Chapter 86
Blood dripped from the Japanese sword in Jung Kwang’s hand. A sneer curled at the corner of Sweeper’s lips.
A Japanese sword? How arrogant.
Sweeper disagreed with Yohan’s assessment to be cautious. The very fact that he wielded such a weapon meant he had only hunted those weaker than himself.
He wasn’t a survivor who had fought life-and-death battles against zombies. If he had fought as many zombies as they had captured, that sword would have long since dulled and shattered. Unless, of course, it was made of some vibranium-like material from the movies.
This man had the wrong approach to surviving in this era.
Sweeper fired a burst from his rifle toward him. Jung Kwang immediately ducked behind a pillar as the gunfire rang out, bullets sparking against metal surfaces.
The heavy armor he wore restricted his movements. While it was enough to avoid a direct hit, he wasn’t moving fast by Sweeper’s standards. Even a grazing shot must have sent considerable shock through his body.
Jung Kwang’s figure melted into the darkness. He wanted close combat—that much was clear from his stance. He was going to use the shadows to rush in at an instant’s notice.
If that’s what he wanted, Sweeper had no problem obliging.
Sweeper slung his rifle over his back and finished off two zombies writhing nearby—two former comrades, now turned. He then drenched his axe in their blood. It was an act with two purposes.
Now, even a scratch would mean infection for both of them. A battle under equal conditions. He would use the blood of those his enemy had brutally murdered to end his life.
Sweeper glanced briefly at Hajin—a silent signal not to interfere. Hajin nodded in response. Whether he fully understood or not, Sweeper added a firm warning just in case.
“I’ll handle this. Stay out of it.”
With that, Sweeper focused all his senses on his opponent’s movements. His nerves tightened.
The interior of the building wasn’t completely dark, but it was spacious, with plenty of blind spots. There were pillars, counters, and other obstacles that could serve as cover.
Sweeper gripped his hand axe tightly and waited.
Come.
Swish!
A sharp slicing sound cut through the air.
Jung Kwang appeared in a flash from the shadows beside the counter on the left.
Sweeper leaped back, dodging the arc of the sword. The Japanese blade sliced through the air with a menacing whoosh.
Fast. Both his movements and his strikes. It was hard to believe he was carrying all that armor.
It was clear how much training and discipline he had undergone. But even so, his blade kept cutting through empty space.
His weapon was too long. That made its trajectory predictable.
Reach was a disadvantage. Speed was an advantage. But what about strength?
Sweeper swung his axe toward the incoming blade. The clash of metal rang out loudly.
“Ugh…!”
Sweeper staggered back a couple of steps. His axe and Jung Kwang’s sword both rebounded from the impact. His hands stung from the force.
His eyes widened in surprise.
Even though both weapons were blades, their purposes were different. A Japanese sword was meant for slicing and stabbing, while a hand axe was designed to crush and cleave.
If they had struck with equal force, the sword should have shattered. But it didn’t.
Sweeper licked his lips.
Since Yohan, this was the first time he had met an opponent who sent chills down his spine. Jung Kwang must have felt the same.
But his expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked pleased.
How irritating.
To keep his focus, Sweeper swung his axe again and again at Jung Kwang.
The weapon that had effortlessly hacked down so many foes now sliced through nothing but air.
Jung Kwang dodged each swing, shifting his upper body like a boxer weaving through punches.
Not only was his strength exceptional, but his speed was overwhelming. At this rate, the outcome was uncertain.
Tension crept into Sweeper’s grip. That was a mistake.
He had always kept his strikes compact, but for the first time, he put too much force into a swing.
It slowed him down.
Jung Kwang seized the axe mid-air, stopping it cold.
“Hngh…!”
Sweeper tried to wrench it free, but it didn’t budge.
What kind of brute strength…?
It felt like the axe was embedded in solid rock. Maybe even stronger than Hajin’s grip.
As Sweeper struggled, Jung Kwang drew his sword back and thrust it forward.
In a split second, Sweeper twisted his body, deflecting the blade just enough to avoid a fatal wound. At the same time, he grabbed Jung Kwang’s wrist.
Both men now had each other in a deadlock.
BANG!
Jung Kwang slammed his helmeted head into Sweeper’s skull.
A dizzying pain exploded in his vision. His head swam with flashing lights. But he gritted his teeth and endured it.
He stumbled back a step, shaking off the vertigo.
This was bad.
Even if it meant letting go of his main weapon, he needed to fall back and create distance.
Strength alone wouldn’t cut it. He had to rely on speed and his backup weapons.
As he made his decision and prepared to leap away—
Jung Kwang’s eyes went wide.
A sharp blade burst through his throat from behind, protruding through his mouth.
Hajin.
Jung Kwang’s body trembled violently, then collapsed lifelessly.
A death far too anticlimactic for his fearsome presence.
Sweeper pulled his axe free, letting out a disappointed groan.
“I could’ve handled that.”
“Quit whining.”
It was a foolish complaint. He was a warrior, and he understood the value of a fair fight.
But this wasn’t a duel. It wasn’t a match or a contest.
This was war.
Jung Kwang was a murderer—a monster who had slaughtered their comrades. He had to die, no matter the means.
If Sweeper had been overpowering him, Hajin wouldn’t have stepped in.
But he wasn’t.
And Hajin had no intention of standing by while a comrade was in danger.
Jung Kwang had been too arrogant.
If he had known he was up against two opponents, he should never have let his guard down.
Whether Jung Kwang had trusted Sweeper’s warning to stay out of it, or simply forgotten about Hajin’s presence entirely—
Or maybe the fight with Sweeper had been more intense than he expected, leaving him unable to react—
Either way, he had more than enough reason to die.
“Aren’t martial artists supposed to honor one-on-one duels?”
“In the world of sports I came from, victory mattered more than fairness.”
Hajin pulled the knife from Jung Kwang’s body. His lifeless corpse collapsed to the ground. Hajin then removed the helmet from his head. Sweat and blood dripped onto the floor. Without hesitation, he drove the knife into the skull once more.
“And I think the same applies to the world we live in now.”
“Hmm… yeah, fair enough.”
Sweeper nodded at Hajin’s words and extended his fist. Hajin bumped it lightly.
“Thanks for the assist, man.”
Sweeper nudged Jung Kwang’s corpse with his foot before stripping off his bulletproof vest. He considered trying it on.
“Ugh.”
That thought vanished immediately. The inside was soaked with sweat, and a pungent stench of unwashed body odor assaulted his nose.
“What a freak. In this heat, how the hell… Ugh, I’m not wearing this.”
“Doesn’t even look practical.”
“Good point. Let’s head back to the boss. Sergeant Ong, Jiwon, Jinsu—come down. Let’s check the bodies.”
Sweeper radioed the rest of the group.
They had won, but his heart felt heavy. He had no face to show the three fallen comrades. He raked his fingers through his damp hair and lit a cigarette.
—
Meanwhile at the Recon Camp.
Twenty minutes before the battle.
The survivors who had been evacuated to the recon camp moved frantically.
Dragged here without proper explanations—only given a vague sense of urgency—they were filled with unease, their movements disorganized.
Some complained about the situation, while others, upon seeing the relatively comfortable conditions of the camp, grumbled enviously.
“This is insane…”
“How come they get to live in luxury like this?”
The strongest backlash came from those who had been staying at the hospital and school camps.
Forced to sleep on stiff hospital beds or hard classroom floors, they now stood gawking at the beds, gaming consoles, and other entertainment facilities. Their eyes burned with resentment.
“Come on, stop dragging your feet! Move to the underground shelter, now!”
Seo-jun’s voice rang out.
If Yohan had ordered such a massive relocation, there had to be a reason. It meant a significant threat was looming. There was no time to waste.
Some survivors looked hesitant, but ultimately, they followed him without protest. Because it was Yohan’s order—what choice did they have?
Seo-jun led them into the underground shelter. When he flicked the switch, a harsh light flickered on, revealing the space.
Seo-jun was astonished.
The survivors were too—but for entirely different reasons.
Seo-jun was surprised by the sheer amount of supplies and the sturdy construction, as if someone had foreseen this exact disaster.
The survivors, however, were horrified.
The space was too small.
For a hundred people, it was dark, cramped, and oppressive.
“As expected of Yohan…”
Seo-jun muttered in admiration as he examined the iron door.
It was built for security. The exterior handle had been completely removed, meaning once locked, it couldn’t be opened from the outside.
Additionally, the interior was reinforced with multiple locking mechanisms. The already thick steel door had been reinforced with multiple layers of alloy welding.
It would be nearly impossible to break through from the outside.
“Air might be a problem, though.”
The biggest issue was ventilation.
With no windows, the air was stale and humid. Anyone with claustrophobia would struggle to breathe the moment they stepped inside.
Still—
A little discomfort was better than death.
“What about the bathroom?!”
One of the survivors turned to Seo-jun.
But how was he supposed to know?
“How the hell should I know? Just use an empty food container or something!”
“How long are we supposed to stay in here…?”
“Are we sleeping here too?”
“Ugh, quit whining! Just sit tight and wait! Did you already forget what Jung-hwan said?”
Seo-jun snapped irritably, and the complaints died down.
He was one of the few camp leaders who had no patience for coddling anyone.
Amidst the uneasy silence, Lieutenant Ahn approached him.
“Seo-jun, I think this place is dangerous.”
“What do you mean? Yohan ordered us to stay put. A few hours, maybe a couple of days at most, and we’ll be fine.”
“Think about it logically. We have over thirty trained fighters here. The enemy has at most thirty men, right? In urban combat, taking control of a building and fortifying it gives a huge advantage. Even if a larger force attacks, we’d have the upper hand. And in case of emergency, we can break a window and escape.”
“And…?”
“But here, we’re like rats in a trap. If they decide to set fire to the building, we’ll burn alive before we can even fight back. Seo-jun, we need to fight.”
