Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 115.4: Happiness (4)

The village was enclosed by a crude barricade made of wood, slate panels, and car doors ripped off from abandoned vehicles.

Beyond the barricade, around fifty ramshackle houses were visible, but it didn’t seem like that many people actually lived there.

As expected of forsaken land, there were no guards at the entrance.

The same went for the watchtower—once manned by someone keeping a lookout but now abandoned.

A wind chime dangling beneath the tower swayed with the sudden breeze, producing a clear, ringing sound, as if to announce our arrival.

"An ambush?"

There was no way anyone would bother with one, but I asked Cheon Young-jae just to be sure.

He darted his eyes around before shaking his head.

Together, we stepped forward, pushed the makeshift door open, and entered the village.

A single loitering figure finally noticed us.

"Who are you?"

I could tell before he even spoke that the man wasn't in good condition.

A gaunt body, vacant eyes, sallow skin, and ceaseless, twitchy, repetitive movements—

A drug addict.

"We're from Shelter 73."

There's a common misconception about drug addicts.

That they're people whose minds are completely shattered, incapable of logical thought or functioning in any meaningful way.

But the addicts I've encountered tell a different story.

They have their distinct traits, but most of them can still think clearly.

Before they fell into addiction, they were just ordinary people like us.

Those with jobs still carried them out; those with families spent time with their loved ones and played their roles within their households.

In fact, they consider themselves normal.

This man was no different.

The moment he realized we were outsiders, his eyes rolled as he pondered something, then stretched his lips into a grin.

"How did you get here?"

"We crossed the zombie zone."

"Oh! The zombie zone! That place? What about the monsters?!"

"We went around them."

"Incredible! Did you bring a car? A car?!"

His bloodshot eyes flickered with sudden intensity.

"We came on foot. No car."

"No car...? But without a car, you can’t leave."

"You can walk out. We did."

"No, that's not the problem. If there's no car, we can't take it. We can't take it!"

The man suddenly began trembling, repeating the same words like someone whose mind had short-circuited.

Soon, his hands started shaking so violently that it was visible even to the naked eye, and he pulled something from his pocket.

A substance so vile I couldn't even stomach describing it.

"Heh..."

A drug addict is, in a sense, a person who died long ago.

They think they’re still normal, but their version of normal is nothing more than a living illusion—an attempt to bridge the gap between the last high and the next.

The man buried his nose in the packet.

I averted my gaze and surveyed the surroundings.

"..."

The entire hillside was covered in drug farms.

Whether it was cultivated by the shelter itself or by a small community trying to trade, I couldn't say. But it was extensive.

Perhaps this was Shelter 73’s main source of income.

With South Korea’s once-proud medical system completely collapsed, drugs had become the most accessible form of pain relief.

"I'm looking for a woman named Song Moon-hee."

The man rolled his eyes.

"Song Moon-hee?"

"You know her?"

"Oh, of course! Yeah, I know her! The woman living up on that hill, right?"

Cheon Young-jae, who had been listening, interjected.

"What about the kid? Are there kids?!"

"Oh, there was one. But... died. Last winter."

"..."

I stole a glance at Cheon Young-jae’s face as his emotions surged violently.

"How old was the child?"

"A baby. Born last year."

"What about any older kids? Are there any?"

"No. There never were."

I turned to Cheon Young-jae.

"You heard him."

His expression hardened as he met my gaze and nodded stiffly.

"Hey. You guys. You said you came from outside, right? Hm?"

The man, drooling slightly, stepped toward us.

"The car. You came in a car, right?"

"No, we walked."

"No car?! You don’t have a car?"

"I said we walked."

"If there’s no car, then it’s useless. It’s all useless."

The man mumbled to himself, hands trembling uncontrollably.

Leaving him behind, I set my sights on the house he had pointed out.

"What do you want to do?"

I asked Cheon Young-jae.

"Are we going to check?"

It was a light question, but the weight behind it was anything but.

It carried the weight of a life.

"..."

Cheon Young-jae ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ hesitated.

"Let's go."

I took the lead.

"Where?"

"We came this far. We should at least confirm."

The clock read 4 p.m.

It was summer, so the sun would set late, but once darkness fell, the danger from zombies would increase exponentially.

There was no reason to delay.

Or perhaps, deep down, I just wanted to escape from the sickening air that hung over this village of the living dead.

People began emerging from the crumbling buildings one by one.

All showed clear signs of malnutrition and the same physical traits typical of addicts, yet they were still aware of what was happening around them.

Meanwhile, Cheon Young-jae’s eyes darted about wildly, his unease plainly visible.

We reached the house in question.

Like the others, it was cobbled together with slate, wood, and random metal scraps.

Between the gaps, industrial waste plastic insulation jutted out like grotesque, exposed entrails.

The door was firmly shut.

I knocked.

A small wooden panel at the top of the door slid open like a peephole, revealing the eyes of a middle-aged man.

"Who the hell are you?"

His tone was instantly irritating.

It wasn’t something he picked up overnight.

I saw Cheon Young-jae’s face twist in anger.

"I'm looking for Song Moon-hee."

"And who the fuck are you? Huh? Who the hell are you?"

That should have been the end of it.

"You goddamn beggars, do you even know where you are? Get the fuck out!"

This wasn’t the naive world from before the war.

It was only natural that Cheon Young-jae stepped past me.

Bang!

He violently shoved the door open.

The man tried to yell and put up a fight, but Cheon Young-jae’s merciless hand struck his cheek, yanking him outside.

Thud!

A ruthless kick slammed into his head and gut.

I raised my gun and scanned the surroundings.

A few people peeked out from their homes, but none of them cared enough to intervene.

"Aaaaagh!"

Ignoring the writhing man, Cheon Young-jae entered and quickly searched the house.

He came back out and shook his head at me.

No one inside.

"Where's Moon-hee?"

Cheon Young-jae crouched beside the man and asked.

When the man only groaned in response, Cheon Young-jae grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him toward the doorway. freewebnoveℓ.com

He positioned the man's head right where the door would close.

"Answer me."

Then, he slammed the door shut.

Bang!

The door smashed into the man's skull.

"Talk!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

With each slam, blood splattered, and the man's body jerked violently.

"Cheon Young-jae."

I called his name.

He looked at me, his expression still burning with rage.

"You don’t have to kill him."

"I'm just teaching him some manners."

Cheon Young-jae raised his gun and stared past the building.

Someone was approaching.

"Huh?"

His eyes flashed with bloodlust.

A man in his early thirties stepped out from around the corner.

His most striking feature was the stylish tattoo inked on his neck—likely done before the war.

The moment Cheon Young-jae saw him, he raised his gun and grinned viciously.

"This bastard."

I knew exactly who he was.

Yoon Sung-jae.

Yoon Sung-jae had once beaten Cheon Young-jae mercilessly and stolen Song Moon-hee from him.

Now, he was unarmed.

There were two men with him, but they only had clubs. The moment they saw our firearms, they either hid their weapons or dropped them to the ground.

Before Cheon Young-jae could smash the man's face with the rifle's stock, I had a moment to take in his features.

He was fine.

Unlike the others in this place, there were no visible signs of drug abuse on him.

Thud!

Cheon Young-jae took him down with a single blow and pointed the gun at him.

"Did you come here to die?"

"..."

The man said nothing.

His face, avoiding Cheon Young-jae's burning glare, showed a fatalistic resignation.

Cheon Young-jae lowered his gun and drew another weapon from his belt.

Srrrng—

A kukri—a curved knife without a handguard.

Not standard military issue, but it had once been popular among hunters.

Easy to maintain, with excellent cutting power.

"Where is Moon-hee?"

He held the cold blade up to the man's face.

Yoon Sung-jae didn't look like he was going to answer.

Cheon Young-jae sighed and stepped closer.

"Cheon Young-jae."

"What?"

"This guy is Yoon Sung-jae, right?"

"Yeah. This bastard kicked me out. Tried to cut my Achilles tendon, too."

"Alright."

I motioned for Cheon Young-jae to step back.

He wasn't happy with the order, but I ignored him and looked down at Yoon Sung-jae.

His resigned eyes met mine briefly before shifting back to the ground.

"You don't look like someone who's touched drugs. Am I right?"

He glanced at me and gave a silent nod.

"Then why show yourself?"

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

I gestured toward Cheon Young-jae as I spoke.

"You had to know you’d be killed for it."

It wasn't just a question for him.

It was also a message to Cheon Young-jae, who had lost his cool in his emotional outburst.

Cheon Young-jae's breathing changed.

The grip on his kukri gradually loosened.

Sensing a small sliver of hope, I kept pressing.

"Was it for Song Moon-hee?"

"..."

"Whether you trust us or not doesn’t matter. But at least know this—we’re not here for revenge. Your only concern is checking on Song Moon-hee."

Yoon Sung-jae, who had been avoiding eye contact, finally wiped the blood from his lips and looked directly at me.

"Song Moon-hee. She's alive, isn't she?"

"..."

"Answer. So he can be at peace."

I kept my words short but firm.

At last, Yoon Sung-jae let out a deep sigh and nodded.

"She's alive."

I turned to Cheon Young-jae.

"You heard him."

He said nothing.

Frozen at the revelation that his former lover was still alive, he eventually let out a crooked laugh and kicked a small rock, sending it bouncing against the wall of a nearby hut.

"Can you show us to her?"

I asked Yoon Sung-jae.

He silently shook his head.

"Why not?"

"..."

"I'm not the one holding your life in my hands. He is."

"...Moon-hee doesn’t want to see him."

Yoon Sung-jae finally spoke.

His voice had depth—resonant and pleasant to hear.

Now that I got a closer look, his face was strikingly composed, his demeanor carrying a subtle sense of refinement.

I nodded and stepped back.

"Cheon Young-jae."

Now, it was his decision to make.

I watched him in silence.

Regardless of strength or skill, he was a smart man.

Quick-witted, with sharp situational awareness.

I had thought he had no weaknesses.

But he was deeply vulnerable to personal matters.

And when emotional, he became reckless.

Everyone has weaknesses.

But his wasn’t a good one.

Because his weakness was choice.

"..."

This was my final test.

I hoped he would make the right call.

No matter how talented someone was, I wouldn't work with a man who couldn't control his emotions.

Losing him would be a shame, but this was a valuable opportunity.

Personal weaknesses like this don’t easily reveal themselves in everyday life.

"Why?"

Cheon Young-jae finally asked, his voice rough.

Yoon Sung-jae sighed and answered in a low voice.

"...You already know."

Cheon Young-jae's eyes trembled.

Then, with his head bowed, he stood still.

Through the shadows across his face, I could feel countless thoughts crossing his mind.

The silence didn't last long.

"...Fuck."

He spat out a curse and turned away.

Then, he looked at me.

"Let's go."

His eyes glistened slightly.

I felt the faintest smile pulling at my lips, but I held it back.

"Let’s grab a drink. I have something good."

"Do whatever you want."

Just as we were about to leave this village of the living dead, we heard—

"Are you a hunter?"

Yoon Sung-jae had finally risen to his feet.

He was huge.

Easily over 190 cm tall.

I nodded.

"My deepest apologies."

Yoon Sung-jae suddenly dropped to his knees.

"I know I have no right to ask for a favor, but hunters are supposed to be monsters’ natural enemies."

"..."

"I'm truly sorry, but—could you eliminate the monster up ahead? I can only offer drugs as payment, but for us, it's a matter of survival. That thing is blocking the roads, and without a car, we can't move our supplies to the shelter—"

"No."

I refused immediately.

"There are too many zombies. There’s only two of us. And we have no reason to risk our lives for you."

Personally, I find that polite refusals are far more effective.

My old colleague Lee Sang-hoon used to do it so irritatingly well.

I nudged Cheon Young-jae with a look, and we started walking again.

"If you don’t help us, we’ll all starve to death—including Moon-hee."

Not my problem.

But.

"...Park sunbae."

My junior looked at me.

Not to test me.

But to rely on me.

Srrrng—

For the first time in a while, I unsheathed my axe.

Its edge, still honed to a mirror sheen, glinted in my eyes.

"Let’s go."