For an unprepared wanderer, everything is lacking.

Food to fill the stomach, fuel and a roof to keep the body warm, medicine, weapons to protect oneself and one’s family, and peace of mind.

It didn’t take long before we found what seemed to be traces of Park Penguin’s family.

On black ice darkened by half-melted snow and mud, there were long sled tracks being dragged by manpower.

Around the sled we found footprints—seven of them.

Most likely those of Park Penguin, his wife and son, and a few close associates who had followed him.

Judging by the marks dragged along the ground, the sled must have been very heavy.

That is the classic hallmark of a failing wanderer.

Having nothing at all is dangerous, but carrying useless baggage threatens survival even more.

Weight directly translates into calories burned, and as much as calories, speed is sacrificed.

The length of life granted to a wanderer is closely tied to how long it takes him to move from one settlement to another.

If the time between settlements is short, the chances of survival rise. But most failed wanderers never make it to the next settlement—or are rejected when they arrive—and vanish on the road.

I don’t say they “die” because in truth they simply vanish, like smoke.

Some end their lives by suicide, of course, but most just disappear somewhere, with only the rare body found bleached white.

The trail continued on, though it briefly disappeared in sections where the snow had melted away.

“Hey. You can smell it out, right?”

I put John Nae-non the Third to work.

Still not fully grown but already the size of a golden retriever, the beast barked faintly as it watched me for a signal.

I set him ahead to follow the trail.

“This is my first time tracking with a dog. Always wanted to try it at least once.”

Hong Da-jeong, for once, stepped outside the vehicle to follow behind John Nae-non the Third.

Not just her—Defender seemed interested too.

Supposedly, he liked dogs.

Even Mark Two came outside to see whether his dog was doing well.

Hong Da-jeong watched Mark Two, then whispered in my ear.

“He definitely doesn’t seem like your kid.”

I nodded.

Of course not my kid.

Not a single thread of Skeleton—the living legend—runs in that creature’s blood.

“There’s a certain dignity and composure to the way he acts. Especially for his age.”

“Really? And me?”

“You?”

Hong Da-jeong gave me a drowsy-eyed look.

It wasn’t hard to read the denial in that gaze, though I couldn’t quite figure out why she made such a judgment.

Unfortunately, there was no time to argue the point.

“Skeleton. Look over there.”

Defender and I noticed it at almost the same time.

People crouched in the ruins.

“...Stay there a moment.”

I told Mark Two.

They were dead.

Even from a distance it was obvious.

Our group was approaching with vehicles, yet the figures huddled against the building—showing the backs of their heads and hunched shoulders—didn’t move a muscle.

Like monsters.

They were corpses.

A man and a woman.

They looked alike.

Siblings, most likely.

“...”

Even Hong Da-jeong, always cynical, held her tongue in front of those bodies.

They had died together.

Each pulling the trigger on the other.

Maybe the Defender siblings saw a faint shadow of their own possible future in them.

These two had been closer to death than I was.

The dead left behind no supplies but their clothes.

Perhaps a magazine with a round or two remaining, but we weren’t so desperate as to scavenge that.

Like any who reach a dead end, they hadn’t even left a suicide note.

Or maybe they simply had nothing with which to write one.

John Nae-non the Third sniffed and moved forward.

The sled hadn’t stopped yet.

It kept on, slow and heavy.

Time was pressing, but I had the Defender siblings with me.

Inside the vehicle we had heating and insulation, even spare batteries.

I didn’t want to rely on a child, but if necessary I could call on his strength too.

Honestly—I had some margin.

But how much margin did Park Penguin have left?

Almost none.

Even the footprints told the story.

One adult’s prints that had been regular began staggering at some point.

A sign of terrible condition or injury.

“Woof!”

Sure enough, we spotted the presumed owner of those tracks.

John Nae-non the Third barked but didn’t approach.

I understood why.

Alive.

Defender and I kept cover as we closed in on the crouched figure beyond the ruins.

“Park Penguin?”

When I was close enough, I called out clearly.

“We came to help. Are you alive? If you need help, raise your hand or call out.”

A moment later, a voice came back from beyond the ruins.

“...Not Park Penguin.”

A weary male voice.

Thick with phlegm, leaking air, carrying the stench of death.

“Mind if I come closer?”

No reply.

We edged forward, keeping cover.

Normally I’d use a mirror for this, but we had Hong Da-jeong.

“Don’t go further. He’s aiming a pistol.”

She added,

“Want me to drop a brick on him?”

“No. No need.”

I called out to the man.

“I’m a friend of Park Penguin.”

“A friend? Thought all his friends from the war were dead.”

“Internet friends.”

No response.

I hesitated to mention the nickname Skeleton, but Defender spoke first.

“Hong Jung-ho.”

At that name, the man reacted instantly.

“Hong Jung-ho?”

The sound of someone staggering to his feet.

Soon a gaunt-eyed man emerged from beyond the ruins, staring at us with exhausted eyes.

He had a pistol in one hand, but the muzzle was pointed downward.

Defender pulled off his sunglasses and mask, showing his face.

The man’s paper-pale face twisted into something like a smile.

“It really is Hong Jung-ho.”

Defender nodded.

“Looks like you were with Park Penguin.”

The man nodded, then collapsed to the ground.

I approached.

He gave a bitter smile and shook his head.

“...I’m finished.”

He showed his palm.

On it was dried, clotted black blood.

I knew already.

He’d been shot.

The faint but distinct smell of blood had been there.

He had managed to stop the bleeding quickly—no stains spreading across his clothes—but anyone could see he didn’t have long.

“Who got you?”

Hong Jung-ho asked.

“Who else? Someone.”

The man snorted.

Even while scoffing, his face twisted in pain.

“...We’re all dead anyway. When the war started and we went into the shelter, everyone knew this was coming. Even Park himself admitted it. He had a family, so he tried to hang on, but he wouldn’t last long. He was beaten badly when they kicked him out—by the family he executed himself. Beaten until he couldn’t even stand. And then...”

The man’s head drooped.

“...A scream. That five-fingered monster was there.”

We left him and went back to the vehicle.

Hong Jung-ho spoke first, his face dark.

“As expected, Park Penguin’s probably dead.”

The siblings had given him up long ago.

And the further the trail went, the likelier it seemed he was dead.

He had lost comrades one by one, and even abandoned his closest aide.

The end was near.

And worse—the hazy fog-covered zone ahead seemed to hold an Extinction-class.

And that was dangerous.

Dangerous because we still knew so little about them.

“...”

I thought briefly.

The decision didn’t take long.

“Stay here, all of you.”

I looked at the Defender siblings, then Mark Two in turn.

“I’ll go alone—with the dog—to find Park Penguin.”

“We’ll go with you.”

The siblings offered, but I shook my head.

“No. Too dangerous. Against people it might be one thing, but that fog is a monster’s domain.”

I felt a twinge of guilt, but John Nae-non the Third was expendable.

Mark Two’s friend or not, I was seriously considering killing him anyway.

That’s who I am. Skeleton—and Professor.

This was a chance to test his value.

Besides, this was my obsession.

I wanted to see it through.

Even if despair awaited at the end of that fog, I didn’t want to leave this unfinished anymore.

I wanted closure.

And since I too was nearing my end, my change carried an inevitability of its own.

“Be careful.”

“Yeah.”

With their send-off, I walked into the fog.

According to Park Penguin’s aide, he couldn’t have gone far.

Supposedly, he had set out just an hour before we arrived.

Beside the sled tracks on the black ice and unmelted snow, junk lay scattered.

Pre-war “luxury goods,” marble and alabaster statues.

Maybe in Sejong they’d fetch a price.

But for a wanderer, the trip itself was a gamble with death.

A nature documentary I’d once watched on DVD in the bunker came to mind, like a dream.

About animals that strayed from the herd.

Whether it was penguins or something else, I don’t remember.

An animal that lived in a group, left the group, and died.

The message was simple: only in the herd could such animals survive.

And his chances of survival were dropping.

Screeeeeeech—

From not far away came a scream that triggered human instinctive revulsion.

The five-fingered Extinction-class.

Nothing was visible through the fog.

Shrrring—

I drew both axes.

John Nae-non the Third flinched but, clever dog that he was, understood, lowering his head to the ground and sniffing ahead.

The fog thickened.

As dense as the domain the Nemesis-type once filled.

As dense as the mist the Jeju monsters conjured.

At least I knew: this mist was the substance monsters used to hide themselves.

Maybe this fog was what allowed Extinction-class beings to remain on Earth like smaller types.

Screeech—

John Nae-non the Third balked.

Something stood beyond the fog.

Upright on two legs, humanlike.

But the fire of hatred in my chest knew exactly what it was.

“...”

I stepped past the cowering dog.

A pale figure turned its faceless head toward me.

I swung the axe.

Crack!

One down.

Crack!

Two.

Crack!

Three.

Two more remained, watching me without moving.

As if analyzing me.

They couldn’t perceive me with their authority—their detection ability.

But they had weak senses.

One extended a grotesque five-fingered hand toward me.

So they had primitive hearing.

I fixed my eyes on that repulsive hand and swung the axe again.

Crack! Crack!

The monster let out a voiceless scream and vanished.

From their scattering bodies spilled radiant motes, swirling with the fog’s currents.

Some seeped into me, dulling the hunger gnawing at my gut.

I turned my gaze to what they had been guarding.

An entrance to a basement.

A sled tossed aside.

“Woof!”

John Nae-non the Third barked.

“Good work.”

I patted his head and approached.

Old, dried bloodstains.

And a collapsed body.

A corpse.

Cold and stiff as a ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) frozen rat when I rolled it over.

“...”

I pulled out my phone and lit the face.

Not Park Penguin.

Not his son either.

Someone else entirely.

Judging by the state, this person had been in the sled all along, weighing it down.

I looked at the basement.

The fog pooled inside, a gloom so oppressive even I hesitated to step in.

I recalled that formless assassin in the fog we had fought before.

Not something I wanted to face again.

But I had come this far.

I would confirm the end of the stray penguin.

End this wretched unfinished state I had tolerated.

End it, as surely as the future I must one day face.

I went down the stairs.

No answer.

No sign of life.

A closed door.

I pressed lightly with force. It didn’t budge.

And then—

Creak—

That distinctive metallic scrape of a tripwire trap screamed in my ears.

He had set a booby trap at the door.

Going further was unwise.

Then...

“Park Penguin.”

There was only one means left—the one that first connected humans to each other.

“It’s me. Park Gyu. No—Skeleton.”

No reply.

I couldn’t go past a trap.

For a brief moment, my other mission—the duty to connect—flared inside me like fire.

“...”

I sighed, shallow, and was about to turn back when—

“...Skeleton?”

A voice.

Exhausted, crushed by fear, drained of life, but even so, that faint voice held enough life to stir my soul back from the darkness.

“You alive?”

It was a question for him—and for me.

“I’m alive!”

*

Behind that locked door, a family trembling from hunger, beatings, and despair had been waiting for me.

Now they rode in Defender’s vehicle, headed for Sejong.

IAmJesus: Right. I’ll send people. It’s too soon for Defender to come to our city himself.

We had saved the penguin who strayed from the herd.

Park Penguin thanked us, but after being lynched and nearly killed by his own group, he wasn’t in any state for proper conversation.

As I saw IAmJesus’s men approaching in the distance, I took a hot drink and rested.

Defender came up to me.

“Did you already know Park Penguin was alive?”

I shook my head.

“Then why...?”

Who knows.

In that moment, a crushing sense of duty—like a mission—pressed on my chest.

Now that feeling had thinned out like a lie, but I didn’t regret my choice.

“Who knows.”

I smirked.

“Maybe... it was me.”

Yes.

I nodded and added,

“Maybe I was the penguin who’d lost his herd.”

Defender frowned, not understanding, then put on his sunglasses and mask again.

“So, did you find your herd?”

I looked at Park Penguin’s family, strapped to the stretcher.

I didn’t think of them as my herd.

They were part of a herd.

“A little.”

So my answer had to be ambiguous.

The same way the enemy I would soon face would be.

We stand against ambiguity and uncertainty.

And that final battle is near.