Declaration of War (3): The World Erupts in Chaos
The world had erupted into chaos. And the cause? Predictably, a single dragon's internet broadcast.
It was only natural for things to blow up like this. After all, this was the first time in history that a monster had directly streamed on a human invention—no, something that was niche yet mainstream: an internet broadcast. And who was the streamer? Not some run-of-the-mill goblin, but a genuine EX-rank gate boss monster: a dragon. Among monsters, it belonged to the absolute pinnacle of species. A dragon that could have long since burst out of its gate and massacred humans was now broadcasting amicably toward humanity.
There had been one prior incident with an S-rank gate breach. The boss monster that escaped—a standard dragon—had turned the American West into a wasteland. Compared to that, the current streamer, the Heaven-Slaying Dragon Grand Ragnar, was nothing short of the eye of the storm.
"These goddamn bastards!"
BAM!
Meanwhile, the place burning hottest right now was North Korea, where officials had been secretly monitoring Grand Ragnar's broadcast. It was absolute pandemonium.
"What the hell are they doing over there...?"
Kim Gwan-sik, the man holding the title of Supreme Commander of Hunters—overseeing all of North Korea's hunters—let out a ragged breath.
North Korea was like a patient on life support. Right after the gate incident erupted, other nations had researched gates and deployed hunters as a resource to handle gates and monsters. North Korea, however, chose differently. They assigned soldiers to deal with gates and monsters while funneling their hunters into the military instead.
In raid novels, modern firearms often don't work on monsters to hype up hunters' value. But this was reality. And in reality, modern guns did work on monsters. So North Korea used their outdated weaponry to tackle gates and monsters, while deploying these superhuman hunters to replace their obsolete war machines.
Had only low-rank gates full of mana appeared—or if they'd all been low-grade—North Korea's approach might have been efficient.
...But that wasn't the case, and that's where the problems started.
Modern firearms worked fine on low-rank monsters. Whether human, bear, or goblin, one bullet to the head dropped them equally. But trolls? Ogres? Massive dinosaur-sized beasts?
Low-rank gates could be handled with personal sidearms. But as ranks climbed, things changed. Machine guns came out when rifles failed. Then tanks when those weren't enough. What once took one bullet now demanded two, three, ten, mortar shells, armor-piercing rounds... escalating endlessly.
Normally, when things got this bad, you'd deploy hunters belatedly or find some other fix. But what was North Korea? A dystopian hellhole with a broken economy, normalized dictatorship, and corruption through and through.
The officials in charge back then either thought more firepower would solve it or didn't want a stain on their records. They ignored the issue, never raised alarms, and kept relying solely on the army and guns...
Eventually, gates they couldn't contain burst open like weeds.
And North Korea collapsed.
From Sinuiju to the DMZ, all human territory fell to monsters. They hunkered down defending only the Pyongyang area, shifting to a space defense posture. Now, they were mocked worldwide as a "city-state meta," barely clinging to survival.
They'd held even that much thanks to three factors: their hunter forces concentrated in Pyongyang where the elite resided; neighboring countries too busy to intervene; and finally... Kim Kyung-do, North Korea's current leader and their sole S-rank hunter, holding the line in Pyongyang.
Kim Kyung-do had awakened a powerful barrier-generation ability, shielding the capital region with his powers alone. That was the only reason North Korea still limped along.
...Whether that counted as good luck or not was debatable.
"Damn it! Those motherfuckers deserve to be eaten alive!"
But even that fragile lifeline was now in peril.
Because the operation proposed by Kim Gwan-sik—the man overseeing North Korea's hunters—had failed spectacularly.
His pitch to the Leader was simple: Gather hunters with monster-taming abilities and mental manipulation skills, send them to Grand Ragnar, and control her.
Success meant North Korea gains an immeasurable-rank monster. Failure? Still a win—they could provoke a clash with South Korea. Either way, profit.
Among those sent were precious A-rank hunters, but the leadership didn't care. Taming skills were useless in a North Korea terrified of monsters anyway, and mental powers could backfire on the elite themselves. Two birds, one stone.
It was a logical plan, approved swiftly. The "special forces" (family safety and livelihoods held hostage) donned South Korean gear emblazoned with the Taegukgi and infiltrated the Baekdu Mountain Gate.
They waited breathlessly: Would a obedient North Korean dragon emerge, or an enraged one gunning for the South?
But then...
"How the hell did they find out?"
They'd hidden all evidence and drilled the team perfectly in South Korean speech. Failure was possible, sure—but how did they know these were North Koreans?
"No way. I can't die like this!"
How many bribes had he paid to climb this high? For twenty years, whenever the Leader's "traitor glare" fell on him for bearing the Kim family bloodline's sins, he'd groveled, bared his belly, and offered tribute. Finally seated in the coveted Supreme Commander role—reserved for the most trusted kin—he'd thought his life was turning around...
Knock knock knock!
"Comrade! Open the door, please."
"Gah?!"
Kim Gwan-sik froze at the knock. Trembling, he opened the door. Three soldiers in crisp uniforms snapped salutes and spoke politely.
"The Great Leader, who guides us and made us who we are... (omitted) ...the Dear Leader summons you, Comrade."
"...Right. Give me a moment to prepare."
Snap! The soldiers saluted back, stepping aside. Kim Gwan-sik slowly closed the door, his face draining to pale blue.
It had come to this, after all.
'One slip and it's the firing squad.'
He had to talk his way out or somehow slither through. Demotion was inevitable, but survival first...
With slumped movements, Kim Gwan-sik began donning his uniform.
Ah... I don't want to go to work...
* * *
While one office worker up north scowled, another down south was scowling too.
"These crazy bastards!"
BAM!
The president of South Korea's Hunter Association slammed the table, cursing up a storm.
His rage wasn't just because North Korea had pulled some "North Korea" bullshit—again. That was par for the course.
No, the real fury stemmed from them messing with Heaven-Slaying Dragon Grand Ragnar.
"If you're gonna die, die alone—don't drag all humanity down with you?!"
On the surface, it was "North Korea schemes against the dragon, pissed dragon declares war on North Korea." But dig deeper: "Humans scheme against a monster, monster declares war on humans."
Optimists or simple folk might say outsiders should just grab popcorn—Ragnar targeted only North Korea, and her demeanor suggested she'd stop there.
But what if not? What if Grand Ragnar's wrath extended to all humanity?
Too pessimistic, too speculative, overthinking... Excuses aplenty.
But politicians planned for worst-cases, and this scenario was plausible. China, Russia, even the US and EU were mobilizing armies and hunters.
Meanwhile, Korea's Hunter Association reeled under a barrage of international calls.
"Damn it. Best case is handling this ourselves..."
Humanity's ideal move: Clean up North Korea first, deliver the culprits to Ragnar. No casus belli for war, minimal damage.
Of course, "ideal" was theoretical. March on Pyongyang, guarded by Red Leader Kim Kyung-do—the S-rank with top-tier defense? You'd need at least ten S-rank hunters.
"If the White-Winged Dragon stepped in..."
Unfortunately, Skatuya Blaze had declared neutrality in human conflicts. No using him to take North Korea. Nor would he block Ragnar...
"Hell, nothing stops him from turning on us too..."
"President, the meeting's ready."
His gaze flicked to the clock at his secretary's words. Emergency session time.
"Right. Let's go."
Sighing, he straightened his clothes and trudged to the conference room with heavy steps.
"Ha~ I wanna go home..."
Overtime was locked in for the foreseeable future.