Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 136.2: Candle (2)

Woo Min-hee sent a vehicle.

And surprisingly, inside that vehicle was my disciple—whom I’d thought was dead.

“Hello, Instructor Park.”

Song Yoo-jin greeted me in a voice as mature as her now-grown-up appearance.

I wanted to ask what had happened to her, but we weren’t alone in the vehicle, so I held my tongue.

The journey went smoothly.

So smoothly, in fact, that all the detailed prep and careful planning felt almost excessive. At times, it was even boring.

“Ambush up ahead. Be careful.”

Aside from one group of raiders lying in wait, there were no threats at all.

When we stopped the car and waited, the raiders abandoned their position and ran off into the mountains.

“There are a lot of zealots in this area.”

Song Yoo-jin, her eyes faintly glowing, watched them disappear as she spoke.

We crossed the Han River via one of the few remaining bridges.

Smoke rose from a distant bridge we could see from afar.

“Refugees. They set up camp on top of it.”

Sure enough, there were tents and makeshift structures up there.

The bridge had collapsed on the north end, connecting only from the south. There was a small island underneath, and they were farming on it.

Less like a bridge, more like a fortress on the river.

Not a bad setup.

Water and food could be sourced from below, and it would be easy to defend.

But against a superior invading force, it was just a well-wrapped gift.

“Gimpo Bridge,” Ballantine murmured, watching.

“You used to live nearby?”

“Yeah. Lived in Gimpo for a bit when I was newly married.”

We left the bridge behind and moved on.

Beyond it stretched a color that sickened my heart.

The erosion zone.

“......”

It had already spread this far.

Back when I visited Woo Min-hee’s territory, the erosion hadn’t reached the Han River.

It’s different now.

Now, there’s no state, no army, no people to stop the monsters.

When there’s nothing to interfere, erosion spreads with terrifying speed.

By sundown, even the land where those people live on the bridge may be painted gray.

We followed the endlessly sprawling sickly colors until a junction appeared.

A rusted, hastily welded road sign announced we were near the Paju Rift.

[RESTRICTED AREA – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY]

[BEYOND THIS POINT, LIFE CANNOT BE GUARANTEED]

I hadn’t seen a sign like that in a while.

It reminded me of something from the past.

Back then, “YouTubers” would sometimes sneak past these restricted zones.

Not out of bravery, but to survive in their own way.

They lived off attention—surviving by drawing the eyes of others.

The real problem was that they caused more chaos for the military than the monsters ever did.

Monsters were dealt with through organized field manuals and proper command structures. But those reckless attention-seekers? You never knew where they’d sneak in or what kind of mess they’d make.

One of them got through, and the entire base would flip into crisis mode.

Some even filmed themselves live, trying to milk as much content as possible while invading military zones.

Before China went berserk, such stunts were tolerated to a degree. But when trade collapsed and war became imminent, there was no room for leniency.

Before I left the frontlines, I remember the military had begun deploying what they called “Clown Kill Teams.”

The process was simple: when an internet clown trespassed, they’d send a marksman to take them out from a distance.

Bang!

Bang-bang!

If you heard a shot from behind, it was almost certainly aimed at them.

One case I remember: five of them snuck in while filming selfies and videos. Five snipers simultaneously blew their phones apart, then shot them in the gut to drop them on the spot.

Two died instantly. The other three thrashed in agony before dying slowly.

We crossed that boundary.

Not that it mattered.

We’d already entered the erosion zone long ago.

“This is the Rift zone from here on.”

The vehicle stopped.

Time to gear up.

Three people were accompanying us.

My disciple, Song Yoo-jin, and two unidentified young men—likely Awakened.

They were all in their early twenties, but they carried that air of veterans—calm, detached from the value of life.

They must’ve crossed countless lines between life and death.

While we prepped, Song Yoo-jin waved me over.

Once we were far enough from the others, she let out a deep sigh and launched into an aggrieved rant, face scrunched with injustice.

“Sir. Seriously. I thought I’d never see you again. I mean it. Seriously!”

“...All I heard was that Woo Min-hee kicked you out.”

“I went back. And saw some of the ugliest shit this world has to offer. I practically begged Director Woo to take me back, ready to die. I told her I’d do anything. Thankfully, she gave me another chance—but this time, she stuck me on recon...”

Looking closely, I could see the marks of hardship all over her.

Especially the faint scar etched on her cheek.

“You’ve been through a lot.”

No need to ask for the details.

Everyone’s been through something.

It’s not unusual.

But the fact that Woo Min-hee sent her out of all people—there had to be a reason.

As usual, my instincts were right.

My disciple looked at me with a face I didn’t recognize, asking with deceptive casualness:

“I got a rough idea from Director Woo... but what exactly are you going to the overruned zone for?”

She was checking my intentions.

And knowing Song Yoo-jin, she'd report everything back.

I had nothing to hide, so I answered truthfully.

“To pick up signals from the Rift?”

It stung a little, seeing my once-pure disciple become such a skilled operative—but as her teacher, I could still see it as growth.

If she’d stayed pure, Woo Min-hee never would’ve taken her back.

There was good news, though.

“We just need to get close to the Rift, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then follow us. We have a patrol route we always use.”

As expected, my junior Woo Min-hee hadn’t been idle.

She might’ve seemed like she was just lying low in Paju after leaving Incheon, but she’d been carving out her own position all along.

Establishing a safe route through the overruned zone wasn’t something that could happen without serious willpower.

The moment I saw the patrol path, I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh.

It looked like the remains of a giant serpent stretched out before us, stripped to the bone.

A tunnel formed from vehicles, steel frames, and scrap materials stretched toward the Rift—its outer shell full of gaps, yet clearly designed for shielding.

“Woo Min-hee made this?”

I asked Song Yoo-jin, inspecting the clumsy, rough-hewn structures.

She nodded solemnly.

“Yeah. Director Woo put this together with a few of her crew.”

She pulled on her gas mask.

It didn’t seem strictly necessary, but since everyone else wore one, I put mine on too—and offered one to Ballantine.

“How’s it going?”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Ballantine was holding a device cobbled together from a tablet, antenna, and various electronics.

A frequency meter built to Deadman_working’s specs.

“Still hard to say.”

Then he smiled faintly and corrected himself.

“Actually, I don’t really know. I have no idea what he actually wants.”

Deadman_working’s instructions were simple: get within 10 meters of the Rift and record the nearby frequencies using the device he designed.

What those fluctuating signals meant—or how they formed the basis of Necropolis—he never explained.

So Ballantine was basically just the recorder.

We advanced down the path Woo Min-hee had created.

I’d served in the military for years, but the landscape had changed so completely I didn’t recognize a thing.

No signs of human life.

Everything dead. A silent world.

This was the erosion zone.

Everywhere, plants twisted and corrupted by erosion looked like harbingers of the future, prophesying what lay ahead.

“......”

Sweat poured down Ballantine’s forehead like rain.

This must’ve been his first time entering an erosion zone.

It was still Earth, technically—but the utter wrongness of the environment struck with unimaginable pressure.

Many had vanished here.

We don’t know why.

Maybe they went mad. Maybe they became something else. But no one who stayed long in the erosion zone ever came back.

It’s like they were erased entirely.

“Remember Kyle Dos?”

I tried to ease Ballantine’s tension.

“No... who’s that?”

“Ah, an old user from back in the day.”

“Is that so...”

His eyes darted nervously, scanning side to side.

He wasn’t listening anymore.

The fear had taken over.

I gestured to Song Yoo-jin and halted the march.

“If it’s too much, give me the equipment. I’ll handle the readings.”

It’s not wise to leave a panicking person unattended.

People who show fear openly are often the first to cause problems—and one problem always leads to another.

“No. I have to go. I need to be the one to go. What else can a powerless guy like me even do?”

Extreme stress has its own effect.

You say things you’d never say otherwise.

I’d always kept an eye on Ballantine, but even so, it seemed he’d been feeling insecure in our group.

“You don’t need to put yourself down like that. You’re a solid part of our team, Ballantine.”

“...I’ll go all the way.”

Ballantine truly had grit.

If he didn’t, he would’ve left John Nae-non’s side a long time ago—and then this adventure of ours never would’ve happened in the first place.

“...Alright. Stay strong. It’s not going to get easier from here.”

Barely had I finished speaking when Song Yoo-jin said flatly in a dry voice:

“Two o’clock. Two of them.”

Click—click—

The soldiers raised their rifles.

Sure enough, something grotesque was slithering toward us through the pale-gray zone.

Centipede-like. No—more like a giant millipede.

It glided along the ground, thousands of legs moving in perfect unison.

Judging by its size, it wasn’t a monster. It was one of the otherworldly species.

“Can I shoot?”

Song Yoo-jin nodded.

Bang! Bang-bang!

The rifles fired.

Each bullet «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» pierced what seemed to be their heads.

Gruesomely, once their heads were destroyed, the creatures flipped onto their backs and spasmed violently, flailing their countless legs like some real-world insect—then vanished.

“...They’re getting more biological by the day.”

“More will come. Let’s move quickly.”

The path Woo Min-hee carved climbed steeply uphill.

And suddenly, I remembered.

Just over that ridge lay the Paju Rift.

The frontline humanity knew best.

Disciplined soldiers and cutting-edge gear, a scientifically optimized kill zone, barracks behind it, hospitals, ammo depots, a foot volleyball court, bathhouses, helipads—and at the rear, sniper nests and hunter waiting rooms.

Few of those structures are probably still intact.

Even if they are, the corrupted color of this place would fill me with unease.

“—Hah! Hahh!”

The pace was fast.

I had no trouble keeping up, but for Ballantine, it was clearly a struggle.

Still, looking at his tightly clenched jaw, I knew—offering help would only wound his pride.

So I said nothing and followed behind Song Yoo-jin and the others as they pressed forward.

At the edge of the ridge, a skeleton was hung up.

Must’ve rotted away while leaning on the tunnel structure.

“Once we’re past here, we’ll be right in front of the Rift.”

Her voice was tense.

I caught it just briefly—but her shoulders trembled.

A flicker of anxiety, invisible to the others.

She must’ve taken this mission under pressure.

To avoid getting kicked out again.

That brief tremor somehow overlapped in my mind with the sound of Ballantine gasping behind us.

“......”

I pushed away the stray thoughts and stepped forward.

Past the slope, the landscape opened wide—a flat plain previously hidden.

It was all still there.

The bunker, the barracks, the watchtower, the distant mountains—everything.

And at the center, calm as a lake, sometimes rippling in an eerie, unnatural way...

The Rift.

Time felt frozen.

Except now, everything had turned pale gray.

And that discoloration... that alone was the greatest, most irreversible change of all.

Beneath the Rift, monsters loomed.

I could spot at least twenty medium-sized ones right away.

In between their territory—fortress-like clusters—were unfamiliar small-types lying deathly still, as if pretending to be corpses. And slithering between them were countless otherworldly species, grotesque in shape.

And the capsules.

Capsules lined the mountains across from the Rift, so densely they seemed to fill the landscape.

The operation is a failure.

No—this is an operation that should never happen.

We can’t approach the target range.

It’s not a question of whether we can or can’t. It’s simply impossible.

“...What is that?”

The sight before me was shocking enough on its own.

It was already a given that South Korea—or at least the area around Seoul—was done for.

But this was different. Not entirely unexpected, but still jarring.

What truly caught me off guard wasn’t the monsters beyond the Rift.

“It’s a person?”

There was a person there.

Standing still, unmoving, as if soulless—like a ghost.

As if they were one of the monsters.

“Yes. That’s a person,” said the man who hadn’t spoken a single word until now.

His voice was deep and calm, a low rumble.

“A believer.”

He gazed at the person standing dazed in the pale-gray field, his eyes faintly glowing.

I nodded instinctively.

“Yeah.”

That’s right.

That’s what they were—believers.

True followers of the Manryu Gwijeonggyo.

They didn’t resist the monsters. They assimilated into their territory, let themselves be absorbed.

It was the creed of a deranged madman—but it was the original belief of that cult.

It always began and ended this way. That was the only known doctrine.

Over time, that doctrine was distorted, rebranded, and used as the spark for countless revolutions and uprisings in China.

The so-called “fanatics” we talk about now? Even within the Manryu Gwijeonggyo, they’re just another offshoot—a cult within a cult.

Strangely enough, the otherworldly species that are normally so hostile to us simply ignored the humans standing peacefully in their territory.

“...What do you think, Instructor?”

Song Yoo-jin asked.

“About what?”

“Director Woo wanted to know your thoughts after seeing them.”

“It’s mental illness.”

There’s nothing more to say.

It’s a sickness.

If I were being generous, maybe I’d say “beautifully mad”? But that’s as far as I’d go.

“Hah! Hahh!”

Ballantine finally caught up with us.

“Wow.”

We all ignored his comment, but he kept talking to himself.

“Someone’s coming.”

Only then did we realize someone was approaching us from the side.

A woman.

Her hair was loose, her lips curled in a faint smile.

Her eyes shimmered with a quiet light.

Click—

An Awakened.