Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 80.4: Breeds (4)

As expected, our training at the academy included combat drills for fighting humans.

The credit for this goes to my former instructor, Jang Ki-young.

While other instructors argued that we didn’t need such training, as our primary focus was on battling monsters, Jang insisted that hunters should be prepared to complete missions in any scenario. Thus, the hand-to-hand combat course remained in the curriculum.

His judgment proved wise, as my long stint in China revealed.

At first, we dealt only with monsters, but over time, our missions increasingly involved hostile humans.

I could understand the rebels’ perspective.

The Chinese government designated areas overrun by monsters as war zones, sealing off the inhabitants as if they were cargo, leaving them to fend for themselves.

Though I didn’t witness it personally, there were frequent reports of mass killings of innocent civilians.

While the concept of the mutation factor wasn’t fully established at the time, there was enough data to suggest that zombies or mutations often appeared around people in monster-affected zones.

In those increasingly grim battlefields, we also conducted operations against humans on several occasions.

Unlike Defender, who carried out such missions regularly, we encountered rebels equipped with stolen military hardware—tanks and heavy weapons—and fortified entire districts of cities.

That meaningless battle claimed the lives of some of my comrades.

"When can we expect reinforcements?"

Numbers matter most.

Jang Ki-young might have emphasized quality over quantity, but there’s no denying the comfort of having more people on your side.

Another pair of hands, eyes, and ears is always an advantage.

"Uh... well, the reinforcements ran into an attack on their way to Incheon, so they’ve been delayed. They’re planning to send a helicopter, but it’s uncertain. Mortar shells could fall on the airfield at any moment," Jang Mok-hyun stammered.

"So, when exactly?"

"Not today, at least."

We would have to survive the night.

Standing in the shadows near the entrance, I looked up at the sky.

Four drones hovered visibly, and I could spot another in the distance.

They were undoubtedly surveying the entire base.

These weren’t ordinary raiders.

At best, they were a well-equipped gang; at worst, they were a detachment of the Legion.

"If it’s the Legion, we should surrender," I suggested seriously.

The pilots grimaced but didn’t protest for long.

As soldiers, they knew the truth better than anyone: if a well-trained, well-equipped elite unit attacked, we’d have no chance of victory.

This wasn’t a fight that could be won with a single murder robot.

Soon, the owners of the drones revealed themselves.

"Hey there, airplane owner! We saw you heading into the bunker. Why not save yourself the trouble and surrender? We’ll treat you nicely!"

Their flippant tone made it clear they weren’t Legion.

The worst-case scenario was off the table, but the situation remained grim.

"I saw a mark on one of the drones," the co-pilot said, narrowing his eyes as if trying to recall the details.

"Yeah, that’s it. The King. The gang in Sejong City. Their emblem was on the drone."

"What kind of mark?"

"A roaring tiger."

He crouched and sketched a rough image on the ground.

"Something like this."

One of Jang’s kids smirked.

"Looks like a cat."

The kids began whispering and laughing, even the boy I had beaten earlier. When our eyes met, he didn’t look away. Instead, he grinned.

"..."

Definitely not an ordinary kid.

"What’s the plan?" I asked the pilots and researchers.

If it was a gang, surrender was not an option.

The Legion might offer some semblance of Geneva Convention-like treatment, but gangs wouldn’t bother.

They’d mock, torture, and kill—or, at best, enslave.

For once, everyone agreed: fighting was the only option.

"No one who gets captured by the King has a good time. Word is, they converted an old baseball stadium into a colosseum where they release mutations and throw people in to be slaughtered," one researcher said grimly.

The challenge was deciding how to fight.

"The best we can do is hold out until reinforcements arrive," the pilot suggested.

It was a straightforward strategy, but not one I could fully commit to.

Against humans, unlike monsters, having a wildcard up your sleeve is essential.

Without it, battles tend to play out exactly as the stronger side expects.

"Hold on. I’ll scout around."

Surveying the terrain is a basic principle.

I had to ensure there weren’t any unexpected entry points.

While we could potentially use such an exit ourselves, it was far more critical to prevent the enemy from exploiting it.

During my reconnaissance, a minor commotion arose.

The kids from Jang’s group.

In the end, I had no choice but to house them with the chosen children in the same room.

No matter how unwelcome they were, I couldn’t let them sleep on the bare floor in subzero temperatures without sleeping bags.

"Isn’t it irresponsible to mix the future of South Korea with kids like that?" the researchers protested.

The pilots, however, approached the issue pragmatically, as soldiers tend to.

"It’s better to keep them in one place. One of them might switch sides otherwise."

"We should’ve just dealt with them earlier," Jang muttered, unconcerned that the children could hear him.

In the midst of the ticking clock, I found an exit.

A maintenance ladder led to a manhole, which opened behind a destroyed hangar.

The area was well-concealed by debris.

It could serve as an emergency escape route—or, conversely, an invasion path for the enemy. Either way, it was a matter of time before it became significant.

"Got a question," I asked Jang.

"Any of the kids combat-ready?"

He shook his head.

"They haven’t been trained yet. We’ve only assessed their potential. Actual training happens with the Guard in Jeju."

"I see."

I gathered everyone.

"Here’s the plan..."

I outlined a strategy:

The murder robot would anchor our defense, drawing the enemy’s attention into the narrow corridor. Meanwhile, I would use the emergency exit to circle around and strike their rear.

"First, let’s gauge their numbers."

Peering down the slope from the entrance, we soon spotted the attackers.

Two military trucks and a jeep.

Their equipment was standard South Korean military issue, but the people inside were raiders.

"The King..."

I first learned about him on Viva! Apocalypse!

Using the nickname CrunchRoll, he was a man who commanded a harem of women.

I’d expected to encounter him eventually, but I hadn’t thought he’d send his lackeys to my doorstep.

Read 𝓁at𝙚st chapters at ƒrēenovelkiss.com Only.

"Looks like about thirty of them," I estimated to the pilot.

"That’s a lot."

The captain frowned deeply.

The numbers were daunting: 4 against 30. Even including the robot, that’s all we had.

With odds like these, even an ambush seemed futile.

If I were to leave to execute a flanking maneuver, the front line might collapse entirely.

The only reliable asset was the combat robot.

"Damn it! I knew we shouldn’t have let those mutts in!"

"Someone call for reinforcements already! Do you want to see the future of Korea wiped out?!"

The researchers were in full-blown panic.

Jang Mok-hyun hurled insults at Jang’s kids, while Jo Hyun-soo screamed hysterically into the radio, begging for backup.

But the situation was even worse.

We were out of food.

The nature of air travel meant they hadn’t brought much to begin with.

By tonight, everyone would be starving.

I had emergency rations stored on my motorcycle, so I’d manage, but the rest would have to endure sub-zero temperatures on empty stomachs.

We had to last through the night.

Perhaps two nights. But even surviving tonight seemed a monumental task.

Should I escape alone?

I might survive if I left now.

I’d have to abandon my motorcycle, but my life was worth more.

"..."

While lost in thought, commotion erupted behind me.

"Kill them! We need to kill them all right now!"

It was Jang Mok-hyun, shouting as he tried to enter the room where Jang’s kids were. A handgun in his hand, his face twisted with rage. Jo Hyun-soo stood in his way, trying to hold him back.

"This is all their fault! Those mongrels ruined everything!"

Jang Mok-hyun’s fragile mental state had shattered.

He was ready to murder the kids without hesitation.

But Jang’s kids were no ordinary children.

"Let us fight too!"

"We can shoot! We’ve killed people before!"

Despite the gun-wielding adult screaming threats at them, they didn’t cower. Instead, they pressed up against the door, demanding to join the fight.

"Figures raiders’ kids would know how to use guns," the captain remarked, letting out a bitter laugh.

"Maybe Jang’s right. Killing them might not be a bad idea. For all we know, they could be in cahoots with the King. Using child beggars is a time-honored tactic for gangs."

The co-pilot glared at the kids, his eyes cold and calculating.

If left unchecked, they might actually kill them.

"These kids have no connection to the King," I interjected.

"You sure seem to be siding with them," the co-pilot said, narrowing his eyes at me.

"Are they connected to you?"

"No. I nearly got killed by them myself. But they’re just kids living nearby."

"Nearby?"

"Yeah, in a deserted housing complex."

"Wouldn’t it be safer to eliminate them here and now?"

The co-pilot flipped the rifle’s selector switch from safe to semi-auto.

"No. I don’t think that’s necessary."

He sighed, switched the rifle back to safe, and looked at me intently.

"You have a soft spot for people?"

"Not something I’ve been told often."

"I hope you’re right."

The co-pilot walked away, though the suspicion lingering in his eyes was unmistakable.

If Jang’s kids made even the slightest wrong move, he wouldn’t hesitate to turn his weapon on them.

Not because they were "breeds" but because they were "mongrels."

I glanced toward the room where the kids were.

The emaciated girl had her face pressed against the glass, glaring at me.

When our eyes met, she shouted.

"Gangsters, right? They’re gangsters! I hate them! I don’t ever want to go back to those bastards! Let me fight! I don’t care if I die!"

Her words stopped me for a moment.

For the briefest instant, I felt like I was looking into my own eyes.

Her half-wet eyes burned with an unrelenting flame of hatred so fierce it seemed capable of evaporating even her tears.

*

The small, confined room held two distinct groups of children.

Here, the division wasn’t one of sociology but something more akin to classifications at a kennel.

On one side were the so-called “purebreds.”

“I’m hungry. How long do we have to stay here?”

“I’m cold. Hungry. Where’s my mom?”

“Researcher! I hate it here! I want to go out now!”

“I hate it!!! Let me out!!!”

These children whined incessantly, cried, and even screamed, voicing their discomfort. They were, unmistakably, kids throwing tantrums.

On the other side of the room, huddled near the heating unit without sleeping bags or any semblance of comfort, were the “mutts.”

They were the unwanted, the ones with no special abilities, and kids who had lived lives marked by crime and violence.

But they were utterly different from the “purebreds.”

“...”

“You cold?”

“...”

Even as they starved, faced inequality, and were threatened with death, they didn’t cry or complain.

They simply sat silently, their expressions stoic, as though time itself was meaningless to them.

In my eyes, they looked more human than the others.

One of them caught my gaze.

It was the boy I had beaten earlier.

He stared at me, then broke into a crooked smile.

“Let us fight too,” he said.

“I know I deserved to get hit. But I swear, I won’t shoot you in the back.”

I didn’t have time to respond.

From the entrance, a loudspeaker blared.

“We know you’re in there. Drop your weapons and come out.”

The moment of truth had arrived.

In any battle, the opening moments are critical.

The outcome can hinge on the initial exchange—on how much damage is inflicted at the start.

Ambushes and surprise attacks are strategies designed to maximize this shock.

“Wait,” I said.

Lights flickered in the dark corridor.

The raiders’ flashlights cut nervously through the shadows.

“If you won’t come out, we’ll set this place on fire!”

Fire? Fine.

This was a U.S. military bunker, complete with a far superior ventilation system than my own.

The flashlights retreated, their beams disappearing.

The captain, watching the entrance from the opposite side of the hallway, clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“We could’ve taken out one or two of them.”

He turned to me.

“They say you’ve got plenty of combat experience. Is that true?”

“Yes,” I replied. “You can count on it.”

A mechanical buzzing broke the silence.

A drone.

Its light illuminated the corridor as it scanned the interior, trying to glean our position.

I gestured to the pilots.

The moment I signaled, they retreated into the room, closing the door and taking cover.

I ducked into a vacant room, quietly shutting the door behind me. Through the window, I tracked the drone’s movements.

It flew toward our position, then veered away, heading toward the entrance.

As soon as it disappeared, I eased the door open and refocused on the hallway.

In the dim light, shapes began to emerge.

Even without night vision or Awakened abilities, I could tell: the raiders were coming.

They moved with precision, each armed and ready to kill and loot.

The researchers stood frozen, pale-faced, barely able to hold their footing.

“Should we start now?” one of the pilots whispered impatiently.

I ignored him.

This tension, this painstakingly slow buildup, was an extension of reconnaissance.

It was time to gather crucial information—about their movements, discipline, and tactics—that only direct observation could provide.

Five of them had entered.

They were adept at moving silently, skilled enough that their approach would go unnoticed without careful attention.

These weren’t amateurs; they were likely ex-military.

Like the drone, I let them come closer.

The pilots fidgeted nervously in their hiding spots.

They were skilled aviators, but ground combat clearly wasn’t their forte.

Though I wanted to draw in more of the enemy, five seemed like a good number for an exchange.

I signaled to Jang Mok-hyun.

He nodded, pressing a button on the remote control in his hand.

A faint mechanical whir filled the corridor.

In the middle of the hallway, hidden under a white sheet, the murder robot sprang to life.

Its red sensors gleamed in the darkness, and its steel frame began to move.

The raiders froze.

The one in front raised a hand, signaling his team to halt.

“Hide!”

They scrambled toward the nearby doors, yanking on handles and desperately trying to find cover.

“It won’t open!”

As they struggled in vain, the robot’s gun turret swiveled left and right.

Its sensors flared red.

Tat-tat-tat!

Tat-tat-tat-tat!

The staccato burst of gunfire echoed down the corridor.

Screams erupted but were quickly drowned out by the relentless roar of the gun.

And then, silence.

The robot had exterminated every intruder.

It had, quite literally, “sorted” them.