The greatest damage caused by the war wasn’t from nuclear strikes but the insidious, silent attacks lurking beneath the surface.

South Korea, a country heavily reliant on overseas imports, was structured to perish if its maritime trade routes were severed.

When Chinese submarines began attacking trade routes, South Korea’s shipping lanes were paralyzed, effectively signing the death warrant for its economy.

Even Pafung Group wasn’t immune to this fate.

However, it had slightly better odds of lasting longer compared to other conglomerates.

Its subsidiaries spanned industries from construction and distribution to heavy industry and defense contracting.

Perhaps because of this, the equipment deployed in the operation zone was beyond extravagant.

Five state-of-the-art armored vehicles I couldn’t identify, equipped with flamethrowers and 20mm autocannons. Three 40kg-class quadcopters capable of providing aerial support when needed. A platoon of foreign mercenaries, likely ex-U.S. military. And an additional 200 auxiliary personnel armed with personal firearms.

There weren’t many young people among them.

The youngest were in their mid-to-late thirties, while the majority were in their forties or fifties.

The person in charge of the operation was someone called Director Choi, a former Army colonel. However, he had no prior experience dealing with large-scale monster operations.

There was one Hunter serving as an advisor, but I didn’t recognize them, and they weren’t a proper Hunter, either.

When I say "proper Hunter," I’m referring to someone who meets international standards: someone who has received systematic education and training at a certified “school,” accumulated over a year of field experience under a verified shooter, and spent another year battling in gate zones established near rifts, ultimately earning a grade of C or higher.

Take my mentor, John Nae-non, for example. While he attended a school, he dropped out partway through and was only classified as D-rank. In large-scale monster operations, D-ranks are considered negligible.

And yet, this negligible D-rank individual now held the lifeline of a once-dominant South Korean conglomerate.

“I’m Park Sang-min, a current Member of Parliament and a Hunter. Nice to meet you.”

This man with movie-star looks introduced himself as a lawmaker.

Apparently, he had leveraged his background as a Hunter to secure a proportional representative seat in parliament—a so-called “specialized proportional representative.”

I had no idea what qualified someone who wasn’t even a proper Hunter to represent the entire Hunter community, but the glittering rose insignia on the pseudo-military uniform he wore was certainly striking.

On paper, Director Choi was the commander of the operation. In reality, it was Park Sang-min who was leading it.

“This industrial zone is infested with zombies. However, research shows that zombie lifespans are only about one month. After a month, they starve to death. The operation was delayed specifically to avoid unnecessary combat with zombies.”

With his good looks and calm, persuasive voice, even the most nonsensical statements could sound credible to the uninformed.

“What do you think, Hunter from Gukwiwon?”

For some reason, he insisted on asking my opinion about every little thing. His intention was clear.

He wanted to undermine me.

I was, after all, a Hunter dispatched by Gukwiwon.

Currently, parliament had no real power—it was merely a ceremonial assembly. In contrast, Gukwiwon held the reins of actual authority.

This resentment had morphed into ridicule aimed at me.

That much, I could let slide.

Three years, tops. That’s the extent of his political lifespan.

The real issue was the possibility that Park Sang-min might blame me for the inevitable failure of this operation.

That, I couldn’t allow.

I was someone who needed to live quietly, in solitude, cutting off all contact when the time came.

“I don’t think that’s the case.”

“No, Congressman, you’re mistaken.”

“I completely disagree.”

I made it a point to challenge him on every little thing.

Honestly, it was hard not to. The man only ever spouted nonsense.

“Look at it differently,” he retorted.

Even a worm will wriggle when stepped on, and after being countered several times, Park Sang-min fought back.

“Do you see everything in 3D?”

This was his counter.

Lacking substance, he resorted to sarcasm and gibberish to deflect my points.

I ignored him and continued speaking.

“If zombies are about to starve, they go into shutdown mode. They enter a state of suspended animation, drastically lowering their metabolism. While it’s true that zombies die after a month without sustenance, zombies that establish bases in urban areas, away from sunlight, behave differently.”

“Oh, come on. Turn off your WikiBrain,” Park Sang-min interrupted rudely.

His blatant rudeness didn’t go unnoticed by the executives observing our exchange.

The chairman’s expression, in particular, stood out.

Even a layman could tell who was making more sense based on the context of our arguments.

The debate reached its climax when we discussed how to enter the industrial zone.

Park Sang-min insisted on leading with the armored vehicles. I argued against it.

“Congressman, have you ever seen zombies shoot guns? Have you heard of such a thing? Zombies are sensitive to sound and smell. Taking armored vehicles with roaring engines and reeking of fuel will only announce our presence.”

“Enough!” Park Sang-min waved his arm dismissively.

A burly aide stepped in front of me, trying to shut me up.

Shrugging him off, I continued.

“Send in an experienced reconnaissance team first to survey the area and determine the best approach. There’s still time to decide on the entry strategy. Battles are 90% planning and 10% individual skill. If the plan is a mess, how can you expect to win?”

“You little bastard. Do you think you can keep running your mouth at a Member of Parliament?”

Park Sang-min finally snapped.

“Do I look like some puppet to you? Who the hell do you think you’re talking back to?”

The group’s members pulled us apart.

Luckily, the person who escorted me away was the reason I had come here in the first place.

“You must be President Ji Chang-soo.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“I have a message from your daughter.”

“From Young-hee?”

Young-hee. What a model name. That woman.

I concisely explained the risks of the operation, drawing on my knowledge and experience.

True to his reputation as the head of a subcontractor with over 3,000 employees, Ji Chang-soo listened carefully.

I delivered the final blow to dispel his doubts.

“Honestly, I’m not D-rank. Not to brag, but I’m on a whole different level compared to that fop.”

In the end, the operation unfolded exactly as I had predicted.

Armored vehicles led the way, drawing hordes of zombies.

Initially, progress was impressive. Flamethrowers and autocannons stacked walls of corpses as they advanced toward the center.

But soon, they hit a wall.

Zombies surrounded them from all sides, cutting off their retreat.

To make matters worse, the entity I had most feared appeared.

A three-meter-tall abomination with an ashen-gray surface devoid of any sheen hovered above the battlefield, observing the humans below.

It emitted shockwaves with every “breath,” distorting the air around it.

It was less a living creature and more a statue.

No, a god.

Everyone on the scene was frozen in awe and terror, staring up at it.

In the suffocating silence, I grabbed Ji Chang-soo’s wrist.

“Let’s run.”

This was humanity’s enemy—a monster.

Humans cannot defeat monsters.

*

Battle Aftermath

Most of the equipment was destroyed, and the entire platoon of mercenaries was lost.

Director Choi was also killed in action.

Out of the 200 personnel who had come as auxiliary forces, only half returned alive.

Park Sang-min survived but placed the blame for the failure on Director Choi’s incompetence and Pafung Group’s lack of preparation.

It didn’t matter to me.

Ji Chang-soo survived—that was enough.

“This should have knocked some sense into the chairman’s stubbornness. Thanks for your cooperation.”

Kim Daram greeted me with a smile, though it wasn’t a particularly cheerful one.

She had no choice but to mediate this ordeal.

I understood.

In a world where everything had fallen apart, ignoring the demands of a powerful individual wasn’t an option.

“It wasn’t exactly pleasant. But why did you go along with it? I can guess, but I’d like to hear it.”

“There were two playgrounds, and one of them collapsed. The top kid from the ruined playground came over to the other one, but they didn’t let him join.”

“Quite the motherly analogy.”

“Anyway, be glad. They won’t bother you anymore.”

Kim Daram sent me a message of thanks along with an unexpected gift.

The gift was a personal identification number.

I now had special access within the military frequency network.

“But the chairman wants to see you again,” she added.

“I don’t want to.”

“Meeting him is entirely up to you. He’s lost all his power now—he doesn’t have any resources left to exert influence.”

What compelled me to meet Je Pung-ho again?

Looking back, it was probably curiosity.

Every Korean, at least once, has wondered what the downfall of a conglomerate tycoon would look like.

Je Pung-ho met me on the third floor of his headquarters.

The construction elevator that used to whisk me up to the 55th floor was no longer operational.

The luxurious restroom reeked of urine.

Je Pung-ho was waiting for me with a meal prepared.

The main course was steak garnished with truffle, accompanied by an expensive Château-something wine.

The truffles and wine were excellent, but the steak was inferior to the cuts stored in my bunker.

“Hunter Park.”

He greeted me with a bright smile.

His face wasn’t much different from the one I had seen at the soup kitchen.

“I looked into your background. Did a bit of digging. You’re quite a big shot.”

“I’m washed-up now.”

“Same here.”

Je Pung-ho’s eyes gleamed.

“They said you completely outclassed that clown Lee Sang-hoon. And that you were on the same team as the now half-mythical saviors Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in.”

“…”

The wine instantly tasted bitter.

He mentioned names I didn’t want to hear. Names I had almost succeeded in erasing from my memory.

“Why did you call me here?” I asked.

“It seems like you’re planning to refuse no matter what I say.”

“You’re perceptive.”

“To get straight to the point, I intend to attempt the industrial zone again.”

“It won’t work. You saw it yourself.”

“Sometimes, you have to do what must be done, even if it seems impossible.”

Je Pung-ho, his eyes unusually bright, stared intently at his glass of blood-red wine, half-closed in a contemplative gaze.

“I was born a concubine’s child.”

“…”

“The woman listed as my mother, Jang Mi-sook, wasn’t my real mother. My mother didn’t even leave behind her name. From the moment I was born, my chances of inheriting the group were zero. But I made it.”

His eyes narrowed, catching the dim light from the ceiling and making them appear sharper.

“I crushed and trampled over anyone who got in my way, forcing my father to choose me.”

There was a certain intensity about him that made it believable.

“I’m 69 years old. It’s time for me to take on another challenge.”

“I won’t be part of it.”

“Just tell me how to defeat that monster!”

I couldn’t refuse that request.

After all, I owed him—if only for that warm bowl of soup and a glass of soju.

“…It’s a type called a necromancer. As you saw, it revives the dead as mutated zombies. When attacked, it deploys a reflective barrier, but it doesn’t reflect organic matter like living tissue. Approaching it is extremely difficult, but if you can get close enough, you might manage something. There’s only one spot without a barrier—a spot about the size of a coin…”

Je Pung-ho nodded earnestly, jotting down notes like a schoolboy hanging on my every word.

When we finished, I asked him a question.

“Why are you so obsessed with this? You have enough wealth and connections to secure yourself. If you settle down somewhere suitable, you could protect your family and close associates.”

“How could I do that?”

His voice cracked, and he looked at me, his eyes moist.

“How could I abandon the thousands, tens of thousands of Pafung employees who trust and follow me?”

Now I understood why his eyes shone the way they did.

He was a leader to his core.

Someone who lived to command and inspire loyalty in others.

Or perhaps, to him, there was no distinction between himself and Pafung Group.

*

Je Pung-ho's last challenge ended in failure.

The small solace was that the name of the father of the woman who had spoken to me wasn't on the list of casualties.

The ambitious soup kitchen Je Pung-ho had set up eventually became a haven for drug addicts before being abandoned altogether, turning into a grotesque eyesore no one visited anymore.

This was the end of the conglomerate I once knew.

Thanks to this, I went from being a perpetual underdog in the online community to a somewhat respected user, posting a popular thread for the first time.

But it seems Je Pung-ho's story isn’t quite over yet.

One year and ten months after the outbreak of the war, a photo was uploaded to the community.

gijayangban: “Found this on Failnet. Doesn’t this look familiar to anyone?”

The photo showed a massive horde of zombies.

Judging by the rural setting, they appeared to be an enormous group, numbering in the thousands.

But the zombie standing at the front of the horde caught my eye—a face I recognized.

It was unmistakable.

The zombie wearing a slick suit was Je Pung-ho, the chairman of Pafung Group.

While most tycoons had abandoned their conglomerates to retreat into fortresses with just a handful of family members, this once-prestigious industrialist now roamed the ruins, leading thousands of followers—even in undeath.