Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 106: Return

I leaned toward the latter.

Regardless, it was a fact that life on the ocean had an abysmally low survival rate.

Take, for instance, the idea of living on a deserted island.

Even a quick look at history—at how frequently Wokou pirates raided the Korean Peninsula during the Goryeo era—would be enough to discourage anyone from attempting it.

I had encountered a few survivors living along the coast, but they weren’t truly “ocean dwellers.” Their lives weren’t much different from ours on land.

In Europe, someone had proposed a survival plan using a submarine.

Like most loud-mouthed individuals, they drew attention by boasting about it in public, eventually turning it into a donation scam.

To my knowledge, that plan had never come to fruition.

In short, the sea was not meant for post-apocalyptic survival.

And yet, humanity's resilience never ceases to amaze me.

"Hunter Park, look over there."

The pilot was one of the few Jeju residents who still called me Hunter.

Perhaps it was because of his resentment toward Jeju’s Awakened government, which had left him struggling despite his position as a pilot.

Either way, I appreciated the recognition.

I followed his gaze.

"...What is that?"

Something massive was floating in the sea.

It was clearly artificial—its sharp, angular structures weren’t the work of nature.

The aircraft lowered its altitude.

"Are you sure about this?"

Descending meant greater vulnerability to anti-air weapons.

"It’s fine. Just take a look, Hunter Park."

As we drew closer, the enormous structure’s true form became clear.

"...A ship?"

No—ships.

Dozens of vessels, both large and small, had been tied together, forming a floating island.

"What is that?"

"Refugees trying to reach Jeju."

"...Seriously?"

I had assumed they were all dead.

Hundreds of thousands had attempted to flee to Jeju, only to be abandoned at sea or drowned.

The pilot had been there when it happened.

With his eyes closed, he recalled the scene.

"Despite being denied entry, a few ships forced their way into the harbor. They still clung to the pre-war mindset that if they pushed hard enough, they'd be let in. But the navy opened fire. The ships that had tried to break through were engulfed in flames and sank."

His voice was calm, but I didn’t need to hear the details—I could already picture it.

I had seen similar scenes in Shanghai more times than I could count.

"Once they saw the government wasn’t bluffing, the rest of the fleet turned back."

"So where did all those people go?"

"There wasn’t enough fuel for everyone to return. They pooled what they had into a few larger ships and sent those back to the mainland. The ones left behind tied their boats together and built that floating junkyard."

The ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) plane flew low over the metal island.

There weren’t many people visible on deck, but signs of human life were everywhere—fog collectors, solar panels, even small makeshift farms planted on top of the ships.

"How many people live there?"

"At least a thousand."

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

As we passed over, people emerged from various ships.

Most were armed—raising their guns skyward.

Their stance was clear: they didn’t welcome outsiders.

Watching them, a thought crossed my mind.

If thousands had been sent back to the mainland, then somewhere along the way, word of their return should have spread.

Back then, any news about Jeju was considered information about paradise.

"I don’t remember ever hearing about that refugee fleet. If they made it back, it should have been big news. You might not have felt it here in Jeju, but just two or three years ago, all anyone ever talked about was Jeju."

As I spoke, the pilot smirked bitterly.

"Local warlords aren’t exactly charitable. Think about it. Even feeding their own people is a struggle—what do you think happens when tens of thousands suddenly arrive, needing food?"

Brutal—but logical.

"Some say the mutations got them, too. Have you ever seen a mutated whale?"

"Yeah. I saw one in the ocean on my way here."

"Ocean mutations are far worse than those on land. You can’t just hunt them with whaling ships anymore. The only way to take them down is with aircraft—but that only happens when the cost makes sense."

The plane continued flying over the vast sea.

As the endless, unchanging scenery dragged on, a wave of drowsiness washed over me.

I stifled a yawn, covering my mouth.

The pilot, meanwhile, was munching on some snacks.

Some kind of egg-based biscuit—completely flourless.

Once upon a time, flour had been cheap.

Now, it was rarer and more expensive than rice.

Synthetic fuel could be produced in Korea’s industrial complexes, but growing wheat in an increasingly subtropical climate was a different story.

Then, out of nowhere, the pilot asked:

"Aren’t you scared?"

"Hmm? Scared of what?"

"Going back to the mainland."

He smirked wryly.

"If I were you, I’d ask to be sent to a farm or factory instead. Sure, life there sucks—but isn’t it still better than the mainland?"

"Is it?"

I Think Differently.

Sure, my bunker was better equipped and more prepared than most, but I still believed the mainland was preferable to Jeju—a place drowning in regulations and oppression.

Of course, I'd have to deal with raiders attacking in the dead of night, mutations, and monsters on my own. But that was a price I was willing to pay for freedom.

That aside, there was a different issue with this pilot.

"I heard there are human meat factories on the mainland."

A head full of prejudices.

I had lived on the mainland for over three years after the war, and not once had I come across anything like that.

Sure, there had been extreme cases where people resorted to cannibalism to survive. But this wasn’t the Aztec Empire—industrialized human slaughterhouses weren't a thing.

Even logistically, it made no sense.

Such a facility would require a large enough supply of "raw materials", as well as storage and preservation methods for mass-produced meat.

If you had the infrastructure and power grid to run that, wouldn’t it make more sense to invest in sustainable food production instead?

Now, if I were some die-hard human meat enthusiast—and if there were at least a hundred others like me—then maybe. Maybe.

"I also heard young women are always enslaved, and the old or ugly ones are executed with crossbows."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. I saw it on the broadcasts and mainland survivor testimonies on the intranet. Even Filkrum88's Apocalypse Delinquents features similar stuff."

Ah, Apocalypse Delinquents.

I had read it.

It wasn’t some carefully crafted masterpiece—just a generic action story Filkrum88 churned out out of habit, a relic from the past drawn simply to make a living in Jeju.

As the title suggested, the protagonist, who constantly insisted he was an ordinary guy, slaughtered delinquent gangs one by one in a ruined mainland.

And Remnant, which had briefly continued DragonC’s legacy, had already been discontinued.

"It’s not that bad."

No matter how messed up things got, the mainland wasn’t that much of a lawless hellscape.

It was full of horrific deaths, misfortune, and suffering—but at its core, places where people lived still resembled places where people lived.

Even the city ruled by King in Sejong, a gangster warlord, still had ordinary citizens carving out their own territories, thriving in ways that were almost disturbingly resilient.

"Word is, the Rift is closing soon. Now that Savior Na Hye-in has returned, the process will accelerate."

The pilot muttered this out of nowhere, his face suddenly stiff.

Then, the aircraft tilted sharply to the side.

"We’re now entering Chungcheong. We’ll be avoiding Chinese-occupied areas."

The plane shook violently for a moment.

It seemed like the turbulence had coincided with our maneuver.

Even someone like me, who could keep his cool against monsters, felt fear in an environment I couldn't control.

Fear is born from helplessness—from the inability to act.

Once the plane stabilized, the pilot let out a breath and spoke again.

"They’re recruiting volunteers for the mainland."

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"Volunteers?"

"Yeah. Sending people there. Officially, it’s a 'recruitment program,' but... well. Let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned into forced deportation."

I could guess why he brought this up.

He was in a dangerous position.

He might be on the list of people Jeju wanted to get rid of.

After all, even though pilots were considered skilled professionals, this wasn’t World War II—they didn’t need that many.

And with the limited number of operational aircraft, only those with proven skill and seniority would be kept.

Like the experienced, middle-aged pilot who had brought me to Jeju in the first place.

"Apparently, they’re offering settlements in Tier-1 zones for those willing to go. Any takers?"

"Who knows."

It wasn’t a question for me to answer.

But if it were me, I would have accepted in a heartbeat.

"...So much for 'everything will be better once the Rift is closed.'"

The pilot chuckled bitterly.

"Jeju’s government really is just another version of South Korea, huh? Betrayal right when it’s least expected."

His deep-seated resentment toward Jeju's government seemed to stem from this issue.

Hearing him speak, I realized—being banished from Jeju must have felt like a death sentence to these people.

"Where did you live before the war?" I asked.

"Uiwang."

"Uiwang? I've heard of it, but never been. Was it a good place to live?"

"South Korea is South Korea. It was decent enough. A pain in the ass commuting to Seoul, but as a soldier, it didn’t make much difference. I lived peacefully with my wife."

The pilot let out a small laugh.

"But if you asked me to go back now, I'd never do it. My 'hometown' is long gone. What's the point? People romanticize exile, but a 'homeland' only means something if it still exists. Going back to a place overrun with raiders, monsters, and zombies? That's just a miserable death waiting to happen."

I met his gaze.

"The mainland’s livable enough."

He turned to look at me.

His eyes were filled with doubt.

"Really?"

It wasn’t a question—it was disbelief.

Even so, I answered plainly.

"Of course, you need to be prepared. A bunker. Firearms. Food. Fuel. More than anything, a location far away from people."

"Ah. A doomsday prepper."

For a split second, his eyes flashed with contempt.

That was all I needed to confirm it.

He had been one of the people who mocked us before the war.

He had gotten lucky, escaping to Jeju. That’s why he still held on to those naïve, pre-war ideals.

"It’s more livable than you think."

It wasn’t something I should be saying—considering I had abandoned my own territory.

But I had lived in both Jeju and the mainland.

Jeju certainly had advantages.

Infrastructure. Public amenities. Law enforcement.

But it wasn’t my land.

The resources there weren’t something I had fought for—they were simply handed down.

And anything handed down can be taken away at any moment.

"In my opinion, if you’re well-prepared, the mainland is the better choice."

There was so much to do.

I needed to check on my territory, which I had left in my comrades’ hands.

I had to rescue Ballantine.

I had to get in touch with Defender and my internet friends.

I needed to confirm Baek Seung-hyun’s movements after he left Shanghai.

And most of all—

I was finally going to claim the 'new badge' that VivaBot had promised me.

Just thinking about it filled me with excitement.

"Doubt it."

The pilot looked downward with a sigh.

"As far as I can tell, that place is just a wasteland of despair."

Thunk!

The hatch opened, and a roaring wind tore through the cabin.

"Well then. Thanks for the ride."

It was drop time.

I silently thanked Jang Ki-young, who had drilled us in airborne drops.

Then, I jumped.

The ground rushed toward me.

The land those from Jeju called 'hopeless' was—

Covered in green.