Chapter 409: Chapter 409

Let’s say you’re afflicted with a terrible illness.

You have two choices:

Die slowly, or risk dying from a dangerous surgery.

Most choose the former.

Unless the pain is unbearable or life becomes unlivable, people rarely opt for high-risk operations.

The same holds true at the national level.

Countries often try to salvage decaying corporations instead of cutting them out, and in doing so, doom themselves to long-term stagnation.

What about the last-standing version of South Korea, where I had staked my life?

It was dying—slowly? No, quite rapidly.

Internal unrest was climbing beyond manageable levels, and we lacked the resources for prolonged conflict.

What we needed was a risky operation.

Doing something was better than dying doing nothing.

“If we stay here, we’re all dead.”

“What are you doing? Not running?”

“Might as well head to Sejong.”

Once the city was in danger, citizens deserted it without hesitation.

Twenty-four hours after the ominous shadow loomed across the river, twenty thousand people had already fled.

I had predicted this.

How many people are willing to stay put when death is looming in plain sight?

Even in China, at first they strictly controlled evacuations and carried out executions for unauthorized departures. But eventually, they just watched their citizens flee.

Those who’ll stay will stay. Those who’ll go will go.

Forcing them to stay only breeds internal decay.

Anyone who watched China collapse learned that lesson. It’s common knowledge now.

But of course, some pretend not to know.

Especially those hungry for my position—those eager to snatch it.

I was placed on probation.

Not officially dismissed, but pretty much the same.

The ones who suggested my dismissal weren’t from Jeju—they were “citizen committee” members.

Some say they struck a backdoor deal with Jeju, but there’s no way for me to confirm that.

Removing me from power wasn’t enough. They wanted to pin crimes on me.

The charge? Drawing a high-tier monster into the city.

Woo Min-hee told me it would be a show trial at most, and that she’d make sure I wasn’t prosecuted.

“I’ll stop that, at least.”

Soon after, I heard that someone from Jeju had taken my place.

The number of citizens who fled surpassed 50,000.

Just as Woo Min-hee said, no formal investigation or charges were filed against me.

Instead, I was confined to a small residence, allowed only to roam the immediate vicinity.

The one replacing me was Jang Hyun-jin—a face I had seen before.

A core member of the Jeju committee. Some even said he had more real power than Mayor Gong Gyeong-min.

As for the city’s defense—it's holding for now.

Not because Jang Hyun-jin is competent.

But because we had spent so long negotiating and refining the kill zone.

Dozens of monsters roamed the erosion field created by the Giant-type across the river, but the bigger picture hadn’t changed.

They still had to cross the bridge, and the veteran artillery units and fortified defenses reduced them to light particles before they could even set foot on it.

Amid this, the new year arrived.

At the New Year’s event, Jang Hyun-jin appeared before a massive crowd, loudly proclaiming, “Seoul will not fall!”

But that very day, the mercury dipped to minus 15°C.

They called it a one-day cold snap—but I had a deeply ominous feeling and had Cheon Young-jae deliver a warning to the appropriate departments.

Unsurprisingly, no one responded.

Mgu uploaded a video of the Screamer hunt to the boards.

To my surprise, he’d edited it quite sincerely, highlighting my role.

My face and voice were pixelated—at my request.

No point revealing my identity just to end up on some cult’s assassination list like Defender.

Still, I’d asked him not to use lazy pixelation.

My sharp jawline, undeniable charisma—even through censorship—had to shine through. I told him to find the right balance.

Mgu, who’d once learned editing from Dongtanmom, didn’t disappoint.

Even pixelated, I came off as a razor-sharp, meticulous true Hunter.

There was one problem though.

Every time I appeared, the caption read:

Dead38211: This guy’s no joke.

Dead8821: He looks badass somehow.

Dead821: Every shot hits. That’s at least 400 meters.

Dead551: The woman behind him’s impressive, but he’s the one stealing the show.

Dead43282: His every movement looks refined. Efficient.

Dead311: I bet he’s handsome.

Internet reactions were glowing.

So why the hell wasn’t I listed as Skelton?

I immediately messaged Mgu.

SKELTON: Who the hell is Hunter P?

He responded a little later.

I knew what this was.

He didn’t want me becoming an actual legend.

Let’s see what excuse he has.

mmmmmmmmm™: It’s for you, Skelton~

mmmmmmmmm™: You’re already being politically targeted by those citizen committee assholes who’re in bed with Jeju, right?

mmmmmmmmm™: If your deeds go public under your name, they’ll just use it against you.

SKELTON: (Skelton confused) Isn’t that... good, though?

mmmmmmmmm™: Pfft! You’re only seeing part of the picture.

SKELTON: (Skelton question mark)

mmmmmmmmm™: This is how you do it. You hint at it. Show them: “This is what I’m capable of. Keep messing with me, and I’ll go public.” That’s how you play high-level politics.

Frustratingly, his logic made sense.

mmmmmmmmm™: Even Reporter Guy agrees. Just endure for now.

mmmmmmmmm™: When the timing’s right, we’ll drop the uncensored version. Cool?

Whatever. If Mgu says so, fine.

It’s not is a big deal.

But his surprise “Screamer hunt docu-dump” sparked fire in someone else.

Jang Hyun-jin—and his friends.

A guy named Bae Dong-min, another “Jeju committee” rep I’d barely heard of, suddenly declared a new monster hunt.

He used the radio—granted by us for public use—to boldly announce his plans.

“...The root of all evil—the General-type. We will eliminate it. That creature is the leader of all monsters. If we can take it down, our city will be safe. We’ll reclaim our former lives.”

That was the last I heard.

A large self-propelled artillery unit arrived from Jeju.

But instead of hitting the monsters across the river—they struck east.

The roar of aircraft overhead made citizens look skyward for the first time in ages.

Bombs and shells rained down—not on monsters, but on a warlord faction in the east.

Apparently, they obliterated one of the faction’s forward units.

Why the sudden offensive against human enemies during a monster crisis?

The radio soon answered that.

“Today, the government intercepted signs that remnants of the Corps faction were preparing rocket artillery deployments targeting New Seoul’s east. A preemptive strike was carried out...”

According to Defender, the Corps faction’s arsenal consisted of little more than a few beat-up trucks and some machine guns.

Temperatures hovered between minus 10 and minus 15 degrees Celsius.

My case was finally resolved.

All investigations and charges were halted during the review phase.

I was reinstated as New Seoul’s “Captain.”

But in reality, everything had changed.

During my absence, my authority had been gutted.

Even the Regular Awakened unit now reported to a new department.

Worse—my demands were routinely ignored.

Technically, I was still “Captain,” but real power had shifted to a so-called “Acting Supervisor,” a low-rank Awakened from Jeju.

I requested a direct meeting with the problematic figure—Kim In-sik.

He declined, suggesting I submit my demands in writing.

They ignored everything.

The only thing they approved?

One box of instant coffee for the break room.

One of the citizen committee members who had placed me on probation is now under investigation for rape and sexual assault.

His victim—a 21-year-old woman—claimed he lured her with promises of better housing and job opportunities but assaulted her without delivering anything.

It’s a disgusting, all-too-familiar story.

But because of who he was and the timing—it struck New Seoul where it hurt.

At a time when the city needed unity, the media drowned in scandal.

The Jeju faction used it to reign in defiant citizens.

The citizens, in turn, clung to their autonomy, desperate to protect their “iron rice bowls.”

No one was listening—even as I warned that collapse was imminent.

It’s been over a month since we killed the Screamer and the monsters regrouped across the river.

Of the 50,000 who fled, many have returned.

The weather’s brutally cold, but things seem stable—so the deserters slinked back in.

This city’s collapse is near.

The Han River’s been frozen for ten days.

Even on “warm” days, temperatures don’t rise above minus five.

This extreme cold is turning into the real threat I feared.

I tried discussing this with the upper ranks—but New Seoul’s government was drowning in [N O V E L I G H T] scandal.

It looked like chaos, but their goals were clear.

Jeju wanted to use the rape case to chain the citizen faction under their control.

The citizens wanted to preserve autonomy—and their cushy positions.

I warned them of what’s coming.

Just when I was about to give up, my phone rang.

“Got a minute? Let’s talk.”

“What happens if this city falls?”

Woo Min-hee asked the same question I’d heard again and again.

The answer was obvious.

This time, most people won’t survive.

Even if they avoid being killed by monsters, the freezing cold will bare its fangs.

Vehicles are dying. Fast.

The machines of pre-war civilization—once enduring symbols of human progress—are failing.

Engines, generators, phones—all groaning under the weight of entropy.

And vehicles, in particular, are vulnerable.

When they go, survival plummets.

We saw that two years after the war.

“A good number of us won’t make it,” I said.

Woo Min-hee gave a bitter smile.

She’s seen more than enough collapse—both online and in real life.

As many vanished from the internet as from the streets.

PaleNet and Necropolis kept people tethered online, but even that was fading.

The phones themselves were dying.

There were once spare parts.

Now, even the spare parts are gone—lost to time.

When the users vanish, Necropolis will become what it was always meant to be:

An echo chamber of the dead.

“Remember what I said before?”

The Han River was frozen.

It reflected the stars like a mirror, shimmering under a pitch-black sky.

I shrank into my coat and looked at her.

She wasn’t looking at the river—she was staring past it, into the gray.

Even now, I could see something slithering beyond the ruins.

She was watching a monster.

Something heavy pressed down on my chest.

I pushed the feeling aside and replied.

“That if you turn into a monster—I should kill you?”

She nodded, faintly smiling.

“There’s no one else I’d trust with it. No one else I want to trust with it.”

Preparing for ruin isn’t necessarily the living’s duty.

As an atheist, I believe life ends with death—and what comes after is meaningless.

But that’s exactly why this world is worth fighting for.

“If that’s your wish.”

Woo Min-hee sighed quietly.

She looked just shy of where the monster stood and said:

“Then resist. With everything you have.”

“I’ll resist with everything I have, too.”

I’ll stay in this city.

Even if it’s rotting—even if it’s full of sin—I’ll protect it.

Because I, too, am tainted with sin—rage.

And this city is the only place where I can release that unrelenting hatred.

The monster is close.

And until I kill it, I won’t stop.