After the war began, the Chinese military stationed in the region refrained from taking significant action.

    Their resources were insufficient to march into Seoul and raise their five-star flag, and their military strength wasn''t formidable enough to warrant South Korea sending forces to eliminate them.

    However, it seemed that if South Korea truly committed to it, the Chinese forces could be destroyed with air power or artillery alone.

    There was, however, a reason for this stalemate.

    “They put nuclear weapons on the table. They essentially said, ‘We’ll stay quiet and look for a way to return to our homeland. Until then, pretend we’re not here.’ And that’s how our landing forces managed to barely survive on the southern tip of the peninsula. When we heard our homeland had fallen, it was both dizzying and, in a strange way, relieving.”

    Since losing contact with their homeland, the Chinese forces had done nothing. Nor did they need to.

    Their freedom was unlimited—as long as they didn’t leave the area permitted by the Korean government.

    Not that leaving would have done much good. Monsters, zombies, and mutations surrounded them on all sides.

    Their numbers weren’t impressive either. Around 500 soldiers initially, which soon dwindled to 300.

    Some insisted on returning to China, boarding submarines to cross the sea. Others couldn’t adapt to the foreign land and deserted or took their own lives.

    Those who remained were, for the most part, moderate individuals.

    Even those harboring resentment against South Korea gradually calmed as they lived a slow life, watching the waves peacefully lap against the shore.

    It seemed they would live and die in this so-called “Shangri-La,” their name for the land they occupied, as though the world outside had ceased to exist.

    Their days were slow and tranquil.

    Until a single transmission shattered their peaceful routine.

    “Deploy the remaining strategic weapons in Incheon.”

    The transmission’s content was alarming, but what was more suspicious was its origin.

    The cryptic message had been sent using an encrypted signal, the same type once used by the homeland’s military high command.

    The camp erupted in chaos.

    The troops were divided.

    Some argued that orders from the top must be obeyed without question, while others insisted on verifying the transmission’s authenticity.

    In the end, the faction in favor of launching the attack prevailed.

    Not because they had more supporters, but because they were louder, more willing to fight, and ruthless enough to suppress their fellow soldiers.

    A request for support was sent to Hainan.

    During the process, gunfire broke out within the camp. The moderates were defeated.

    Dozens were killed, and even more fled.

    Ma’s expression remained skeptical. With his furrowed brow and tilted head, he questioned the situation.

    “Who could have sent that transmission?”

    Ma was convinced of one thing—it hadn’t come from China.

    “It’s probably that bastard, Jong-chul.”

    Defender sighed from the driver’s seat.

    “He’s been muttering nonsense for a while now. I ignored it, but...”

    “The liaison officer? How could he manage that?” Ma asked incredulously.

    “He said he found something at sea. Some Chinese naval communication device or something. He was thrilled, saying he’d cause a stir with it.”

    “...Are you still in contact with him?”

    Defender nodded.

    “We’ve kept in touch via long-range communication—not cheap stuff like K-walkie-talkies, but real long-range radios that connect globally.”

    As we spoke, darkness fell.

    We arrived at the outskirts of the city, where Heo Jong-chul’s base was located.

    Outside a junkyard filled with scrap metal and trash, I glanced at Defender.

    “Can we talk to him first?”

    It seemed he still didn’t want his teammate to die.

    “He’s strange, but he’s a decent doctor. You’ve seen that, right?”

    Given Defender’s defense of Heo Jong-chul even now, I had to assume there was something worthwhile about the man.

    “If a conversation is possible.”

    We drove slowly toward the fortress of container boxes we’d visited before.

    At the entrance, a mutation dog was chained up.

    When it saw us, it bared its teeth.

    Ma recoiled in fear, but my thoughts went to Gold.

    Was it safe?

    That was a question to address later.

    The car stopped.

    We grabbed our firearms and exited the vehicle.

    Inside, there was no response.

    Defender and I pushed through the door and entered.

    It was empty.

    But then—

    “Jung-ho.”

    The voice came from outside the container, not within.

    “Why are you here? No call, and armed, no less.”

    The voice belonged to none other than Heo Jong-chul.

    Defender and I exchanged glances.

    “Jong-chul.”

    Defender called out to him as I assessed his location.

    Outside, likely observing us through the container walls with his clairvoyant ability.

    “Put your guns down,” Heo Jong-chul said in a cold voice.@@@@

    “Put them down, turn around, and spread your legs. We’ll talk after that. You too—the one who came last time. Do the same.”

    I leaned into the mic and said with perfect nonchalance:

    “Ding hao~.”

    The silence was palpable.

    Undeterred, I continued:

    “Sweet and sour pork, lion’s head meatballs—Ni xi paluoma~.”

    The responses became frantic, confused.

    Seizing the moment, I added a beatbox flourish:

    “Bukchigi bakchigi, chigi-chigi bakchigi, amylase China people, come on~.”

    Chaos erupted on the other end.

    Dropping the mic, I shrugged.

    “They’re not coming now, right?”

    “What the—?!”

    Turning to Ma, I asked, “There’s only one nuke, right?”

    “Y-Yes!”

    Defender finally grasped it, slapping his forehead.

    “Skelton, are you a genius?”

    “...Not quite.”

    I wasn’t a genius—just someone terrified of that truck.

    Hoping they’d retreat, I reached out to Woo Min-hee again.

    Unsurprisingly, there was no response.

    *

    We spent the night in uneasy anticipation.

    Heo Jong-chul didn’t return, and neither did the truck.

    I tried contacting the Chinese soldiers again.

    They chattered incomprehensibly before abruptly cutting the line.

    When I asked Ma about it, he gave a wry smile and replied, “They’re cursing us.”

    He laughed, and I couldn’t help but laugh too.

    It seemed the Skelton Strategy had worked.

    Thud.

    The encrypted communication device had done its job.

    I threw it outside and smashed it with a hammer, granting it a belated discharge.

    Defender, watching the broken equipment, asked me, “What do you think turned Jong-chul into such a person?”

    “...I don’t know.”

    I knew the answer but didn’t voice it.

    Every country has people who hate it.

    Just as there’s no dish that pleases everyone’s palate, no country can make all its citizens happy.

    Heo Jong-chul was one of those people.

    Although he was Korean, he despised his fellow Koreans more than anyone else.

    That’s why he could so easily conceive the idea of killing three million of them.

    But whether his hatred was vague and unfocused or blind and zealous, I couldn’t tell.

    I suspected the former.

    If his hatred were blind, he would have taken a more aggressive and definitive approach to destroy the country.

    To me, he was a traitor—a man who hated his own people for reasons that were nebulous at best.

    But it seemed he wasn’t the only traitor.

    “Earlier, you asked me why I betrayed my unit, right?”

    Ma approached me.

    Having discarded his Chinese military uniform, he was now dressed in a suit pulled from Heo Jong-chul’s wardrobe.

    “I can answer you honestly now.”

    Looking every bit like a Korean man, Ma took a deep breath as he gazed at the junkyard, the sea beyond it, and the distant city.

    Exhaling slowly, he finally revealed his true feelings.

    “I hate my own country too.”

    Waving goodbye, he started walking toward the city.

    I didn’t know what this foreigner planned to do in a Korean city, but inwardly, I quietly wished him well.

    Still, his swollen, battered face betrayed no trace of hope.

    “...Two traitors.”

    I murmured to myself, watching him leave.

    I wouldn’t judge who was right or wrong.

    *

    “I just sent it. Color photos.”

    Da-jeong had sent me newly taken pictures of the mutation carcasses.

    Thankfully, neither Gold nor its offspring were among them.

    However, the sight of the female that had been by Gold’s side lying belly-up like a dead rat stuck in my mind.

    Another photo Da-jeong sent showed what appeared to be members of Gold’s pack, mutation dogs, leaving the wasteland and heading south.

    I brewed fresh coffee and poured it into a mug. Climbing to the top of a hill, I sipped the coffee, savoring its warmth while surveying my surroundings.

    The land around me had begun to turn shades of brown and gold.

    “...Hah.”

    Slowly but surely, the world around me was changing too.

    The wind had grown noticeably colder.