Back during the China era, the Chinese never shared information with us, but they sometimes allowed us to access materials they deemed unimportant.

Of course, all those documents were in Chinese, so someone illiterate like me couldn’t read them, but thanks to technological advancement in machine translation, I was able to view a portion of the materials they made public.

To be precise, the documents were translated from Chinese to English, and then from English to Korean.

That’s because, at the time, the accuracy of Chinese–Korean translation was extremely low.

Among the documents I obtained through such painstaking intermediary translation was one about the origins and culture of the fanatics.

The Chinese author—whose name I can’t remember but likely had a professor title—described the culture of the fanatics as an invasive reflux of subcultural groups.

In other words, the culture of society’s bottom layer had spread upward to other classes through a semi-compulsory process.

The founder of the Manryu Gwijeonggyo, which lies at the core of the fanatic sects, Ma Won-gap, was himself from the bottom of Chinese society.

Deemed a person of interest, the Chinese government analyzed Ma Won-gap down to the molecular level. According to their records, he was the son of a migrant laborer, living in the city of Changchun. He briefly stayed in Shanghai but returned to Changchun in less than a year, and for nearly ten years, he lived unemployed and idle.

A textbook dirt spoon. He received not a penny from his family, and since Chinese social welfare isn’t as kind to the poor as Korea’s, he lived in an environment where it’d be no surprise if he starved to death. And yet, Ma Won-gap had an income.

Surprisingly, he was somewhat of a known figure on the internet.

It’s said that through streaming, he earned enough to order mala xiang guo once a month.

He wasn’t good-looking, nor was he a good speaker, but he had a surprisingly loyal fanbase.

Ma Won-gap was a representative of the Tangping youth in China—a term meaning "lying flat," a kind of social resistance.

In fact, his stream content revolved around living for an entire month doing absolutely nothing, on less than a dollar a day.

Just as everyone has their moment, Ma Won-gap had his.

That moment came when he claimed to have coined the now-iconic quote among the Tangping crowd: “You can’t cut lying chives.”

Though another Tangping sage immediately refuted the claim, the argument devolved into a mudslinging match as such things do, and through the drama, Ma Won-gap attracted more viewers than usual—enough to order mala xiang guo twice in a month.

A man with no real job or income doesn’t live long.

Ravaged by illness and poverty, Ma Won-gap sentenced himself to euthanasia. When the city was placed under lockdown, he disobeyed and remained inside his cramped room to lie flat.

One day, he opened his eyes and saw a horde of monsters passing by through the window.

Some form of revelation flashed through the mind of the young man who had given up on everything—and that day, he streamed a live broadcast that made him a legend. Every record of that stream was later wiped from the entire Chinese server.

That was the beginning of Manryu Gwijeonggyo.

The religion system Ma Won-gap built borrowed heavily from Chinese subculture, especially the xianxia and wuxia genres, as well as games popular among Chinese youth.

Titles like Guardian Monk or Messenger used by the cult were lifted straight from fictional sects in martial arts novels. Some cult branches even referred to the Awakened’s powers using internal energy—a classic wuxia term.

Had the world remained normal, that organization would’ve been no more than a joke.

But once the Rifts opened, the world warped.

The powerful and privileged were brought low overnight, and the jobless youth who’d once been ridiculed for lying flat rose to the top, above hundreds of millions.

The delusional construct Ma Won-gap created consumed mainland China.

“Chuchialla.”

“Nagai-renyoyouchi.”

“Futo!”

The fanatics clad in flashy clothing before my eyes are, without question, Ma Won-gap’s spiritual offspring.

From their flamboyant outfits, the arrogant expressions that say I’m special, to the brightly gleaming eyes—one can tell at a glance.

They’re all Awakened.

The fact that not even one of them is holding a simple rifle speaks volumes about their confidence.

Only one of them is wearing a handgun.

Even that is garishly decorated—something you’d see in a game.

“...”

Fanatics.

And among them, the arrogance of those who possess power pierces the sky.

They call those without power cans.

Just like Kang Han-min’s followers do when they belittle us.

One of them points at me and sneers.

“Kanchilaisiangshigan.”

I’ll exploit that arrogance.

It won’t be easy.

But if they give me distance, it’s worth a shot.

“Uotongi.”

It’s not a crucial point, but the Chinese they’re speaking sounds off.

I don’t speak the language, but it gives the impression of Korean-ized Chinese.

It reminds me of the awkward intonation used by the Korean military interpreters.

However—this girl.

The teenage girl who stays silent and stares at me seems distinctly like a mainland Chinese.

She hasn’t said a word, but I can tell.

I’ve seen enough corpses in my time to recognize the expressions they wear.

That girl whispered something into the ear of another man.

Even as she spoke, her gleaming eyes remained fixed on me.

“Hey.”

A man with bleached white hair, with only the center dyed red like a rooster’s comb, called out to me.

He was armed with a spear, adorned with red tassels the same color as his hair.

“What’s with that axe?”

I glared at him with a hardened expression.

My eyes tracked not just the rooster comb, but the entire space within my line of sight.

There should be four of them in total.

Matches exactly with the number captured in Hong Da-jeong’s drone reconnaissance.

Still, they might be trying to deceive me.

“Hey? You deaf? Aren’t you Korean?”

I nodded and pulled out the axe.

“This?”

Rooster Comb muttered something to the woman.

The woman whispered something back in Chinese.

Then the man asked me again.

“You from the School?”

I nodded.

The woman whispered to him again.

The man gestured at me.

“I heard people from the School are decent with a blade.”

He spun his spear with flair and struck a pose.

“Let’s have a man-to-man duel with blades.”

I stared silently.

“If you win, I’ll overlook everything up until now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t understand plain language? I’ll let you go alive. Simple as that.”

The one with purple hair next to him snorted.

“Zombies might not feel the same, though.”

Rooster Comb suddenly looked like something came to mind and asked me:

“By the way, how’d you make it here?”

“Got lucky.”

“Well, if you say so. Maybe you were lucky getting this far. But this is the end of the line. You have no choice now. Hyun-woo!”

Among them, the man named Hyun-woo—arguably the most good-looking—smirked and narrowed his eyes.

A wave is coming.

Boom!

I sensed it before it happened.

Hyun-woo raised his hand.

And in the next instant, threads of white light stretched out in the air, and about three seconds later, those threads began to burn in the order they appeared, flaring up like white fire.

Ignition.

A textbook example ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) of monster powers.

But because it’s used by a human, the control is more precise, more lethal.

“I’ll give you ten seconds,” Rooster Comb said, twirling his spear.

“Draw your axe. Drop the gun. Not that it’d work on us anyway.”

He smiled.

Once again, I sensed a wave.

Boom!

Something transparent shimmered briefly in front of him.

A reflective field.

I hesitated.

No—feigned hesitation. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

I nodded.

“You’re all standard Awakened?”

Rooster Comb nodded.

“Don’t call us by that vulgar term. We are Zunja.”

“Zunja?”

“What, the School only taught you how to kill civilians? You look older than us too.”

I ignored his blabbering and put down my gun.

They didn’t ask me to, but I removed the magazine in full view.

No one objected to my action.

If they were normal people or trained soldiers, they would’ve asked me to clear the chamber and lock the bolt.

They didn’t ask for that.

There’s still one bullet chambered.

Before coming out, I loaded a round into the chamber and loosely fit the magazine.

It’s not my main strategy, but a kind of insurance.

In a battlefield where I have no allies, the more insurance, the better.

I removed the magazine from my sidearm the same way and laid it on the ground.

“No need to be so formal,” said one of them. “Bullets don’t work on us, remember?”

Then I pulled out the twin axes.

The man called Hyun-woo asked:

“School Hunter. What’s your call sign?”

“...M9.”

“M9?”

The fanatics giggled.

“With those dual axes, I thought you might be the Professor or something. But never heard of you. Do you even know how strong Myung-goo is?”

Looks like the rooster comb is named Myung-goo.

Myung-goo approached me.

“He’s a master of E-Gachang. Never lost a duel,” Hyun-woo said.

I’ve heard of it.

When fanatic sects have disputes, they send champions to resolve things through duels.

They call it Bimu.

Probably another of Ma Won-gap’s legacies.

I fixate on my opponent.

His steps are light, and his sharp eyes glint with killing intent.

He’s got skills.

No doubt he’s killed many with that spear.

“...”

I take a step toward him.

He thrusts the spear.

The red tassel flutters, meant to distract my gaze.

I ignore it and keep walking.

Whoosh—!

The spear lunges viciously.

The throat?

No—the groin.

Clang!

I knock the spear away with my axe.

The spear flexes vertically, exhibiting variable movement.

After exchanging a blow, we create distance.

The man looks surprised.

He didn’t expect me to block that attack.

I advance again.

But he shows his palm and backs off.

I get it now.

There’s a presence behind me.

It’s IAmJesus.

My board friend came out to observe.

“Zombie King!”

The fanatics call out to him cheerfully.

“Feeling better?”

“Need anything? Just say the word.”

Looks like there’s a story between the fanatics and IAmJesus I don’t know about.

At the very least, they’re familiar.

Unexpected—but irrelevant.

What matters is the fanatic standing before me.

I move forward again.

The fanatic thrusts his spear.

Now it begins.

Clang!

I deflect it.

He pulls back, then lunges again.

He’s got the upper hand.

In melee, reach is everything.

Longer weapons dominate.

If the skill gap is huge, shorter weapons can win, but with similar skill levels, reach wins.

Clang!

Just like now.

This fanatic—

Is strong.

Very strong.

Tough, agile, experienced. He probably has a signature technique—what people call a finishing move.

If I’d been the slightest bit careless, that first strike would’ve skewered me and finished me off.

Whoosh!

Clang!

I’m barely keeping up—blocking and dodging.

“Skelton.”

I hear IAmJesus’ voice.

A worried tone.

I can’t see his face.

Because the spear-wielding enemy is blocking the view.

That’s fine.

IAmJesus won’t interfere in this fight.

That belief gives me an advantage.

False hope only leads to defeat.

Swish!

The fanatic gains momentum.

A vicious flurry comes at me.

“...”

My left thigh—my pants were torn by the spear tip.

Thanks to the thick anti-zombie pad I had on, there’s no wound—but it was a nasty strike.

“Not bad,” the fanatic says, catching his breath.

While creating distance, he glances past me—to the comrades behind me.

“Did the Zombie King just call this guy Skelton?”

“Skelton?”

The other fanatics sound surprised.

“No way, the Skelton who killed the Messenger?”

“Skelton uses dual axes too.”

“Then this guy’s the real Skelton?”

The one with the spear smirks and asks me:

“Hey. You really Skelton?”

I glare and reply.

“Professor.”

A faint trace of shock flickers in his gleaming eyes.

“That’s my call sign.”

“You son of a...”

The man reacts in outrage.

Of course he does.

Once upon a time, the call sign “Professor” was even more hated than Skelton among the fanatics.

The fanatic spins his spear and shouts to the comrade behind me:

“Can I kill this bastard?”

The ones in the back yell:

“Kill him!”

“Stuff him and mount him!”

“Hell yeah. Unexpected loot just fell into our lap.”

They’re on a high.

But they don’t know two things.

First: I’m better than this spear-wielding fanatic.

He has sharp moves, sure—but that’s all.

He’s below the countless nameless swordsmen I’ve sparred with, and definitely below Kim Pil-seong, my most recent opponent.

Second: The current position—me with my back to a fanatic—wasn’t by accident. It was part of my design.

“...Skelton.”

The spear-wielder moved, finally revealing IAmJesus’ face.

So that’s what you look like.

He’s grown up quite a bit.

I smiled.

“Don’t worry.”

“Skelton?”

Still smiling, I charged at the fanatic.

He swiftly dodged and countered with a sharp thrust.

Clang!

I’m going to kill all the fanatics.

That’s been the plan from the beginning.

And that plan is already halfway complete.

Of course, finishing is always the hardest part.

Most people mess up in the final stretch.

But the Professor?

Always finishes what he starts.