Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 49: The Madman

Before the war, a journalist once requested an interview with Jang Ki-young, who was then a principal.

Jang Ki-young readily agreed to the interview—it was with a major media outlet, after all—but the content wasn’t particularly meaningful.

At the height of his power, Jang Ki-young only answered the questions he wanted to answer. When faced with sensitive or uncomfortable topics, he deflected with vague or nonsensical responses that often didn’t make any sense.

Still, one exchange stands out.

The journalist asked about the strikingly low incidence of PTSD among the hunters at the time.

It must have been a question Jang Ki-young liked, as he enthusiastically shared his thoughts on the matter.

“At this school, we don’t accept weak students. Those with fragile minds, no matter how talented or exceptional, will always end up causing big problems in the end.”

He then spent the next hour and a half talking about the mental fortitude assessment model he had developed, explaining his bizarre theories on how to measure and train mental strength.

Well.

I have a different opinion.

The reason our hunters had such low rates of PTSD after their missions in China wasn’t because their mental fortitude had been measured and disciplined as Jang Ki-young claimed—it was simply because they were all dead.

Even the most capable and intelligent ones didn’t make it. Those with fragile minds would have died even faster.

Jang Ki-young tried to enforce his theories during the war by forcibly discharging those who exhibited signs of anxiety and revoking their hunter licenses, but even that was a futile effort.

His era crumbled overnight with the emergence of the Awakened.

And thus, hunters who had endured the mental traumas of war were unleashed back into society.

The likelihood of them causing societal issues was undeniably high, but society collapsed before they could.

Defender’s comrade was one such ticking time bomb.

*

“He was a good guy. Cheerful, talkative. But after the fanatic's Spring Festival offensive, he stopped talking. By the time the offensive ended, he was a completely different person.”

Defender’s injuries don’t seem severe at first glance. His mind is sharp, and the bleeding has mostly stopped. But there’s a bullet lodged near his femoral artery, and that’s a problem.

I’ve injected antibiotics to minimize the risk of infection, but there’s no telling when that bullet might nick the artery. He needs a skilled, war-hardened doctor.

“...He just wasn’t the same anymore.”

We’re in a 12-seater minibus. How Defender managed to find this thing, repair it, and get it running again is beyond me, but apparently, it’s one of his hobbies.

“I personally don’t like him,” his sister says from the driver’s seat.

“Every time I see him, he seems more unhinged. He used to be such a decent person.”

There wasn’t much choice in the matter. If Justice Min decided to attack while Defender was gone, it wouldn’t end well—for Defender, his sister, or me.

At least the vehicle has some armor plating installed. Not that it’ll do much against anti-tank weaponry, but it’s better than nothing.

That’s not my only concern. Defender’s comrade is another problem altogether.

The Threat of the “Awakened”

“He’s an Awakened, right? What level?” I ask.

“Just a trash-tier Awakened,” Defender replies.

Trash-tier.

That’s the derogatory term for Awakened below level 5, deemed unfit for large-scale monster combat. But judging by the skirmish this morning, even a “trash-tier” Awakened is still a formidable opponent.

The guy who shot Defender seems to have two abilities: perception and detection.

With the perception ability, he can pinpoint a target’s presence over an incredible distance after initially sensing them. Combined with his detection skills, which already allow him to locate things within a certain range, it makes him an almost impossible tracker to evade. His range spans dozens of kilometers.

I also suspect he has some form of precognition. While it wasn’t developed enough to dominate in battle, his occasional unnatural movements were enough to raise suspicions.

Honestly, it’s only because he was young and inexperienced that we survived. If he’d been a seasoned killer, both Defender and his sister would’ve been dead before I even noticed.

“What exactly is his ability?” I ask.

“X-ray vision,” Defender mutters, wincing as he massages his thigh.

“He claims he can see even capillaries when he focuses.”

“Well, that’d be handy for surgery.”

“It is. After retiring, he planned to become a doctor. The guy’s got a built-in CT scanner in his eyes.”

Defender suddenly pulls off his shirt, revealing a body marked with scars and impressive musculature.

“Take a look at this.”

He turns, showing me his back. It’s riddled with scars.

“What happened here?”

“Shrapnel from a suicide drone.”

Dozens of scars crisscross his back, some dangerously close to his spine. These wounds could’ve paralyzed or killed him before the war even ended.

“He removed every single piece of shrapnel on the spot.”

“That’s incredible.”

“Back then, he didn’t even know he was an Awakened. He must’ve activated his abilities without realizing it.”

“Unconscious awakening?”

“Most likely.”

While some, like our so-called prophet IamJesus, Kang Han-min, or Na Hye-in, awaken with dramatic fanfare, most awakenings happen without any special events. One moment, they’re ordinary; the next, they’re Awakened. This type of awakening, called unconscious awakening, is the norm.

That’s why I keep putting test sheets to my mouth. For all I know, I might’ve unknowingly qualified as an Awakened too.

The Cursed Class

“Judging by his cohort, he’s from the 17th or 18th batch. Is that right?” I ask.

“Yeah. 18th,” Defender replies with a sigh.

That puts him five cohorts behind me. Just five years of difference, yet our lives took drastically different paths.

Our generation had a shot at some degree of wealth and honor. But the 18th batch? Their lives were ruined while they were still in school.

Still, crises bring opportunities. Among the cursed cohort, Awakened candidates found themselves with a much better chance to climb to the top.

Even now, “trash-tier” Awakened occupy key positions in the National Crisis Management Committee (Gukwiwon), a testament to how the system once favored them. According to Kim Daram, many of the 18th batch ended up in prominent roles.

“A cursed cohort? That’s only half true,” Defender muses. “Us old-school types were left to rot, but the Awakened candidates got opportunities way beyond their abilities. Take one of my peers—a girl five years younger than me. She’s sitting in the same committee as me now, not even in her 20s.”

Probably burned out by now.

Still, the fact that someone granted such a golden opportunity chose to stay in Incheon doesn’t make much sense.

“Back then, even low-level Awakened were treated decently,” I say.

“They couldn’t,” Defender mutters, lowering his gaze. “Their minds were too far gone.”

Arrival at the Madman’s Fortress

Defender’s comrade lives on the outskirts of Incheon in an abandoned junkyard. Defender’s sister stops the minibus at the entrance.

“Listen closely,” Defender says, his face tense as he fights through the pain.

“Whatever nonsense he spouts, just agree with him.”

“What kind of nonsense are we talking about?”

“You’ll see.”

The sister honks twice, and the vehicle rolls into the junkyard.

The place is a mess. Towers of scrapped cars, grotesquely crushed cubes of metal, unidentifiable blackened objects, and even the bleached bones of a massive beast litter the area.

If my territory is desolate, this place makes it look like a well-manicured park.

And it’s not just the visuals.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!”

The barking of a guard dog echoes through the yard. But the sound is unnaturally loud, loud enough to make my ears ring.

Surely that’s not a mutation?

I ready my firearm just in case and keep a wary eye on the vehicle’s slow progression into the yard.

In the distance, I see a makeshift residence constructed from stacked shipping containers—dozens of them, forming a crude fortress.

It doesn’t take long to spot the lord of this bizarre stronghold.

Perched atop a container, holding a firearm, stands a man in a crisp, clean suit that feels completely out of place in this filthy, grotesque junkyard. He looks down at us with a cold smile.

Below him, next to the container, a chained mutated dog snarls viciously, its bloodshot eyes locked on us.

“Jong-chul!” Defender’s sister leans out the window and shouts.

The man, Jong-chul, responds with a broad grin.

*

His Name Was Heo Jong-chul

Heo Jong-chul was from the same 18th cohort as Defender. His deep-set eyes and prominent nose gave him a Western appearance, and he was particularly hairy. Most striking was his beard, which grew thick enough to cover his cheeks, reminiscent of 19th-century Western intellectuals. However, judging by the piles of minoxidil bottles stacked outside his container, his impressive facial hair wasn’t entirely thanks to genetics.

“Let’s see, Jung-ho.”

Defender’s name was revealed: Jung-ho.

Jung-ho and Da-jeong. A pair of siblings sharing the same Jeong generational name.

“The bullet missed your artery. Sit over there, and I’ll take care of it immediately.”

While Heo Jong-chul led Defender inside, I took the chance to look around.

From the outside, the place resembled a fortress, but up close, it was unimpressive. The dozens of stacked shipping containers that formed a makeshift castle were only partially functional. In reality, only three containers were in active use: one for living quarters, another for food and storage, and the last for a medical room.

Still, it seemed he had plans for expansion. Some of the containers had holes cut into them, presumably to connect future additions.

The Procedure Begins

From behind the curtain of the medical room, I heard Defender groan in pain.

“Urgh!”

His sister clutched the hem of her shirt anxiously, her eyes fixed on the medical room door.

“He’ll be fine,” I offered, attempting to reassure her. She glanced up at me with a brief smile, but it didn’t last. Her worried gaze quickly returned to the medical room.

Since she remained silent, I looked around some more.

There were an astonishing number of books. The shelves were crammed with classics of the humanities—Goethe, Aristotle, Rousseau, Schopenhauer. However, the book currently lying open on Heo Jong-chul’s desk was a comic book, left face down mid-read.

The procedure didn’t take long. Within ten minutes, Heo Jong-chul emerged.

“Da-jeong, look at this.”

He held up a bloody bullet, clamped in a pair of surgical forceps, as though showing off a trophy on a stainless steel tray.

“This is the seed of death that was lodged in your brother’s body.”

“And my brother?”

Da-jeong didn’t even thank him. It was a bit surprising to see someone so warm and considerate with us turn so cold and formal in front of someone else.

“He’s inside.”

She hurried into the medical room without another word.

I glanced at Heo Jong-chul’s face. If he was offended by her behavior, he didn’t show it. Instead, he sat at his makeshift desk, crafted from planks of wood, and surreptitiously slid the comic book into a drawer. In its place, he opened a philosophy book, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, and began pretending to read it with a solemn expression.

The Hidden Side of Heo Jong-chul

Honestly, he didn’t strike me as a madman. The way he hid the comic book and feigned intellectualism even seemed a bit endearing.

Why, then, do Defender and his sister dislike him so much?

Sure, his personality is a bit off-putting, but is that enough to overshadow his incredible surgical skills? If anything, with that level of proficiency, he should be a top recruitment target.

“...If I were to form a group someday...”

I let the thought trail off.

“You’re from the school, right?” Heo Jong-chul asked suddenly, looking at me.

I nodded.

“If you’re an old-school hunter, you must have at least one grudge against this country.”

“It’d be a lie to say otherwise.”

A knowing smile spread across his face as he closed the book.

“As a hunter, you must know why those National Crisis Committee folks moved to Jeju Island.”

“More or less.”

“Of course, you know. It’s because of the population. With fewer people, the rift's intensity is weaker, and it’s easier to defend with a small force. That’s why they moved to Jeju.”

It was an old story. Something I’d heard, discussed, and thought about hundreds of times. Honestly, it was so stale I felt like yawning.

“What happens to those of us who couldn’t make it to Jeju?”

Another tired question.

“We’ll all die.”

It’s not an exaggeration. Everyone dies. The only question is how fast or slow.

But something was nagging at me.

Heo Jong-chul’s eyes. At some point, a storm of swirling emotions had begun twisting behind them. His gaze had transformed into that of a madman.

“But what if,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial, “everyone in Incheon just... disappeared?”

“...”

“Wouldn’t it become an even better place to live than Jeju?”

At that moment, Defender emerged from the medical room, supported by his sister.

He shook his head when he saw me talking to Heo Jong-chul. A silent warning: Don’t engage.

Defender’s sister gave me a similar look, urging me to drop the conversation.

But it was too late. The madman had already drawn me in.

“How would you kill everyone in Incheon?” I asked.

“How?” Heo Jong-chul grinned. “With nukes.”

Updat𝓮d from frёewebnoѵēl.com.

“And where would you get nukes?” I countered.

“From the Chinese, of course.”

The madman smiled wider.

*

SKELTON: (Shocking SKELTON) Possibility of a Nuclear Explosion in Incheon?!

They say that if there’s a topic that can draw attention, internet fame-seekers will even exploit their family’s misfortunes. But for someone like me, it’s a little different.

SKELTON: (SKELTON Analyzing) The Connection Between the Nuclear Arsenal of the Chinese Military Near Dangjin and a Potential Nuclear Explosion in Incheon

This is a warning.

It’s meant to raise the awareness of my internet friends still left in Incheon and save them.

But prophets are always lonely.

Comments Section

Anonymous458: Isn’t this guy the one who died a while back?

Fox_games: Guess he’s alive.

ㅇㅇ: Is this shepherd boy addicted to lying now?

Anonymous848: SKELTON, stop... this is embarrassing to watch...

roka_gg: Hm.

ㅇㅇ: “Analyzing”? Dude, wipe your ass properly first, you delusional bastard.

unicorn18: Netkama.

mmmmmmmmm: ?

gijayangban: ?

dongtanmom: Yum...?

"..."

Well, they do say there’s a fine line between a prophet and a madman.