Chapter 397: Chapter 397

The rift that began with India, swept through Southeast Asia, and ultimately dragged China and North Korea into ruin, was never going to spare the Republic of Korea clinging to the tip of the Eurasian Peninsula.

Their offensive is simply a process to them, but to us, it is inevitable.

Along the riverbank, countless soldiers wait in their positions, prepared for a final battle.

Every key point overlooking the river is reinforced with tanks or anti-monster artillery, and in the rear, an array of heavy artillery and MLRS batteries wait for the command to fire.

While the heaviest concentration of troops is stationed at the main resistance line along the river, a comparable number are deployed to defend the city’s outskirts.

Because every large-scale monster offensive is practically guaranteed to be accompanied by fanatics.

We call them fanatics for convenience, but in truth, they are splintered into various cults, each wildly different in character.

The lunatics we saw at the Paju Rift who truly wished to become one with monsters, and the cultists associated with Ham Chun-ok, are both fanatics—but they are fundamentally different species.

The most dangerous of them are those who have aligned themselves entirely with monsters and seek to end human civilization.

Their origin lies in China’s so-called Tangping generation—a version of the "give-up" generation who, unlike their predecessors during the Cultural Revolution, evolved their madness into a 21st-century upgrade and helped bring down the giant that was China.

They were the ones who gave us a decisive reason to stop seeing fanatics as human.

Such extreme cults had a large hand in North Korea’s collapse as well. When the Legion faction was still loyal, they never dared cross south. But after the Legion's betrayal, the cults began creeping into South Korean territory like poisonous mushrooms.

According to confirmed intelligence, a warlord faction allied with these radical cultists began moving their forces toward Seoul the moment a massive monster swarm was detected.

From China’s experience, one thing was clear: these people never act alone.

They always watch the monsters’ movements, nudging them to breach human defenses more easily, and once a line is broken, they dive in to wreak havoc behind enemy lines.

And here’s what’s strange—if they encounter someone with even a hint of social status, they don’t just kill them.

Just like their forebears during the Cultural Revolution, they subject the victims to public humiliation and mockery, then execute them in the most absurd, theatrical way possible.

One method I’ve heard of involves suspending two victims in midair, then pulling them in opposite directions and slamming their heads together to kill them.

Executions take place in raucous, carnival-like atmospheres—like some demented medieval show.

There are other grotesque executions, too: human whack-a-mole, the Plank of Carneades, the Leap of Faith—each more dehumanizing than the last.

Each one is a grotesque mockery, designed to ridicule every value the world once held dear. Even death is not spared their contempt.

Maybe the cultists infiltrating Korea today aren’t exactly the same as the ones who burned down China, but they’ve certainly inherited their violence and disdain for humanity.

And like in China, they’re once again burdening our defensive lines.

“We don’t have enough troops.”

That one sentence from Kim Byeong-cheol said it all.

As New Seoul rapidly expanded, the areas needing protection also multiplied.

The real issue was the eastern defensive line, which would focus on anti-personnel combat.

The area to defend was enormous—too big. And unlike the riverbanks, there was no natural barrier. Plus, the enemies here weren’t towering monsters that could be seen from miles away—they were humans who specialized in stealth and camouflage.

There was no way to cover such a wide front with limited manpower.

In the end, we had no choice but to recruit volunteers.

Among those who had flocked to New Seoul were families, small groups, and also large refugee shelters.

These shelter-based groups had their own leadership and combat forces, many with considerable real battle experience.

Kim Byeong-cheol’s plan was to assign these shelter groups specific sectors to fill the vast gaps in the eastern defense line.

Technically, the eastern front isn’t my responsibility.

My jurisdiction is the monster swarms expected from the north.

And not to boast, but the northern defenses are in excellent shape.

“This is Igija-One. Attempting to engage a rogue monster.”

Between urban zones, across wide open land blasted by nukes, we operate heavily modified domestic tanks designed for anti-monster warfare. These tanks break off monsters straying from the swarm or traveling ahead of the pack. We’ve installed armored sentry guns throughout the area to gather and herd isolated monsters together.

Most monsters hesitate or stop entirely when they hit a reflective field—we exploit that hesitation to slow them down.

We’ve also demolished every building in the designated kill zone to ensure the monsters have nowhere to hide or take cover.

Once they gather in the kill zone—

“This is Maengho. Commencing bombardment on the target coordinates.”

Artillery units stationed 10 kilometers out rain down death from above.

Inside that kill zone, monsters are nothing.

The old kill zones around the rift may be gone, but we’ve painstakingly built a new one.

And now that we’re defeating them so easily, people are beginning to doubt.

“Wait, is that it? Are monsters really this weak?”

“Why were we even losing before?”

“Seriously. Doesn’t make sense.”

“Didn’t we have monsters the size of skyscrapers before? Compared to that, these are nothing.”

Watching monsters dissolve into particles under a barrage of shells makes them seem weak and manageable—but if one of those “raw” monsters ever showed up in front of them, I doubt they’d be saying the same thing.

The moment they opened fire, holes would appear in their chests and skulls, and any sloppy approach would be instantly punished.

Yes, monsters may be weak in close combat compared to each other, but not compared to average humans.

Even the so-called weakest—Necromancer or Spider types—can crush a human just by flailing a limb or twitching the wrong way.

If a medium-class combat monster managed to infiltrate the lines, the outcome is obvious.

It’s no accident that nations like China and India fell to monsters.

They are humanity’s natural predator.

And only through planning and intelligence—humanity’s greatest strength—have we found ways to kill them easily.

Just look at the role of Hunters stationed near the rift: their main job is to intercept small or medium monsters that break into our lines.

But most people still don’t understand what makes monsters truly terrifying.

They’re not living things.

They’re like a program—infinitely producible, infinitely replicable.

The defense of Beijing lasted three months.

For those three months, every zone held strong.

But once a single area fell, the entire line collapsed like a sandcastle. Tens of thousands of soldiers defending it—gone.

People say it was because a monster infiltrated China’s central command by chance.

But no—it was already past the breaking point.

This... is only the beginning.

An eternal war with no end in sight.

“Detected a powerful wave from the Paju Rift! Estimated as Wave Thirty-Two!”

Only Woo Min-hee’s researchers and observation teams know the truth.

Everyone else tends to think within the limits of their own understanding.

“Commander Park Gyu.”

Kim Byeong-cheol called out to me.

“I hate to ask, but... /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ there’s something going on in the east. People keep disappearing. But, well... it doesn’t seem like humans are behind it.”

He’d never served near a rift. He wasn’t well-liked enough by the government to be assigned to one, either.

So of course he didn’t understand what we’ve really been through.

As always, people only see what they’re equipped to understand.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you take a look when you have time? I honestly don’t have anyone else to ask. You know as well as I do—you’re the best we’ve got.”

Ordinarily, I’d refuse.

But the eastern front is just as important as the north.

And the north is relatively stable right now.

More accurately: it hasn’t even started yet—but when it does, I’m confident we can handle it.

So helping is the right call.

Besides, a certain photograph piqued my curiosity.

Kim Byeong-cheol showed me an image that seemed to depict armed individuals moving alongside what appeared to be a monster.

I was accompanied by Defender for the first time in a while.

He was one of the few Hunters deployed to the eastern defense line.

Though officially a Hunter, he’s more adept at killing humans than monsters—so I’d say he’s perfectly placed.

Despite his reputation on the boards as a reclusive psychopath serial killer, Defender was surprisingly sociable.

You could tell from the fact that he once participated in a now-legendary public job lottery in Seoul. Defender’s done everything from scavenging to odd jobs.

Like most psychopaths, he’s perfectly capable of appearing socially normal. He’s well-connected and well-informed.

And having danced with death against fanatics almost daily, Defender had in-depth knowledge of the factions operating within Seoul.

“I think the leader’s a former district court judge? Someone pretty accomplished.”

A few of his team came with us, including Cheon Young-jae.

Defender said nothing to him, and Cheon Young-jae stayed quiet too.

Clearly, the wounds of the past hadn’t healed.

Our destination was a zone in the eastern defensive line that Kim Byeong-cheol called A-24.

It was one of the sections handed over to a shelter group due to the troop shortage.

This particular group was from Daejeon—one of the few that managed to relocate quickly to Incheon after the fall.

Other shelters that stayed behind in Daejeon had mostly collapsed, but this one survived well enough to be assigned an official sector.

They numbered around 3,000, with roughly 2,500 capable of wielding firearms.

Only about 500 were actually deployed to the front line.

Mostly men in their late 40s to 50s.

Back before the war, 50 was still considered youthful—but not now.

With the collapse of the medical system, constant physical activity, and severe malnutrition, they were considered “old.”

Not to mention the omnipresent stress, fear of the future, and mental wear.

In short, they’d sent people they could afford to lose to the front lines.

Still, it would be wrong to underestimate their combat abilities.

Most of them had served during the harshest years of military service, and they’d survived four years of living hell.

The shelter volunteers—armed with Chinese, American, and Korean weapons—watched us with eyes that were anything but ordinary.

It was tense and quiet—expected from a site that had seen bloodshed.

According to Defender, the last contact from an outpost of twenty had been a report of a small-scale attack.

Everyone stationed there was missing.

There were signs of dragging—either of the dead or of prisoners.

Typical behavior for cultist collaborators.

Rather than leading major assaults, they’d prod at the weakest points, sow chaos, and destabilize the entire defense.

Their leader was a distinguished, middle-aged man with a refined demeanor.

“My name is Kang Jeong-woo.”

His voice—polished, respectful, resonant—fit every stereotype we had of judges and elite social figures.

According to Defender, he’d once been a district court judge before the war.

In the early days, people like him were often appointed leaders of shelters due to their social standing.

But as society collapsed further, ability and leadership mattered more than titles. Most were ousted.

The fact that he was still in command meant he had more than prestige—he had real competence.

“You may have heard already, but... one of our people, while delivering late-night rations, saw several civilians being dragged off by cultists. And beyond them—he saw a monster, standing tall.”

Cultists accompanied by monsters.

I’d seen that before, in Incheon.

We never confirmed the details, but the idea of fanatics using monsters as weapons isn’t impossible.

If, in the midst of the northern assault, cultists armed with monsters hit the weakest, volunteer-held section of the east...

Our entire line could crumble.

“Is it even possible to control monsters?”

Cheon Young-jae looked skeptical, but Defender—having heard countless stories—confirmed there were rumors of divine messengers aiding cultists.

Regardless, it was clear Kang Jeong-woo had the trust of his people.

You can tell a lot about someone by looking at those around them.

And his people treated him with deep, unquestioning respect.

“Director, should we show them the Samil Apartments too?”

“I’ll go, Director. Hyun-soo’s father worked late yesterday and stayed up all night for Jong-pil’s funeral.”

“I’ll go too, Director.”

Every time they addressed him as Director, it was with sincerity, not formality.

It was clear: they followed this man not out of fear, but admiration.

I’ll admit it stirred something in me.

I’ve commanded people before, earned plenty of respect.

The respect I received was for “Professor”—for what I’d done, not who I was.

Once we finished speaking with Kang Jeong-woo, we headed to the apartments where the incident happened.

As always, disaster sites aren’t particularly exciting.

Scattered belongings. Blood stains. Drag marks.

I looked for monster tracks, but based on the photo, the creature appeared to be a Necromancer type.

Necromancers hover—barely ever touch the ground.

Which means no footprints.

We reviewed the attack path, reconstructed the engagement—but there wasn’t much else.

Just as the sun was beginning to set, a quiet, grim-looking man who’d been poking around the ruins and avoiding conversation muttered bitterly to himself.

“That bastard’s not even a real judge...”