NoveLight ™
The reason I avoid combat isn’t just because it’s dangerous.
The aftermath is a colossal pain.
One of my decoy bunkers was wrecked, and dealing with the bodies is an ordeal.
Burying them one by one isn’t an option—the number is too high, and there’s no suitable place to dig graves.
In the end, I dragged the corpses into the partially collapsed bunker and set it on fire.
One of the invaders had made it all the way to my main bunker and was half-burned to death. I had to sling the body over my shoulder to drag it out.
As I moved it, pus-filled bodily fluids dripped onto the floor, leaving a disgusting mess.
But clearing the bodies is only part of the job.
I also had to dismantle their tents and erase all traces of their presence.
All of this is work—tedious, backbreaking labor.
I didn’t sweat a drop during the battle, but the cleanup left me drenched and exhausted.
There were no spoils to speak of.
The invaders’ belongings were pitifully meager.
Their food, in particular, was almost unbelievable.
What they called food was dog kibble.
To be precise, it was ground-up dog food mixed with unidentifiable meat and compressed into something resembling an energy bar. It was so repulsive that I couldn’t imagine putting it in my mouth.
The sight of it gave me a sense of unease.
A solution is needed.
These intruders were likely just the tip of the iceberg.
*
Beneath the U.S. military base lies a bunker facility that survived the nuclear strike with minimal damage.
Though the underground facility had already been raided—first by me, and later by scavengers who left nothing behind—it might still surpass my current bunker if converted into a residential space.
Still, I couldn’t imagine living in a spot directly hit by a nuclear bomb.
But then came people like Lieutenant Colonel Choi.
If one appears, more will inevitably follow.
The military base must be dealt with.
I need to make sure no one even considers setting up there to prevent a second Lieutenant Colonel Choi incident.
But how?
Should I set it on fire?
Or should I use the heavy equipment buried in my bunker to seal off the entrance?
Nothing feels quite right.
Something stronger, more impactful, and more intuitive is needed.
For example, rumors of monsters living there.
Something like the Gold Pack mutation would work.
But how could I even get them there? They can’t be reasoned with, and they attack anyone on sight.
I even considered moving the sniper mother and daughter there, but dismissed the idea—it’s not like they’d agree to go.
Frustrated, I dumped an excessive amount of sugar into my coffee and connected to my oasis of peace: the forum.
I clicked on the trending posts tab.
Let’s see.
Earlier, during my break, I had posted a picture of the dog food bar.
I thought it might become a trending post since it had received a few comments in a short time.
But it wasn’t on the list.
Maybe it only got a single “like.”
Then...
“What the hell is this...?”
I almost cursed aloud.
Keystone: “This is what kids in Seoul are eating these days, lol.”
The photo Keystone had posted was none other than the picture of the dog food bar I had uploaded.
They had stolen my photo and claimed the glory of a trending post!
SKELTON: (Skeleton confused) “That’s my picture!”
I protested, but there was no response.
What a shameless thief.
I tried complaining on the board, but no one cared.
Even my sole internet friend, Human Hunter, was absent that day.
Seething with anger, I scrolled through the rest of the trending posts.
Then, one particular title caught my eye.
Kyle_Dos: “What is this?”
Feeling melancholic, I clicked on it.
The post showed a single photo.
It seemed to depict the wooded hillside behind a bunker.
At first glance, it was just a picture of overgrown grass and trees, nothing out of the ordinary. But amidst the foliage was something unmistakably odd, exuding an eerie presence.
A pale, cylindrical object with a dull, grayish-white surface.
Kyle_Dos: “I woke up, and this was just there. Does anyone know what it is?”
The replies varied, but none were conclusive.
No one could know.
That’s because it’s something that can only be observed in a country on the brink of collapse.
That pale cylinder has a name.
It’s a capsule.
A monster egg.
*
From the moment monsters arrive on Earth, they begin to deteriorate—but there are exceptions.
The first exception includes those classified as Infiltrators.
Infiltrators are usually smaller species that can survive independently in Earth’s environment without disintegration.
The necromancer type that turned Chairman Je Pung-ho into a zombie is one such example.
However, while they are immune to disintegration, their combat power is relatively weak. Weak, of course, only in comparison to other monsters.
The second exception isn’t an individual species but an environmental transformation.
When energy from a rift spills out and surpasses a critical threshold, the surrounding area begins to warp, resembling the world beyond the rift.
This phenomenon is called Erosion.
In these eroded lands, monsters can persist regardless of their size or strength.
I’ve seen eroded lands in China.
The sight of our world maliciously twisted into something unrecognizable can only be described as apocalyptic.
The object in Kyle Dos’s photo belongs to the first type.
It’s an infiltrator egg.
Don’t underestimate it just because it’s an egg.
The moment a capsule opens, a fully combat-ready monster emerges and tears apart any unlucky humans nearby.
There’s no such thing as a “cute baby monster.”
Many researchers learned this the hard way and paid with their lives.
No matter how sturdy the containment walls or restraints were, they proved useless.
It took the deaths of hundreds of researchers and the destruction of dozens of facilities before the World Union finally banned all research on capsules.
In my view, capsules are death traps designed by monsters—capitalizing on humanity’s curiosity and penchant for analysis and experimentation.
And now, a capsule has appeared in Korea.
This is horrific news.
The presence of a capsule is undeniable evidence that the surrounding area has already been eroded.
I sent a direct message to Kyle Dos.
SKELTON: That’s a capsule. A monster egg.
I received a reply almost immediately.
Kyle_Dos: Wow, so you actually know how to speak like a normal person?
SKELTON: (Skeleton Helpful) It’s extremely dangerous. I’ll take care of it for you.
Kyle_Dos: Can you drop that weird prefix thing?
SKELTON: OK.
Kyle_Dos: But how exactly do you plan to deal with it? Are you coming in person? Sure, you’ve been active on the forum for a while, but why should I trust you? For all I know, you’re not even the real Skeleton. What if you’re just a raider?
SKELTON: Post it on the forum.
Unlike Keystone, Kyle Dos was sharp.
He had a good eye and an instinctive understanding of danger.
Kyle_Dos: Actually, on second thought, I shouldn’t post about it. I don’t want to advertise my location. Just come and take care of it. What are you driving?
This one would survive.
He deserved to survive.
Still, Kyle Dos’s fate felt grim.
“Paju, huh...”
His bunker was located near Paju.
That meant it was in a rift zone.
This came with pros and cons.
Rift zones are always heavily guarded by elite hunters and military units who establish kill zones with nearly impenetrable defenses.
While they’re the most dangerous places—being literal gateways for monsters—they also offer the highest level of security.
However, when the area around a bunker becomes completely eroded, there are only two options:
Die inside your bunker, or become a refugee.
I pulled out my pickup truck for the first time in a while.
It was a one-ton electric truck.
The navigation system lit up, displaying the optimal route, though outdated information was meaningless in this era.
“Personal ID: SKELTON. Verified. You wish to bypass Seoul? Please proceed via Route 13, then switch to Route 22, and finally to Route 8.”
The roads controlled by the government were my only viable paths, especially when driving such a valuable vehicle.
Kyle Dos’s bunker wasn’t far from the main road, and the path leading to it was a manageable unpaved trail.
When I arrived, Kyle Dos peeked out from behind a tree, holding a gun.
“It’s Skeleton,” I called out, identifying myself.
Kyle hesitated.
I tried again.
“Skeleton reporting in.”
Finally, he emerged.
Kyle Dos was a man in his early 30s with sleepy eyes and a neat appearance. His physical condition wasn’t bad either.
What stood out most was his smile—a genuine mix of warmth and anticipation.
It wasn’t mocking or forced.
It felt like seeing a textbook example of a well-prepared and resilient doomsday prepper.
This was someone entirely different from the half-broken, desperate refugees I’d grown accustomed to.
“You’re younger than I expected, Skeleton. And you look normal, too. What a surprise.”
“Surprise?”
“From the way you write, I thought you’d be in your 50s.”
I tossed him a couple of cans of Spam as a gift.
“Wow, thanks. But shouldn’t I be the one giving this to you?”
“Where’s the capsule? Let’s deal with it quickly. Even on government-controlled roads, it’s dangerous after sunset.”
“Wow. You’re so efficient—nothing like I imagined.”
“When was I ever not efficient?”
We had never met before.
Never shared a drink, never exchanged more than posts on a forum.
And yet, our conversation flowed effortlessly, as if we were old friends.
Perhaps this was the camaraderie of the community.
It warmed the heart in a way, though...
“Honestly, on the forum, you seemed like a weirdo.”
Why is my reputation like this?
“Ah, over there. That thing.”
Kyle pointed into the forest.
Beneath the midsummer canopy, where half the trees had been logged, a pale, grayish-white object about a meter long stood in stark contrast to the surrounding life.
“So this is a monster egg?”
Kyle shuddered slightly.
“Damn it. I had a feeling. The color is just like the monsters that come through the kill zone, and just looking at it feels like it’s messing with my mind.”
He turned to me.
“This thing isn’t dangerous, is it? I mean, it’s a monster egg, right?”
Capsules open in two scenarios:
One, when the monster inside decides to emerge.
Two, when the capsule is subjected to strong external stimuli.
The manuals handed out in school recommend the following method for dealing with capsules:
In short: shoot it from far away, lure the monster out, and then kill it.
That’s all most people know.
But I know one more thing.
“Step back for a moment.”
I approached the capsule, holding two axes.
“If I die, take the truck and run. The keys are in it.”
“What?! Die?!”
I wasn’t planning to die, but in this world, there’s no such thing as 100%.
When it’s time to act, hesitating to take risks guarantees a 100% chance of death later.
I knew this all too well—after witnessing how my indecisive comrades in China had died, been maimed, or gone mad.
“It begins.”
I swung the axes toward the pale gray surface of the capsule.
Just before the blades struck—
“Hup!”
—I halted them with all my strength.
It was a feint.
In human society, this might be considered a prank.
But monsters aren’t human.
They respond.
Shhhk-
Before my eyes, a black blade materialized in the space just above my neck, as if it had sliced through the air itself.
It was the Reflection Field.
The reflection field is a monster’s power, bending and twisting dimensions to return an attacker’s force right back at them.
While the amount of force it can deflect has limits, humans lack the defense to withstand the counterattack from such distortions.
This is one of the countless reasons why humans can’t defeat monsters.
Fortunately, since I held back, my own axe didn’t decapitate me.
Sighing in relief, I retrieved the axe.
The black, liquid-like distortion rippled where the axe had nearly struck, then faded into the air as if it had never existed.
“It’s safe.”
When a monster doesn’t want to emerge, it activates the reflection field.
At that point, only an attack strong enough to overwhelm the field can force the capsule open.
I don’t know why.
Maybe it wasn’t ready yet. Maybe it wanted to sleep more. Maybe it was busy browsing the monster equivalent of a forum.
Whatever the reason, it’s their business.
For me, exploiting this trait to confirm safety is my method.
Call it the Skeleton Capsule Test.
With Kyle’s help, we loaded the capsule into the truck.
Thunk!
Mission accomplished.
“You’re insane. What if the monster had popped out?” Kyle asked, shaking his head as he stared at the capsule in the truck bed.
“Then I’d die.”
“Fair enough.”
“I need to move quickly, so I’ll head out.”
“Got it. Take care.”
There was no need for more words.
Both of us got what we wanted.
Besides, this wasn’t the end.
Why? We’d see each other on the forum in a few hours.
Kyle waved.
“This is between us, right?”
I nodded.
“Don’t forget to like my next post!”
“I’ll decide after reading it.”
Kyle grinned and gave a thumbs-up.
Instead of taking the capsule to the U.S. military base, I dropped it on the road connecting the base to my territory.
The distance: about five kilometers.
The same as the distance to the sniper mother and daughter.
I don’t know what will emerge from it.
It could be a necromancer type that raises zombies or a spider type that’s a predator of architecture.
At least it won’t head toward me.
Monsters tend to gravitate toward areas with more people.
It’s not a guarantee, of course...
But one thing’s for sure: this baby’s performance is impressive.
“Crackle! This is Pioneer Unit 23! There’s something strange up ahead!”
“Crackle! This is Road Control Command. Drone observation confirms it’s a monster spore. Turn back immediately and move away as quickly as possible. This is not a suggestion; it’s an order. Repeat...”
One batch of refugees dealt with, right after adoption.
“Like!”
*
A month has passed.
Which means it’s now 1 year and 11 months since the war began.
On the community forum, anxiety and complaints about the surge of refugees dominate the trending posts.
Among them is a post by Keystone.
Keystone: We’re screwed, goddammit!
Apparently, a group of refugees has set up camp in the neighborhood right in front of Keystone’s bunker.
Is this poetic justice at work?
While the world is in chaos, I’m enjoying a leisurely late summer.
Refugees?
Not even a shadow of them in sight.
Even now, my adorable baby monster is still sound asleep in its round capsule, keeping the pests from approaching my territory.
But good fortune never lasts forever.
An uninvited guest is about to shatter my peace.
Personal ID: Sergent
A message from Lee Sang-hoon.
This man, who now practically controls the crumbling remnants of South Korea, is my Salieri.