The highway connecting Seoul and Sejong still hasn’t been restored, even five years after the war began.

But in my opinion, it’s more navigable now than before.

The road itself is still a mess, but the abandoned wrecks—left behind like corpses—have vanished.

Sejong’s scavengers probably cleared them all out.

They’re cumbersome to move, sure, but if you’ve got the right equipment and facilities, junked cars are a gold mine: rebuildable vehicles, construction materials, scrap for smelting—multifunctional assets.

The most in-demand ones are large vehicles like trailers, where even the smallest engine parts are salvaged with care.

Least popular? Electric cars.

The battery lifespan is short, and their rate of decay when abandoned is far higher than internal combustion engines.

Of course, a well-maintained electric vehicle is highly desirable.

They’re just hard to find.

Even the electric truck sitting in my garage would go for a fortune if I put a price on it.

After driving a while, the road cuts off, and a crude sign directs us to an unpaved detour.

This marks the true beginning of Sejong’s outskirts.

Though it’s technically a plain, the ground is uneven, dotted with scrub and wild weeds that block any decent view.

Only after jostling through a long stretch of bumpy terrain does the water line from a reservoir come into view—along with the ruins of a city beyond it.

Several vehicles move across the fields, and tiny ant-like figures tend to farmland across the wide plains.

One of the vehicles heads our way.

A subordinate of King.

“Ah, you’re Commander Park Gyu, right?”

This guy named Ma Ha-min might sound like Kang Han-min by name, but his impression is the opposite.

Solid and built.

Clear, unblemished skin—not a single tattoo—and a naturally sturdy frame gave him the impression of true, unyielding strength.

We headed toward the city together.

“Wait, is that really Sejong?”

Moon Yang-gyeong’s knowledge of the mainland is stuck at the level she was taught in Jeju.

The Sejong she knew was a southern raider city—filled with human trafficking, executions, and torture, a living hell on Earth.

“Yeah. This is Sejong.”

If you compared Seoul and Sejong, most would place Seoul on top.

In scale alone, Seoul is larger.

It has more people and is ruled by a legitimate government.

But if you consider productivity, efficiency, and sheer human drive—Seoul still has to bow its head to Sejong.

Sejong citizens have something Seoul citizens don’t.

The pride of building a city from scratch.

From empty plains, they built a powerful city. That pride gave them a vitality stronger than any organization.

“Wow...”

You could see it in Moon Yang-gyeong’s face as we entered the city—awestruck wonder.

Sejong is a great city, every bit as impressive as Seoul.

And its ruler now lies in a deep sleep.

“He was conscious just a short while ago—blinked, even wrote a few things down. But now he’s resting again.”

No one knows exactly when he’ll wake again.

The general response was: “It was only a matter of time.”

The gaudy underground corridors once teeming with women in elaborate costumes now looked noticeably sparse. The sight brought home King’s decline once more.

According to the chief physician, the deterioration in King’s body began over a year ago.

“He’d already hit his limit. He was holding on by sheer will. The real decline started this spring. He said it himself—he probably wouldn’t live to see the fall harvest.”

The most pressing issue is, of course, the matter of succession.

That’s the reason I came here—to help secure King’s successor.

Now is the time.

IAmJesus.

The one King and I both recognized as Sejong’s successor must become this city’s new ruler.

I’d intended to go to IAmJesus myself and settle the matter face to face.

But I had forgotten one thing.

King was a far more capable man than I ever imagined.

“Ah, apparently he’s already finished talks with the Zombie King next city over.”

Ma Ha-min blinked and continued.

“Yes. I heard the Zombie King personally agreed to succeed King.”

So King had already persuaded IAmJesus without me.

That’s good news—but now I couldn’t help but wonder.

“How the hell did he change that weird—no, unique—guy’s mind?”

The answer, of course, is sincerity.

Some scholars say the core of Korean emotion is han, but to me, it’s jeongseong—sincerity.

From food to handmade trinkets, few cultures invest as much care as we do.

King had approached IAmJesus with sincerity.

This was all recorded in an audio memo King left when he was still lucid.

“Went to see the bastard again today. Still acting snippy with a wall of zombies in front of him. God. Fuck. Really wanna punch him in the face.”

“Weather’s kinda shit. Came alone today. Guess he’s still a kid—turns down women but can’t resist sweets. Threw him a few American chocolates—too sweet for me—and finally got him to scratch his head and show that rare mug of his. Talked to him a bit.”

“Skeleton was right. That bastard’s the son of a mega-church pastor. If you ask me, it’s bad parenting. In my experience, a cowardly father messes a kid up worse than a violent one. Though, sure—kids with violent dads can be more dangerous in the long run.”

“Talked to him from ten meters today. He blew up when I prodded his pride. Guess he’s still a guy, after all. That’s how men grow—get pissed, throw cotton-candy punches, get your lights knocked out, grow some spine. Too many adults today never got hit. That’s why this country’s fucked.”

“Called him Zombie King and he laughed. Said he liked it. He’s not dumb—just awkward. Smarter than me, I think. Can read fancy characters. What? ‘Sign 30 degrees’? He knows shit like that. Said he’ll come one day. Not ready yet, though. Oh, gave him a phone. Even set up a base station. Can call anytime now.”

And finally, the last recorded message.

Probably the main reason King called for me in the first place.

“Zombie King answered my call.”

IAmJesus had agreed to succeed King.

In a way, the matter of the crown had been settled.

But IAmJesus hadn’t shown up yet. And a king with no successor could not wake from his eternal sleep.

“...Someone’s blocking the Zombie King from coming.”

Ma Ha-min shook his head.

“No—it might even be that someone’s trying to kill him.”

It’s entirely possible.

Who wouldn’t covet a city this rich and vibrant—on par with Seoul itself?

“King eliminated every potential rival for the throne. Yes. He killed them all. Those he couldn’t kill, he banished to outer autonomous zones. But even those people aren’t free of King’s grip. Everything’s in place to kill them if needed.” 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

A soldier standing beside Ma Ha-min added an explanation.

“Twelve North Korean Scud missiles are aimed at the outer zones. All equipped with biochemical warheads. If we launch even one, that area’s done for.”

The soldier’s name was Song Joon-goo. He wore the rank of Captain and looked every bit the real deal—a proper career military man.

“...The problem is in Giryong New City, the Zombie King’s territory. Something’s definitely going on there. His zombies never attacked humans before unless ordered. But now? They swarm on sight.”

According to Song Joon-goo, there are three major issues in IAmJesus’s territory.

First is the aforementioned zombie frenzy.

That’s the main reason King’s soldiers can’t enter the city.

Second is the sporadic sound of gunfire.

Not firefights—more like sniper shots.

“Type 78 sniper rifles. North Korean issue. Occasionally you hear Type 88 or carbines, but rarely. Type 78 is their main. Shockwaves follow each shot, too.”

The last problem—multiple shockwaves.

“Not just one. Several. All different sizes. I don’t really know the details, but according to our Awakened..."

Song Joon-goo’s face darkened.

“...Multiple monsters may be active in the city.”

Regardless of severity, it was an intriguing hypothesis.

This Sejong region hasn’t been eroded.

Erosion mostly halted along the Chungcheong–Jeolla border, and what little did stretch further has been held back by the still-standing wall that is Daejeon.

In other words, this is an uneroded zone.

Only small-class monsters should appear here at most.

Even if some unknown enemy brought in capsules, the worst-case scenario should only involve small types.

IAmJesus is an over-level-10 Awakened.

Even a mid-class monster group would be no problem for him. The idea that he’s struggling with a few small ones, even with no combat experience, is absurd.

This is the same guy who, during the Nemesis incident, led a zombie army and wiped out a massive flanking force threatening Seoul.

Wiped them out—completely.

The idea that he’s struggling now with a few monsters and humans doesn’t line up with anything I know.

But something is definitely happening.

“I need more precise intel.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Oh—and can I use a computer?”

Before leaving King’s meeting room, I glanced toward the office where he used to work.

“...”

I began walking.

Ma Ha-min led us to the guest room.

“You’ve come a long way. Please rest here for today.”

In the room Ma Ha-min provided, I rested with my team.

First thing I tried: contacting IAmJesus online.

No response.

I wanted to use Viva! Apocalypse!, but the U.S. government recently blocked all Necropolis transmissions entirely.

Meaning—without a satellite unit, it’s impossible to connect now.

As my insides churned with frustration, an excited voice piped up behind me.

“Did you see that? How they handled that mutation cow like a tame ox? I never imagined something like that.”

It was Moon Yang-gyeong.

She didn’t know about our situation with King—only saw a living, breathing city for the first time and was thrilled.

Cheon Young-jae, meanwhile, looked a bit gloomy.

“I wonder where that woman went. The one with the bunny mask. The really graceful one.”

My pocket stirred.

John Nae-non must be hungry.

Normally docile, he signals when he needs to relieve himself or eat.

I held out a piece of protein bar to his mouth.

He kicked once more.

I pulled out a water bottle and poured some into the cap.

He extended his long snout and sipped.

“That’s a mutation, right?”

Only then did Moon Yang-gyeong take notice of John Nae-non.

“It’s John Nae-non.”

“John Nae-non? What is that?”

“Ever heard of PaleNet?”

“PaleNet? Can’t say I have.”

“He’s a legendary hunter. Not one who hunted monsters—he pushed the limits of humanity.”

“Really?”

Kids these days...

I was talking about John Nae-non—my role model—and she was just looking around.

I forced myself to stay calm, using the mental discipline I’d honed over the years, and was about to respond when—

The door opened.

Cheon Young-jae brightened.

The bunny mask.

She brought in a tray of food and drinks.

But aside from the mask, she was clearly a different person.

That sly bastard Cheon Young-jae scanned her top to bottom and immediately realized it wasn’t the woman he was hoping for. He flinched.

The bunny mask came off.

“Hunter Park.”

Foxxy. Jeon Si-hoon’s ex.

Real name: Son Myeong-joo. North Korean.

When we first met, she didn’t even break 150 cm. Thanks to King feeding her well, she’d grown to nearly that height.

Her face had filled out—definitely more feminine than before.

“It’s been a while.”

She nodded.

“Looks like you’re doing well?”

“Thanks to King.”

The moment she mentioned him, a wave of emotion passed through her eyes.

It looked more like respect than affection.

“I owe him a lot.”

Then Foxxy fell silent.

She had something to say.

She motioned for the others to step back.

Alone at a small table, she spoke in a low tone.

“...Everyone is the enemy. Except the Zombie King.”

I nodded.

I’d suspected as much.

It’s a common tale.

When a dictator dies without naming a successor, the wolves come for the throne.

King had tried to preempt that by wiping out anyone who might fight over the crown—but human greed is like weeds.

Cut it down, and it grows back thicker.

I stared at Son Myeong-joo and asked:

“Ma Ha-min too?”

Foxxy nodded.

“Probably.”

“He the ringleader?”

“I don’t know that. But I don’t trust him either.”

“Song Joon-goo?”

“He doesn’t get involved in politics.”

“Then who’s behind it?”

“No idea. Could be someone inside the city. Could be someone outside. That’s not the important part. What is important...”

Foxxy—no, Son Myeong-joo—looked around and leaned close to my ear.

“A cult is involved.”

“...A cult?”

“Not just any cult. Myeolcheonbogung.”

Myeolcheonbogung.

I’d heard of them.

One of the worst of China’s fanatic sects—part of the infamous “Four Enemies” (Sajeok) among the [N O V E L I G H T] Eighteen Sects that tore apart the Chinese government and split its civil and military factions.

Commonly called Baogong in the Chinese reading.

They didn’t have the numbers or influence of the major cults, but their infamy came from assassinating senior Party members, provincial governors, and military generals.

It was believed they’d been wiped out by a Chinese military crackdown alongside the other Sajeok sects—but their reputation was so dark, they were even rumored to have been behind the mysterious explosion that wiped out North Korea’s royal family.

“So those bastards are attacking King’s friend—and me.”

“Yes. I saw the symbol. Faint, but unmistakable. That burning mark on the flag—I learned it back when I was part of the cult. It was Myeolcheonbogung’s.”

After Son Myeong-joo left, I called my companions.

I told them the situation.

Moon Yang-gyeong looked puzzled, but Cheon Young-jae—being the seasoned one—immediately grasped the severity.

“Myeolcheonbogung? Baogong, huh? Those psycho bastards are actually here?”

“Probably just a splinter group borrowing the name.”

“But if they’re using the name, they must think they can back it up.”

Cheon Young-jae put on a serious face for the first time in a while and asked:

“This’ll be a tough fight, won’t it?”

I nodded.

It definitely won’t be easy.

Maybe even a battle where we die on someone else’s battlefield.

But—

Click.

No matter who the enemy is, the crown must be passed on.