Striking Jeon Si-hoon’s lair was no simple task, even for Sejong.

From the beginning, Jeon Si-hoon’s faction had never once been defeated by Sejong. They had only lost their cohesion, drifting because of Jeon Si-hoon’s bizarre behavior. But even so, their enormous stockpile of supplies and manpower remained almost unchanged, while ordinary people were dying in droves.

Of course, the form of that power wasn’t what it used to be.

In the past, they moved under a single unified command structure. Now, small-time bosses like Yeom Dda-wan occupied their own patches of turf, playing king.

Still, no matter how reckless those people were, if a major power like Sejong dared to trespass on Seoul, they would gladly join forces with old comrades to fight back.

“We’re well aware Jeon Si-hoon has problems, but at present, mounting an attack on that so-called Tower is beyond our means.”

There was, of course, the option of pounding the Tower with artillery from a distance. But practical reasons blocked that path.

Resources.

Jeon Si-hoon had funneled government warehouse stockpiles into the Tower—industrial machinery and raw materials essential to rebuilding the country, as well as troves of knowledge accumulated by the old Republic of Korea.

With both the industrial base and skilled human resources nearly gone, destroying the Tower would mean losing everything Korea had built up. It would be a return to the Joseon era.

“We’ve no particular intention of moving against Jeon Si-hoon. If left alone, a group like his will collapse under its own weight. Why stir them up needlessly?”

Nam Ban-jang’s words were, in a sense, reasonable.

Sejong harbored no sentimental attachment to the “legitimacy” of the Republic of Korea. For people abandoned from the start, the Republic was no more meaningful than Joseon, Goryeo, or the Three Kingdoms.

What mattered to them were the refugees flowing out of Seoul—and the supplies that came with them.

The Tower, in fact, was no bad opportunity for Sejong. If everyone inside disappeared, they could inherit the government’s legacy intact.

Like all “realists,” Nam Ban-jang and the officials behind him treated the Rift as something to be managed passively—slaying whatever monsters appeared, but never addressing the cause. Maintaining the status quo, absorbing Seoul’s population, and ensuring Sejong and its allies endured as long as possible—that was their best outcome.

And so the situation ended without drama.

Yeom Dda-wan and his gang left the area they controlled, and Sejong returned to their city.

But this wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.

“Contact me anytime. The sooner, the better.”

I received Yeom Dda-wan’s personal ID code.

He was worried about his friend. Naturally. Already Awakened, he could guess what was happening to his friend.

He hadn’t said it, but the real reason he had to leave the Tower was the same suffocating pressure Nam Ban-jang had felt.

Unfortunately, there was no plan for entering the Tower anytime soon. Even with Yeom Dda-wan clearing the way, beyond him were others just like him, swarming.

“The Tower’s outskirts are controlled by low-level Awakened. Don’t underestimate them just because they’re low-level. Back in Jeju, they got more formal military training than we ever did. They’re more like soldiers than Awakened.”

I knew exactly the type. The same “friends” who had attacked me back on Jeju.

“My people are stationed around the Tower. They’re looking into a way inside. Let’s wait until they find a sure route.”

Rushing things didn’t guarantee success. Yeom Dda-wan’s words carried no promise of time, but they sounded far more viable than my reckless ideas.

Climbing a Tower full of dangers required at least a guide.

But something else, for the moment, pulled me away from Jeon Si-hoon. In a sense, it might even be more important than him.

“...”

Tap-tap-tap

Ding~

[ Welcome to SKELTONnet (working title)! ]

The Necropolis transmission finally opened its heavy gates to SKELTONnet.

*

Nam Ban-jang’s subordinate, who was monitoring the Necropolis signal, passed the direct line to Yoo Jung-min, who was probably playing house with Cheon Young-jae in Foxgames’ bunker.

In truth, Yoo Jung-min knew more about Necropolis networking than I did and wasn’t as busy, so it made sense she should handle it.

While I was meeting Yeom Dda-wan, one of Nam Ban-jang’s men near the Tower had detected significant Necropolis frequencies on Valentine’s old observation equipment and reported it to her.

Yoo Jung-min had followed Valentine’s manual—may he rest in peace—and succeeded in drawing in the Necropolis signal, attaching it to SKELTONnet.

But, of course, the world never goes as smoothly as you want.

“It’s not exactly fast. The allowed traffic’s tiny, too...”

Yes, it connected. But the speed was pitiful, and the capacity worse.

Her analysis: SKELTONnet’s current maximum simultaneous users was around eight. Speed: 9600bps.

When prewar broadband had broken a million bps, this was slower than the tortoise in the hare-and-tortoise story.

That was the true speed of Necropolis. Valentine and Deadman_working had managed to accelerate it somehow—but even they didn’t know how. That kind of unknowability was just the Rift’s nature. No need to understand.

What mattered was using it.

Our own board had long used Necropolis-based frequencies without issue. So we planned SKELTONnet the same way.

Now it worked—at least enough to be usable.

“Still, isn’t that something? The fact it even connects?”

If she hadn’t been Cheon Young-jae’s girlfriend, I’d have chewed her out. I’m a strict equalist—I don’t spare women from a beating if they deserve it.

I admit, I had a bad thought for a moment, but the truth is Yoo Jung-min was doing her job just fine. Exactly as much as I expected.

SKELTONnet, however crude, was up and running.

I tried Woo Min-hee first.

Bzzzzt—

No connection.

Two more attempts—finally, a voice.

“This is Director Woo’s radio. Who’s calling?”

A woman I’d never heard before. Mark Two was finally earning his keep.

“Oh? Is that Chief Jeong’s voice?”

I’d figure out who “Chief Jeong” was later. For now, I focused on the call.

“This is Skeleton, once a Hunter alongside Director Woo. Where is she?”

“Skeleton? Is that a call sign?”

“Park Gyu. Call sign, Professor.”

“Oh! Captain Park Gyu! Hello!”

“....”

I pulled the radio away and mouthed, Really?

How could they not know? Was Woo Min-hee telling them to pretend? Why was everyone acting like they didn’t know my handle?

I’d never felt like the world was forcing me before, but lately... yeah, it felt like that.

“Where is Director Woo?”

“She’s at the Paju Rift.”

“The Paju Rift?”

“Yes, she said she had an investigation there.”

That Rift had been cut off completely from Earth when Kang Han-min left Seoul. The latest records, from before winter, said the workers’ facilities were emptied and everyone had disappeared.

Maybe they were inside. But from my own experience, the Rift couldn’t sustain human life. Sure, you could breathe and not freeze immediately, but no calories, no water—everything had to be carried in.

Even Melon Mask, the richest man alive, had only managed a setup to keep himself alive alone. Hundreds surviving in there? Impossible.

Yet Woo Min-hee’s subordinate insisted she was operating inside.

So my assumption was right. She was driven by vengeance. Still trapped in the past.

I was too, in my own way. But at least I looked beyond it. Even if I couldn’t define what that “future” was.

“Understood. Tell her Park Gyu left a message when she returns.”

“Will do.”

I’d wanted her to be the first to hear the good news. But in this world, getting a reply at all was news enough.

Next, I contacted IAmJesus.

Calling him my “best friend” might be overstating it, but among my acquaintances, he was the biggest name left.

He liked to play the adult, the leader of a people. But in one radio call he admitted—being trapped in formalities was suffocating. It didn’t suit him.

And for someone at his level, even radios weren’t safe. Frequencies could be hacked, bugs planted.

Worst of all, he was a pain to reach. Even on a private line, I had to go through aides, deputies, handlers, before finally reaching him. Wasteful, inefficient.

But with Sejong the last city left, I had to keep close ties with him. If Sejong fell, civilization-level communities in Korea would vanish completely.

That was why I had to tell him first.

“What? You opened SKELTONnet?”

“Yeah. Still in testing.”

“Really?”

“It’s like PaleNet.”

As expected, he was intrigued.

“So how do I set it up? Okay, yeah, I did it.”

A woman’s annoyed voice muttered in the background, but he pressed on.

[ Connected: 3 users ]

The third user had joined besides me and Yoo Jung-min. I didn’t need to check who. IAmJesus.

I invited him to the admin-only chat, the way VivaBot once had me.

iamjesus: So this is SKELTONnet? Looks exactly like PaleNet.

SKELTON: (Skeleton Pride) .......

iamjesus: Why’s it so slow?

SKELTON: (Skeleton Embarrassed) Well...

iamjesus: Ah, since it says “working title,” I guess it’s just a test?

SKELTON: Something like that.

iamjesus: When’s the official launch?

SKELTON: (Skeleton Hesitant) There are... circumstances.

iamjesus: Yeah?

SKELTON: For now, think of it as an emergency contact net. Better than K-WalkieTalkie, right?

iamjesus: True.

SKELTON: Thinking of registering IDs. Yours is obvious enough, isn’t it?

IAmJesus was IAmJesus. What else would he be? I was about to wrap up when—

iamjesus: Oh, Skeleton. I’m ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) changing my nickname.

SKELTON: To what?

iamjesus: CrunchRoll_2

SKELTON: CrunchRoll?

iamjesus: Don’t you remember? That was *his* nickname.

Right.

The King of Sejong.

King.

Clearly, IAmJesus intended to carry on his will. And King had earned it, suffering through the hell of turning that bastard into a man.

And the effort had borne fruit.

SKELTON: Fine. I’ll register it.

I registered IAmJesus on SKELTONnet.

A small start, but a good one.

The next invitees were obvious. The ones I still exchanged messages with constantly.

They didn’t need SKELTONnet—we already had comms. But for my symbolic, dearest internet friends, they deserved a place as founding members.

“SKELTONnet. Finally opening. Just a soft launch.”

I introduced my masterpiece to the siblings.

“So this is SKELTONnet?”

“The name’s lame, isn’t it?”

One reason I’d shown them after IAmJesus: they talked too much.

Hong Da-jeong’s nitpicking was expected—she was a net addict. But even Defender, who liked to act taciturn, always had plenty to say.

And their bluntness hit like his club on a victim’s skull.

“UI’s bad. Even for the times.”

“It’s too slow.”

“Seriously. Can’t even upload photos.”

“And SKELTONnet? Sounds like Foxnet.”

“Exactly. Foxnet. That creepy old man.”

“Couldn’t you come up with something better?”

“It’s just a working title.”

I let them grumble, then registered their nicknames. Both “Defender.”

The only duplicate ID SKELTONnet would ever allow. It was fitting.

I thought this would be the end of the launch party, in a modest but worthy welcome.

But there was one more thing.

“Hey, Skeleton.”

“?”

“Did you hear from Park Penguin?”

“Park Penguin?”

“Yeah. I heard he’s in bad shape.”

“Really?”

I hadn’t heard from him. Not near Seoul, not since I holed up in the bunker.

I knew his situation had been bad for a long time. Jeon Si-hoon had hunted him ruthlessly, then the late cold snap had hit him hard. His group had been struggling, but I hadn’t had the capacity to help.

But apparently Park Penguin had contacted Defender. And the news wasn’t good.

“...He said he was taking his people to Sejong. But there’s been no word since?”

I thought about it briefly, but not for long. I told the siblings:

“Shall we look for him?”