge to help her. But since the attacker was clearly out of his mind, trying to talk to him would be pointless; I just needed to subdue him. Creeping up silently from behind the crazed man, I slipped my left arm around his neck, locked my left hand onto my right bicep, and pressed down on the back of his head with my right hand, locking him in a rear-naked choke. With his carotid artery compressed, the lack of blood flow to his brain would knock him out in a matter of seconds. Sensing he was about to lose consciousness, I slightly loosened the choke, keeping it ready in case he woke up and struggled again. I couldn't hold it indefinitely, as blocking the carotid artery for several minutes could cause permanent brain damage. After waiting a short while, the distant wail of police sirens began to echo through the streets.