Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 168.2: Possibility (2)

Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 168.2: Possibility (2)

It really was a U.S. military aircraft.
Most likely an A-10.
I recognized the characteristic engine sound and the deep, air-splitting resonance that followed it.
Back at command, I learned the full story.
The U.S. military in Daegu had formally reached out.
Given the times we lived in, it wasn’t simple goodwill or old alliance sentiment that drove them.
They came with a deal.
I wasn’t privy to all the specifics, but there were two main demands.
One was relocation.
They wanted to move the U.S. military personnel and their families stationed at Daegu to a location near Seoul.
The Daegu base had far superior facilities, but due to severe erosion, they had deemed it uninhabitable.
It wasn’t surprising that the place they wanted to relocate to was the abandoned U.S. base across from my bunker.
That had originally been their territory anyway.
In exchange for supplies and reconstruction assistance, they offered to support the defense of the city with their current military assets.
The second thing they wanted was helium.
They specifically asked whether we could supply it in large quantities.
In pre-war terms, it might have been manageable—but four years into the war, these were heavy demands.
Supplying food for thousands was doable, but providing aviation fuel, construction materials, and manpower was a massive burden even for New Seoul.
The Seoul government hesitated but ultimately accepted their conditions.
If we failed to hold here, everything was over anyway.
So the U.S. committed to a one-time tactical bombing operation using a battalion-sized flight group.
It might sound stingy on paper, but in this era, air support from twenty tactical bombers was as luxurious as a full-course meal at a high-end restaurant.
It was a gamble on the U.S. side too—dumping all their remaining fuel and resources into this one shot.
They were betting their fate.
An unexpected windfall.
Rebecca and Sue.
The chance encounter with that mother and daughter had massively raised the odds of surviving this despair-ridden mission.
I wanted to thank them, but the battle was still ongoing.
And new developments were arriving fast.
By nightfall, a group of soldiers had appeared on the outskirts of the city.
The city was thrown into turmoil.
It was the Chinese military.
Despite our staged ceasefire and some past dealings, to Koreans, the Chinese army remained a symbol of hostility.
Seeing them arrive fully armed in armored vehicles waving the five-star red flag naturally caused an uproar.
Fortunately, they weren’t hostile.
“The past is the past, and the future is the future. If this city falls, the erosion will rapidly reach our current garrison. Humans can’t survive in an erosion zone.”
Leading the Chinese delegation was a composed and elegant woman fluent in Korean.
Zhang Shuying.
She wasn’t the top brass.
Among those accompanying her into Seoul were a high-ranking officer wearing the insignia of a lieutenant colonel—the equivalent of a Korean colonel—and Baitou, the so-called strongest Hunter in China, with whom I had a rather unpleasant history.
Zhang likely represented them because she was the most fluent in Korean.
I deliberately ignored Baitou’s overly intense glare and spoke with Zhang.
“There are twenty of us. One Hunter team including myself. The rest are a combat drone unit.”
Drones are considered ineffective against monsters, but the Chinese were among the last to give up on using drones against them.
They must have developed some unknown technology.
Unlike the U.S. support, China’s assistance stirred controversy.
Many hardliners demanded we reject their help.
Some even claimed the Chinese were secretly planning to destroy Seoul and take over Korea.
Very few knew what the Chinese truly wanted.
They wanted to return home.
But that wouldn’t be easy.
Even if they crossed the sea, surviving in the gray wasteland that awaited them would require far more than willpower.
This cooperation was a step toward that.
Woo Min-hee being on my side was a big help in handling this.
“So I just need to take responsibility, right?”
As soon as Woo Min-hee voiced her irritation, the sluggish debate vanished almost instantly.
We accepted the Chinese troops.
With conditions: they would operate strictly under my supervision and only in locations I designated.
That was fine by me.
It wasn’t like they had enough power to shift the war on their own anyway.
Once permission was granted, I met with Zhang Shuying’s team.
That didn’t mean I had fully accepted them.
I had one final test in mind.
Despite being criticized for being “pro-China,” I was probably more skeptical of China—on a micro-level—than anyone in either Korea or the U.S.
How they’d be used would depend on the results of my test.
Would they be sacrificial pawns? Or a critical piece in the bigger plan?
Zhang was accompanied by Baitou and a lieutenant colonel.
Both men carried real-time translators.
“It’s been a while.”
I nodded and got straight to the point.
As expected, the Chinese also had a request.
Compared to the Americans, theirs was modest.
Unlike the U.S., which asked for fuel, food, machinery, construction supplies, and manpower, the Chinese only requested food—"regardless of taste"—and medical supplies.
Their modest demands, likely tempered by the guilt of starting the war, painted a somber portrait of a crumbling faction.
I didn’t show it, but part of me pitied them. We’d once fought monsters side by side.
When I gave her a sympathetic look, Zhang smiled faintly.
“We’re going to follow the Yangtze upstream.”
“The Yangtze?”
“Yes. The dams used to block it, but those were destroyed. Now the upper reaches are accessible.”
“What’s up there?”
Zhang smiled gently.
“Shangri-La.”
Her unwavering gaze gave me confidence.
Shangri-La.
That was their hope.
Baitou, who’d been staring at me like a hawk, finally joined the conversation.
He gave me a thumbs up and said in clumsy but clearly studied Korean:
“Kraken type. I saw. You killed. Good job.”
So they saw it too.
Of course. That creature rivaled a typhoon—it must’ve terrified them.
If it had gone toward their garrison, they’d have been annihilated.
I responded with a smile and turned back to Zhang.
“Do drones work on monsters?”
Zhang glanced at the lieutenant colonel, who began speaking rapidly in Chinese.
Soon, his phone spat out the Korean translation.
[ Hornet. Foot massage. Yes. ]
I signaled to Zhang with my eyes.
In short, the Chinese had found limited ways to use drones against monsters.
According to them, monster attacks on drones fell into three broad categories:
Direct physical strikes using offensive abilities
Signal disruption (something we’d experienced)
And a rare, not fully confirmed electromagnetic pulse-like discharge
All three were dangerous, but they claimed to have built a system that could handle some of them.
I asked for specs.
“Can they handle mid-class types?”
Zhang answered.
“As long as the monster doesn’t open with an EMP burst, we can take down two.”
Two mid-class types.
And I could choose which two.
If they were telling the truth, this was just as important as the U.S. bombing in increasing our odds.
So I accepted their aid.
U.S. military. Chinese military.
Entities that could never mix—now joined under one cause in New Seoul.
But the road ahead remained steep.
At dawn the next day, another wave of monsters attacked.
*
No matter how strong a defensive wall, it’s still manmade.
Under constant pressure, it wears down, cracks, and breaks.
The morning assault crossed the frozen river directly, causing more damage than before.
One mid-class monster broke through a defensive sector.
Casualties: five dead. Dozens injured or claiming injuries. Several trench facilities destroyed. Two tanks lost.
Before repairs could begin, another monster wave appeared through the breach.
Infinity.
The same overwhelming force I’d witnessed in China was now descending upon this city.
And with it, the same vile betrayal I’d seen before.
Mysterious gunfire was ed on the eastern front. A few men were killed.
Fanatics.
The gunfire was followed by a mortar barrage that pounded the city center.
According to Gwak Sang-hoon’s unit, it was likely a small terror cell—maybe twenty men.
But for us, already stretched thin against the monsters, it was a dangerous distraction.
Especially because the mortars were focused on the heart of the city—the power plant.
That said a lot.
They were human—but they were here to kill us all.
Even in this extreme cold.
But they weren’t unopposed.
“Leave the fanatics to us.”
Defender and his kill team deployed.
We had to trust them.
If the power plant went down, so did the city.
The forecast said the weather would improve in three days—but a human can freeze to death in just one hour.
The attack by the fanatics terrified both the civilians and the city’s leadership.
“Can we really hold out like this?”
A government official asked me.
I answered.
“If we can’t, we die.”
That was it.
All we could do now was hold.
Hold until the monsters’ barrier weakened enough to strike.
That wasn’t going to be easy.
“Remember. Our job is to be firefighters.”
We had to fight.
I led Hunter units to reinforce the damaged lines and stop the advancing monsters.
But I knew more than anyone—it wouldn’t be easy.
*
Day 4 of the offensive.
A second breach in the line.
Dozens of casualties.
Not from direct attacks—but from the shockwaves. Many lost their minds or collapsed.
In the east, human-versus-human battles erupted—blood for blood.
Mortars fell without pause. Day and night, gunfire echoed.
At the end of each day, prayer could be heard throughout the city.
Day 5.
Defender captured a notorious fanatic sniper and strung him up, alive, on a hook atop a building.
But another sniper retaliated by killing one of Defender’s team.
Day 6.
The last tank was destroyed.
We also ran out of artillery shells.
Day 7.
My junior, Cheon Young-jae, was gravely wounded.
Not life-threatening, but he’d be unable to fight for a while.
Beside his oxygen-masked face stood Kim Daram’s husband.
“He’ll be okay. As long as he rests and gets proper nutrition, he’ll recover.”
Below him stood a tall, thin boy who looked like a mix of Kim Daram and her husband.
I knew who he was.
“You’re Dongtak?”
Kim Daram’s son.
I’d only heard about him—his mom’s big portions had made me imagine a chubby kid. But he’d grown tall.
The soft glow in his wide eyes must’ve weighed heavily on Kim Daram’s heart.
I patted his head and left the hospital room.
...
Just a little longer.
A little more.
The monster count in the mist zone had finally dropped below one hundred.
There was another eruption in Paju—but no movement toward us.
If we held on through one, maybe two more offensives, we could finally begin the operation to eliminate the General Type.
But the city was teetering on the edge.
Now that the weather had warmed, many refugees left.
Even the volunteer defenders by the river deserted their posts.
To make things worse, a massive horde of zombies was spotted in the north.
The necromancer type had begun assembling support troops.
s even said large groups of zombies were gathering far southeast of the city.
The river was frozen—but we didn’t have enough explosives to break it.
We had the raw materials, but no time to make the bombs.
If the next attack included zombies, we’d have no countermeasure.
Gwak Sang-hoon and Kim Byeong-cheol argued that we needed to call in a U.S. airstrike on the north—right now.
That was insane.
A premature strike would only tip off ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) the General Type that we were preparing something.
Bombing had to be part of the operation to kill it—or it meant nothing.
“Captain, even I can’t cover for you anymore.”
Woo Min-hee, one of the few who knew my plan, spoke to me.
“We need to bomb. Now.”
She wasn’t wrong.
This city held countless people, countless opinions.
I couldn’t cling to my plan alone.
But we were one step away.
If I could just reduce their strength a bit more, we’d have a sliver of miraculous hope.
As another wave of refugees streamed out, an ominous sound echoed from beyond the mist.
Woooo—wooooo—wooooo—
A sickening, unnatural resonance—no living creature could produce such a sound.
The trumpet of destruction. The monsters’ signal for another offensive.
The signal device atop The Hope began broadcasting the warning, and sirens blared across the city.
Weeeeeeeoooooooo—
The overlapping sirens in the dawn air sounded like a death knell for humanity.
“Captain.”
Kim Daram spoke.
“I don’t think we can take anymore.”
Only I had the authority to request U.S. support.
I’d held it back for as long as I could.
Because that strike was one of humanity’s few remaining chances to deliver a fatal blow to the fissure.
But now, with the city about to fall, talking about possibility felt like a sick joke.
I looked up at the clear blue sky, sighed, and pulled the radio mic toward my lips.
...
My mouth was dry.
I still hesitated.
I never expected a miracle—but I wanted one anyway.
And then, just as I was about to contact headquarters—
Chzzzzk—
Static burst through the receiver.
And then, through the garbled noise, a voice I’d never forget rang out.
“The King of Sejong has arrived.”
Kim Daram’s eyes widened in shock.
“What...?”
That wasn’t all.
Almost immediately, another transmission came through—a vivid male voice:
“This is the Incheon Refugee Union. We’re just ordinary folks, so we might not be much help, but we’ve come to fight.”
Only when I returned to headquarters did I learn what had happened.
Hundreds of armed fighters had arrived on the city’s outskirts.
Their equipment was crude, but efficient. Their eyes and spirit rivaled any government elite.
Once ordinary students, workers, fathers, mothers—now survivors who had proven themselves in the apocalypse.
Leading them were King and Park Penguin.
The leaders of Sejong and Incheon had come to help us.
“Skelton! Where are you? Let’s see your face!”
“May I speak with Skelton?”
The dying spark of possibility flared to life again.

Chapter 168.2: Possibility (2)