There was a familiar smell in the pale fog.

The smell of a battlefield.

But “battlefield smell” is a personal term. Some say it’s the stench of blood, others say it’s the reek of gunpowder. Yet those are temporary; our noses dull faster than we think.

For me, the smell of battle isn’t rot, not exactly. It’s abstract. It’s the scent of collapse: bodies that once moved lying still and rotting, buildings once lived in or worked in now decaying ruins, and the confused eyes of survivors wandering with no idea what to do. That is the odor of ruin only I can sense.

The first place we stepped into was what they used to call New Seoul, a city defended once by people like me—ordinary folk.

The city had been abandoned.

The power plant shut down. The Han River, half-frozen, rippling under sheets of ice, cast an inexplicable dread in my heart.

Residential blocks stood empty. The hall where people once gambled with “credits” lay open to the sky.

The prefab units that had sprung up like weeds were still intact, but in this gray fog, nothing retained color.

Those left behind were the ones who couldn’t leave.

The eyes that met ours were drained of hope, of expectation.

Bodies alive, but souls already dead.

Nam’s men led us here because they had a local contact.

To my surprise, I knew him.

One of Defender’s old fanatic-hunter crew. His face now bore a long scar, as if carved by a blade.

He didn’t notice me. His wary gaze stayed on Nam. They disappeared together into a prefab shack.

We waited outside, leaning against another wall.

“No gunfire yet.”

One of Nam’s men lit up a cigarette—or something harsher. The stench was worse than tobacco.

A local agent puffed on a similar stick and replied:

“There are some Awakened around here.”

“Awakened?”

“Yeah. After a few idiots tried first strikes and died against their reflective barriers, people started being cautious.”

“Didn’t all the Awakened go into the Tower?”

“Not all. Some refused from the start. Some went in and came out. Those ones hooked up with Hong Jeong-ho’s thugs.”

I normally avoided butting in, but I threw in a question when I saw a chance.

“Why stay ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) here?”

Both men turned to look at me. Not hostile—just unsure.

It was a sudden question, even for me.

One man exhaled smoke, hedged:

“Guess there’s nothing better outside. So they stay.”

Then a third man approached.

Not ours.

Skull Brigade.

One of Jeon Si-hoon’s former subordinates, having overheard, came out. Unlike the image of butcher-raiders, he looked clean-cut, almost like Defender himself.

He gestured for a smoke.

They gave him one. He lit it, inhaled with relish, and answered:

“They stay because the Tower throws things down.”

“What?”

“Just what I said. Everything stripped from government warehouses—they toss it out from the Tower. Food, materials, parts, medicine, ammo, even condoms. Just dumped. People stay for that. If you’re lucky enough to grab one, it’s better than scavenging ruins.”

As he spoke, Nam emerged from the shack with the scarred subordinate.

The man wore a mask. Recognition or not, I preferred he not notice me.

Thankfully, he left it at that. Sent two of his men with us.

Two—because one might die.

We’d soon understand.

“Is that... a monster-thing?”

Through the fog stood a silhouette. Human-shaped, but not human.

An Exterminator-type. One I hadn’t yet named.

They called them “monster-buts.”

Same origin as monsters, but unlike full Rift-born creatures, they had no barrier field, weak in combat. The suffix “-but” fit them—lesser, inferior.

It didn’t surprise me they knew of these new variants.

“Screamer type. Forget it. If it calls its friends, we’re screwed. Especially if the bug-things show up. Then we scrap the mission.”

Sejong’s elites had fought them not just around Seoul, but all the way south in eroded zones. They’d seen enough to write manuals.

We swung wide, circling toward the Tower.

The march wasn’t hard with guides.

Pace was steady: fifty minutes fast march, ten minutes rest.

Nam checked on me at first, but seeing no strain, he left me be and focused ahead.

The guides were the impressive ones. Without a word, they threaded us along invisible borders—one step over, and we’d have been in another faction’s kill zone.

Finally, in the gray distance, the massive outline rose.

“The Tower. You all know it.”

Nam’s men stared, tense.

Nam himself was sweating, jaw tight.

He felt it.

Just like Awakened had when Nemesis-types marched on Seoul. My theory was right.

“...Huu.”

Maybe Jeon Si-hoon had already become a monster.

Maybe that desperate call he’d sent me was his last human plea.

But what could I do?

I could only grant him rest. But I wasn’t an executioner, nor a kaishaku to sever the neck of a man committing seppuku.

Even killing him—would his knights forgive me?

“Are you all right?”

I asked Nam quietly.

Behind the glasses, his eyes flicked toward me.

“...What do you mean?”

“Isn’t someone calling to you?”

Nam removed his sunglasses.

“How do you know that?”

“You heard I was a Hunter.”

“...”

“I was in Seoul when the General-type marched.”

He sighed, put his shades back on.

“So the Second sent you. Figured you weren’t ordinary. You school-trained?”

“At this point, who cares? The difference is experience.”

“...True enough.”

“So. What do you feel now? Do you hear the voice?”

I didn’t want his feelings. I wanted his state.

He sagged, shook his head.

“...I’d heard stories, but now I understand why Awakened couldn’t act. I thought my will was strong, but right now—I just want to leave.”

I nodded, looked toward the Tower.

One measurement done. Another remained.

Of Ballantine’s three leftover devices, this one was best.

I pressed the red stickered button.

Beeeeep—

The cracked display showed:

[ Strength – Strong ]

“...”

As I suspected.

Necropolis signals were strongest where monsters gathered.

If monsters were sustained by Rift signals, this was natural.

The Tower was the peak.

Ballantine’s words were clear: to use SkeletonNet, I had to sync it here.

But not enough to just bring a terminal. The Echoes of the Dead had to consent. Only when they synced willingly would SkeletonNet live.

Not easy.

I’d have to bring a laptop here and run it until it worked. Could take a day, a week, a year—or ten.

Unless... I used people.

Like Nam used Skull Brigade turncoats as informants, I could recruit them to run the sync.

But only trustworthy ones. Responsible.

Where would I find them?

Maybe Defender’s side.

“Let’s head back.”

Nam’s voice had changed.

He wanted something.

“Will you tell me about Seoul later?”

Everything’s a trade.

Dang—dang—

Bells rang from the Tower.

Not real bells—speakers.

Our guides looked up.

“Lucky day. Not even Friday.”

Nam frowned.

“An act of grace from His Majesty Jeon Si-hoon.”

“Grace?”

“They’re dropping supplies. Watch.”

A bitter sneer curved the man’s lips.

“It’s a spectacle.”

We moved to a rooftop for a clear view.

Below, despite the fog, a sea of people swarmed.

Beeeeeep—

Cheap speakers shrieked. Then a garish voice:

“Grace—! Grace—! Leader Jeon Si-hoon’s grace—!”

And from the Tower’s heights, black objects rained down.

Thud! Thud!

Huge crates crashed earthward.

Most people stayed back, waiting. Then they surged, clawing, fighting.

The bold ones dashed into the barrage, dodging, snatching what they could.

Not all were lucky. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Wham!

One man caught a cement sack to the skull. Dropped like stone.

Crash!

Another struck by an H-beam, body bent grotesquely in half.

Deaths in real time.

But no one cared.

Beside fresh corpses, people clawed for more “grace.”

Inevitable end:

Bang! Ratatat!

Gunfire.

Knives. Screams.

Supplies limited, but bodies multiplied.

This was the reality under the Tower.

The reality Jeon Si-hoon created.

“...Well?”

The Skull Brigade man smirked at us.

Nam turned.

“Shithole.”

Simple. Accurate. My thought as well.

One thing was clear.

Jeon Si-hoon might have become a monster—but the Tower moved by his will.

He was alive.

Whatever he’d become.

Today’s measurement was a success.

But I wanted more.

“Looking for someone good with computers? Trustworthy?”

I probed, offering bits of info.

Nam frowned.

“Not easy. No money, no contracts. What’s on the table?”

I thought a moment. Enough hesitation.

I met his eyes.

“Would a name do?”

“...A name?”

“Yes. Your name?”

“My nickname work?”

I smiled faintly.

“The nickname that became legend.”

“Skeleton.”

“?”

Right. There were still people who never touched the internet.

Boring soldiers like these.

So I spelled it out.

“Do you know Professor?”

Nam’s gaze sharpened.

“...Of course I do.”

Good. Very good.