Chapter 94

“If you think they must die, you may kill them. I’ll give you time. Who exactly did they betray?”

“Me and…”

Yohan pulled a pistol from Seo-jun’s pocket and placed it in his hand. It was an invitation to execute them himself. Seo-jun glanced at Ji-hye, who shook her head vehemently, her face twisted in disgust.

Seo-jun had expected Yohan to carry out the execution himself, so he looked momentarily bewildered. Then, a memory surfaced—Yohan’s words at the mart:

“I only make three decisions—pardon, execution, or exile. And, of course, I don’t mean pardoning the act itself. Forgiveness belongs to the victim. I decide only whether to pardon the violation of camp rules.”

Yohan had chosen exile over execution. But that did not mean he had forgiven their betrayal on behalf of the victims. Instead, he was giving the victims the right to exact their own justice. That was Yohan’s principle.

Seo-jun raised the pistol toward her—the woman who had condemned him to die.

Killing her was the only rightful course of action. If Yohan had been the one betrayed, he would have pulled the trigger without hesitation.

But Seo-jun found it difficult. No matter how deep the betrayal, killing someone he knew was no simple task. His hand trembled on the trigger.

Just as he was about to fire—

“Uncle, don’t push yourself.”

It was Hyuk who grabbed his hand. His eyes were filled with sorrow as he met Seo-jun’s gaze.

“You don’t have to become like them.”

“…You’re right.”

Seo-jun lowered both the pistol and his head. When he made no move to act, Yohan signaled to the old man.

“Alright, are we done here? Have the handovers been completed?”

“Yes.”

“You two, got anything to say?”

The old man turned to Suhee and Marco. They rolled their eyes, hesitated, then fidgeted awkwardly.

They wanted to speak but hesitated, guilty over their betrayal. The only solace was that no one was trying to kill them—yet. Marco glanced at Suhee, who finally opened her mouth.

“We had no choice. Anyone in our position would have done the same. They were going to gun us all down with a machine gun! I was just trying to save at least one more person—”

“That’s your last words?”

“What?”

A bullet hole appeared between Suhee’s wide-open eyes. Bang!

People only realized what had happened after the shot rang out.

The old man’s gun was already aimed at Marco. Marco barely had time to raise his hands in surrender before a bullet pierced his palm and lodged into his skull.

Blood pooled on the asphalt, seeping outward. The two, who had survived so much and caused so many troubles, now lay lifeless, leaving only cold corpses behind.

The old man blew on the barrel of his gun with a smirk. Aside from the mercenaries and a few of the recon team, every survivor stood in stunned silence. He spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“A fine example. Listen up, weaklings. We don’t tolerate traitors. Sell out your comrades, and it’s the death penalty. Burn that into your skulls. And as for you, kid—” He turned to Yohan. “You said anyone who wanted to leave could go, but I’m not letting them. Anyone who tries to run dies. No complaints?”

“Perfect.”

Yohan responded without a hint of surprise, as if he had anticipated this. The old man grinned.

“Good. Now move your asses! Anyone slacking or mouthing off will get their teeth kicked in. Consider yourselves dead already. This is the army now. Hey, kid, come here. I’ll show you how to use this.”

By this, he meant a box of dynamite and a construction drill.

For two days, while buildings burned, the mercenaries scavenged for dynamite from a redevelopment site’s ruins. They had found it in a storage area filled with welding gas and other explosive materials.

The old man meticulously explained its usage and installation to Yohan, who noted everything down. The explosives were a crucial piece of the puzzle for securing a safe shelter.

With the survivors’ handover complete, the explosives lesson finished, and Yohan’s final instructions delivered, the group prepared to move.

They had stayed in one place for too long. If a zombie wave hit, the already diminished numbers would suffer even more losses.

The mercenaries corralled the survivors into a designated camp, claiming it was for “mental reconditioning.” Those who managed to avoid the metaphorical surgical knife packed up for a long-distance relocation.

The recon team secured a fire department water tanker, cargo trucks, and construction vehicles for transport. Hajin and Sweeper were put in charge of overseeing the migration while Yohan made his way back to the Family Foundation Camp.

There was still one more thing to handle.

Now that Seoul Survivor Union’s head had been severed, it was her turn.

Yohan unlocked the iron door of the gray building where Kim Seol-hwa was imprisoned.

Clank.

A guttural growl filled the space—a sound he would never grow used to.

Inside the chamber stood Kim Seol-hwa, already turned into a zombie.

She snarled the moment she saw him, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.

Yohan scanned her from head to toe, wondering why she had turned. Then, his eyes landed on her wrist.

She had struggled so much against her handcuffs that they had cut into her skin.

Foolish.

Those cuffs were scavenged from a junk pile, caked in zombie blood. Of course, cutting herself on them meant infection was inevitable.

She must have believed Yohan would lose. She must have thought she was doomed to die here anyway.

That much, he agreed with.

Her fate had been sealed from the beginning. He had never intended to let her live.

Yohan’s cold gaze lingered on her.

He could put her out of her misery.

Instead, he slowly shut the door.

She would remain in that room as a zombie, suffering alone for what might as well be eternity. That was Yohan’s revenge. That was her punishment.

As he stepped out of the building, he flicked the key into the air. It soared through the window and disappeared into a storm drain.

Something in his chest felt blocked, a discomfort that wouldn’t go away.

—

The last night at the Union Camp had arrived. By morning, Yohan and his people would leave for a new place, beginning a new chapter of survival.

The remaining sixty or so survivors had been divided among three different camps. The recon team gathered on the rooftop of the tallest building, drinking beer.

Rest and stress relief were vital for fighters, but despite being given the option to retreat and rest, no one left.

Some talked, some watched the nightscape, and some drank in silence. It was a peaceful gathering, but the tension of past battles still clung to them, refusing to fade so easily.

It was Hajin who broke the stillness, drawing everyone’s attention as he stood up and raised his beer can.

Even Yohan, who had been keeping watch near the perimeter, turned his gaze toward him.

“I don’t know if I have the right to say this… but I’ll speak on behalf of our quiet leader.”

People had expected something grand, but Hajin simply said, “You all fought hard today. You survived. That’s all that matters.”

The weight of his words sank in, and the atmosphere grew solemn.

Six months ago, none of them could have imagined that they’d live under the constant threat of death, sometimes taking lives themselves just to stay alive.

Yet, they had killed. Over and over.

To survive. To protect their own.

And still, some had died. And more would die in the future.

Hajin walked over to the edge of the rooftop and poured out his beer into the night.

“Dong-seok, Aeri, Jae-hee. This one’s for you.”

The beer shimmered in the air before scattering into the darkness.

One by one, others followed suit, raising their cans and spilling their drinks in remembrance.

Among them, Jung-eun, one of the few female fighters in the recon team, whispered Aeri’s name through her tears as she let her beer spill onto the rooftop floor.

Watching them, Yohan slowly tilted his own can, letting the liquid drip onto the ground.

He knew the dead wouldn’t be drinking with them tonight. But somehow, pouring out the beer lightened the weight of his guilt, if only by a fraction.

Yohan observed the grieving faces around him.

They can’t afford to be this weak.

In this world, they had to be grateful for surviving—not mourn those who didn’t.

Yohan himself had learned to be thankful that there were more living than dead.

But…

One night wouldn’t hurt.

To break the heavy atmosphere before it dug too deep, Yohan spoke.

“Everyone, listen up.”

It was time to tell the truth as he had promised.

A story that neither needed to be told nor kept a secret. A truth that only those who had lived it could understand.

Had Seoul Survivor Union still been alive, Yohan would have never shared this. As long as they existed, he would never have been able to sleep soundly.

But they had personally ensured their enemies’ demise. There was no longer a past tying him down.

Once they reached the second shelter—one that had been prepared over the past six months—this orchestrated scenario would reach its final period.

From then on, Yohan, and everyone else, would be stepping into an unknown future.

This wasn’t a story to tell while laughing and drinking.

But the mood had already settled. Now was the time.

Yohan hesitated for a moment, staring at his beer before finally speaking.

“Before all of this… before zombies appeared in our world… I had already lived through this once.”

It was blunt.

The kind of statement that made it clear he didn’t care whether they believed him or not.

Everyone held back their urge to question him, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t remember the exact year, but I lived through three seasonal changes. Roughly three years. Just like now, the world was overrun with zombies. I spent each day trying to survive, moving from place to place—office buildings, military bases, this very mart, the Incheon shelter, back to Seoul, then Yeouido and Nanji Park.”

The only sound that followed was the soft fizz of his beer can. Even the insects seemed to have gone silent.

“Every single day was a battle for life. Hunger, thirst, fear, betrayal, mutations, human greed… The people I laughed with, trusted, fought alongside—they turned into corpses overnight. You, Hyuk, Jung-hwan… You were with me in that life too. And I watched you die.”

“That’s…”

“The ending was pathetic. In the end, we lost—badly. Those Seoul Survivor Union bastards wiped us out. Everyone turned into zombies. I was bitten by my own comrade and died.

Then, about ten months ago… I woke up. In my own room.”

Yohan recalled that moment.

Quitting his job, maxing out his loans to prepare for the end of the world—

Looking back now, it was almost laughable.