I pulled out the bicycle for the first time in a while.

It was the thing that taught me that the value of an item isn’t always decided by money.

I’d paid just a little over a hundred thousand won for it, and who could have guessed back then that it would keep running this frugally, still doing sterling work seven years later?

I packed supplies the way I used to.

A bit of food and water, medicine, and items to use for trade or negotiation in the city.

It would’ve been nice to have cigarettes, but those were nearly gone. Instead ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) I packed candy and plenty of bullets.

I polished each trade bullet by hand, rubbing it with cloth until it gleamed.

Doesn’t seem like much, but that shine makes these stand out compared to the handmade ammo being churned out now.

Bullets, or whatever else—it’s always the pre-war stuff that trades at the highest price.

I even brought pre-war sugar.

Five single-stick packets, brand-new, packaging and all intact from before the war.

As weapons, I carried one domestic rifle, one American-made pistol, and—as always, my steady companions—a pair of axes.

Also tucked a utility dagger by my ankle.

“Take care.”

I’d unintentionally left Woo Min-hee’s kid to watch the house.

When I asked if she wasn’t scared, she answered with a blank expression.

“I’m fine. I’m used to being alone.”

“Good. Keep an eye on the place, and don’t touch the computer.”

“Yes.”

I considered setting up the sentry gun, but decided against it.

Mark Two might get dragged into it, or maybe I’d be the one to get sacrificed.

From long survival experience, the quietest option is always best—at least until the absolute worst comes.

“Don’t ever touch the computer.”

“You already said that twice.”

After saying goodbye to Mark Two, I climbed onto the bike.

The route lay through the land of dogs.

Mutated dogs.

When Ha Tae-hoon was around, he used to mention seeing big ones still prowling.

But their numbers had to be down by now.

The Mutations were still infesting the outskirts, but five years after the war, even they were struggling to survive.

After all, Mutations are still part of nature’s ecology. They too must stand before the trials of the great wilderness.

The biggest problem is size.

Big bodies need more calories.

And unless humans intervene, the energy nature provides tends to scale with land area.

That’s why a tiger’s territory can stretch dozens of kilometers—the land barely provides enough nutrition for even one apex predator.

The southwestern wasteland, once Gold’s domain and now likely Silver’s, isn’t even as wide as a single city district.

Way too small to sustain the twenty or so mutated dogs estimated to live there.

Brave observers—scholars who didn’t neglect their duty even after the war—left records that mutated dogs fed off human leftovers: warehouses, supermarkets, whatever they could sniff out.

Their instincts never changed. With those sharp noses, they could track human relics more efficiently than humans themselves.

But time fades everything.

The mutated dogs still threaten the outskirts, but no longer gather in large packs.

Even the road from Sejong into our territory used to be infamous for them, but their presence has dwindled.

Back in Gold’s heyday, when mutated dogs reigned, the government launched extermination campaigns. Before the deep freezes, no one dared go near—it was that dangerous.

But now, even with the white snow making targets easy to spot from afar, it’s rare to see a single dog.

A long howl echoed in the distance—reminding me they were still around somewhere.

But I crossed into the familiar road toward Sejong without seeing even one.

At the bridge entrance, Sejong’s soldiers stood guard.

They wore uniforms like the ROK Army, but with white armbands to distinguish themselves from Seoul troops.

The fact that Sejong controlled the bridge backed up IAmJesus’s testimony that Jeon Si-hoon’s kill team was no longer active here.

“Where are you coming from?”

I didn’t bother hiding my face. Covering it would only make them suspicious.

I gave them a convenient excuse.

“My kid’s sick. I’m looking for fever medicine.”

To show a bit of Korean generosity, I handed them a few candies.

“There’s plenty of fever medicine circulating now, you’ll get some easy. It’s harsher than the pre-war stuff, though.”

“They suddenly disappeared. Higher-ups say it’s some kind of truce agreement, but who knows? Those bastards—Hong Jung-ho’s lackeys, right? The ones who killed and tortured people for fun.”

“Well, it’s manageable now. They say it’s warmer than last year, but there are still casualties. More drifters flowing in since Seoul fell.”

“Second Gen? Don’t know him well. Young guy, right? Supposed to be Awakened, on par with Kang Han-min?”

They were talkative, maybe bored. Families and groups passed us as they chatted.

Listening, I pulled out the card I’d gotten earlier from that bar and showed it.

“You know this place?”

They looked at me, puzzled.

“My buddy said the girls there are good.”

One soldier’s face turned cold.

“You’d better be ready if you’re going there.”

I understood what he meant.

“It’s a danger zone. Nest of human trash. Not just your wallet—your organs’ll get harvested if you’re not careful.”

He told me the location.

The rest of the trip was leisurely, but the closer I got to the city, the more makeshift dwellings I saw—tents, cardboard shacks.

Likely the Seoul refugees the soldier mentioned.

When Defender sparked the incident, many had fled Seoul, and a good number came to Sejong.

It’s true Sejong was powerful, rivaling Seoul. But it wasn’t built to absorb tens of thousands of refugees at once.

Unlike Seoul, Sejong was a city born of abandoned citizens, raised from bare ground.

Everything was lacking, and everything had to be built.

The refugees’ situation was miserable.

Some begged openly. Some women, even children, hinted at prostitution.

I passed with a cold face.

Sejong.

The city of King, and now of IAmJesus, stretched before me again.

Sejong never looked the same twice. Always changing, alive.

What was once a concrete tomb now bristled with upright buildings—a city of people again.

Near King’s palace, a massive square had been built, reminiscent of Gwanghwamun, where his funeral had been held.

I’d told IAmJesus I’d be stopping by Sejong, but hadn’t asked for his help.

I wasn’t about to trade away security for a bit of convenience.

Yes, “Second Gen,” IAmJesus, was king now. But the real power lay with the bureaucracy King had left behind.

And IAmJesus didn’t care much for power anyway.

Even so, I couldn’t trust anyone he might assign me—not when King’s old aides included people who knew my face.

I was here for my own curiosity. The hardships were mine to bear.

At the city entrance there was a place to check in bikes and gear.

I left only the bicycle.

Didn’t really trust them, but riding a bike into a danger zone was practically suicide.

While checking it in, I asked for directions.

“Through that underpass, you’ll hit Gangnam.”

The street was called Gangnam.

Once the name of Korea’s wealthiest district, it was now Sejong’s most rundown slum.

There were reasons for that: the refugees were mostly from Seoul; long-standing resentment against Seoul-centric government; rivalry with New Seoul, and so on.

Whatever the reason, my destination lay past the patched-up tunnel under the old high-speed rail line.

At the entrance hung an old road sign, spray-painted over:

[ New Gangnam ]

Beneath it, countless vagrants huddled around burning barrels, drinking some mystery brew, gambling with dice.

I felt their glances. Heard their whispering.

In their jaundiced, bloodshot eyes, curiosity and greed flickered and vanished.

“...”

I stepped inside silently.

A shirtless man, face flushed red from cold, flexed his ugly chest muscles and shouted.

“Hey, mister! You really gonna walk in there?!”

I ignored him, kept going.

He bellowed after me.

“Go through that door and you’ll never come back out!”

Then burst into mad laughter, echoing down the tunnel until it twisted into sobs.

A chill wind blew from the darkness beyond.

I emerged into the infamous street.

Ash-gray gloom.

Even the sky, blue at the city gate, was stained yellow here.

The stench clawed into my nose.

Every step carried sharp noises: women wailing, abandoned babies crying, someone shouting in anger.

The street was hell.

I found the place.

[ Apgujeong ]

The shop stood in plain sight.

Slack-jawed thugs lounged outside, while bouncers gave off a suffocating menace. A drunk sat slumped against the wall in the shade, butt frozen to the stone, ranting to himself.

End-time booze was deadly.

Not brewed properly—made from who-knows-what. The worst was diluted ethanol, which sometimes killed outright.

One bouncer blocked my path.

He wasn’t bodybuilder-huge like pre-war steroid junkies, but his bones were big, his scarred face nasty enough to scare off most trouble without a fight.

Despite the look, his voice was soft as he asked me:

“Looking for a girl?”

Looked like they only served regulars, no first-timers.

It reeked of shady business.

I put on an innocent face and asked carefully.

“Does a woman named Yeori still work here?”

“Yeori?”

He glanced back. Another bruiser watching me nodded.

They let me through.

Inside was exactly the den of rot I’d pictured: damp air, clashing perfumes, women and men drifting around with empty eyes, forced laughter echoing.

Not a place to linger.

One of the men guided me into a partitioned room.

A small bed, a table, glasses on it.

He asked me to show what I had.

I pulled out bullets.

He inspected them, nodded.

“Five rounds minimum.”

I offered six.

“Keep one for yourself.”

He grinned.

“Wait here.”

A woman soon appeared.

I caught a glimpse of her face—heavy makeup masking something hollow, her smile frozen like a broken doll.

I didn’t want to talk long. I handed her a card and the sugar.

“What’s this...?”

For people with hard lives, nostalgia for the pre-war days runs deep.

Seeing the lion-logo sugar stick, her face flashed with bewildered emotion.

I handed over the card.

“Just one question.”

Kept it short.

“The owner of this card—someone said he killed Kang Han-min.”

She snorted.

“You gave me such a luxury gift just to ask that?”

Being at rock bottom doesn’t mean you’re easy.

Before I could press, she snatched the sugar with greedy hands and stuffed it into her clothes.

“That lunatic. Ask anyone, they’ll tell you.”

I felt played, but didn’t show it.

“Where is he?”

Her face twisted in disgust.

She called over a man, whispered something, then turned back to me like she’d just bitten a bug.

“Probably at the Real Doll Shop.”

“Real... doll...?”

Since the war began, I’d seen plenty of horrors.

People paying others to “help” them die when they couldn’t kill themselves. Furniture made of human skin.

But this was a new low.

The so-called Real Doll Shop stood by a pit of corpses.

[ New Stock – 3 Days ]

A common phrase turned grotesque and chilling.

From inside the shack, thick with the stink of death, a haggard man stumbled out, hitching up his pants.

Mid-twenties.

His face might once have been decent, but now it was wrecked by drugs and depravity. The stench of corpses clinging to him only made it worse.

“What? Who the fuck’s looking for me?”

The sight of him filled me with regret for wasting my time—and a surge of rage.

“The fuck, ah, shit... you fucking—”

“I heard you killed Kang Han-min.”

He grinned.

“Yeah. I killed him.”

I considered. Beat him down, or keep talking?

He was scum. No one here would care if I broke him.

But for now, I tried words.

“Can you take down a monster for me?”

Just one question.

If he was the same as me, he’d say yes.

It’s not hard. All it takes is the guts to step into a monster den and hands steady enough to aim a Hunter’s weapon.

If he said no, I’d walk away.

His bleary eyes fixed on me. He dragged on some foul-smelling cigarette.

I was about to turn away through the stench when he muttered:

“Monster.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

In the silence, his eyelids twitched violently.

“With Monster Punch... I could.”

Were the words of a gutter-dweller worth trusting?

Hard to say.

“If I get it for you, you can kill one?”

He grinned again.

Beyond the madness and the drugs, the emotion standing tall in him was certainty.