“How do you fight Awakened effectively?”

Nam Ban-jang’s men, being career soldiers, cut straight to what mattered to them.

I had fought Awakened before. Risked my life against elite cultists and walked away the victor.

But having experience doesn’t make me an expert.

Awakened are people.

And people are unpredictable. In fact, the very nature of being human is to act in ways others can’t predict.

The ones I fought had been proud, arrogant, contemptuous of anyone without their power.

They clustered together, relying only lightly on ordinary support.

In short, my experience was just one narrow case among countless possible types we might meet.

“Well...”

That was all I could say.

My accumulated experience was a footnote. Nam Ban-jang wanted a doctrine—a cure-all. Something you could use against all Awakened.

But even the tactics of the ones we faced now were completely different.

The cult Awakened had announced themselves with flamboyant garb you could spot a kilometer away, flaunting their power like royalty.

Jeon Si-hoon’s knights, on the other hand, wore the same uniforms as their guards, carried rifles, and radiated a psychological field that made their enemies hesitate to fire.

Same category—Awakened—but completely different beasts.

I hadn’t built any doctrine to handle that.

And really, the answer was already buried in the countless doctrines laid down by military theorists through history.

Awakened are still human.

And in the end, their power is just one more extension of human tactical ability.

I’d asked seasoned Chinese officers the same question once. Even they admitted that in practice, they’d dealt with Awakened the same way they did with monsters: erasing the entire terrain with massed artillery.

“My point is—there’s no secret trick for fighting Awakened.”

No trick meant the direct method.

And the direct method against Awakened mirrored fighting monsters. A chilling truth—that there’s not much difference between them.

Save your ammunition. Force them to burn their shields through intimidation, then finish it in close combat.

This time, though, the knights had added a twist: they moved with trained soldiers, with combat experience.

Fanatics sometimes paired Awakened with followers, but they still set their Awakened apart, worshipping them, never allowing them to mix freely with ordinary believers.

Yeom Dda-wan’s crew did the opposite. No distinction, same clothes, moving as if everyone were Awakened.

When I explained this, disappointment flickered across Nam Ban-jang’s face—obvious even through his sunglasses.

“We’ve thought of that already. The problem’s simple. If we can’t tell who’s Awakened, everything gets harder.”

I knew it. My thought was the kind anyone could come up with.

So I gave them something else.

“Drones?”

I nodded.

“Use them aggressively. Monsters knock drones down with interference. Some Awakened can too. If they don’t, they die to the drones. If they do, the shockwave gives them away.”

I smiled at the soldier who’d complained earlier.

“In other words, you’ll know who the Awakened is.”

Nam Ban-jang and the others nodded. Their faces stayed flat, though.

Then he spoke for them.

“The trouble is, we don’t have many drones. A few scouts, yes, but almost no attack drones. And no operators.”

That was the crux. Resources.

Before the war, drones were the cheap weapon. Now, five years in, they were rarer than smartphones.

Stable units might have maintained them, but a battered, mobile outfit like the Corps faction? No chance.

Whatever they had was already lost to attrition or neglect.

But I had specialists.

“Mind if I call a friend?”

At the word friend, Nam Ban-jang gave me a puzzled look.

“A drone expert.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They don’t like leaving their vehicle, only talk through me. But their skill is absolute.”

The “friends” were, of course, the Defender siblings.

They had no ties to Sejong, and now was no time to show themselves. Even though IAmJesus had softened their image, plenty of Seoul’s survivors still blamed Hong Jeong-ho for everything. No need to expose them.

Nam Ban-jang didn’t care who helped, as long as help came.

“That works. But we can’t reimburse lost drones.”

“It’ll be fine.”

They had spares. And if they lost some, it was their choice to come.

The Defenders’ vehicle followed us at a distance.

Soon we arrived.

In a small city between Seoul and Sejong, Yeom Dda-wan and about thirty fighters had seized the streets.

Nam Ban-jang’s men already had them surrounded, dug in at the edge.

Like pros, they’d built a company-sized position, eight mortars aimed squarely into the urban zone.

The shells included not just HE, but tear gas, smoke, even chemical.

Clearly Nam Ban-jang had been thinking hard about Awakened.

Sejong might be the last city standing, but its stockpiles were nothing compared to Seoul’s.

Sejong had to grow everything from scratch. Seoul had inherited the wealth of an entire nation at its peak.

That’s why so many risked their lives beneath those towers. Not because they were foolish, but because the discarded scraps were still worth dying for.

One of his lean subordinates briefed us on enemy buildings, heavy weapons, our own positioning. Concise, professional.

“What do you think?” Nam Ban-jang asked, with less expectation this time.

I nodded.

“Let’s start.”

I requested a squad.

Nam Ban-jang was meticulous. He sent what looked like his most senior man—risking himself first. Others with sharp eyes followed.

About ten men in all. Rifles, grenade launchers, recoilless rifles, even a sniper. Perfect mix.

Maybe overkill, but the more, the safer.

A stray bullet might hit one of them instead of me.

Of course, I had no intention of giving Jeon Si-hoon’s riffraff a chance to point their guns at me.

We moved along covered routes, careful.

One soldier warned, “Be careful. They may have a sensory Awakened.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. No night vision, no surveillance gear, but they still caught our night movement.”

No surprise. Any Awakened gang would have a few low-levels.

But we’d planned for that. That’s why we were moving along paths where no bullet could reach.

Our job wasn’t to kill Yeom Dda-wan. We were bait.

We advanced deep into their zone—just shy of where they could hit us.

On both sides, faint presence above. His men, ready to strike.

The moment our cover ended, they’d spring the trap.

“This is as far as we can go. Next step exposes the flanks.”

I nodded.

“Then we start here.”

I glanced at Nam Ban-jang, then into the comm.

“Your turn.”

It was all on Da-jeong now.

Hong Da-jeong—the drone pilot.

Once, she’d killed a raider by dropping a brick on him with a drone.

Her precision rivaled infamous Chinese pilots.

Soon, a low hum filled the sky.

“Domestic make,” someone muttered.

She favored using a high-altitude recon drone, then switching to FPV suicide drones for the kills.

Above us now: recon. The second wave would come.

Sure enough, at least eight drones joined it, moving in perfect formation.

A soldier stared upward.

“Swarm control?” he said. “Serious stuff, Captain.”

Nam Ban-jang didn’t answer, just watched.

One FPV drone dropped low, streaking toward the occupied building.

Bzzzz—

Without airstrikes or artillery, drones were kings.

And here, with neither left, their power was absolute.

Crack-crack-crack!

Gunfire snapped, but hitting a fast, three-dimensional drone was nearly impossible.

Even trained marksmen struggled. Against Da-jeong’s erratic maneuvers—mixing Z-axis dives with XY shifts—they had no chance.

“It’s coming!”

Then a strange, almost comical boom.

Not thunderous. Just lethal.

“Aaaargh!”

The screams followed.

“Not the right one,” Da-jeong said flatly over comms. “Next.”

Three drones dropped at once.

Rapid switches, FPV in sequence. Three blasts in quick succession.

“Yansi’s down!”

“Where? Where is he!”

The shrieks and furious shouts told the story.

Nam Ban-jang, tight-lipped, finally said, “Your friend is impressive.”

“Is she?”

“One pilot? Even Chinese specialists couldn’t do this.”

Talent, yes. But more than that—experience.

Da-jeong was a killer, like her brother.

I remembered the first day I met them. They’d carried murder in their hearts from the start.

Now Yeom Dda-wan had two options: lose more men, or reveal himself.

Boom.

A shockwave erupted from the rubble.

Invisible pressure swept across the zone. Da-jeong’s recon drone crashed to earth.

But now we had his location.

“Pour it on.”

Nam Ban-jang wasted no time, ordering the mortars.

Seconds later, ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) the building where the wave had erupted vanished under a rain of shells.

Boom! Boom!

Bam-bam-bam!

Mortars weren’t artillery, but massed fire was still enough to break morale.

Sure enough—

Screeeech—

A K-WalkieTalkie crackled, desperate and bitter.

“Wait! Stop! Enough!”

From Yeom Dda-wan’s side.

“We lost! Stop shooting!”

Nam Ban-jang wasn’t stopping. He called for chemical rounds. Ready to finish them.

“Captain Nam.”

He turned toward me, sunglasses half knocked off, eyes faintly glimmering.

“Wouldn’t it be better to get something out of them first?”

He considered it.

“You have something to say?”

I nodded, lifted the radio, stared at the ruined building.

“You’re Yeom Dda-wan?”

“...And who are you?”

“Maybe you’ve heard the name Park Gyu.”

“Park Gyu? Ah. Professor?”

A derisive laugh.

I stepped out into the open. Risky, but a gesture.

“What do you want?”

“Do you know anything about Jeon Si-hoon?”

Silence, then a chuckle through the static.

“Of course. How could I not?”

Dust settled.

And then he stepped out as well—tall, pale-skinned, sharp features, glaring at me across two hundred meters of death-strewn street.

“My closest friend,” he said.