Hiding a House in the Apocalypse Chapter 14

The location where Defender took the photo was easy to deduce.

It was a vast stretch of farmland, once golden with ripened crops before the war began.

Though officially registered as agricultural land (답), not a mountain or forest, turning it into a construction site isn’t a simple feat.

From my frequent trips through the area, I’d never seen any sign of construction.

Defender must have passed through by chance.

He often ntioned being near Gwanggyo, and the landscapes in his endless murder-proof photos hinted at a heavily forested, mountainous region.

Maybe this guy just roams around a lot?

But it’s unlikely he uses vehicles or other transportation.

The only thing I found near the tracks left by my buggy were footprints — male-sized sneakers heading eastward.

The trail vanished amidst the overgrown reeds.

Why head east, though?

I don’t care, and I have no way to find out.

The real issue is Defender’s recent behavior.

[ Defender has sent you a friend request. ]

I didn’t even know Viva! Apocalypse! had a friend feature until now.

Why?

Because no one’s ever sent a request before.

Why this guy of all people?

To be honest, I dislike him.

I can understand the necessity of killing in this post-apocalyptic world, but his behavior — launching into murder sprees and proudly posting about them as soon as the war broke out — feels fundantally twisted.

Even now, after unblocking him, those feelings haven’t changed much.

[ Accept ] [ Decline ]

Two clear options.

Yet, for so reason, I haven’t pressed the decline button.

*

The War, One Year and Ten Months Later

The war had been raging for one year and ten months.

Today’s outside temperature: 32°C. A midsumr day.

At this ti of year, the community forum habitually fills with posts cursing the harshness of Korea’s four seasons and the mythical foresight of Dangun, Korea’s legendary founder.

I, however, am not afraid of sumr.

Indoor temperature: 24°C.

That’s the current temperature inside my bunker.

Yes, my bunker has air conditioning.

On the dining table are the Assassin’s Pasta I prepared earlier and a bowl of shaved ice topped with condensed milk and canned red beans, freshly made with finely crushed ice.

When I take a big spoonful of the shaved ice after the warm pasta lingers in my mouth...

“Ahhh~.”

The brain-freezing pain, sharp and reverberating, cos paired with pure happiness.

A sumr delight, you might call it.

I’m not oblivious.

I didn’t post pictures of my shaved ice on the community forum.

As it is, I’m already hated without reason. If I went around flaunting these small luxuries, the only person who’d still read my posts would be so weirdo like Human Hunter!

Although I’m an unpopular user on the forums, I can confidently say that my quality of life ranks among the top tier.

Frankly, to find soone who eats and lives as well as I do, you’d probably have to look at the billionaire types who built their fortresses.

The cornerstone of my luxurious life is, above all else, abundant electricity.

My power setup is on another level.

While most community users rely on small generators running on gasoline or gas, I operate an industrial-grade diesel generator, the kind you’d find powering a factory.

I call it the Skeleton Heart, and it’s massive—larger than many standard bunkers. As its na suggests, it’s the beating heart of my sanctuary.

Its performance is exceptional.

As long as there’s fuel, it generates massive amounts of electricity, enough to fully charge dozens of batteries in a flash and still have power to spare.

Of course, it has its downsides: high installation costs, noise, and a ridiculous amount of gas emissions.

I covered the installation costs by buying cheap land, and the noise isn’t an issue since I’m in an uninhabited area. But the gas emissions were a real headache during the bunker construction phase, almost as troubleso as managing the groundwater.

I drilled no fewer than seven ventilation shafts and finally managed to build a duct system after countless trials and errors.

Even so, when the generator runs, black smoke billows from the vents in thick plus.

I tried installing filtration systems to reduce the visible smoke, but they didn’t make much difference. From a distance, you might miss it, but if anyone has a direct line of sight to my bunker, they can easily spot the seven columns of smoke.

For this reason, I usually run the generator only at night. Especially on stormy or windy nights, I sotis run it intentionally, even if I don’t need electricity, to charge the batteries.

But this abundance cos with a condition: there must be no people nearby.

While the darkness of night conceals the smoke, the noise and vibrations from the generator can’t escape unnoticed if anyone lives within range.

Bang! Bang!

That afternoon, to the south, the sniper mother and daughter were having a lively shootout.

It felt like there were more shots than usual.

Could they be engaged in a battle?

Shortly after, my K-Walkie-Talkie crackled with static and delivered halting Korean.

“...Skeleton. Many people are heading your way.”

Since the typhoon, my relationship with the sniper duo has been that of distant yet cooperative neighbors.

We didn’t explicitly agree to work together, but over ti, the tension eased.

Sharing information was part of that.

Smirking bitterly, I spoke into the walkie-talkie.

“Did you drive them here?”

There was no reply, but just before the signal cut off, I faintly heard the daughter’s laughter.

The people the sniper had driven away were refugees.

Once a hot topic on the forums, refugees have recently beco a rare sight.

In the year following the war, many refugees fled Seoul for the countryside, but most failed, and rumors of their failures spread.

With the war stabilizing and the governnt sending out hopeful ssages and actions, the number of refugees sharply declined, making them nearly nonexistent in recent months.

Yet, now, refugees were heading straight into my territory.

“Ah, damn it.”

Frustration surged within .

Out of all the places, why were they coming here?

Could they be raiders?

Their armant wasn’t impressive. Most carried crude, homade crossbows known as “judge killers,” and only a few had firearms.

They stopped just short of my outermost bunker.

I turned off the air conditioning, took out my firearms, loaded ammunition, and secured two axes to my belt.

I’m not the sniper duo, nor am I Human Hunter.

My strategy is to avoid combat and keep my location hidden whenever possible.

I activated all my surveillance and eavesdropping equipnt to monitor their movents.

“Why are we heading this way? There’s nothing here.”

“Exactly. Isn’t this area supposed to have been hit by a nuke?”

“I think that was an old U.S. military base. Aren’t we supposed to be heading there?”

Their murmuring voices ca through the speakers.

A man in his mid-40s wearing makeshift military fatigues responded.

“This area is elevated, with low ridges providing visibility of the surroundings.”

He glanced around and added, “Since recapturing the city failed, our objective has shifted to reclaiming the U.S. base over there. However, given the residual radiation and the possibility of raiders hiding, let’s set up here and gradually reclaim the area. This region has been unstable, as you all know.”

Later, I would learn his na: Choi Hyuk-chan, a reserve lieutenant colonel.

His attire and companions suggested they were not active-duty soldiers but reservists.

The group consisted entirely of n, most around Choi’s age.

They weren’t well-trained soldiers. Their movents were slow, and they frequently showed signs of unease.

I wanted to ignore them.

But the mont I saw them pitching tents in my territory, I realized things had gone terribly wrong.

To make matters worse, one of them stumbled upon a disguised decoy bunker.

“What’s this? A bunker?”

The interior was empty.

The only thing inside was a stash of explosives I could detonate remotely from my main bunker.

Realizing I needed to act, I erged from my main bunker with my firearm in hand.

The sight of startled them, including Choi.

“This is private property,” I declared, keeping a safe distance and positioning myself near industrial debris for cover.

“Please leave.”

The group muttered among themselves. A few showed hostility, but most were more surprised and fearful of the ard figure confronting them.

Choi stepped forward as their representative.

“Hello there!”

I gave a curt nod but didn’t respond.

“I’m Choi Hyuk-chan, a reserve lieutenant colonel. We have governnt approval to develop this area.”

“Developnt?” I asked skeptically.

Choi attempted to show paperwork, but when I raised my gun as a warning, he sighed and put the docunts away.

“You’re quite cautious for soone so young. Did you get bullied in school or sothing? Anyway, have you been living here alone?”

“I don’t intend to talk much. Keep it short.”

“Ha, sure, I’ll keep it brief.”

Smiling amiably, Choi’s deanor suddenly shifted as he raised his voice.

“You said this was your land, right? That’s ancient history.”

“What do you an?”

“Ownership has been reset. All property deeds are void. Outside major cities, it’s a free-for-all. Whoever claims it, owns it.”

He waved his papers in front of .

“This is our permit.”

At that mont, I understood why refugees had reappeared after being gone for so long.

The situation in Seoul might be worse than I’d imagined.

“Judging by your condition, you must be one of those doomsday preppers. Don’t worry, we won’t touch your land. Our goal is over there,” Choi said, gesturing toward the U.S. base.

“We’ll just borrow this area until we finish clearing that place out. Isn’t that reasonable, forr landowner?”

Choi smirked, his hand brushing against the pistol at his belt.

I deliberated briefly. Should I kill them all or endure this?

“Two days. You can stay for two days,” I said.

It was a conditional allowance, driven by the desire to avoid unnecessary conflict. These weren’t raiders, after all.

“Two days? That’s too short, but fine,” Choi replied.

And so began an uneasy cohabitation.

The greatest discomfort wasn’t their presence but the inability to use my generator.

The battery reserves were draining quickly.

Inside my bunker, the temperature rose uncomfortably, and candles replaced the lighting.

Worst of all, the temperature in the underground freezer was rising faster than expected.

Hours at most.

If the freezer, which had maintained sub-zero temperatures, absorbed the sumr heat, my precious food supply would be ruined.

Despite the agreent, Choi and his n overstayed their welco.

On the third day, the ergency door to my main bunker rattled.

“Hey, there’s a door here!”

They had found it.

“Push it! Push harder!”

Their voices were a nightmare co to life.

A mont of silence followed, then Choi’s voice bood from just outside the steel door.

“You’re in there, aren’t you? Hey, co out and let’s talk!”

I stepped out unard, carrying only cigarettes.

“It’s hot under the sun. Why don’t you wait inside the bunker? I’ll bring out food and drinks. For now, have so cigarettes.”

Choi smirked, taking a cigarette and lighting it.

“Now, that’s more like it. I knew there was a proper bunker behind that door.”

His smugness was palpable as he placed a hand on my shoulder and took a deep drag of his cigarette.

“You worked hard on this place. Don’t worry, we’re not raiders. Once we settle the U.S. base, we’ll be neighbors. I’ll even introduce you to so nice girls. My friends’ daughters are idol-level beauties!”

His "friend request" ended in an explosion.

I hunted down the survivors, Choi included.

“How... how could you...?”

His death left unmoved.

More pressing matters awaited.

I restarted the generator, restoring power.

Cool air returned to my bunker, and the freezer’s temperature dropped back to safe levels.

Standing in front of the air conditioner, basking in the refreshing breeze, I allowed myself a rare, satisfied smile.

[You have accepted Defender’s friend request.]

Defender seed overjoyed.

Defender: (Touched) “Skeleton finally accepted my friend request! Thanks, buddy!”

I briefly reflected.

Defender and I are just ordinary people surviving the apocalypse.

We’re not so different.

Both of us have reverse scales—lines no one can cross without provoking us.

The only difference is that Defender’s line is just a bit bigger than mine.

That’s all.