Free Web NovelThe train that would take us to Princess—the Panokseon—crept through the ruins of the city at an average speed of 25 km/h.
The train consisted of 14 cars, more than half of which were empty. According to Pyo Won-sang, these were meant to carry rescued civilians from the southern provinces.
The train ran primarily on hydrogen fuel cells, but in certain sections, it operated like an electric train, drawing power directly from the electrical towers along the rail.
Despite the war, railway maintenance had continued without pause, and—believe it or not—nuclear power plants in the southeastern region of the Korean peninsula were reportedly still providing power without fail.
How such a thing was possible in a place where even people had left and the land itself had eroded, I had no idea. But it was the work of Korean engineers.
Maybe even after we’re all dead and gone, that power will still be humming.
It was a massive operation—more than 500 personnel had been mobilized.
Fifty people just to operate the train, about 150 soldiers, three hunter teams including reserves, and even support personnel for medical needs, food preparation, and morale-boosting recreation staff were on board.
The largest group consisted of workers and engineers, tasked with repairing broken railways and infrastructure and laying the groundwork for future rail revival efforts.
The equipment we were carrying was jaw-dropping—open-deck cars loaded with armored vehicles, 4WD trucks, excavators, bulldozers, and more.
“My plan is to build the road as we go.”
Pyo Won-sang, the overall commander of this mission, showed excessive passion every time I saw him.
At least in that regard, you couldn’t fault him for being from the Jeju Committee.
“Once the rail is restored, a bridge between the capital and the provinces will be reestablished. Panokseon will serve as the vanguard in rebuilding the post-collapse world. I hesitate to say it myself, but this train was designed to handle every situation that might arise in this mission. Let me explain step-by-step—please, look at the screen.”
With an overjoyed expression, he launched into a long monologue about the greatness of Panokseon.
Woo Min-hee walked out midway through, but even that wasn’t enough to dampen Pyo Won-sang’s excitement.
“Everyone mocks us. Says this will become another Lighthouse. But let me ask—what’s more pathetic than someone who’s never tried ridiculing those who have?”
In many ways, he reminded me of the unlucky man who built the Lighthouse and died.
Still, I hoped this train wouldn’t end up wrecked while I was aboard.
Though my mission was limited to securing Princess, I was also a part of the Panokseon crew, so I listened to the briefing carefully and committed it all to memory.
Whatever else could be said about Pyo Won-sang, he’d clearly poured an enormous amount of preparation into this.
The train’s armaments included not just defensive weapons to protect itself but offensive artillery that could exert overwhelming force when necessary.
Half of the soldiers aboard were elite artillery specialists—a fact worth noting.
“Seriously. That guy has the thickest damn skin.”
I was the only one in our team who sat through Pyo Won-sang’s full two-hour briefing.
“Ha sunbae... Damn. I knew he had a brass face, but I didn’t know it was that bad.”
Cheon Young-jae repeatedly voiced his disappointment in Ha Tae-hoon.
They had been together since Incheon, risking their lives side by side. Of course the betrayal cut deep.
I don’t blame him.
In an age of ruin, Ha Tae-hoon made the choice that best suited him.
If you asked whether we could’ve offered him a comfortable, wealthy life? The answer was no.
He was newly married and soon to be a father.
Sure, friendship and loyalty might seem important—but can anyone truly say they outweigh family?
There were more important problems at hand.
SCREECH—
The train stopped again.
Contrary to Pyo Won-sang’s confident claims, the condition of the tracks was far from good.
It felt like we stopped every thirty minutes.
Each time we did, we stayed halted for hours.
True, scavengers hadn’t tampered with the tracks—but for various reasons, some rail segments were misaligned or missing entirely. Whenever that happened, the train had to stop and wait for workers to reconnect the rails.
For now, it was manageable.
We had the manpower and equipment.
But the farther south we traveled, the more people we’d meet who were hostile toward the government.
The warlords who once ruled the southern provinces might be gone, but that was Pyo Won-sang’s claim.
It’s unlikely he brought all these artillery units and gunners just for negotiation.
So here’s the only question I could raise:
Can we even reach the place where Princess is?
All departing trains have a fixed destiny.
A departure point and a destination.
For a train not to reach its destination is to defy fate itself.
“When are we getting there? Seriously. We’re still in Gyeonggi.”
“They said it’d take three days, but at this rate it’s gonna take over a month.”
“I peeked into the food storage car—it’s way too much.”
“That's for the civilians we plan to rescue.”
“I don’t care. I’m freaking out. It’s already been a day since I took any Savior extract!”
Here, too, are trains that won’t reach their destination.
The formal Awakened that Yuyang-seo assigned to me.
They look fine on the surface.
They carry the pride and exclusivity of Jeju elites, as expected.
They always stuck to themselves, only passing requests through their leader, Moon Yang-gyeong, when necessary.
But their future is uncertain.
I showed Woo Min-hee Kang Han-min’s message.
“Knew it. Just like the rumors said.”
With a cold smirk, she flexed her hooked fingers menacingly.
“So it was just a myth. That sticking by Kang Han-min meant you wouldn’t get drafted.”
Kang Han-min never built a faction voluntarily.
He earned the title of “Savior,” but to my knowledge, he lacked charisma and wasn’t very likable.
Still, Awakened always gathered around him, forming a guard-like group of their own accord.
At the heart of it was the myth that if you stayed close to him, you wouldn’t be taken by the Rift.
“There was this rumor that Savior Kang Han-min gave off a special kind of wave—that just being near him meant you wouldn’t hear the Rift’s voice.”
That was a statement by Kim Hanna, who once lived on Jeju.
Such rumors drew frightened Awakened to his side. Without doing anything, he’d amassed a group even the Committee had to acknowledge.
But the truth lies deeper.
“He managed them. I don’t know how, but he could tell. Which ones would be taken, and which wouldn’t. The ones marked by the Rift—he kept them away. The rest, he rotated in and out of danger. And the ones with no hope? He sent them elsewhere or into the riskiest missions.”
Woo Min-hee had done her own digging when she clashed with Kang Han-min in the past.
“All to preserve the myth that if you’re near Kang Han-min, you won’t be taken. No proof, of course.”
Despite her sharp insight, she didn’t have the persistence to collect enough data to prove it.
As the delays piled up, so did the anxiety of the once-arrogant Jeju elites.
“I said, why aren’t we moving?!”
On the third day, an incident occurred.
One of the Jeju Awakened confronted Pyo Won-sang directly.
A gaunt woman named Go Hee-seol—who hadn’t spoken to anyone outside her clique—suddenly exploded with rage.
“It looks done enough. Can’t we just go already?! Huh?!”
“No, it looks done, but it isn’t.”
“But the rails are laid! The train can pass through!”
“No, I’m telling you—”
“FUCK! How long are you going to drag this out over some bullshit?! HUH?!” freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
During this outburst, Go Hee-seol unleashed a shockwave.
BOOM!
The entire work crew stopped what they were doing and stared toward the train in shock.
Pyo Won-sang, dumbfounded, just stared at the young Awakened woman who was young enough to be his little sister.
It didn’t take long for the blank expression on his face to turn to one of shame and rage.
Anyone with half a brain could tell.
Go Hee-seol’s outburst and shockwave were meant to humiliate the low-level Awakened Pyo Won-sang in front of everyone.
“When can we depart?”
I was lucky to be on the scene.
As soon as the situation began to spiral, I stepped between them.
No matter what, even if it’s the Jeju Committee, I’m still an adult compared to a just-over-twenty Awakened.
Pyo Won-sang realized what I was doing and exhaled deeply, suppressing his anger before speaking.
“This journey isn’t a one-time round trip. Our first goal is to establish a transportation route to the southern provinces. The purpose is to rebuild permanent exchange. Even if it takes time, we need to reinforce the tracks now for the future—especially for our return trip.”
I turned to glare at Go Hee-seol.
She was still seething, but her edge had dulled.
She knew.
Even if she was angry, unleashing a shockwave like that was over the line.
I looked her dead in the eye and said:
“You heard him. Losing your temper here won’t solve anything.”
Even Jeju elites don’t raise their voices to me.
Not because I outrank or overpower them.
Because Kang Han-min acknowledged me.
That fact alone carries more weight for them than any Jeju Committee title.
Of course, Kang Han-min’s recognition doesn’t mean they recognize me.
“I’m sorry. I must’ve lost my mind for a moment.”
She left after offering a half-hearted apology, like someone excusing themselves to a friend—despite having startled hundreds of workers and soldiers and halting critical operations.
I stopped Pyo Won-sang from muttering or pointing at her with just a glance, and added in a low voice:
“...Let’s not engage with her.”
At least he was someone you could reason with.
His face was flushed red, but he held back his anger and returned to his duties.
Though I guess he couldn’t resist one little jab.
“Fucking half-monsters.”
Luckily, she didn’t hear it.
But this wouldn’t be the last ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) such incident.
The quietest one turned out to be the first to blow up.
The Jeju elites’ anxiety might be greater than we thought.
“......”
I should talk to them.
* *
“I apologize. As the team leader, I’ll make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”
My request for a one-on-one talk had been politely declined.
Moon Yang-gyeong, the Jeju Awakened leader, bowed her head.
Not because she felt guilty.
Just a practiced, trained gesture.
Still, she was someone I could talk to.
Even if she didn’t want it, I had to say something—for the sake of the journey ahead.
But what should I say?
I’m ten years older than them, and lecturing a kid doesn’t sit right with me.
Besides, I don’t even know what to say.
We aren’t the same.
I don’t hear the Rift’s voice. I’m not at risk of turning into a monster.
Someone not in the same situation talking down to someone who is—that’s violence in itself.
But the forum taught me a few things.
Mainly: shared understanding.
“You know John Nae-non?”
“No.”
“...Why not?”
“What does he do?”
“......”
Not everyone has the same frame of reference.
Some people’s perspective is far narrower than we imagine.
In such cases, we have to lower ourselves.
“You know Kang Han-min and I were classmates, right?”
At the mention of his name, several faces peeked or popped out from behind seats.
I ignored their reactions and continued.
“Hard to believe, but back in school his grades were below average. He almost got expelled more than once.”
“Liar.”
Someone spoke.
The same girl who had clashed with Pyo Won-sang earlier.
“......But he endured tough times and became the hero you know.”
That’s what stories are like.
They can work magic on the listener—and sometimes offer visions to the speaker, too.
I’d rambled aimlessly, but stories naturally link into one another, giving form to what we didn’t yet know how to express.
“I know you’re going through hard times.”
The Awakened looked at me differently.
Even the icy Moon Yang-gyeong.
“Let’s endure together. If you ever want to talk, feel free to find me during working hours. If it’s about John Nae-non, anytime.”
A quiet ending.
I didn’t persuade or move anyone deeply.
But maybe this was the best I could do.
At least I’d adjusted the track ahead.
Though sometimes railways lead to places I’ve never imagined.
Late at night.
One of the Jeju Awakened came to find me.
“I have a favor to ask.”
Lee Ho-soo.
I only vaguely knew the name. Male.
According to the profile, he was only nineteen.
He had seemed like the most cheerful of the Jeju Awakened—but now, he looked at me with a hollow expression I’d never seen before, and calmly said:
“Can you let me off, secretly, somewhere along the way?”
And just like that, I understood what he meant.
The boy... was preparing for the end of his journey.
