Awakened and monsters.

No—let’s just group them together and call them monsters.

When facing them on an individual level, the tactic with the highest win rate is melee combat.

Their strongest weapon is the Reflective Field, while my greatest strength lies in decisive close-quarters combat with cold weapons. So this tactic ignores their strength and focuses solely on mine—making it rational, if not necessarily the safest.

My favorite tactic, though, is one that overwhelms or manipulates enemies from a safe position without accepting any risk at all.

I love artillery and air support.

Even China’s sudden military escalations were, personally, a net positive for me.

Not that I found any joy in watching younger or same-age Chinese soldiers die in heaps in my place, of course.

In any case, melee combat has a prerequisite:

You have to close the distance.

Some people run 100 meters in 9 seconds. Others take 15.

Though individual sprint speeds vary, from an absolute standpoint, humans aren’t fast animals.

The maximum speed ever reached by a human is in the 44 km/h range.

On a battlefield where a split second means life or death, a single second can feel eternal.

I bring up speed because, unlike monsters, humans can choose to flee.

Even a slow-footed human, the moment they sense danger and decide to escape, adds to the distance I have to cross—and that inevitably leads to delay, and delay breeds risk.

To prevent this, it’s best to close that distance before they decide to run.

Before the enemy chooses to flee, I must get as close as possible.

All my footwork so far has been about getting closer to the spear-wielding fanatic’s companions.

I’ve already chosen the first one I’ll kill.

The one with the handgun.

Awakened abilities are devastating, yes, but like the ignition he showed earlier—they can be dodged if seen in time.

Guns don’t work that way.

You can’t dodge a bullet.

If the opponent is aiming properly and pulls the trigger, I die the moment the gun goes off.

Clang!

I’ve assessed all their positions.

Now all that’s left is to act.

To sell the lie.

Whoosh—!

Clang!

Melee combat usually involves a rhythm of advance and retreat.

Especially for a spear, which is primarily a thrusting weapon.

So backstepping has a natural logic in spear combat.

Whoosh!

Each time he thrusts—

Clang!

I retreat and knock aside the shaft.

Occasionally, I mix in a forward counterattack to avoid revealing my true intentions.

Vwoom—

Of course, my axes don’t reach.

And the fanatic dodges at the very edge of range, flashing a grin.

“Too obvious, isn’t it?”

Let’s make one thing clear.

I am more skilled than this guy.

But that doesn’t mean I can kill him easily.

The sheer advantage of reach—and the fact that he’s a trained combatant with real-world experience—makes killing him with just axes no easy feat.

I’d either have to take a risk, or wait for a mistake.

There’s no guarantee.

And since I too could make a mistake, it’s not exactly a wise gamble.

Sometimes I wish Jang Ki-young had recommended a longer, more efficient weapon instead of axes—but I can’t deny that they’ve become second nature in my hands.

Clang!

The distance closes.

About 25 meters left.

The minimum range of Reflective Fields varies between monsters and humans.

No precise standard is known, but perhaps it depends on body size, weight, or the individual's perception of a "safe distance."

In general, humans deploy their fields at ranges under 8 meters.

Even that varies.

One Awakened in Finland had a 12-meter field; another in Mexico only had 4.82 meters.

What’s important is that no one has ever activated it under 4 meters.

Whoosh—

Another thrust comes in.

I’m used to them by now, but familiarity doesn’t make them less deadly.

Instead of blocking this time, I leap backward to evade.

The fanatic also leaps forward, following with a double thrust.

I twist to the side—the spear shaft grazes my rib.

Riiip—

My clothes tear, but my eyes remain locked on the enemy.

His footwork is strange.

The moment his spear recoils, he charges again.

“!”

Every cell in my body lights up as I swing both axes.

Clang!

“...”

A searing pain erupts in my gut.

The tip of his spear pierced me.

To be exact, I crossed my axes and blocked a thrust meant to skewer me clean through—but that alone couldn’t stop the momentum, so part of the strike dug into my abdomen.

It hurts—a lot—but it didn’t reach the organs.

Just subcutaneous fat, maybe some muscle.

Words like bleeding and infection flash through my head, but I push them aside.

The bastard grins.

As expected, he presses forward with the spear still embedded.

The tip digs deeper into the wound, amplifying the pain—but I ignore it, pushing the shaft aside with both axes, sidestepping, and launching a counter.

But because of the reach difference, my axes don’t hit.

The fanatic dodges effortlessly, looking at me with surprise.

“Damn, you really survived that? Honestly, I thought you’d drop right there.”

Figures. He has two finishing moves.

Probably polished them through blood and repetition.

Unlike him, I have no “finisher.”

My enemies have always been monsters—not humans. Humans were just secondary obstacles.

Against monsters, the only thing that matters is speed, precision, and swift evasion.

If I had to add anything: stamina for sustained powerful strikes, and a trained eye for dismembering targets with no obvious weak points.

In that sense, so-called “finishers” are little more than tricks—unnecessary to refine or obsess over.

That belief hasn’t changed.

Step—

The fanatic raises his spear and adopts a charging stance.

I step backward.

A smile creeps onto his lips.

He focuses—listening.

“You scared now?”

His words are meaningless.

I’m not listening for him—I’m listening for the other fanatic.

The one with the gun.

That’s the one I need.

The fanatic charges.

I backpedal again, gauging timing.

Whoosh—

A spear thrust targets my throat.

No—it’s his finisher again.

I tense my arms and—

“...Hoo.”

—put everything into the block.

Kang!

The shaft crashes downward, almost stabbing into the dirt.

The blow was strong enough to nearly rip the weapon from his hands.

Not just strength—perfect timing.

The fanatic stumbles back, trying to recover his stance while forcing a smile.

But I wasn’t after him.

I turn.

And lock eyes with the spectator.

That guy.

Still grinning dumbly, not realizing what’s happening.

Tap! Tap! Tap! Tap!

I sprint at full speed.

I watch in real time as fear spreads across his face—and raise my axe.

One of the other fanatics turns too late and tries to flee, but I don’t care about them.

I want the one with the gun.

A glint flashes in his gleaming eyes.

A wave is coming.

As expected—

Boom!

At close range, he activates a wave ability to stop me.

But it no longer works on me.

I pierce through the warped space it creates—and reach him.

“...Hhk!!”

Slash—

I cut his throat.

Could’ve buried it in his skull, but it’s harder to retrieve if it goes in too deep.

“Guhk!”

He collapses, blood spraying from his carotid.

I kick him down, grab his pistol from his belt, and aim at the spear-wielding fanatic charging in.

His face contorts, scrambling to backpedal.

Next is the girl.

She tries to run, but women are slower.

I catch up in one stride.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

End her.

“Shoot the gun! Blow it!”

Someone yells.

A wave is coming.

Boom!

I toss the pistol—still bloodied from its former owner—at the fanatic’s face.

And then—

BOOM!

The pistol explodes point-blank in his face.

Splurt—

Flesh sprays onto me, but I don’t care.

Two fanatics remain, glaring with seething rage.

Especially the spear-wielder—he’s grinding his teeth.

He charges.

I sprint to the side, not colliding.

He chases, but like I said—human speed doesn’t vary much.

Especially among trained adult men without African sprinter genetics.

My best time back in the day was 11.5 «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» seconds for 100 meters.

Not world-class, but never below the top tier.

A nighttime game of tag has begun.

Not a favorable one for me.

A wave is coming.

Ssshh—

White lines trace in front of my eyes.

I instantly calculate the trajectory and veer away.

Fwoosh!

Now I have to face two fanatics.

The more dangerous one is the one burning space with white fire.

Of course, I’ve thought of ways to counter his ability.

I glance sideways.

There’s a capsule field.

I turn toward it.

Whoosh—

A spear thrusts near me, but it’s out of range.

Thanks to that, I gain more distance.

I run into the capsule field.

No more power attacks come from the fanatics.

They’re scared.

They talk about being “friends of monsters,” but they know all too well this love is unrequited.

The spear-wielder enters too—but his movements slow.

That’s the difference in training.

Under Jang Ki-young, we trained for every ridiculous terrain imaginable—including obstacle-heavy zones like this one.

I gain meaningful distance and change direction.

Toward IAmJesus.

More precisely—toward the fallen gun behind him.

I judge the distance by his ragged breathing.

About 15 meters.

The weapon is in sight.

“Skelton.”

I hear IAmJesus’s voice.

I reply.

“King.”

The gun is right in front of me.

And my enemy is right behind me, ready to stab.

Rolling into a dive is one of my most hated drills—but I’m no one else.

I’m Jang Ki-young’s prized student.

I hurl myself toward the gun, catch it mid-roll, and reverse my body direction in one fluid spin.

The fanatic is right in front of me, spear raised.

Still grinning.

They say you can’t spit on a smiling face.

But what about a bullet?

Bang!

The grinning bastard crumples, a fountain of blood erupting from his mouth.

The most annoying one is dead.

One left.

“...He’s dying.”

I finish what I was saying.

“King...?”

“King is watching only you.”

A wave is coming.

“Down!”

I drop.

Boom!

The handgun explodes.

That was the last fanatic’s doing.

I sprint at full speed.

No one blocks me. No guards remain.

The distance between us collapses.

But he’s not ordinary.

He’s a successor of the infamous Myeolcheonbogung—a name feared across China.

Sssshhh—

White trails engulf the air.

And then—

Boom!

The 30-meter radius around him ignites in hellfire.

He’s lost all his comrades, but his expression doesn’t waver.

On the contrary—he stares straight at me, face blank and monstrous.

That calm. That subtle pressure.

He might outrank the spear-wielder from earlier.

Judging by the more elaborate ornaments on his clothes.

I throw away the gun and sprint again.

His eyes dart fiercely, trying to predict my path.

He’s likely calculating where I’ll be, where I might dodge, and trying to burn it all together.

So then—how about this?

Fwip—

I throw an axe.

His eyes flash.

Boom!

Reflective Field.

The axe is repelled, boomeranging straight back toward my head.

He smiles.

He must think he’s won.

Most who hit that field die instantly.

But for me, this is my own “finisher.”

Thwack!

I catch the returning axe in my bare hand.

“?!”

He’s shocked, understandably.

But I’ve spent over a decade with these axes.

Before I met my forum friend, they were my only companions.

I even used to juggle them for fun.

I dual-wield the axes and keep charging.

His pale face rushes toward me.

Boom!

Like his friend, he tries to repel me with a shockwave.

But my axe slices clean through the air, drawing a perfect arc—

—and buries itself in his head.

Before it hits, he mutters:

“Agwi...”

Crack!

He spasms, falls backward.

I stomp on his neck and retrieve the axe, wiping blood and brain matter on his clothes before scanning the surroundings.

Four corpses.

I survived again.

I look at IAmJesus.

“King is dying.”

His face hardens with dread.

“King?! Are you serious?! King is dying?!”

I nod.

I move to approach IAmJesus.

Boom! Boom!

A familiar sound.

Artillery.

Bzzzt—

The transmitter chirps.

“Skelton! Do you read me? Skelton!”

It’s Da-jeong’s voice.

“What is it?”

“Sejong sent in the army!”

So that’s how it is.

I don’t enjoy imagining worst-case scenarios.

But the situation is heading straight for one.

That’s right.

All of Sejong... is the enemy.

TL Note:

Agwi – A “hungry ghost” or “starving demon” from Buddhist cosmology. Agwi are cursed spirits doomed to eternal hunger and thirst due to their past greed. Used here as a slur to describe someone monstrously insatiable.

Zunja – An honorific meaning “Venerable One” or “Exalted Master.” Within the cult, it refers to high-ranking figures or spiritual leaders, possibly including their prophet.

Messenger – Literally “Envoy” or “Messenger.” A rank within the cult indicating an agent who acts on behalf of higher command or doctrine.

Naegong – “Inner Power.” A traditional martial arts term denoting internal energy cultivated through training. Cultists treat Awakened powers as Naegong-based miracles.

Bimu – A formal duel or skill-match, typically ritualistic. Used within the cult to justify lethal combat as proof of righteousness or divine favor.

Tangping – “Lying flat.” A Chinese socio-political concept representing passive resistance to societal pressure. The cult’s founder, Ma Won-gap, radicalized this into a doctrine of total detachment and nihilism.

Manryu Gwijeonggyo – “The Religion of All Rivers Returning to the Source.” A Chinese-origin doomsday cult. Thought to be extinct after government purges, it has resurfaced under the ideology of absolute dissolution and fanatical order. Associated with political assassinations, prophecy, and “burning sigils.”