Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 175: The Old Soldier

Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 175: The Old Soldier

Even if the Jeju faction were cunning, there were things they couldn't possibly know.
Like the world inside the forum.
er Guy had once been an even more popular name than mine.
armeegruppe_B—real name Kim Byeong-cheol—was less of a name in the forum and more a reflection of his real-world power bleeding into it, but even so, he made his presence known.
As the Jeju government steadily took control of the upper ranks, the structure within the military shifted as well.
Naturally, that shift would favor the regular army, not the so-called traitorous Corps faction.
Even Colonel Kwak Sang-hoon, who had held his rank since the war, received a triple promotion to lieutenant general.
The same went for other regular army officers.
Meanwhile, there was no word from the Corps faction.
From what little I could gather, members of the Corps faction were being systematically excluded from key positions.
Kim Byeong-cheol would be no exception.
Message from VIVA_BOT014: I’ll share just one.
VivaBot sent a single photo.
Embedded in it was the following message:
Message from armeegruppe_B: Preparations are almost complete.
Message from armeegruppe_B: Just a little longer.
“...”
I need to meet with Kim Byeong-cheol.
*
With Jeju tightening its grip on the city, units from the Corps faction had been naturally pushed out of the mainstream.
Once responsible for defending the entire city, they now only handled minor perimeter security duties on the outskirts.
There were around a thousand soldiers and officers still loyal to the Corps faction, and of those, only about 150 could be considered directly under Kim Byeong-cheol’s command.
Not that “Corps faction” meant much—after all, it was more a loose coalition of military warlords, and those who had defected to the government each answered to their own leader.
Kim Byeong-cheol held the highest seniority among them, but that was all.
He couldn’t mobilize the entire Corps faction.
And even if he could, that wouldn’t make things easier.
The regular army, now backed by Jeju, had received elite soldiers and heavy equipment stationed on the island.
Even now, a cutting-edge tank stood proudly in the city square—an armored vehicle renowned for its victories against the Chinese military.
The Corps faction’s gear couldn’t scratch it.
On top of that, the Jeju Committee was deviously clever.
They baited Corps soldiers with promises of integration into the regular army, then separated them into different units under different commanders, breaking up their former cohesion.
They spread rumors: that every new squad had at least one spy.
Even soldiers from the same background began to suspect each other and found themselves paralyzed.
Under these circumstances, moving the Corps faction was neither easy nor likely to succeed.
And yet Kim Byeong-cheol said he was ready.
I didn’t know exactly what he meant by “ready,” but I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.
“General Kim Byeong-cheol is resting at the moment.”
He used to work out of an office in a high-rise downtown. Now, his base was a shoddy fortress made of stacked shipping containers across the river.
I knew he'd been driven out beyond the Han River, but I didn’t expect he’d be treated this poorly.
While I was being treated like a hero and drifting through the days, others had to endure days they would rather not live through.
Feeling a bitter taste, I waited for Kim Byeong-cheol to wake from his nap.
About ten minutes later, the duty soldier came to get me.
“This way.”
He led me to Kim Byeong-cheol’s office.
There was no nameplate. No signage.
Just four stars drawn in marker on the wall—mockingly indicating this was the office of General Kim Byeong-cheol of the Corps faction.
“General.”
The soldier knocked.
“Yeah. Come in.”
So Kim Byeong-cheol was inside.
The duty soldier opened the door carefully, and a march-style soundtrack and darkness poured out.
Was he listening to music?
No. Gunshots. ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) Explosions. Screams. Boots trampling.
It was a game.
“Ah, General Park Gyu. You’re here?”
Sure enough, Kim Byeong-cheol was playing a game.
Even as I walked in, his eyes stayed glued to the monitor, fingers working the mouse.
“Have a seat.”
I sat on a worn-down couch—half the leather torn, the other half peeling.
From this angle, I could see the computer that wasn’t visible from the door.
Of course—he was a desktop guy.
Beside the tower unit was a satellite device.
Then my eyes moved to the screen.
“What brings you here out of the blue? For the great national hero SKELTON to come see someone like me without a word—ha. Did you only just now remember that Kim Byeong-cheol was still in Seoul?”
As expected from a disciplined soldier, Kim Byeong-cheol kept his words short and tight. He never liked long talks, especially not ones revealing his inner thoughts.
“Sorry, but you just barging in like this—I’d appreciate it if you’d be understanding. I’ve really gotten into this game lately. Once I start, I have to see it through.”
Was it the game? Something about him felt different than usual.
“It’s a strategic simulation based on maneuver warfare doctrine during the major battles of World War II. We used it as training material back at the academy. It was the StarCraft era, so no one gave it a glance—but I always thought this was more fun.”
I finally looked at his screen.
Definitely not your average game.
A 2D map with simple hexagonal terrain, 256-color palette, NATO-style unit codes, turn-based, obscure European place names, walls of English text, airplane cockpit buttons, endless toggles.
It looked more like a military training sim than a typical video game.
Click.
He moved a unit.
A flat circular token. With each move, it made caterpillar track sounds and a heavy engine roar. And that was it.
When he issued an attack command, a simple arrow appeared—just a “planned action.” No flashy animation, no visuals. Just text.
A bare-bones, stripped-down war game.
“There’s nothing more pitiful than an old man clinging to nostalgia. But personally, I think the past was a lot freer than now.”
He clicked, and a Nazi flag with a blatant swastika appeared as part of a unit's banner.
“Do you like Nazi Germany?”
His username—armeegruppe_B—had once sparked forum debates. Turns out it was the name of a real German army group from WWII.
Hong Da-jeong once theorized he might be a “Nazi fanboy.”
So I asked.
“No.”
He answered instantly.
“Then why...”
“Because they lose.”
He cut me off with a smirk.
“Sure, if you’re looking to learn something, you should study the winning side. Analyze how they did it. There’s military value in that. But that’s boring.”
I didn’t follow.
“Nazi Germany lost. They won a lot of battles, sure. But I always play out the ones they lost. Think about it. Isn’t it way more satisfying to take a historically doomed army and win with your own skills?”
The unusual word choice coming from him made it feel honest.
He stood, poured a glass of rare whiskey, and offered it to me.
I only stared at the glass. Didn’t drink.
Raising an eyebrow, he downed it himself.
After a moment, he stepped to the window and looked out.
“I became a soldier because I wanted to fight a great war.”
“...”
“I wanted to be like the generals of the 19th and 20th centuries—commanding tens of thousands, crushing enemy nations, earning glory with grand strategy. Leaving my name in history.”
He sighed, the alcohol in his breath rising.
“But when I was commissioned, that kind of war was already extinct. War had become a relic, a tool of mass destruction. The recent war proved it—there’s nothing romantic about it.”
He wasn’t the only one.
Even the most zealous warmongers vanished after this war.
Once nukes fell on their homes, once chemical weapons dropped—or even if they survived, once the country died, the war supporters disappeared faster than the red cicadas that once blanketed Seoul.
“But I still believe there’s a place in this world for great strategy.”
Empty words.
He had neither troops nor resources to pull off grand strategies.
Unless Woo Min-hee helped—but she wasn’t alone on her level. There was Kang Han-min, Na Hye-in, and even Jeon Si-hoon, though slightly weaker.
Kim Byeong-cheol turned back to the screen.
“Recently I’ve been playing a scenario called the Falaise Pocket with a friend online.”
I didn’t care what the scenario was.
The prologue had gone on long enough.
“Did you make a deal with Woo Min-hee?”
Straight to the point.
His eyes flicked with surprise, but that was it.
He moved his mouse across the antique game screen again.
“In this scenario, the German army is surrounded and decisively crushed by the Allies.”
He moved a unit.
With each move, planes screamed and warning messages popped up:
[Air interdiction!]
The unit took damage. Eventually, it vanished.
“As you can see, total air supremacy. You can’t even move. And the numbers—hopelessly lopsided. There’s no turning it around. Of all the scenarios, this one is the worst for the Germans.”
“That’s not the point.”
At last, he let out a long sigh.
“What’s the difference between this game world and reality?”
He looked at me.
“General Park. We’re stuck in a pocket, too.”
His voice cracked with emotion.
“A pocket we can’t win.”
It made sense.
Used, discarded.
Once useful, he’d become a pariah—driven out, treated like trash.
Maybe even the little comfort he still had would soon vanish.
Still, that didn’t make their next move—
A war between humans—justifiable.
We’d barely rebuilt a ship to sail across this ruined sea, and it couldn’t be capsized before it even left.
“So you want to fight the Jeju faction?”
I looked him straight in the eyes.
Maybe I was being selfish.
What I wanted was stability. For that, he and his soldiers had to be sacrificed.
But his reaction wasn’t what I expected.
He didn’t flare up or summon his men.
Instead, he gave me a quiet smile.
A heavy silence swirled between us.
He broke eye contact first, gazing again at the faded battlefield rendered in 256 colors.
“Every game has win conditions. Without them, it’s not a game. Even this scenario has a condition for German victory.”
He clicked a few times, then turned off the monitor.
In the black screen, his tired, aged face reflected sharply in the backlight.
“Hatred dulls with time. No matter how sharp, without action, it fades. But people always get caught up in the edge of the moment.”
“What will you do?”
Staring at the dark monitor, he spoke plainly.
“I won’t let things unfold the way Jeju wants.”
“...Meaning?”
“You can go now. I’ve said what I needed to say.”
Still staring at the monitor, he dismissed me.
I understood there was no more to be said, so I left the office.
But as I walked away, his voice reached me—soft, like a ghost.
“...I’ll send it later.”
I didn’t know what “it” was at the time.
*
To put it simply—nothing happened.
No coup. No mutiny. Not even organized disobedience.
New Seoul was peacefully rebuilding, preparing for spring.
And in that peaceful time, a soldier closed his eyes.
Kim Byeong-cheol.
He didn’t die in battle. Didn’t commit suicide.
He passed away quietly, surrounded by family and comrades.
A good death.
According to Kim Daram’s husband, he’d been terminal since last year.
But for a man who once stood atop the Republic of Korea and declared its rebirth during the collapse, it was a humble ending.
After his death, his soldiers remained in their units.
If they agreed to revert their illegally inflated ranks, the path to joining the regular army was open.
People gossiped about this leniency.
Said Kim Byeong-cheol bowed his head to Lieutenant General Kwak Sang-hoon.
That he begged a favor from a junior who had entered the academy ten classes after him.
As for Woo Min-hee—her trial ended quickly.
She was declared guilty but given a suspended sentence and walked free.
Though stripped of all positions and unlikely to return to politics, she looked quite content.
“Hey, sunbae. Want to go for a drive today? Hm?”
Except for how clingy she’s been lately.
There was still one lingering question.
I asked VivaBot for help—didn’t feel right asking Woo Min-hee directly.
Upholding the conscience of the board even in an apocalyptic hellscape, she hesitated but eventually agreed, since it was for the public good and the person in question was already dead.
VIVA_BOT014: These are the messages exchanged between armeegruppe_B and er Guy.
I read them.
Message from armeegruppe_B: Preparations are almost complete.
Message from armeegruppe_B: Please wait just a little longer.
Message from armeegruppe_B: I’m sorry. Please give me a little more time. Just a bit more.
“?”
I couldn’t believe it.
I’d seen this before.
No—more precisely, something similar. The messages VivaBot had shown me earlier.
They went on endlessly.
No mention of coup, rebellion, or uprising—none of the trigger words.
But from the tone, it was clear: Woo Min-hee was urging him, and Kim Byeong-cheol kept agreeing... then kept delaying.
Eventually, the messages stopped abruptly.
The moment he died.
Right after that, her trial ended. She walked free.
Technically, she was still under surveillance, but she was free.
His death, and the messages between them, left much to think about.
That’s when Kim Byeong-cheol’s daughter came to see me with her boyfriend.
“Dad told me to give this to you.”
His memento: a Samjeong Sword, awarded when a colonel is promoted to brigadier general, and a brief note—closer to a scrap of paper than a letter.
It read:
— Scenario Title: Falaise Pocket '44.
— In this scenario, the German victory condition is not annihilation or capture of key points, but ensuring the VIP escapes the battlefield alive.
“God. Seriously. He didn’t leave anything useful behind, even at the end.”
His daughter shook her head at the note, then left.
I stared at the upright, disciplined handwriting.
Human intent is not something that can be fully captured in a few written words.
I think I understand what he was trying to say.
But it didn’t really hit me until later—when I realized the Jeju Committee hadn’t only intended to bury Woo Min-hee. I was part of the plan, too.
That no matter how many trials they threw at her, she had too many bargaining chips for a real punishment.
That their true aim was to provoke her into acting, make her move first—so they could erase her cleanly.
I look at the Samjeong Sword hanging on the wall, and think of my old forum friend who once called himself armeegruppe_B.
“...”
At the end of his life, in a scenario he likened to the Falaise Pocket—always playing the losing side in his strategy games—Kim Byeong-cheol finally realized the dream that made him a soldier.
And he won.

Chapter 175: The Old Soldier