Chapter 424: Chapter 424

A soft rumble of thunder echoed heavily.

As the weather rapidly worsened, our surroundings sank into a dreary darkness blanketed by thick clouds.

Our team was taking a brief rest, gathered inside and outside the armored vehicle, but that didn’t mean everything had come to a halt.

The Chinese army was moving busily.

They were preparing the groundwork to deal with a mid-sized monster that was blocking the path.

The first of the monsters obstructing the route was a large-type Vindicator.

Slightly bigger than typical mid-sized types, it was still classified as a large-type under international standards due to its estimated weight exceeding that of mid-types.

That monster, with an appearance reminiscent of an isopod, was infamous more for its defense than offense. The highly alkaline compound it emitted could melt a person’s bones on contact and produced toxic gas that could cause lung disease throughout the area.

If subdivided, it was a high-armor – anti-personnel specialized type.

Not a welcome foe for hunters.

Frankly, hunters don’t even get used against bastards like that.

But today, the ones fighting that monster were the Chinese army.

Even when seeing the Vindicator, they showed a surprisingly optimistic reaction.

“Monsters like that, dull and sluggish, are actually easier for us to deal with.”

If the opponent weren’t a general-type and this were an ordinary mission, I’d have found watching the Chinese army’s work quite interesting.

In the warzone, the Chinese always came up with new, interesting toys.

What they were building was a mock railway.

Each time they pressed a button, a 1-meter segment extended to over 8 meters like a Ruyi staff. Soldiers risked themselves by pushing forward to areas exposed to the monster, installing these rails, then connecting them like toy train tracks.

Then, they placed a train-shaped drone on the completed rail.

The train drone, roughly the size of a medium-sized dog, had two robot arms attached. It carried another segment of uninstalled rail in its grasp—just like the ones the soldiers had.

A moment later, the drone moved along the rail, stopped at the end, and with precision, laid down the rail it carried, extending the track itself.

The train was laying its own track as it advanced.

Though slow, it steadily continued extending, aiming for the front of the Vindicator.

You’d expect a monster to react with a drone buzzing right up to its face—but strangely, it didn’t move at all, even as the rail reached right under its nose.

Ha Tae-hoon, watching, remarked.

“Hmph. So that’s the Takmasa thing.”

“You know the anime with the talking train character? Thomas. Takmasa is a phonetic rendering of that in Chinese, then reinterpreted through Korean hanja. Like 'Yeonggilli' or 'Noseoa.'”

“As you can see, they lay tracks right up to the monster and crash a toy train filled with explosives into it. The rails act as a guiding system.”

“Seems like a lot of hassle.”

“True. Looks slow and clunky, but the Chinese say it’s effective. Monsters tend to ignore humans unless they show direct hostility.”

“Really? But isn’t that robot-arm thing a drone too?”

To this, Ha Tae-hoon scratched his chin and tilted his head.

He didn’t seem to know either.

When in doubt, ask the one in charge.

I asked Jang Soo-young about this bizarre tool.

“Huh? That thing? It’s not a drone. Look.”

She pointed to a soldier operating something at the end of the track.

“Yes. It’s wired. So it’s not a drone, just a simple work tool. And that type is one of the unresponsive kinds.”

As if to show off, the device laid another rail directly in front of the monster.

I could guess the reasoning behind such a method, but still.

When it comes to drones, the Chinese know way more than I do. That’s likely why they brought such a technique to a battlefield this dangerous—because the success rate is high.

It takes too damn long to lay those rails.

When I asked Jang Soo-young, she said it would take another 30 minutes.

Since men and effort had already been invested, the current plan couldn’t be canceled. But I asked her to consider another method next time.

Right now, the Hunter team centered around Na Hye-in is fighting in a region surrounded on all sides by enemies.

“By the way, I heard that Dongtanmom arrived in Korea.”

As the Chinese army was assisting with the rail installation, Gong Gyeong-min approached, looking at his phone.

“You know Dongtanmom, right?”

Gong Gyeong-min showed me his screen.

But it was much smaller than the one I remembered Dongtanmom using.

I was sure she traveled on a supertanker, but the ship in the picture was more like a small ferry you’d see on the Han River, escorted by several small boats carrying her companions.

Did she switch ships?

Dongtanmom had posted a lot of messages, but since reading her “nom nom” posts felt like they drained my energy, I’d always avoided clicking them. Seems she went through some changes.

But her core hadn’t changed at all.

dogntanmom: Nom nom... Even after years, the air here still fucking sucks... This country is just nom nom...

Still posting draining messages.

I averted my gaze and spoke.

“This Dongtanmom... she’s from our school.”

“Her real name’s Baek Seung-hyun. She was in the same class as that Ha Tae-hoon over there.”

“Oh, that makes sense. No wonder her movements were on another level—turns out she’s really a graduate.”

Gong Gyeong-min chuckled.

“...Getting into the school back then wasn’t easy, right?”

A memory from the past passed before my eyes like a still frame.

The scene of the school entrance interview.

Though now hazy and dim, I clearly remembered the wide room that had seemed like a stadium to my younger self, containing only me and three interviewers. The scratching of pens echoed in the silence every time I spoke.

One interviewer, whose name I didn’t know back then, but who had an intense gaze I never forgot, asked:

“So, what’s your true motivation for applying here? Not something you heard in cram school or online—tell me what you truly feel in your heart.”

Just before what might be my last battle, a memory from the dawn of everything resurfaced—a fateful mirror of beginnings and ends.

Back then, and even now, the reason I became a Hunter hadn’t changed.

I can’t remember the exact words, but I think I told that interviewer, Jang Ki-young:

“I want to kill monsters.”

What more needed to be said?

The one who snapped me out of that reverie was Ha Tae-hoon.

He never calls me without reason.

Ha Tae-hoon was staring at a small tablet, about the size of his palm.

The device he used to control drones and other electronics.

“There’s movement on the motion detector.”

Sure enough, something was shambling behind us.

But when I turned around, there was only thick grayish fog.

Gong Gyeong-min stared hard at the detector screen, then looked behind.

“That thing earlier, the zombie.”

Whatever was reflected in those faintly glowing eyes, we couldn’t confirm.

Soon, Gong Gyeong-min shook his head.

“Looks like one of those zombies just before vaporization.”

“Just before vaporization?”

“Some people call it evaporation, others call it vanishing. Either way, it refers to zombies suddenly disappearing without reason.”

My words made Gong Gyeong-min raise his brows slightly.

But in his usual way, he didn’t give a straight answer—just explained vaguely.

“Entities related to the rift vanishing /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ suddenly is a reported phenomenon. Some say they transform into monsters, others say they get sucked into the rift. Nothing’s confirmed. But the phenomenon of some zombies evaporating—disappearing like vapor—is real.”

He kept staring into the fog with those glowing eyes.

“Creatures like that aren’t easy to detect even with sensors.”

“They’re practically fused with the rift. Like lingering spirits with faint forms.”

“And they’re following us? Creepy.”

Off in the distance, the Chinese soldiers signaled.

They retrieved the train drone with arms and placed another drone with a familiar propulsion system onto the rail.

The same propulsion unit as my Maul.

Looked like the same model.

Once they confirmed the position using surveillance cams, the drone was launched.

It started slow and crude.

It crept along the rail laid by the Chinese, swaying side to side like a wind-up toy.

But the track was laid precisely up to 50 meters before the monster.

The Vindicator-type’s maximum repulsion range.

When the drone reached the end of the rail, the Chinese turned on its power.

The huge, still monster trembled slightly.

It had noticed the drone.

The drone’s propulsion ignited.

In a flash, it zoomed past us like a bullet, racing along the rail and leaping from the upward-curved end like a ski jump, straight toward the monster.

The monster released a shockwave, but it was too late.

In a terrifying internal explosion, the monster was literally split in two and turned into particles of light.

As the shimmering particles rained down, Jang Soo-young approached with a smile.

For a moment, I thought—these Chinese soldiers had fought back through immense hardship.

Though laying the groundwork had taken time, we’d disposed of a tough foe cleanly.

The next one standing in our path was the Annihilator-type we’d faced before.

Also specialized in anti-personnel combat like the Vindicator.

Not heavily armored, but more cautious and responsive than others—a different kind of nuisance.

Of course, not a target for hunters either.

“From here, we’ll do it the standard way.”

The armored vehicle’s hatch opened.

Inside were no fewer than twenty combat drones, neatly stacked.

Jang Soo-young led me inside.

The spacious interior had seats for drone operators, each controlling their units. In the center, footage from all drones appeared in a grid like a CCTV control room.

The drone unit commander shouted something in Chinese.

The twenty drones rose one by one and flew toward the monster.

Gunfire, rocket launches, and roaring flames blurred through the fog as one signal after another died on the screen.

With one final shockwave, all screens went dark.

From what I saw, the monster hadn’t been taken down.

Yet all the drones were gone.

I looked at Jang Soo-young.

“Was that a failure?”

She smiled softly and shook her head.

Explosions and shockwaves rang out in succession.

I looked at the drone operators.

They were already brushing off their hands and packing up.

Jang Soo-young answered.

“Dual-control system.”

“First, they’re manually operated. When the monster cuts the connection with a radio attack, the onboard AI takes over.”

As the blasts faded, they sent out a recon drone.

It transmitted footage of golden particles scattering beyond the fog.

The Chinese drones had defeated the Annihilator-type.

A Chinese officer who had been quiet until now said something in Chinese.

Jang Soo-young translated.

“Black Whirlwind. That’s what this drone is called. He’s saying if only this model had been mass-produced a year earlier, the war might never have started.”

They could’ve put up a decent fight against the monsters.

But monsters adapt fast.

The more threatening the weapon, the faster and more decisively they evolve.

The fact that they haven’t responded to this new toy probably means they don’t need to.

Because the scholars, factories, and workers who created it—are all gone now.

In a way, this was China’s final flaming arrow.

“You’re free to head back first.”

“No, we’ll stay and observe from here.”

Jang Soo-young and the Chinese soldiers said they wouldn’t advance any farther but would guard the midway point and monitor the rest of the battle.

No one knows what’s about to happen.

One general-type monster remains.

This one, we’ve got something to say about.

It’s specialized not against people, but tanks and heavy machinery.

If we can approach within its repulsion range using good mobility, it can be taken down with even cheap-ass weapons like Monster Punch.

I advanced through the ruins with Gong Gyeong-min and Ha Tae-hoon to secure an approach route.

Gong Gyeong-min whispered low.

The three of us slid and hit the ground in unison.

“Humans. Not three—five.”

Immediately after, gunfire rang out.

Three shots aimed right at the cover we were hiding behind—mine, Ha Tae-hoon’s, and Gong Gyeong-min’s.

“They’ve got a sensor-type too.”

Could they have planned this?

It painted a picture straight from a dream.

If I were a fanatic, I would’ve done the same.

Sending hunters like us to deal with the Centurion was obvious. So they blocked only the routes humans could pass through.

Simple logic—but damn hard to counter.

Especially now, when getting sniper support from Kim Daram was tough.

To make it worse, the fanatics showed off another card like a damn favor.

In a narrow, hard-to-approach terrain, a machine gun is absolute.

They might’ve even laid barbed wire in front of their position.

In short—don’t even think about it.

And sure enough, the fanatics shouting in front of us weren’t speaking Korean—but Chinese.

Not from the North, nor local South Korean cults. These were from mainland China—one of the sects that had destroyed their own country.

Veterans among fanatics.

The hardest battlefield setup is when monsters and fanatics are deployed together—and just before the general-type, the worst-case scenario had appeared in its worst form.

“The Chinese army...”

Should we rely on them?

I was racking my brain for a solution that wouldn’t come—

A shockwave burst from the fanatic encampment.

Small-type shockwave.

Just as that question formed, gunfire and screams erupted.

Amid the rapid gunfire, a familiar voice shouted—

For a moment, I saw the entrance interview room again.

Because the one yelling, causing shockwaves, and killing fanatics up there—

Was none other than my mentor, Jang Ki-young.