Chapter 421: Chapter 421

The U.S. military always harps on being prepared for the worst-case scenario, like a broken record. But in reality, distinguishing a worst-case scenario in the field is extremely difficult.

How can anyone make an objective assessment of the situation in a battlefield where everything changes in a single moment?

Even those observing safely from the rear struggle to make judgments—how could anyone expect better from the chaos at the front?

What they call "the worst" is probably something you only truly understand once you're past the point of no return.

As for me, I take a simpler approach.

I prepare alternatives for every method and plan.

If A doesn’t work, then B. If B doesn’t work, then C. That’s how I create vast checklists and contingencies.

Of course, preparing for every single process and task is exhausting.

Drafting the plans isn’t easy, and gathering the actual resources is even harder.

But at the very least, these compartmentalized checklists help clarify and objectify the abstract concept of "failure."

The redder the checklist becomes—the more alternatives are ruled out—the clearer it becomes that failure is imminent, and that’s when a decisive call can be made.

At the very least, I’ll be able to call off the operation before we hit what the U.S. military calls the worst-case scenario.

The destruction of the communication network had been factored in.

Even if we destroyed the Screamer, there was no guarantee the enemy wouldn’t try a similar attack again.

It was an extremely low probability—but it happened. Just before their assault, they deployed a monster presumed to be a Screamer and knocked out our communications.

The only thing still functioning properly was the mobile phone strapped to the NP device.

But that phone is defective—barely able to pick up the Necropolis signal, let alone facilitate actual communication.

Running an operation through Necropolis was absurd to begin with.

But that doesn’t mean communication is impossible.

They made one mistake.

They played their trump card—the Screamer—before we had even launched our main assault.

That ambush did flash a red light over our entire operation, but we've faced jamming before, and we built our own compensatory system to handle it.

The soldier crouched in front of me now, holding a clunky military field phone in both hands, is one of those compensatory measures.

We advanced in an armored vehicle while laying down a wired telephone line.

Calling it “laying” is generous. We just hooked a giant wire drum to the back of the armored vehicle and unraveled the cable like Perseus in the Cretan labyrinth.

One small explosion or blast could snap the line, of course.

But I believed a backup was necessary, so we prepared a long ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) field cable using an old wire drum we’d used previously when dealing with a Screamer-type.

The cable was so poorly made that some parts weren’t even properly insulated—but we needed the length.

And in a jamming scenario , this wired phone line should still serve its purpose. Right now, it's being tested.

As I felt the heavy spring tension of the rotary dial, I made the call.

Colonel Kwak Sang-hoon's elite troops handle comms.

When I first ordered the wired line set up, they grumbled with a “Do we really need this?” kind of attitude.

The connection worked.

I immediately requested a status update on the city.

“...The city’s been slightly affected, but because of the distance, the damage is minimal.”

At least the city’s comms network hasn’t been destroyed.

I made a second request.

Almost as if to show off that it was still functioning, the second request was executed immediately.

A giant buzzer echoed from the rooftop of The Hope, wired into a massive speaker.

Simultaneously, the signal device installed on the rooftop of The Hope stretched awake for the first time in a while and cast its message across the battlefield for everyone to see.

The signal meant: “Continue.”

A flare shot up through the fog and scattered a bright flash across the sky.

Then ten more followed.

Communications were cut.

But the operation wouldn’t stop.

We launched a small balloon overhead.

Even in the thick fog, it was a tool meant to help us confirm signals from The Hope.

It was one of our prepared contingencies for a comm blackout.

“As expected, no gaps.”

That was Gong Gyeong-min’s comment as he watched.

A compliment anyone could give.

But apparently, not everyone appreciated it.

“Not as good as you, huh?”

Her expression was visibly sour.

And her glare was aimed directly at Gong Gyeong-min.

She’d never gotten along with the “school lot.”

She had obvious bad blood with Woo Min-hee, and her relationship with Lee Sang-hoon was so strained she wouldn’t even drop the honorific.

But knowing her personality, the one she hated most right now had to be Gong Gyeong-min.

For someone like her—who measured life’s value by comparison—Gong Gyeong-min, who was only marginally different from her but still held a senior position in Jeju, would be unacceptable to her heart even if her head could rationalize it.

Gong Gyeong-min smirked and turned his head.

A clear sign he wasn’t going to engage.

Even as Kim Daram stared daggers at him, he didn’t spare her a glance.

Typical Gong Gyeong-min.

No matter how much Kim Daram tried to provoke him, he wouldn’t react.

There are many Hunters, but few are as unapologetically themselves as him.

Knowing that, Kim Daram only glared for a moment before shifting her gaze away.

The vehicle rocked violently to one side. A crunching metal sound filtered in through the cracks of the window.

The armored vehicle had just run over an abandoned car in the ruins.

“We’ve arrived at Checkpoint Alpha.”

After the vehicle came to a halt, we exited.

A thick fog lay all around us.

Unlike normal fog, there wasn’t a trace of moisture—just an endless dry and arid mist stretching into the unknown.

We scanned the hazy veil for enemies.

Gong Gyeong-min narrowed his softly glowing eyes, scanning the front.

If he said so, I believed it.

My instincts agreed—nothing lay beyond that mist.

Faint figures emerged through the fog.

It was Na Hye-in and her Hunter team.

“B-13 was destroyed in the bombing.”

I reported the status to her.

She nodded, her eyes reflecting a radiance different from Gong Gyeong-min’s.

From here, our paths diverged from Na Hye-in’s team.

Back in a battle ten years ago, we’d learned through experience what the General-type viewed as the greatest threat.

It was the Awakened—particularly powerful ones.

The monster had mobilized its entire urban garrison just to intercept Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in.

That bias wasn’t something we had planned for—but the moment we noticed it, I improvised.

We’d make me, not Kang Han-min or Na Hye-in, the main offensive axis.

It had worked—up to the moment before I could bury my axe in its skull.

This time, I’d use a similar strategy.

But with subtle modifications.

Staying close to Na Hye-in, the strongest threat, was a deliberate ploy to confuse the enemy.

Now, we’d split up—and I’d head straight for the General-type through the sector with the fewest monsters.

I had already directed the U.S. troops to take out any mid-route hostiles.

If we’re lucky, I might reunite with that monster without encountering a single one.

And all within thirty minutes.

“You too. Don’t overdo it—stay safe.”

We split from Alpha One, Na Hye-in’s team.

She took one of only two tanks we had.

Even so, our firepower wasn’t lacking.

Behind us was an armored vehicle shaped differently from ours—bristling with odd antennas like spines.

Jiang Shuying stepped out.

“Not bad. We’d powered off all drones just in case something happened.”

This Chinese contingent was our most reliable fallback if things went south.

They said they could neutralize at least two medium-class monsters.

For us, pressed for time, they were better than insurance.

I nodded and reboarded the armored vehicle.

We moved toward the second checkpoint.

The fog-drenched city was wrapped in a pathological silence.

But that silence wouldn’t last.

A cannon roared in the distance.

It wasn’t Na Hye-in’s tank—it was the other one.

Most likely the one assigned to Ahn Seung-hwan’s Hunter team.

I had specifically ordered an aggressive posture.

I wanted to know how it was going—but comms were down, so I couldn’t.

The rooftop signaler on The Hope, as seen from the balloon trailing our vehicle, showed no change.

We were cruising at 30 km/h.

We’d reach the second checkpoint in about five minutes.

Another thunderous explosion echoed from afar.

I met eyes with Gong Gyeong-min.

The whistling sound before the explosion—no doubt the discharge of a rocket-propelled grenade.

It was cheap, effective, and used widely by the Chinese, Korean, and North Korean armies.

But we hadn’t brought a single RPG for this operation.

Ha Tae-hoon muttered the now all-too-familiar word.

“...I had a feeling.”

Gong Gyeong-min gave a bitter smile as he opened the hatch and raised his upper body.

He’s a low-tier Awakened with sensory abilities.

That’s the reason for his promotion—something Kim Daram envies—but right now, it's invaluable.

My old comrade would fill in for Cheon Young-jae’s absence.

Gong Gyeong-min climbed back inside.

He looked at me and said,

The armored vehicle was our emergency escape, our shield against small arms, and our source of light artillery support—but it was nearly useless against RPGs.

It could become a wheeled coffin.

Beyond the mist, the silhouette of ghostlike ruin towers loomed ominously.

I picked up the rotary field phone.

Wired lines might be simple compared to LAN cables, but I had to give thanks to the factory workers who managed to create such a long line in these times.

“So you’re saying there are fanatics present?”

“Take immediate action.”

Even before the words were done, a buzzer blared loud enough to be heard from kilometers away—coming from The Hope.

It was like a roar from The Hope itself, heard clearly across the entire city and battlefield.

Several balloons must’ve pierced the fog skyward all at once.

Ours confirmed it too.

[Fanatics, Anti-Tank Threat, Caution]

Because the situation was complex, the indicator kept cycling through updates every ten seconds, showing exactly what I had requested.

Then came gunfire—followed by bad news, barely a second too late, over the wired line.

“They’ve counted sixteen balloons.”

One team was wiped out.

Most likely hit by an RPG while still in the vehicle.

Countless people die.

Hoping only your side lives is just childish.

Gong Gyeong-min’s cold voice rang out.

After over ten years, I still recognized it from the sound alone.

He had sensed danger.

I raised my weapon and crouched.

“Worshippers,” he said.

“There are those who obsessively worship the General-type. They’re like his guard unit.”

He showed killing intent as he replied.

“They can’t become monsters—but they’re the ones closest to it.”

Truly, the most dangerous breed.

As always, the ones who threaten this world aren’t the wise or the ignorant—but the half-informed.

“Three on the second floor at two o’clock. Two buried under rubble at ten o’clock—no, they’re in ambush.”

“I see them. I can handle one.”

“If it’s on the left, even rusty ol’ me should manage.”

Gong Gyeong-min had no doubt in their skills.

“Then the two at ten o’clock are the problem.”

“Looks like they’re the anti-tank team. They’re fully in cover. Probably trained to react only to vehicle noise.”

Not the twin axes—my personal favorite.

Gong Gyeong-min looked slightly surprised, but said nothing.

Just as I knew his thoughts, he knew mine.

The others weren’t any different.

We moved forward briskly, blending with the fog.

Even if they had a sensory Awakened, it didn’t matter.

This battlefield wasn’t like others.

It was extremely quiet.

Which meant, before sensing skills, our natural human senses would be sharper.

Moments later, I felt breathing.

No matter how trained, people lose themselves during battle—acting unconsciously.

At night, or in low visibility, those signs become even clearer.

I crouched and advanced.

Something I hadn’t sensed.

Countless thoughts flashed through my mind.

Was it a lapse in instinct from being out of the field too long?

Or was it someone more skilled in stealth waiting to ambush me?

Either way, I’d lost the first move.

It would be decided in a split second.

The moment I locked eyes on my target, I saw it.

Even through the fog, I could see the grotesque religious markings and totemic tattoos carved and dried into its pale gray flesh.

I’d heard fanatics kept special zombies as totems.

Even my old mentor, Jang Ki-young, had one.

But the moment I thought of Jang Ki-young, something surreal happened.

The zombie in front of me reacted—not like a beast, but with startled human-like fear, and backed away.

It slowly retreated into the darkness, step by step.

I kept the memory of its presence and moved forward.

In the distance, half-hidden figures stirred.

They turned toward me.

But the axes had already flown.

One buried deep in the temporal lobe.

The other pierced the center of the frontal lobe.

The two collapsed in brief spasms.

I approached in a crouch, stomped a corpse, and yanked my axe free.

Sure enough, anti-tank weapons were in their hands.

I let out a shallow breath and whistled.

The situation was handled.

But this wasn’t over.

I checked with Gong Gyeong-min about the zombie.

“What? There was a zombie? I don’t recall seeing anything like that.”

He scanned the area with his glowing eyes and asked,

“Was it really there?”