Before the war, when tensions were rising, so-called military experts proposed various theories about how China would wage war.

It’s hard to believe now, in a world already half-ruined, but back then, the prevailing opinion was that even China wouldn’t go so far as to start a nuclear war.

There were many theories about operations China could carry out without using nukes. The most fascinating among them was the idea that the Northern Theater Command’s million-strong elite force would push through North Korea and strike straight down into Seoul.

At the time, the experts probably didn't understand the danger of erosion zones, and so they blabbered on carelessly—but anyway, the bold conclusion of their theory was: They’ll be stopped at Seoul.

Some even argued they wouldn’t make it past the Ilsan Line.

And it made sense. Apartment complexes—Koreans’ beloved form of housing—are, from a military perspective, massive concrete bunkers.

If resistance lines were drawn in every apartment building, and the Chinese forces were bogged down, the consensus among civilian military analysts was that the Chinese army, like Sui's three-million-strong force, would end up in a bloody stalemate near Ilsan and retreat in disarray.

Whether the Chinese military brass watched that broadcast is unknown, but instead of sending a million troops through North Korea, they chose mutual annihilation—nuclear and biochemical weapons.

In any case, this anecdote proves one thing: urban terrain is hell—worse than the jungle—for any invader.

I once experienced this near Songpa District with John Nae-non and Ballantine, and I can say with certainty: breaking through such areas is no easy feat.

You’d need someone like Cheon Young-jae—a sensory-type Awakened—right beside you to even make it doable. And even then, his ability only stretches a few dozen meters ahead.

If someone starts sniping at you from 300 meters away, you're dead. No chance.

It’s worth repeating: most Korean men have done military service and undergone weapons training. The average shooting skill level is absurdly high.

It’s not rare in Korea for an ordinary, tired-looking guy to turn out to be a marksman.

And now I have to enter a place crawling with those marksmen.

"Hey. Come on. How the hell are we supposed to get through this?"

I don’t usually complain about missions, but this time, I had to let it out.

This is 100% Kim Daram’s fault.

"Huh? Really? I could’ve sworn it wasn’t this crowded when I came in."

"I can’t do this alone. You’re going to have to help on your end."

"How? I can’t leave the building either."

I bit back a curse and spoke into the radio.

"Don’t you know someone? Someone friendly? Someone you trade with?"

"Trade?"

"Yeah."

"There’s someone who trades near the U.S. garrison around dawn. I don’t know the details, but they seem like a group that fled while maintaining internal order."

"Why dawn? Wouldn’t evening be easier?"

"Hmm. Because everyone gets sentimental at dawn?"

I let out a small chuckle.

Classic Kim Daram nonsense.

Though I’m sure she wasn’t joking.

That natural obliviousness of hers has always appealed to me.

Setting aside any hard feelings, I returned to the bunker for now.

I departed just before dawn.

It’s a thirty-minute walk from the bunker to the city even at a slow pace, but with people lingering on anything resembling a road, I had to make detours or pass through unmarked paths.

Even that wouldn’t have been doable without the cover of night.

Bang! Bang!

Gunfire echoed in the dark from multiple directions.

It didn’t sound like deadly shootouts—more like warnings, or territorial disputes.

I left John Nae-non back at the bunker.

There was no need to avoid sensory-types this time; in fact, being undetectable was advantageous.

I could’ve made more creative plans by using his intelligence and small size, but I didn’t want to put him in danger.

From what I felt inside the rift, the little guy has aged.

The average lifespan of a rat is three years.

Despite his cuteness, I suspect he’s well past middle age by now.

Even becoming a mutation doesn’t seem to significantly extend lifespan, at least not according to general consensus.

He’s been through so much, and even ventured into the deepest part of the rift.

He might have a year left—at best.

I don’t know how much time I have left either, but I want the animal I grew attached to to live as comfortably as possible.

From a small hill overlooking the city, I turned on the radio.

Dawn was quiet.

Maybe everyone was asleep, or like Kim Daram said, maybe they were all lost in sentimental thoughts.

The air was cold.

Summer had passed quickly, and autumn had come.

In Korea, autumn flies by even faster than summer.

How much colder will this winter be?

As I was idly thinking,

Chi-jijik—

A voice came through the radio.

"A market’s opening near the mart in front of the U.S. garrison. We take most things, but no drugs or humans. Anyone who knows the drill should know not to try anything stupid."

That high-handed tone, that confidence.

Like Kim Daram said, this clearly wasn’t just one guy.

It was likely a group—probably a camp-sized unit or a gang operating under a common banner.

But as with all deals like this, the risk was ever-present.

Then a male voice rang out across the public channel.

"Don’t trust them. Those fuckers are murderers and robbers. They act like they want to trade, then shove guns in your face, kill you, and take your stuff."

Chilling warning.

Even more chilling because it’s the kind of thing that really happens.

But there’s no guarantee that guy’s telling the truth either.

That’s how horror stories work.

Fear doesn’t come from ghosts or nonsense—it comes from things that could realistically happen.

The traders didn’t bother responding to the warning.

Instead, another anonymous signal came through—someone strumming a guitar through the radio.

A romantic melody, fitting for the sentimental mood of dawn.

Now the choice was mine.

The trading spot was right in front of me.

It was lit up, and armed men stood both in the light and in the shadows beyond.

About five of them.

All armed with assault rifles. One of them, hiding in the dark, appeared to be wearing night vision gear.

No one was actively trading, but like me, a few people seemed to be watching from nearby—hesitating.

In that alley, inside a collapsed convenience store, a few glanced at the lights of the market.

“······.”

What should I do?

I had to make a deal.

I needed intel if I wanted any chance of getting through that urban hell.

But if I stepped forward, I might die.

Not even for myself—but for someone else.

Still, a decision had to be made.

Fortunately, I knew a few precedents.

Humans may differ by race, nation, and language, but in extreme situations, we behave remarkably similarly.

Trading is one of those behaviors.

When a powerful group sets up a market, they try to act like a government.

They want order—at least within their own domain.

Even infamously brutal drug cartels behaved like police in their own territories, despite butchering rivals and enemies.

Maintaining order in their zone benefits the group in power.

And in situations like this, being the so-called “first customer” often comes with benefits.

The first trader gets special treatment—so others will follow, and the group profits overall.

“······.”

Would I risk my life for Kim Daram?

No. That’s not it.

Sure, I care, but she’s not someone I’d die for.

And yet—I step forward into the dark.

The armed men spotted me as I moved under the lights.

Those in the light simply turned their heads.

Those in the shadows raised their weapons.

Breathing slowly, I reconsidered my ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) choice.

Surprisingly, the answer was clear.

Because I want more.

Because I want something beyond just my own survival.

Maybe there’s something I want to fix, something I want to face together with others—whether it’s this ongoing hell, the coming brutal winter, or Jeon Si-hoon.

I'll think more on that later.

And yes, I won’t deny that Kang Han-min is on that list.

I may have to kill him someday.

Back then, in the rift, the dreamlike atmosphere clouded my judgment—but now, the thought hardens with each day.

Kang Han-min made the wrong choice.

“······.”

Maybe, just like when I faced my nemesis, what drives me to step calmly toward a muzzle aimed at my head is the wish to borrow everyone’s strength once more.

“Stop.”

A man under the light spoke—his face obscured by the glare behind him.

I did as he said, and realized this was a planned spot.

Despite already having a numbers advantage, they positioned me where the light would blind me.

Silence.

Now my life was on the chopping block.

Depending on someone else's whim, I could be butchered like meat.

Still, if shit hits the fan, I’ll resist until the end.

Every sense sharpened to the extreme, I waited for what would happen next.

After a moment—

“What are you here to buy?”

One of them spoke.

I answered without dropping my guard.

“I want a guide. Someone to lead me through.”

Then I looked around and added,

“Mind showing me your wares?”

The man under the glare stepped forward.

His face finally came into view.

Just a normal Korean man—average, unremarkable.

“Go ahead. Show me.”

*

The inside of a city where discipline has collapsed isn’t unfamiliar to me—but that doesn’t mean I’m well-versed in this kind of battlefield.

Urban reconnaissance, control, and clearing—that was all left to the Chinese military.

Looking back now, those were luxuries.

While we were off engaging in our noble battles against humanity’s enemy, the monsters—fighting under the romantic banner of survival—they were in the shadows, doing the dirty work to make those noble fights possible.

And I doubt their casualty rates were lower than ours.

A cornered rat is dangerous.

Even if they were civilians, they were civilians filled with poison, with grief, with hate. I’m sure their retaliation was savage.

You could tell just from the number of body bags lined up in rows, waiting to be transported to safe zones.

So no—we can’t say we truly understand what urban warfare means. Not the kind that’s every-man-for-himself.

Only those who’ve experienced it and survived can claim that.

“That alley’s a no-go. There’s a nasty sniper there. Shoots anyone who enters her line of sight. Thinks it’s the safest way, I guess. But once she runs out of bullets, she’s screwed. People here won’t just let her live after that. No matter how fucked up this place is, it’s still a place where people live.” 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

The guy they assigned to me was a man named Mr. Kim—the first one who showed me his face.

Like most people who’ve lived through the fall, he showed no curiosity about me. Didn’t ask anything. Didn’t care.

He was just doing his job.

“This alley’s safe. Relatively.”

“This is safe?”

I glanced around at the apartment complex, where death glinted behind every window.

It felt like dozens of people could aim their guns and shoot at any moment.

“Aren’t those all people?”

Mr. Kim shook his head.

“As long as you don’t cross the line, they won’t shoot.”

“Hm.”

Yeah. That makes a sort of sense.

Mr. Kim added to what I was thinking.

“Think about it. Even if you have a ton of ammo, a family might have thirty rounds, tops. Unless they’re morons like that sniper, most folks try to avoid fights. Even if you win, all you’ve done is turn yourself into prey for the next guy who has bullets. And anyway, once it gets colder, people will start being friendly again.”

Mr. Kim let out a dry laugh.

“Winter makes everyone friendly. If not, we all freeze to death.”

That was something I didn’t know.

But judging by his expression and tone, he probably lived through it.

Mr. Kim knew exactly which households would shoot first and which would only retaliate if provoked. He guided me through accordingly.

Thanks to that, we zigzagged past our destination, sometimes jumping down from walls over two meters high, sometimes crossing muddy fields—but in the end, we arrived safely at the apartment where Kim Daram was hiding.

[Poongik Ultra-Megatherium River Park]

Is there anywhere else besides Korea where apartment names are this utterly devoid of meaning?

Like all other apartments, a few people still lived in this one too.

I called her out.

“Kim Daram!”

Someone peeked out from one of the windows.

Instead of showing her face first, she stuck out a dummy and a reflector board—proof that her old instincts from the China days were still sharp.

“Sunbae.”

Kim Daram and her family revealed themselves.

Mr. Kim said,

“Tell her to pack light. If she looks like she’s carrying too much, even the people who let you through might change their minds.”

Then he added,

“There’s a kid, huh. That’s actually not bad. People usually don’t shoot if there’s a kid. Killing a kid just feels shitty.”

The escape went the same way as entry.

Mr. Kim led us through his maze-like, roundabout path—one that made the city look like hell—and we got out.

Gunshots rang out once or twice, but they weren’t aimed at us.

We made it back to the trading post.

On one side, Kim Daram and her family were catching their breath. On the other, Mr. Kim’s colleagues were keeping an eye on us.

Mr. Kim lit a cigarette.

One of the prewar brands I’d paid him with.

Looking out at the city glowing in the morning sun, he spoke.

“People live here. And wherever people gather, some kind of rules will always form.”

I nodded.

He was absolutely right.

Even in this land of mistrust, rules exist.

Of course, that doesn’t mean those rules will necessarily work in our favor.

Mr. Kim glanced toward Kim Daram.

“That woman. She’s Representative Kim Daram, right?”

He wore a sly smile and held out his hand.

“Since she’s a representative, you should be paying a bit more, don’t you think?”

I let out a bitter smile and asked him,

“Is that part of the rules too?”

Mr. Kim winked.

In the distance, Kim Daram was waving at me with her family.