#22. Torch of Anti-Communism (5)
After completing the capture, the subordinates who'd participated in the hunt cleaned up the traces of battle and rotated out with the second-wave personnel who arrived shortly after, returning to headquarters. The reason for calling in the second wave after everything was done was obvious: we couldn't afford to have the organization's elite tied down domestically. If this drew public attention, our freedom of movement would be restricted—no question about it. No matter where we went or what we did, annoying scrutiny would follow.
A while back, Suyeon had advised that it wouldn't be a bad idea for me and the organization's key members to position ourselves as patriots of this country. As regions and awakened beings requiring national influence and diplomatic backing just to approach continued to multiply, gaining that official prestige and track record would be essential. But in our current state of utter unpreparedness, it was better to push forward the reserve forces from the second wave as figureheads rather than expose our core strength. I could easily list myself as just another rank-and-file operative using one of my aliases. After all, the commissions from the state would come to the corporation, not individuals.
From the moment I left headquarters, I'd planned to turn this incident into an opportunity to turn disaster into triumph. Since things had played out this way—intentionally or not—let's grab whatever benefits we could.
The responses from the government offices that received our report were entirely predictable.
"Uh... you're talking about armed communist spies? Not regular infiltrators? What? Twelve armed individuals?"
The call to the National Security Support Command had been answered by some private on duty. There wasn't a speck of professionalism in his fumbling response. It felt like there wasn't even a manual for handling civilian reports. Just listening from the side, anyone could tell it was a half-assed system.
The private spent a stuttering three minutes just getting the details of the incident, then finally confirmed the reporter's identity and contact info before wrapping up like this:
"W-we might call back to verify, so please pick up if we do... Um, and I'll report this to the duty commander. Thank you for the report."
My subordinate, handling the call, shot me a sidelong glance and asked in a deliberately troubled tone,
"We're holding them alive right now, but there's no word on how long we have to wait or when they'll deploy? Some of them are hurt bad enough that they might die."
"Uh, I don't have the authority for that... Anyway, thank you for waiting. Call ending."
And that was it. We waited another ten minutes—no follow-up call. Of course. If you reported a bunch of armed communist spies disguised as ROK troops captured in the clear rear lines—by civilian hunters with bows, no less—anyone would call bullshit. Probably nixed at the duty commander level: "Why the hell would we escalate this?"
The 112 emergency dispatch showed a bit more professionalism.
"Sir, you seem to be taking prank calls too lightly. You're interfering with official duties right now. Article 137 of the Criminal Act states that anyone who obstructs a public official's duties through deception faces up to five years in prison or a fine of ten million won. We don't let prank calls slide like in the old days. Got it?"
"Ha, really... This is for your own good. Once the police show up, there's no turning back. They throw even first-timers in jail if the crime's bad enough these days. Plus, if this wastes police resources, you could face civil damages on top of criminal penalties. You're harming the public interest."
"Armed communist spies in this day and age? Come on. What era do you think it is? Not 1988."
"You caught twelve awakened ability users armed with K2 rifles and grenades—using just a bow and arrows? And alive? Does that even make sense? Novels get flak for less."
"Sounds like you've had a few drinks. We'll pretend this didn't happen—just go home and rest. Hanging up."
This was the rational response, really. Even I had been baffled when we identified the intruders.
"Keep calling."
I instructed my subordinate like that while granting the bare minimum of life to our bound prey. With my mana field fully deployed and the ancient ritual sword at hand, suppressing their mana fields to stabilize vital signs was no great feat.
As my subordinate kept pestering with repeat reports, the police finally dispatched a single patrol car. Probably to nab the "prankster," not the spies. The subordinate went out to the nearest road to greet them and, after a tussle convincing the two reluctant cops that the forest interior was dangerous, barely managed to escort them to the site.
The officers who witnessed the scene—spies lined up unconscious and bound—freaked out, yelling, "Aren't these our troops?!" When we played the pre-recorded conversation for them, they freaked out again: "Wait, actual spies?!"
It was a comedic farce from our vantage point.
Amusing.
"Wh-what do we do, senior?!"
The junior officer stomped his feet asking, and the equally clueless senior replied in a trembling voice,
"What do you mean, what?! Call for backup! Send everyone we've got!"
Nearly an hour after the initial report, the creaky response system finally ground into gear—but it achieved nothing further, even as dawn broke and the media sniffed out a scoop. Worth the delay before reporting and capturing: the other infiltration teams, warned by my catches, vanished without a trace from the belated military-police pursuit.
The fiasco's finale was a minor firefight at the southern limit line fence under the 28th Division's jurisdiction in Yeoncheon County's northwest. The skirmish stayed small because South Korean forces there were thin. Even scraping every active-duty resource for border duty couldn't meaningfully thicken the long blockade line. Especially against North Korea's elite awakened unit packed with dual-ability holders.
The massed spec-ops team overwhelmed the handful of guards with numbers, abilities, and firepower, punching through in seconds... or so the Defense Ministry spokesperson briefed live that morning.
They claimed no fatalities thanks to the guards' heroic stand despite the odds—but stripping the fluff, it just meant a one-sided beatdown with zero enemy losses.
That day, chaos exploded across the country where our headquarters was based. For a lawbreaker like me, widespread social scrutiny was pure stress. How many secret operations did I have? How much hidden inventory and assets? By capturing and reporting the spies myself, I'd averted the worst; using the second wave as fronts dodged direct exposure. But we'd only traded disaster for damage control—the situation remained far from ideal.
Suyeon, returning to headquarters, spoke calmly.
"If luck's bad, the NIS might latch on because of this. They could already be surveilling and wiretapping."
Kyung-tae, arriving late in the afternoon, widened his eyes.
"Wait, why us? What'd we do?"
"To stem brain drain. Not just this incident— they've likely had a task force running since awakened talent outflows abroad became obvious."
"Ah."
Kyung-tae nodded. "Makes sense. This country's become an international talent buffet where everyone's poking around. No time for scruples on illegal surveillance. Gotta know the bidding to retain at minimal cost."
"Or lodge a diplomatic protest."
The brief exchange summed up our predicament perfectly. The "hunter manpower market" America had stirred up in Korea had morphed into a true free-for-all, with any nation of means sniffing around. With the bully up front drawing fire, quiet recruitment offers via private firms carried little diplomatic risk. It was the selfish nationalism from the two COVID waves extended: hoarding masks and meds, now grabbing talent to handle awakened beasts and magical disasters—diplomatic gaffes be damned. Especially for vast, wild-rich nations desperate for crisis response.
So the Korean government pulled every lever. Escalating awakened outflows, rising social unrest, ballooning public discontent. Reasons to seize power abounded.
Even if exposed, mainstream backlash wouldn't be that fierce.
Frame it as unavoidable for national security, not regime gain, and those prioritizing self-preservation over others' rights would waver between mild criticism and active support—bolstering the powers that be. If even one of my "commie hunter" kids bolted abroad, the fallout would be politically catastrophic.
The NIS—a national intel agency, however bumbling—the humiliated police and Security Command, scoop-crazed media, background checks from foreign agencies and firms hunting talent, posturing awakened YouTubers, nosy netizens playing detective, jealous hunters firing blind hate... I tallied the threats with a sigh, turning to Suyeon.
"You've handled it, but tighten security and internal discipline across all sites again. A butterfly's wingbeat could start anywhere unexpected."
"I'll do my utmost."
"Report any security breach to me, no matter what. Post-approval's fine, but nothing happens without my knowledge."
"Yes."
Like a single spark igniting a parched forest into inferno, in times like these, even a tiny lapse could topple a domino chain. Take that infamous Burning Sun scandal: started as simple assault. Proper initial handling could've buried it, but idiots escalated into a monster.
I had no intention of repeating their folly.
"No signs the police smell anything?"
"Sent a separate gift to Northern District Deputy Chief Jang Jung-gu. We won't be caught off-guard—rest easy."
"Good..."
On the surface, my crew and I were just meritorious captors of spies. Yet solid reasons demanded wariness of police probes.
Nothing pins talent domestically like criminal charges.
In this country, where government and localities monopolized high-risk hunt yields, most hunters had ties to smugglers big and small. Governor Kang Jung-seong had instantly suspected smuggling upon seeing my forces—questioning the cost of hiring that many. Pin a smuggling rap, and no need for big budgets to retain hunters abroad-bound. Lock in favorable government contracts via judicial deals. Not paranoia—this was happening en masse right now. No foreign human-rights meddling possible. Plus, police and Security Command could salvage face by dragging us down. Or rather, the old-school brass likely thought that way. Shady backchannel probes would follow, naturally.
That's why we'd stay vigilant and low-profile awhile—and why the spies had irked me from the start.