38
Chapter 38
The front line, now silent from the artillery, was like a graveyard.
Faint sounds of coughing and the shuffle of boots kicking through trash in the trenches echoed, but no one spoke. Ominous shadows flickered whenever the thick, grey fog—hundreds of meters deep and swallowing all of Seoul—seemed to writhe.
The wind whistling through the ruins of the scorched city carried eerie noises, like screams and moans, and a chill that made one tighten their collar despite the approaching spring.
This was a place where soldiers in CBRN protective suits and gas masks formed eight-man squads, carrying flamethrowers and drum-magazine shotguns, exhaling labored breaths instead of idle chatter.
A place where soldiers, gas masks off, sat on ammo boxes with wide eyes, shoving syringes into their arms and drooling. A place where they clattered spoons, swallowing soggy rice beside piles of charred corpses.
A land guarded by those who had crossed the line of humanity to fight the monsters.
As I observed the reality of the first blockade line encircling the outskirts of Seoul, I stepped further into the command tent.
The command center, judging the first contact attempt a failure due to the other party's emotional reaction, was resuming communication after a brief adjustment. Soon, the efforts of the signalmen tinkering with cables and antennas bore fruit.
A Major General with two stars and no name tag strolled in, instructing us Civilian Operators as he donned his gas mask.
"We are resuming the second communication attempt. Everyone, put on your gas masks. Those in combat uniforms, cover your name tags. You may listen in whatever position is comfortable."
I didn't know why a gas mask was necessary for communication, but I put mine on regardless.
After adjusting the frequency, the connection was restored with the person who had answered first.
He yelled through the radio, demanding to know if they could hear him.
"Yes, we can hear you."
He cursed them, asking if they enjoyed living in comfort while others suffered.
The man on the other end had a coarse voice.
He sounded like a hot-tempered drunk you'd find at a bar, making proper negotiation impossible. His anger soon dissolved into sobbing.
He broke down, begging them to just let him out.
"Sir, due to the current circumstances, immediate rescue is difficult. Please remain calm and stay in your position."
He sobbed miserably, promising to do whatever they asked if he could only leave.
The person on the other end continued to weep pitifully.
Instead of replying hastily, the Major General looked toward a white-collar woman tucked away in the corner of the tent. Her skin was smooth, save for the wrinkles around her eyes, suggesting she was well-groomed. She tapped her lip with a pen before shaking her head.
That was the signal.
The Major General turned the dial to minimize the volume, cut the transmission, and asked the woman.
"Couldn't we just persuade him?"
"No, it seems he's already psychologically broken. Even if he lasts, it won't be for long. He lacks the conviction to survive. While this is a natural reaction for an ordinary person, I judge that he is not the kind of talent the command center is looking for."
"...Next."
It was clear what "talent the command center expected" meant.
Those quick to catch on realized the implication and remained silent, chewing on the bitter taste of reality. Shin Na-in, with his Mind Reading, and the mages with Hearing Line abilities had long since shut their mouths.
I, Baek Jemin, was no different.
Mages.
Only mages were qualified to speak with the government or the military through these transmissions—specifically, those who had survived and possessed an unwavering belief in their own survival.
Feeling a cold chill brush through my chest, we waited for the next contact.
After a few attempts, the next contact was a man with a relatively calm and composed voice, sounding like a university professor.
He identified his location as Nowon-gu, Seoul, asking if they were survivors.
"This is the first blockade line in Seongnam. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."
The professor, who had been oscillating between caution and joy at finding other survivors, fell silent the moment he heard the response.
The Major General rambled on and presented the current negotiation proposal from the government and the military.
"Please understand that this was a cautious decision made due to international pressure and the difficulty of quarantine. However, if the practitioners of Localized Invasive Structural Alteration in your group can identify and protect innocent civilians through primary quarantine, the military will provide unstinting material support to your shelter."
Here, the military stepped back slightly.
While avoiding explicit terms regarding escaping Seoul, the use of "primary quarantine" left a sliver of hope that escape might eventually be permitted.
The Major General glanced at the white-collar woman, questioning her with his eyes, and she nodded while twirling her pen.
After a brief, unpleasant silence, the professor responded with clear hostility.
He let out a dry, mocking laugh.
"Sir?"
He scoffed, asking why he should trust the words of a mere Major General guarding a blockade instead of the ROK-US Combined Forces Command in Pyeongtaek.
The Major General frowned.
A slight stir rose among the Civilian Operators, but only the wrinkled white-collar woman remained calm as she listened.
He asked if they thought he was some lapdog who would bark or jump into a pot on command.
"Sir, considering the difficulty of the situation..."
He mocked them for being more efficient than a zombie movie, claiming they must feel safe now that they've shot everyone dead and "sanitized" the area while leaving the rest to rot.
"These kinds of remarks and approaches will only bring negative results for both parties, sir."
He questioned why he should believe their promises, wondering if they expected him to just die or obey whenever the outsiders decided.
The professor's voice grew sharp.
He asked if they really thought he still viewed them as the same people or family.
"..."
He told them they were all dead men walking and promised to show them why he could survive without a gun once he got out, vowing to make everyone—from the President and the generals to the mindless soldiers—beg for their lives.
Click.
The Major General turned the dial and cut the connection. The white-collar woman clicked her tongue in disappointment and began scribbling notes in her ledger.
The third contact was a woman's voice, sounding like a talkative and meddlesome mother.
She expressed her understanding, stating that the soldiers weren't to blame, but rather the politicians.
"The military is currently trying to build trust with survivors by ceasing artillery fire. If you could disclose your exact location..."
She questioned how they could guarantee that they wouldn't just use her coordinates to launch an artillery strike.
"Sir, we are continuing this communication to promise material supply and support for the survivors."
She suggested they be honest, noting that they wanted to escape while the military wanted to keep them trapped in Seoul.
I could see the Major General's eyes sink in despair behind his gas mask.
She brought up the phrase "cutting the grass by the roots," suggesting that bombing their location would be the most efficient way to eliminate the need for supplies and stop anyone from escaping.
"Sir."
She stated that they would tell them where to drop the supplies, but they must not try to find their shelter, and she would decide whether to respond to future calls.
The white-collar woman evaluated this exchange very positively.
"She has a conviction for survival and seems to have good judgment. I believe we can exchange information. This is a quite positive signal."
"..."
The Major General nodded slowly and searched for the next contact.
The fourth contact remained silent for a while, only speaking after hearing the words "First Blockade Line, Seongnam." The voice was raspy and hoarse, making it hard to distinguish gender, but it carried a chill that seemed to slide down everyone's spine.
The voice noted that everyone had their name tags covered and were wearing gas masks.
"...!"
The speaker wondered if the military knew about magic, questioning if they contacted from Seongnam because they feared the command center in Pyeongtaek would be slaughtered.
The Major General hurriedly turned the dial, but the communication did not cut off.
Instead, the volume and quality only became clearer.
The voice demanded the surrender of the President, the politicians, the command center, and the military commanders.
"Cut the communication, cut it now!"
"Pull the cable!"
While the shouts of soldiers frantically disconnecting cables echoed from outside the tent, some of the mages gathered there began to recoil in terror.
The voice repeated the demand for all those who decided on the blockade.
Snap.
The connection was severed. It wasn't due to the dial or any mechanical operation.
Only when the soldiers outside reported with sweat-soaked faces behind their lenses did the reason become clear.
"All cables have been disconnected."
"We resume in ten minutes. Check the cable status and avoid that frequency."
This time, even the once-composed white-collar woman looked pale.
Dropping her pen, she fumbled inside her coat and pulled out a necklace—one similar to the Pentagram Necklace Mr. Anderson had given me. It was clearly a five-pointed star, though the material was different.
But the metal pentagram necklace was split clean down the middle.
Hiccup.
Pale and hiccuping, the woman fled the tent as if running for her life.
After that, the woman did not return.
For ten minutes, a heavy silence settled among us mages, and after a brief pause, communication resumed.
The fifth contact attempt was a young woman's voice, desperate and determined.
"[...Can you hear me? Do you hear me? Are you still alive?]"
"This is the first blockade line, Seongnam."
"[First blockade line...? Seongnam?]"
This contact was relatively friendly. In fact, she was so cooperative that "relatively" felt like an understatement.
The woman over the radio asked about the current situation and revealed her own circumstances without much filter, providing some key pieces of information.
"[Listen carefully, Mister Soldier. If you're really coming to rescue us, don't meet the mages. I'm a mage too, but... anyway.]"
"It would be easier for us to understand if you could explain, ma'am."
"[I don't know everything in detail. My group and I focused on staying hidden... but people who joined later said most mages have gone mad. Don't trust them if you can help it.]"
"Ma'am, if you don't mind, may I ask for your name and location?"
"[I can't give my location. The people I regularly communicated with are going silent. My name is Go Ryeo-ha. There probably aren't any others with the same name, so it'll be easy to find me. Tell me where to send the supplies, and we'll go get them.]"
After those words, there were no more contacts.
March 23, 2028, 6:12 PM.
The mages of us still lingering in the command tent heard the Major General's final ultimatum to the outside world.
"As of this hour, artillery fire toward the outskirts will resume. Citizens remaining in Seoul, upon spotting military reconnaissance assets, please send a signal or marker that can be recognized from the outside to receive supplies in a safe area. The military and government are striving to resolve the situation and ensure the lives and safety of our citizens. Please avoid artillery fire during the day and be cautioned not to approach the outskirts without military cooperation..."
At the same time, footsteps echoed outside the tent.
Faint groans and whimpers could be heard. The clatter of metal and mechanical sounds followed, and soon, the heavy thumps of artillery returned.
At that moment, the Major General turned toward us and slowly removed his gas mask.
While the communication devices were being dismantled, the Major General scanned us mages one by one. During that process, our eyes met briefly.
The Major General was an old man with white hair, white eyebrows, and deep laugh lines. He looked worn down, appearing at least in his late fifties. The Major General looked at us once more and spoke.
"Thank you all for your patience while listening in whatever position was comfortable. However, the reason I have asked you to join me in this situation is for a larger decision."
"Decision? What kind of decision?"
The middle-aged man in the beanie asked crookedly while slumped on the floor.
Other mages, who I knew were already deployed for the first blockade line's defense, felt the same. We Supreme Mages shrugged, wondering if there was actually something left to decide. Surely he wasn't going to tell us he'd let us outside the secondary blockade line.
But our mediocre thoughts couldn't possibly keep up with the Major General and the military.
"From this moment forward, we will begin the first follow-up reconnaissance operation into Seoul. I am now accepting volunteers from the Operators who wish to enter Seoul along the paths secured by the US Special Forces and ROK Special Forces leading the vanguard, to make contact with local practitioners of Localized Invasive Structural Alteration."
***
The Operator quarters at the first blockade line were relatively spacious since the mages were grouped together.
We Supreme Mages took off our shoes and collapsed onto the folding beds, unable to stop pondering why the military had made such a decision.
Pastor Park Yo-han was busy sighing deeply, and Lee Se-jun was busy bouncing his leg while sitting on his bed with arms crossed. The Pastor stopped him, looking exhausted.
"Se-jun, your leg's going to fly off."
"I'm doing this because I'm about to lose my head for staying loyal."
"Sigh..."
In truth, there was nothing strange about it.
South Korea had already collapsed.
It was only holding on because the industrial zones and the rear were still intact; but once Seoul fell, the economic power and human resources that had propelled Korea into a developed nation plummeted.
They were avoiding nuclear strikes under the pretext of maintaining the blockade line, but the state of the line I had seen today was not great.
The official announcement claimed about 13,000 casualties, but there was a catch.
That 13,000 was out of the 150,000 troops maintaining the first blockade line. The troops isolated in Seoul who had lost contact early in the crisis weren't even included in the statistics.
And even those who remained weren't holding up well.
I licked my lips, recalling the soldiers who were plunging syringes into their arms. It seemed alcohol and tobacco weren't enough. To maintain the blockade, the military had either supplied antipsychotic drugs—or was simply turning a blind eye to it.
In this climate, there was a clear reason why the US and the ROK military were taking the risk of sending Special Forces and mages into Seoul for reconnaissance.
Alteration-type Magic.
A supernatural ability that could be learned as long as one had magic runes and fog.
The fact that my consciousness had succeeded in this was known only to the Supreme Mages and a few soldiers, but it would soon be known to occultists overseas. It was only a matter of time before its connection to the occult became public.
The true golden goose that would make every tycoon and billionaire in the world pour in their money.
Magic was the last remaining commodity that could save a fallen South Korea after the loss of Seoul.
"It's not a commodity; it's the Lord's grace and blessing, Jemin."
"Same thing."
I replied grumpily to Shin Na-in, who had targeted my inner thoughts, but I corrected my perspective.
Right. In fact, calling it a "commodity" was almost funny.
The existence of magic had stopped the hardliners who wanted nuclear strikes against these lethal monsters. Simultaneously, it was the last bargaining chip the Korean government had for negotiations with foreign powers.
Instead of a magic-strong Korea, it had become a Korea that was a corpse if you took away the magic.
At that moment, I noticed an empty spot and looked around.
Indeed, one bed sat lonely.
"That bastard Hamza ran away."
That ungrateful wretch.
I couldn't hide the surge of betrayal.
He refused the journey to save Korea after eating a few spoonfuls of Richam?
But Pastor Park Yo-han calmly stopped me.
"Let him go. He's not even Korean."
Pastor Park Yo-han had a look of complete enlightenment on his face, miming the act of holding a cigarette butt with just his lips moving.
We Supreme Mages, who had agreed to die together at the same time, were suddenly reduced to just four.
While I was lamenting that fact, Auntie Poppy poked her head out from outside the tent and looked around. When her eyes met mine, she gestured for me to come over.
Pastor Park Yo-han, Shin Na-in, and Lee Se-jun all looked away or bowed their heads indifferently, but the kind-hearted Baek Jemin responded to that gesture.
When I stepped outside, a still-chilly breeze greeted me, and Auntie Poppy pulled some strange items from her clothes and handed them to me.
"Auntie? What is this?"
"Call me Noona. I'm not that old."
They were talismans with scribbled writing and drawings of tigers.
Auntie Poppy pushed a bundle of talismans toward me and let out a heavy sigh.
"I have a feeling you're the type who'll actually go in there. I only recently received my spiritual calling, so you can expect a decent effect. I didn't just scribble these; I used real cinnabar on yellow paper, so keep them inside your clothes. Don't eat them!"
"Wait..."
I felt a bit wronged by her last comment.
Did this woman think I would gobble them up just because she said they were effective? It was disappointing that she viewed me like a child who would actually eat dirt to become a mage.
"These things cost millions of won even before the world went crazy. Now they're even more expensive!"
"Thank you, Noonim."
I humbly tucked the talismans inside my shirt.
Once they were safely stored, Noona Poppy brought her index finger to her lips and whispered carefully.
"Good. Now that you have them, don't reveal that I'm a Shaman. Got it?"
I asked if she had been a Shaman.
She remarked that I caught on quickly.
Slap!
Noona Poppy gave me a loud smack on the back and trotted back to her tent.
I looked wistfully at her retreating figure, then rushed back in and sought out Shin Na-in. A fool is someone who doesn't use an all-purpose mind reader.
Who knows? Maybe her words were sweet, but her actual goal was to pawn off a curse on me.
I asked Na-in if the talismans were the real deal.
Na-in scoffed, suggesting I go to church if I wanted to rely on superstitions, though he admitted she gave them with good intentions because I looked too dim-witted and pitiable.
I muttered a comment about her being too much.
I felt a surge of relief at Auntie Poppy's kind and warm heart.
Even if she gave them to me because I look clueless and dim-witted, the desire to take care of someone unfortunate only comes from a good person.
***
March 26, 2028.
Volunteers were being recruited.
Pastor Park Yo-han was the first to sign up, and upon returning to the quarters, he looked around at us.
"I can't blame that foreigner, Islam. We've all seen the monsters ourselves. You've likely seen things even worse. Seoul will be more horrific than anything we've experienced. If I weren't a pastor, I would have quit. I'd have fled long ago if I didn't have an obligation to save God's lambs."
The pastor added more, gripping his Bible with trembling hands.
"Don't let fake courage lead you; run if you can."
"You've all already done your best."
March 27, 2028.
The sound of the news on Lee Se-jun's phone could be heard through the heavy thumps of artillery.
We Supreme Mages, drying our socks, listened to the news and Se-jun's interruptions against the backdrop of the shelling.
The news announced a historic moment, reporting that the five permanent members of the UN Security Council had unified against the biological disaster in Korea, suggesting a precedent for global integration.
"Dammit."
Lee Se-jun's cold remark spoke volumes about the future of South Korea.
April 2, 2028.
While we were washing our faces with wet towels, the screaming curses of soldiers reached our ears.
Shortly after, the mages summoned to the Seongnam command center received the expected news.
"The PLA has forcibly entered Ganghwa-do. Claiming they will stabilize the situation and assist refugees in escaping to the West Sea islands, they insist on managing the blockade lines in northern Gyeonggi and Incheon. Thus, administrative power is officially transferred to the ROK-US Combined Forces Command in Pyeongtaek..."
When I glanced outside the tent, the soldiers seemed to be gripping their guns tighter than usual.
April 3, 2028.
There were sporadic monster attacks targeting the first blockade line.
There were about 200 casualties among the ROK soldiers.
Not even the bodies could be recovered. The mages, placed in the rear as reserves, were occasionally called to the trenches; those who returned were all shivering in terror.
That night, two mages were caught attempting to desert.
No one revealed what happened to them, and no one cared to ask.
April 5, 2028.
Listening to the news show via phone had become the new daily routine for us Supreme Mages.
Naturally, the situation reported through the phone was not good.
Through the screen, we saw city streets engulfed in flames, where shouts rose higher than the noise of gunfire. It was the rear zone, far from the first or second blockade lines.
Chuncheon, Daegu, Ulsan, Gwangju...
The announcer tried to mask her emotions, but she couldn't hide her resignation.
She reported that as of April 5th, citizens in major metropolitan cities were clashing with the martial law army, accusing them of being murderers.
People with placards and headbands shouted as they marched toward the muzzles of the guns.
In response, the martial law soldiers aimed their rifles from a kneeling position while a commander shouted through a megaphone.
"Get back, murderers! Save my family!"
"Emergency martial law is in effect. Disperse immediately! We will open fire if you fail to comply!"
"Shoot us, you sons of bitches!"
The army actually fired and killed people, and although the citizens retreated temporarily, the chaos did not subside.
A heavy silence settled over our quarters. Only Shin Na-in, with his earphones out, swayed to his own rhythm and spoke with a smile.
"If the fall of this country is the Lord's will, I am ready to obey. We must all accept it."
April 7, 2028.
Countless fighter jets streaked across the sky north of the first blockade line in Seongnam.
The sound was so sharp and violent it drowned out the shelling, momentarily tearing through the fog clouds. Then, without fail, the terrifying sound of bombing echoed.
As I stared blankly at the jets performing dangerous maneuvers in and out of the fog, the news played from Lee Se-jun's phone.
It reported that on the 7th, the US 7th Fleet had been deployed despite objections from China and Russia, and the US government was considering the 3rd Fleet's deployment to lead the global crisis.
April 8, 2028.
Shin Na-in, who had passed by the command tent, returned to our quarters and removed his earphones.
"The fog has reached Uijeongbu. It seems the worst-case scenario predicted by the command is becoming a reality."
No one dared to speak.
I smacked my lips, and Lee Se-jun turned off his phone and closed his eyes.
Only Pastor Park Yo-han bowed his head with joined hands and prayed loudly.
"Lord, protect them in this time of tribulation..."
April 9, 2028.
Hamza returned to the quarters.
Before anyone could speak, Hamza collapsed onto his empty bed with hollow eyes and trembling lips.
"An angel taught me."
Hamza lowered his head, covering his face with both hands, consumed by deep despair.
"If you run away, you won't even be granted the chance to fight back."
April 11, 2028.
The recruitment of volunteers ended.
Only five people gathered in the Seongnam command tent.
The nameless Major General was not disappointed. In fact, he nearly teared up that there were as many as five.
"Just because you've decided now doesn't mean your deployment is confirmed. However..."
The Major General turned his back and sobbed for a moment.
"Just being here now is enough. Thank you."
April 12, 2028.
A familiar face visited our quarters.
First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi from the military store had arrived with all our belongings left at Suwon City Hall. It wasn't just our gear.
"Why are you giving us 100 Military Notes each?"
Han-gi explained that there would be a use for them later and that the military note economy was a project by the government to create value for those breaking through the secondary blockade.
As he spoke, First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi handed me my AR-15 that had been left in Suwon.
It was an AR-15 that had been shortened, with an added light and a red dot sight.
"It's a gift from the Colonel. He told me to pass along his words."
He handed the weapon over as if pushing it toward me and smiled.
He mentioned that the Colonel didn't forget that I had saved the soldiers' lives and would keep a certain secret until the end.
I immediately realized what the secret was.
It seemed he hadn't reported to the upper command that I had learned Hand Line magic. First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi smiled, looking both relieved and bittersweet.
He informed me that my parents had safely moved to the USA.
"Huh? Ah... they went?"
He added that they believed I had been sent to the rear.
I smiled faintly while examining the details of my now-compact AR-15.
"Where's the rear when the country's about to collapse?"
Hearing my words, First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi burst into laughter.
It was a dry but sincere laugh.
And then, April 15, 2028.
***
For the first time in a long while, the artillery stopped.
Then, gasps and moans echoed amidst the ruined buildings and the pungent smell of gunpowder. Abandoned syringes lay scattered on roads lined with broken bottles and cigarette butts.
Three military trucks and two armored vehicles were busy starting their engines and preparing to depart.
In front of them, Pastor Park Yo-han, a man with a timid look and glasses, stood alone with joined hands, praying incessantly.
His words, starting with the idea that there was only one thing he needed to remember, sounded like desperate self-brainwashing.
"It will end before our faith breaks..."
At that moment, the sound of footsteps overlapped.
Being the first to move, I approached the pastor from behind and tapped his shoulder.
The pastor turned around, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Nutcases?"
Hamza, with his gaunt and deathly expression, looked awkwardly at Pastor Park Yo-han before breaking into a hearty laugh—a mix of tears and joy—and climbing into the back of the military truck.
"I will become the fear before the fear conquers me."
Hamza seemed to have a good memory, reciting parts he usually didn't, and slumped back against the seat.
Next, Shin Na-in smiled at the pastor and pulled out a headset instead of earphones.
"We are the madness that fights madness."
Clunk.
Na-in climbed into the truck and smiled with his eyes closed.
Lee Se-jun sighed deeply, loosened his sling, and pulled out his K2C1 and a massive revolver he had likely obtained from First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi.
After spending some time feeling the weight of the weapons, he climbed onto the truck and answered.
"The absurdity that fights absurdity."
Se-jun hugged his gun tightly, seemingly quite anxious.
Finally, I handed my K2 to the pastor and spoke.
"We march into hell before hell seeps into us."
The pastor took the K2 instinctively, brushed the trigger a few times, and began to chuckle.
Then, he adjusted his glasses and slung the gun over his shoulder.
"Right. Who else but you lot could be the best of the best?"
Clunk.
Once the pastor climbed into the back of the truck, I slowly looked around.
Soldiers had taken off their gas masks to share a single cigarette, their soot-covered faces dripping with sweat as they hung their heads. Among them, I saw First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi approaching with a heavy envelope.
Shin Han-gi's lips twitched as he handed me the envelope.
He handed it over.
I asked what it was.
"It's the Spam you wanted."
I quickly grabbed the envelope and stuffed it into my duffle bag.
However, I hesitated to climb onto the truck immediately.
I, and the other Supreme Mages now on the truck, must have realized it.
The soldiers left on the front line and First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi probably sensed it too. We weren't that close. Just a few nods to soldiers and a few conversations with Han-gi.
It's never easy for a person to simply walk away.
Then, First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi smiled and reached out his hand.
"We're lucky just to have avoided the nukes, aren't we?"
.....
"True. That's true."
I shared a brief handshake with him.
"Mr. Baek Jemin. I know the military isn't trustworthy. But please understand."
"...."
"They're the only ones fighting desperately to save the forty million people of this nation."
The Major General gave us three missions.
First, find and contact the friendly survivor group identifying as Go Ryeo-ha.
Second, acquire as much local magical knowledge in Seoul as possible.
Third, help determine the cause of the fog and monsters through a supernatural interpretation.
These were not tasks for civilians, yet they were assigned to us.
Knowing the meaning behind that, I let go of the handshake and climbed into the truck with a mixed feeling.
There was a high probability that South Korea would not survive.
Clunk.
The 2.5-ton truck's ride was still terrible, the combat uniform was still stifling, and the guns were still heavy.
But the world had already changed beyond the point of return.
Before long, more soldiers boarded other trucks, and the convoy of trucks and armored vehicles began to move.
Beyond the ruined city, the sky was filled with drones buzzing like hornets and fighter jets leaving contrails. The soldiers paused for a moment as they watched the convoy heading toward Seoul.
Some stood blankly, some put down their guns to wave, and some gave a silent salute.
Meanwhile, Lee Se-jun kept his phone on, as if wanting to hear the final news from the outside world.
April 15, 2028, was the day the President of the United States made his declaration.
It was a broadcast where the President spoke in English, followed by a translator's interpretation.
"Today, we have transcended the boundaries of nations, ethnicities, ideologies, and parties."
Clunk.
Every time we hit a bump, the five of us bounced in the air.
"Today, we engage in the most righteous of battles."
Cold moisture began to creep in.
When did the fog start rising, even before we crossed the bridge? It was a truth everyone on the front line knew—that the fog was slowly but surely spreading.
They just didn't talk about it.
"Today, in the name of humanity, we stand against this calamity. May God protect us."
Shortly after, the announcer added with an excited tone.
For the first time in history, the five permanent members of the UN Security Council unanimously resolved to dispatch UN forces. They called it a miracle achieved without a single abstention.
A miracle, but a chillingly cold one.
The fog was rising up to our waists in the back of the 2.5-ton truck. Without needing to be told, we checked our weapons and pulled out our gas masks. Even Hamza was no exception.
Lee Se-jun even handed his massive revolver to Hamza.
Of course, Hamza tried to refuse.
"I don't know how to use a gun."
"If you stick that in your mouth and pull the trigger, you'll die quickly."
Hamza thanked him.
Moved by Se-jun's kind explanation and consideration, Hamza quickly took the massive revolver.
Then, one by one, we began putting on our gas masks.
Shin Na-in was the fastest. After donning his mask, he put on his headset and pulled the poncho hood over his head with a few sharp breaths.
Whoosh.
Following the sound of breathing, the faces of the others were covered by gas masks.
Whoosh, whoosh.
Lee Se-jun and Hamza put theirs on too. Hamza stole a glance at Se-jun with clumsy hands, donned his mask, and checked the filter.
Whoosh.
The pastor's skill with the gas mask was impressive, perhaps from his days in the military.
After quickly putting on his mask, the pastor stared at the issued poncho for a moment before putting it on.
I watched them as I put on my own gas mask.
The inside of the rubber was dampened by the fog's humidity, and I had to wipe away the condensation with my hand. There were two main reasons for wearing the mask.
One was to avoid detection by mages who, like me, had awakened Eye Line abilities, and the other was an instinctive disgust and fear of infection from the monsters. I wore it for the former reason.
Whoosh, whoosh.
Breath scattered instantly among the fog clouds.
The fog had risen to the level of our necks.
Seoul was drawing near.
A symbol that could never be reclaimed, a place where no one would want to return.
We were heading toward a place that had become the most fitting definition of hell.
Yet, my heart was beating more powerfully than ever before.
Goodbye, Seoul.
To finally achieve the dream of moving to the capital.
I, Baek Jemin, am coming.
End