A secular cultist—those were the kinds of figures you used to see a lot back when the cults were at the height of their influence.

There have always been people throughout history who latch onto powerful groups to profit from them.

But after the cults were nearly annihilated, hunted down to the brink of extinction, only those with genuine belief remained.

This fellow—whose name I still don’t know—is the first secular cultist I’ve met in a long time.

I don’t know if the word fits a cultist, but this guy’s an “insider.”

“See that abandoned city? That’s where the Zombie King lived. At least a hundred thousand zombies swarmed there. You know why there were so many? Because when the pandemic hit, the government didn’t lift a finger. They just ordered people to stay in their homes or hide in shelters. Bastards. No one came, and except for those who managed to escape the city, every last one turned into a zombie.”

Once his mouth opened, he wouldn’t shut up.

Defender once told me about people like him.

Anyone who hadn’t prepared for the apocalypse had to cling to an organization to survive, and the cult was surprisingly easy to enter—and to climb the ranks in.

So plenty of smooth-talking types ended up high up the ladder.

Cases of southern newcomers swallowing up the North Korean cult sects were a dime a dozen.

And the thing is, you can’t do anything about it—because if that guy is keeping the sect alive, feeding it, contributing to its survival, then casting him out just because you don’t like him would threaten the whole group’s existence.

That’s why most cults end up tolerating these capable opportunists.

Of course, the old-line sects with strong structures never would.

The cult cell here in Sejong isn’t exactly orthodox, nor does it look like it has much organizational strength.

The devout woman kept shooting daggers at the man, but in the end she couldn’t say a word.

“Anyway, this area usually doesn’t get much patrol.”

He had been happily chattering while we got ready, but now his eyes swept the surroundings uneasily.

“They say Jeon Si-hoon pulled his troops back. Am I the only one who finds that fishy? That bastard never pulls back. He only knows how to shake down citizens and throw his weight around, but he tucked tail in front of a real threat? Our Sejong soldiers, always pathetic when it counts. While his boys were running wild, Sejong was hanging on by a thread, ready to collapse.”

That’s true.

They say it got dangerously close.

Sejong doesn’t operate as a self-contained city. It survives off trade with nearby small settlements. When a professional kill team cuts off that flow, the whole thing totters.

He may be a cultist, but his point is valid.

Why did Jeon Si-hoon withdraw?

The official excuse was an expected monster offensive. But really... monsters are the perfect cover for anything.

Anyway, preparations were done.

I looked at the man waiting in the distance.

He’d been rambling nonsense, but like most addicts, he suddenly steadied, calm as if he were normal again.

This fleeting clarity was the moment to give him a task.

I leaned close to the cultist and said in a low voice:

“He’ll take the Monster Punch with him, but he won’t actually kill any monsters.”

At the mention of killing, the woman bristled with hostility. The secular one, though, just smirked faintly, saying nothing.

I left them behind and stepped into the dark.

Now the test begins.

It won’t be hard.

Ahead, minions stirred.

They were like miniature versions of the original Spider-type.

Normally smaller versions of things look cute—but in the Rift, even small is grotesque, repulsive.

Maybe it’s the Earth itself, our true creator, forcing us to feel instinctive revulsion at its spawn.

Step—

I slowed my pace.

The man matched me.

And then, in the dim light, I blinked in shock.

The haze in his eyes cleared like magic.

His shambling steps melted into silence, sleek as a panther. His loose body tightened into disciplined, precise movements—a soldier’s stealth.

His hands twitched for a weapon, reflexively searching for a gun.

But [N O V E L I G H T] one thing was certain.

He was in it. Completely immersed in the battle.

I hadn’t given him the Monster Punch yet—and had never planned to.

I didn’t need him to fight. The weapon was just bait to keep him following.

As for the hunt? I could do it myself, somewhere out of sight.

Now came the real moment.

I watched him.

“...”

He slipped through the gray-stained dark without fear, moving swift and silent.

Even the minions within ten meters didn’t react.

They didn’t see him.

The man had been telling the truth.

He was like me.

A human monsters couldn’t perceive.

His claim of killing Kang Han-min—unproven. But that hardly mattered. I’d never believed it anyway.

“Hey.”

The dog tag on his neck read: Park Ha-eun.

It sounded like a woman’s name, but the man carrying it was all soldier.

“Marine Park Ha-eun.”

When I called his full name, he turned at last.

I signaled.

Withdraw.

He frowned, not understanding, but followed the order.

There was no commotion.

Just—

“...They should all be killed.”

The low mutter nagged at me.

 “This should be enough for you to get a new place to stay.”

I handed Park Ha-eun more luxuries than promised.

Partly goodwill, partly... curiosity.

How had he ended up like me?

While he counted sugar and liquor bottles, the secular cultist approached.

“Did you confirm?” he asked, mocking.

At least he didn’t seem eager for a fight.

When he’d first shown himself earlier, he’d stomped his feet and cleared his throat loudly—making sure I knew he wasn’t attacking.

That’s etiquette, between people with guns who’ll never truly be allies.

“More or less.”

I gave a vague answer.

The cultist leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“So, the monsters didn’t notice him?”

“You should see for yourself.”

He chuckled.

“I don’t have the guts.”

“Even as a believer?”

“Just because we worship them doesn’t mean we want to stand near them. You know our lot isn’t safe around them either.”

I smirked.

This guy was even more half-assed than I thought.

“Anyway, about this ‘Agwi’ thing—I don’t buy it.”

“What’s Agwi?”

“Someone monsters can’t see.”

“That so?”

“They say there’s a guy like that in China. Whether it’s true or not, who knows.”

Valuable intel never comes when you want it. It drops into your lap when you least expect.

Looks like China had cases like me too.

Plenty of samples there. High phone and IT penetration. Lots of records.

Just as Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in weren’t the first Awakened, maybe I wasn’t the first of my kind either.

Jung Dae-gyeong had known about people like me.

He must have—otherwise he couldn’t have tailored things so precisely.

The method is lost forever, but still.

“So.”

I kept a poker face, as always.

“And what happened to these Agwi?”

This might concern my future.

But the cultist just shrugged.

“Beats me. I just heard they exist. Don’t know what became of them.”

“I see.”

That was that.

I turned back to Park Ha-eun.

He was staring at the Monster Punch on the ground.

I gestured to the cultist to back off, then stepped toward him.

“How did you become like this?”

Park Ha-eun answered:

“...Monsters must die.”

Same words as before—but this time his eyes burned with a sickly madness.

The drugs had worn off.

He went on.

“Yes. They must die.”

“Why?”

He turned his fevered gaze on me.

“Because they must.”

I hesitated.

“...”

But not for long.

Quietly, I handed him the Monster Punch.

“You know how to use it?”

Probably his first time. So I explained.

It wasn’t complicated—designed for conscripts.

He took it without a word, then strode back into the auditorium.

“What are you doing?! Hey!”

The cultist shouted in alarm.

I just stood and watched.

The cultist turned to me.

Smart man. Even in panic, he realized that if he tried to stop Park Ha-eun, I wouldn’t stand idle.

“What the hell’s happening?”

I sighed.

“I don’t know. It just... happened.”

The woman screamed.

The man only smirked, eyes fixed on Park Ha-eun’s back.

Park Ha-eun slipped inside, movements as sharp as before.

“Stop! Get out!”

The woman shrieked, but she couldn’t stop him.

I waited.

For the victory cry.

Boom!

An explosion rattled the auditorium.

Light particles sprayed from cracks in the roof.

As the cultist woman gaped, Park Ha-eun emerged with the Monster Punch launcher smoking in his grip.

His face looked alive again.

“Hey, Ha-eun.”

The cultist greeted him with a grin—but Park Ha-eun didn’t even glance at him.

He walked straight to me.

I waited.

He handed me the launcher.

“It’s single-use.”

He nodded, then tossed it aside.

A deep sigh escaped him.

“...Been a long time.”

After that, he turned toward the alley.

He had more to say.

We returned to our spot, the cultist trailing us.

“You asked me when this started, didn’t you?”

He was no longer a raving addict. He was a Marine. A soldier who’d burned himself out for his country.

But I could still see it—the madness in his eyes, clinging like grime.

A temporary reprieve at best.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Before the retreat from Pohang, the monster wave hit us. Until then, our division hadn’t let a single monster through. But that day was different. They swarmed us like an army. No equipment, no reinforcements—we crumbled fast. Command went silent. A combat-type ripped through us.”

Fear flickered in his eyes.

“After that, I don’t remember. Just bits and pieces. My comrades all died. Only I survived. But I heard a voice.”

His body trembled.

Not from withdrawal. From trauma.

“It said it was Kang Han-min.”

“Kang Han-min?”

He nodded.

“Yes. It told me it was him.”

Madness crept back into his eyes, pushing out the clarity.

Terror chained his soul.

Still, he fought to speak.

“It beckoned to me.”

I listened, every sense sharp.

Overhead, a faint glimmer caught my eye.

A drone.

I called out to the cultist lurking behind the corner.

“There’s a drone. Yours?”

Most likely.

“What? A drone?!”

He rushed out, staring skyward.

The woman shouted:

“Protector! There! At three o’clock, under the cloud!”

Finally he spotted it. His face drained.

“A kill team... Jeon Si-hoon’s dogs!”

Panic seized him.

“Damn it! They’ve been hiding by Zombie City! We have to run! Now!”

He yanked out a hidden pistol.

I raised mine at him.

But he bolted, footsteps fading.

His terror was real.

Planted in every cultist’s heart by Defender.

Artificial, but no less chilling.

I turned back to Park Ha-eun.

He gazed at me with hollow eyes.

“You. You’re like me.”

I nodded. No need to deny it.

We were the same.

Kin.

Park Ha-eun nodded back.

“Yes. Then...”

“That’s why you’re like this?”

Bang!

A gunshot.

Someone dropped.

“Myung-sook!”

The cultist’s wail—

Bang!

Another shot silenced it.

“Six hundred meters,” Park Ha-eun muttered.

North-northwest.

A sniper.

They must have locked on after the earlier explosion.

He grabbed the launcher.

“I’ll draw fire.”

His eyes locked on mine. Clear. Resolute.

“Can you finish it?”

I nodded.

He grinned.

“When it beckoned, I was in the gray world. Out of nowhere. No memory. Just suddenly there.”

He sprinted forward.

“There, I killed Kang Han-min. And became this.”

Bang!

Our rifles roared as one.

But only one bullet struck true.

Not the sniper’s.

Park Ha-eun sat on the dirt, face serene, gazing up at sky, sun, clouds—smiling.

Bang!

I dropped the drone.

Then stepped toward him.

He looked at me.

Click.

I had to aim—because he aimed first.

But not at me.

At his temple.

“Maybe it was all an illusion. Like now. Either way...”

With his left hand, he pressed the barrel to his head—and saluted me.

“Thank you.”

Bang!

I mounted my bike.

Pedaled away, slow.

Corpses, snowfields, ruined cityscapes rolled past.

One thing was certain.

Tomorrow, the sun would rise again.

Tomorrow, I would be the same.

But a year from now?

The image of Park Ha-eun clutching his corpse flashed in my mind.

Chilling—but irrelevant.

I will keep hunting.

Until my body breaks, I will kill them.

And kill them again.