Chapter 79
Tears welled up in Sergeant Ong’s eyes.
In one hand, Hajin wielded a kukri machete; in the other, a blade attached to his prosthetic arm slashed through the air, cutting down zombies in a storm of steel. The rotting undead crumbled like brittle styrofoam.
For the first time in a long while, Sergeant Ong felt a sense of security—like a giant was protecting him. It was a feeling he had always taken for granted, only realizing its value when it was gone.
Hajin fought like a one-man action movie, massacring the horde. His kukri spun in his grip, severing a zombie’s head in a single strike.
Even the undead that managed to close in had no hope—his prosthetic blade was just as lethal.
Had he been surrounded for even a moment, it would have been the end. But he cut through the horde so quickly that the zombies behind couldn’t keep up.
Reaching the greenhouse, Hajin let out a loud battle cry.
It was partly to rally his dwindling strength and partly to draw the zombies’ attention, giving Sergeant Ong time to climb.
Grunting, Ong scrambled up the unsteady greenhouse frame. The thin metal supports creaked under his weight, threatening to collapse at any moment.
Meanwhile, Hajin stood at the entrance, fending off the horde like a warrior guarding a mountain pass. Then, he suddenly lost his footing and fell.
“Hajin! Are you—”
“Just get the damn shot ready!”
Hajin rolled, sprang back to his feet, and resumed fighting. His entire body was drenched in zombie blood.
Sergeant Ong’s hands shook. He had done this countless times before, yet now, even setting up a simple tripod felt impossible. The more he rushed, the more his hands fumbled.
“Stay calm!”
Hajin’s blade flashed like lightning. Sweat poured from his body like rain. It had only been a few minutes, yet his arms trembled from the sheer number of zombies he had slain.
The tension in his muscles burned.
“D-Done!”
With the setup complete, Sergeant Ong slapped his trembling hands against his thighs. Don’t shake. Focus.
Finally, the man atop the truck, unloading an M60 machine gun, came into view.
The scope’s reticle hovered over his head.
Please, please.
Sergeant Ong repeated the words in his mind like a prayer.
The weight of the moment bore down on him. If he missed, it was over. Doubt crept in—What if I fail? What if I—
“Shoot!”
Hajin’s shout snapped him back.
Without thinking, Sergeant Ong pulled the trigger.
The rifle fired. The silenced shot was drowned out by the wails of zombies.
The bullet tore through the air.
Straight through the man’s nose.
The machine gunner flinched, as if confused by what had happened. His finger remained on the trigger, still firing even as his body collapsed backward.
Sergeant Ong gasped for air.
His entire body went limp, his strength drained in an instant. But there was no time to rest. He grabbed his radio.
“Target down!”
At his words, relief washed over Yohan’s team. Their exhausted faces brightened.
At last, the moment they had fought so hard to reach.
They wasted no time. Gunfire erupted.
The zombie horde, once pressing against them, was forced back.
Yohan’s team unleashed their bullets without restraint. The mercenaries outside, hearing the radio, surged forward and began slaughtering the remaining undead.
The number of zombies was overwhelming.
But sheer firepower rendered their numbers meaningless.
Sniper teams joined in, thinning the horde.
Fighting their way to the garage, Yohan’s team secured the machine gun and the enemy’s radio.
As expected, the radio had been in the search team leader’s possession. Yohan slung his combat pack forward and secured the heavy radio to his back. It weighed him down, but it was necessary.
“Let’s get out of here.”
The sound of the undead gradually faded.
—
At the family foundation camp, the old mercenary let out a weary sigh upon hearing the battle report.
They had won.
But it was far from the clean victory he had hoped for.
“Nine enemies. And we lost ten men? Ten. Ten.”
It was hard to believe.
He had never lost so many men at once before. The sheer absurdity of it left him speechless.
Even after all these years of becoming numb to death, this was different.
Among the dead was his own nephew.
The old mercenary slumped into a chair.
As he watched Yohan’s team return, forcing their way through the lingering zombies, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
They were drenched in blood.
Every inch of them was painted red.
It was easier to count the spots that weren’t covered in gore.
“My condolences.”
Chul-gu had explained the situation. The old mercenary understood that this wasn’t anyone’s fault.
He wasn’t the kind of man who needed someone to blame.
He had chosen this deal himself.
Luck simply hadn’t been on their side.
Still, it was hard to swallow.
Looking at the shrunken, battered group, the old mercenary shook his head.
It was time to honor his end of the bargain.
“The deal is done. Keep your promise, kid.”
“I’ll have the food delivered immediately. We’ll also provide every piece of zombie-related information we have in written reports. There are motorcycles in the garage as well. It’s too risky to retrieve them now, but you can claim them later.”
“Hah… Damn it.”
The old mercenary still hadn’t fully processed the loss.
Yohan, too, hadn’t expected this outcome.
This was only the beginning—a mere skirmish.
These men were supposed to be the shield against the Seoul Survival Union’s full assault.
Losing ten men here was unacceptable.
In reality, ten men had died to a single enemy.
It was a devastating blow.
They had done everything right. Yet bad luck had intervened.
The timing had been terrible. Just before dawn—when vigilance was at its lowest.
The enemy’s officer had been stationed separately.
They had been armed with armor-piercing rounds—something even Kim Seol-hwa hadn’t known about.
A perfect storm of bad variables had led to this disaster.
Yohan clenched his jaw.
He stood, exhaling slowly.
“Good work, everyone. Get some rest—especially you, Sergeant Ong. You saved our lives.”
“N-No, sir.”
Sergeant Ong glanced toward Hajin, who merely grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. Ong scratched his head awkwardly.
“Dismissed. Sweeper, stay with me for a moment.”
Yohan grabbed the 999K radio and stepped out of the meeting room. Sweeper followed close behind.
“Going to see Kim Seol-hwa?”
“Yeah.”
“Why not take a break? You’re not made of steel, you know.”
“The losses hit harder than I expected. I need to be faster, more thorough, and more precise with the next battle. We don’t know how long Kim Seol-hwa will hold out, either.”
“I gave her water and food at dawn. She’s half out of it, but she’s still alive.”
Yohan frowned.
“You gave me shit about my humanity, but isn’t that false hope even worse? She’s never getting out of there alive—so why keep feeding her lies? What if she starts thinking she has a chance?”
“Hey, come on, boss. My plan got her talking, didn’t it? By the way, just out of curiosity… you’re not actually thinking of letting her live, are you?”
His words weren’t baseless. The twisted game of hope and despair had been Sweeper’s idea.
One hand suffocates with fear, while the other breathes in hope.
By mixing terror with the illusion of survival, they had broken her resistance.
Even so, neither of them had taken her words at face value. They knew how to separate truth from deception.
“Not a chance. She’ll never leave that place alive. Why? You getting second thoughts?”
“Not me.”
Sweeper smirked.
“I follow the boss’s orders.”
People needed to choose their allegiances wisely.
“If you ever change your mind, let me know. I’d seriously consider it if it’s coming from you.”
“Wow. I’m honored.”
Sweeper feigned an emotional reaction, but in truth, it did mean something.
Thinking back to their first meeting—Yohan had aimed a gun at him without hesitation, suspecting he was an enemy for no reason other than caution.
They had survived countless battles together, but it was only recently that Sweeper truly felt trusted.
‘Not a bad feeling.’
Sweeper chuckled to himself. He had never trusted people much, either.
Choosing to follow Yohan had been more instinct than reason.
Even now, the exact motive remained hazy.
If he had to put it into words, it was like the bond between countrymen meeting in a foreign land.
Regardless of the reason, one thing was clear: he had never once regretted following Yohan. His leader was that kind of person.
“In that case, do me a favor—seriously consider getting some rest, boss. You look exhausted. Hell, I am too.”
Yohan, who had been watching him closely, slowly nodded.
Maybe he was pushing himself too hard.
Sweeper was right—rushing headlong without rest was reckless.
“Alright. We’ll rest first.”
“…Wait, what? Oh—okay.”
Something about the way Yohan phrased it felt off, but Sweeper let it slide.
—
At Sweeper’s insistence, the two of them took some time to rest.
Yohan couldn’t sleep soundly—his mind constantly lingered on the voices at the other end of the radio.
But he recovered enough strength.
It wasn’t as if he was short on sleep—just that his body never fully let its guard down.
During that time, Jung-hwan radioed in for a mid-mission report. Yohan debriefed him and instructed him to bring supplies and regroup at their base with the remaining search team members.
For the time being, Seo-jun and the supply camp would handle distributions at the main camp.
With a major battle looming, Yohan had no energy to spare for camp logistics.
Once he felt sufficiently rested, Yohan nudged Sweeper awake with his foot.
Before heading to Kim Seol-hwa, they reviewed the battle, piecing together their strategy for the next move.
Had Kim Seol-hwa lied?
No.
At least, not about the verifiable details.
Thanks to her intel, they had taken down ten out of sixty-eight members of the Seoul Survival Union, including two officers.
A direct confrontation was still too dangerous.
They needed to capitalize on their advantages, striking with minimal losses.
A drawn-out guerilla war was an option—picking them off limb by limb.
But in the end, one question remained:
Could they kill Gae Baek-jeong?
If he survived, he would keep growing his forces.
He would find survivors, conscript them, and use them as resources. If he couldn’t, he’d resort to more brutal tactics—raising the dead against them, using zombie waves as a weapon.
It was inevitable.
Their only real decision was how to lure him in.
Should they use Kim Seol-hwa as bait to draw him out?
Or should they stay in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to spring a trap?
