Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 95.3: Signs (3)

"Where are you going? The rehearsal’s over?"

Defender’s cheerful expression told me he had no idea what was happening at the front lines.

"Not quite done, but I’ve got things to do. I need to head home."

"You came all the way here—at least drop by to see my sister before you go."

"Your sister’s here?"

"Yeah, at the hospital."

"Is she not doing well?"

"Not exactly ‘unwell.’ Just dealing with an annoying illness."

"What kind of illness?"

"A tumor. Not cancer, but it was on its way to becoming one."

"Damn."

So that was why Defender ended up aligning with the Legion faction.

A guy like him didn’t seem like someone who would willingly take orders from others. Now it made sense.

"It wasn’t anything major. Jong-cheol caught it early, so we managed to treat it quickly. Honestly, I think it’s pretty much taken care of now."

"Even dog shit can be useful sometimes."

"He’s weird as hell, sure, but it’s not the worst thing to have him around."

Defender asked me again.

"Da-jeong’s been wanting to see you. How about it? Wanna go now?"

I hesitated for a moment before deciding to tell Defender the truth.

"What? Monsters...? A large-scale horde is heading this way?"

His reaction was exactly as expected—completely blindsided.

"Since we’re on the topic, why don’t you come with me? I’ll even help clean up your bunker."

I made my offer, and Defender hesitated.

"Thing is..."

He sighed, looking up at the sky.

"She’s got one last treatment left."

"When?"

"In two days."

"Memorial Day?"

"Yeah."

"And skipping it’s not an option?"

"No. It’s chemotherapy. This is the only place she can get it. If she’s going to do it, it has to be done right."

What should I do?

The simplest option was to forget everything and make a break for my territory.

But I knew better than anyone—I couldn’t do that anymore.

I wouldn’t abandon my people just to save my own skin.

"...Alright. Then here’s what we’ll do."

I laid out my plan for Defender.

"That’s... a big risk. Not just breaking away from the Legion faction, but outright opposing them."

"But once the monster horde takes over the city, only a handful of people will make it out alive."

The moment the city fell under the control of mid-sized monsters—creatures capable of mass slaughter as easily as breathing—most humans would be wiped out.

Some might think they could escape once things got bad, but evacuating from a collapsing city was far from easy.

If you tried to leave by car, dozens of people would cling to your vehicle.

If you went on foot, you never knew when a fellow survivor would turn into an opportunistic killer.

The smartest move was to get out before the danger escalated.

But since that wasn’t an option anymore, the next best thing was escaping just before everything went to hell.

"Get me a car. I don’t care what kind, as long as it can put a hundred kilometers between me and Seoul in under two hours."

"...Guess we don’t have much of a choice."

Defender didn’t fully agree with my plan, but he’d been a hunter in China.

He’d seen cities fall to monsters more times than he could count.

After we came to an understanding, I decided to disappear into the city.

*

Before and after the war, subways remained critical infrastructure.

They made for excellent large-scale bunkers.

Sure, they had too many entrances to be ideal for human-on-human combat.

But against low-intelligence enemies like zombies, blocking off a few key access points with barricades could turn a subway station into a near-perfect kill zone.

The station I chose—Gaebong Station—was already occupied by a group of refugees.

“Third Shelter”

A tattered political banner, repurposed by tearing off the faces and empty slogans of long-dead politicians, fluttered at the entrance.

Underneath it, armed guards stood, their faces hard as they eyed me warily.

"Who are you? Haven’t seen you before."

The "Third Shelter" sign wasn’t just for show.

The young, sunken-cheeked man guarding the entrance clearly knew every face in the place.

"I don’t have anywhere else to go. Could I stay for two days?"

"We only take in people from our shelter."

A woman in a full-face gas mask answered coldly.

She carried a Judge Killer, and another was strapped to her back.

"Damn, cold-hearted, huh? I’m from Incheon, too."

"Which shelter?" the man asked.

"...Hunter Street."

Not a lie.

I had bought a place there—though I only lasted a day before fleeing.

"Hunter?"

The man looked at me, skeptical.

I nodded.

I had removed my golden fleece badge beforehand.

The last thing I needed was someone recognizing me.

War had created countless scavengers willing to kill for anything of value.

"If you’re a hunter, then at least you’re not one of those fanatics."

The man scoffed.

I nodded again.

He picked up an empty can from the ground and placed it on his palm.

"Then try this—"

Bang!

Before anyone could react, I put a hole clean through the center of the can.

If a hunter couldn’t hit a stationary can from eight meters away in under a second, they didn’t deserve the title.

I felt the group tense up, but I ignored it.

The man grinned.

"Guess you’re the real deal."

"Can I come in?"

"Not just yet. You’ve got one more test."

"A test?"

"Yeah. We’ve got another hunter inside."

Two armed men flanked me, while the gas-masked woman took the lead.

Her mask muffled her voice, distorting it slightly, but she didn’t seem that old.

We walked down an endless set of dark stairs, emerging into the open concourse.

Tents, plastic sheets, and cardboard walls formed makeshift homes, filling the air with the unbearable stench of unwashed bodies and damp rot.

They led me to an old staff office.

Inside, a man sat in a chair, half-reclined, head tilted back, asleep.

"Agrippa."

The woman called out his name.

Without moving his head, the man lazily raised a hand and gestured.

Sign language.

From what I could tell, he was asking for a status update.

The woman replied.

"Brought someone claiming to be a hunter."

The man made another gesture.

Numbers. Order.

Vague, but the gas-masked woman understood him instantly.

"He’s asking for your cohort number."

She turned to me.

"Thirteenth."

"Thirteenth?"

At that, the man finally spoke.

And something about his voice sounded familiar.

Then, as he turned his chair to face me, I immediately recognized him.

"Cheon Young-jae?"

It was my junior—Cheon Young-jae.

The hyperactive kid from Hunter Street.

Why he was here, I didn’t bother asking.

In a world like this, the rules had collapsed.

People drifted, tossed around like seaweed in the tides.

"Everyone out," Young-jae said.

The others hesitated but obeyed.

His influence here was strong—stronger than I had expected.

Once we were alone, he flashed his usual mischievous grin.

"Well, damn, Senior Park. What brings you here? Finally decided to recruit me?"

"The hell are you talking about?"

"...You’ll have to come by two more times. If you want to take a hidden dragon like me with you."

Aside from his sunken cheeks, he was still the same flamboyant guy.

One of the perks of being a hunter.

Some people could remain optimistic no matter what.

And those who couldn’t ended up like Kim Da-ram, spiraling into hysterical mental disorders. We’d all seen it before.

"I just need to stay here for two days."

Since it was just the two of us, I lowered my voice and told Cheon Young-jae about the current situation, including Lighthouse.

"I’ve heard about an institution that takes in non-combatant Awakened, but I never imagined they’d be using them like this."

Young-jae had been around the battlefield for a long time. He also knew the inner workings of the National Committee. He caught on quickly.

"We should probably make a run for it too, don’t you think, Senior Park?"

"But if the entire shelter suddenly moves, the Legion faction won’t sit still."

"That’s true."

Other than losing a bit of weight, Young-jae hadn’t changed much.

With everything that had happened, it was surprising to see he was managing well.

"How did you even end up here?" I asked.

"When Woo Min-hee abandoned us, we were all still in Hunter Street. But when some fanatic-friendly warlord took over, and Kim Da-ram started acting like she ran the place—who could stand it? We scattered."

"So the fanatic problem is getting serious."

I already knew.

I knew exactly what kind of problems those lunatics were causing everywhere.

I wasn’t the least bit offended that the Chinese hunter openly showed hostility toward them.

They deserved to die. They were the cancer of humanity.

"...I could tolerate them spouting their crazy bullshit while trying to recruit people.

But those bastards started kidnapping women and children."

"They’ve gone that far?"

"Our shelter lost a few people. Me and the guys caught them in the act. You can probably imagine the rest. It’s not something I even want to talk about. A human sacrifice ritual, essentially."

Young-jae was always lighthearted.

But when he talked about the atrocities of the fanatics, his expression hardened into something cold and terrifying.

"Kim Byung-chul seems to be aware of the problem, but that Manryu Returnist Sect is already too deeply embedded in the Legion faction.

There’s even a rumor that a few high-ranking officers have been converted.

If he wants to cut them out, he’s going to have to perform surgery on himself—

And that kind of surgery could kill him."

"Sounds like a mess."

"I was already planning an escape. But thanks to you, I’ll be moving up my schedule.

I’ll talk to the shelter captain. You can stay as long as you like.

It won’t be as cozy as your bunker, though."

Young-jae flashed a grin and handed me something.

A sleeping bag.

"You’ll need this, right?"

That grin—it had been a while since I felt that old school camaraderie.

In this subway station-turned-shelter, there weren’t many private rooms.

Most people set up tents in whatever corners were less cold, less hot, or smelled a little better.

I hadn’t brought a tent or anything else, but now that I had Young-jae’s sleeping bag, I found a secluded spot, laid it out, and lay down to rest.

Visit freёnovelkiss.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

"..."

A short amount of time. A lot had happened.

But I wasn’t going to dwell on it.

In an unfamiliar place, the first day passed.

*

"Tomorrow marks the historic signing of the Korea-China War Armistice Agreement.

The Chinese government has deeply reflected on the unforgivable crimes it committed against both nations—and the world—for the past three years and six months.

As a result, they have agreed to an unconditional surrender and the transfer of ownership of Manchuria to the Korean government.

While Kim Byung-chul, the Unified Headquarters Director, has not made an official statement, the general sentiment suggests that...

Perhaps, after losing Manchuria since the fall of Balhae, our nation will finally reclaim it?"

The Legion faction’s radio broadcasts played a huge role in reinforcing my hatred for them.

But I had to admit...

I found myself drawn to the voice of the female radio °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° host.

Her calm, elegant tone was captivating.

That same voice was now coming from someone else’s radio.

The listeners had mixed reactions.

Some scoffed.

Others seemed genuinely delighted that China was being humiliated.

For the older generation, the idea of reclaiming Manchuria was especially appealing.

But I was more curious about the radio host herself.

Not because I liked her—just because I wanted to see her.

I wanted to know what kind of person was capable of delivering that kind of broadcast.

As I indulged in those idle thoughts, passing time in this familiar war against boredom—

BOOM!

An explosion.

Close.

A shell had just hit right above the subway station.

WEEEOOOOOOOOOOO—

The shelter’s sirens blared.

Surprisingly, the women and children barely panicked.

They calmly grabbed only the essentials and moved toward the deepest part of the shelter.

The combat-capable men and women grabbed their guns and rushed toward the subway entrances.

As I moved with them, I ran into Cheon Young-jae.

"What’s happening?"

"We’re checking now."

We took cover behind the kill zone set up near Exit 1-3, waiting for intel.

In situations like these, the radio was usually the best source of information.

But—

"If we reclaim Manchuria, along with the recovery of North Korea, our nation will achieve its second great rise. Manchuria is rich in natural resources, and the Bohai Sea contains economically valuable—"

Radio was useless.

A man ordered another to turn it off.

He complied.

Distant gunfire rang out.

It didn’t seem related to us.

Soon, the scouts who had gone outside returned.

It was the five guards I had seen earlier.

"The military is rounding up fanatics."

One of them pulled off his mask and sat down, looking exhausted.

"I don’t know why, but it’s brutal out there. I’d recommend staying put."

As soon as he finished speaking—

Someone in the kill zone shouted.

"Turn the radio back on!"

"It was just spewing bullshit."

"Do it anyway!"

They turned it back on.

But the radio gave no explanation for what was happening.

The uneasy tension stretched into the afternoon—

And then, that night.

BZZZT—

Defender’s radio crackled to life for the first time in a while.

"Skeleton. Everything’s ready. I secured an ambulance, number 3130. Get inside.

Once my sister’s treatment is done, I’ll bring her out."

I knew that hospital well.

The same place Kim Da-ram had forced me to go for internet addiction treatment.

"Alright. I owe you one."

"You’re leaving already? Weren’t you staying for two days?"

"Plans changed."

"Fine. When you’re out, I’ll drop by your bunker."

Cheon Young-jae grinned, his Awakened eyes faintly glowing.

"Do it. I’ll cook you a meal with my own crops."

The streets were eerily silent.

I saw military vehicles moving here and there, but strangely few soldiers.

The reason was obvious.

They’d all been sent to the frontlines—

As the sacrificial shields for Kim Byung-chul’s glorious legacy.

Thanks to that, I had no trouble reaching the hospital and finding the ambulance.

Just before I opened the door—

I held my breath and drew my pistol.

Someone was inside.

Someone was desperately trying to start the engine.

"Damn it! Why won’t it start? I have the right key!"

Not Defender.

Not Da-jeong.

A third party I didn’t know.

Instead of peeking through the window, I quietly checked the rear door.

Unlocked.

Taking a slow, steady breath—

I flung the door open and pointed my gun.

And there—

I saw a familiar face.

The psychiatrist I had spoken with before.

And it wasn’t just him.

His wife and their young twin sons sat pale and terrified, staring at me.