WPRAF 17

Chapter 17

The “VIP” that Chief Choi mentioned could only be one person.

‘Why would President Jang Sehee… call for me?’

For a moment, I was stunned by the sudden summons from the President.
But I soon collected myself and began piecing things together.

‘It must’ve started with Chief Choi.’

Publicly, he’s known as the head of “Seogil Trading.”
Internally, however, his true title is Director of the Foreign Counterintelligence Bureau.

The Bureau’s primary duty is as follows:

To collect and compile intelligence on hostile nations—chiefly North Korea—from all angles, predicting and eliminating any and all forms of existing or potential threats.

‘But in a time like this, when an unprecedented phenomenon is threatening national security…’

Naturally, the agency must have shifted its focus—from enemy states to monsters.
That would be classified, of course, so no one would bother notifying a retired agent like me.

Still, Chief Choi kept sending me offers to come back.

‘If he’s reaching out to me, that means his people aren’t enough to deal with the monsters.’

After being repeatedly rejected by me, he must have decided to bring in the highest authority in the nation to win me over.

But I don’t care if it’s the President or her grandfather—
I have no intention of bending my will.
I refuse to work under anyone ever again.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years as an agent, it’s this:
Orders are shackles.

‘I won’t go back to being dragged around by Choi’s leash.’

He’s never asked me for personal favors—he’s not that kind of man.
Nor has he ever done anything dirty.

But behind that easy smile of his lies a fierce patriotism and a sense of duty that’s pushed me into reckless operations more than once.

So it’s best to keep our relationship as it is now—
a fair exchange, giving and taking as equals.

Just as I reaffirmed that stance with him, a notification popped up.

[Debtor Heo Jae-du has transferred 300 coins.]

Heo Jae-du paid his interest early in the morning.
And not just him—

[Debtor Kim Dae-ho has transferred 800 coins.]

Kim Dae-ho as well.

[Balance: 4,580 coins]

I didn’t think Kim Dae-ho would act like last time, pretending not to care and refusing to pay up.

After all, every new skill he adds costs more skill points than the last.

‘The first skill needed 1 point, and the second one requires 5 points.’

He learned [Stealth] as his first skill, which means he’ll need 5 points to get another.
In level terms, that’s 5 full levels.

According to the [Debtor Ledger], he’s currently level 7.

So, instead of grinding all the way to level 12 for the points, paying off his debt was the smarter move.

‘Good choice. That’s why I lowered his interest rate from 10% to 8%.’

If I’d kept it at the maximum rate, he’d have to pay 1,000 coins per day.
That would break him, and he’d probably abandon the collateral altogether.
Even I’d find 1,000 coins a day to be steep.

‘Still, 800 coins isn’t exactly small change.’

But it’s manageable with effort.
With the 10,000 coins I lent him, he could’ve bought some gear in the [Shop] to make things easier.

‘Would he become a steady payer or a chronic defaulter? I was curious to see. Looks like he chose the former.’

Even Heo Jae-du, that loan shark, paid up.

‘Kim Dae-ho I expected. But Heo Jae-du? That’s surprising.’

Honestly, I thought Heo would just ghost me.
The collateral I took from him was only 3 points in [Agility]—something easily disposable.

‘So why did he pay?’

I didn’t dwell on it too long.
He’d probably pay for a few days and stop anyway.
As I said before, 3 points isn’t that valuable in the long run.

‘Anyway… when will I ever save enough coins?’

Now that I’ve had a taste of skills, I’m hungry for more.

Videos of players demonstrating their skills and combat abilities are popping up all over communities and YouTube.

‘And there are so many jaw-dropping ones.’

Even by rough estimate, 10,000 coins wouldn’t be nearly enough to buy one.
I might find some bargains, but human greed has no end.

‘Next time, I’ll get a skill worth at least 50,000 coins.’

The problem?
I only have 4,580 coins.

‘The world may have changed, but money is still the problem.’

How to fill my wallet? The solution is simple:

‘Hunt—or find more debtors.’

But I don’t want either option.
Both come with problems.

Hunting risks my life and takes too much time.
And lending is slow too, since [Microloans] only allow low interest.

Plus—

‘If I lend small amounts, I’ll just get ghosted.’

So, to make real money, I need a new path.

‘…Should I try it?’

I recalled the idea I got from my conversation with Hwang Hye-ju yesterday—
a business involving player skill appraisals.

I’d evaluate the value of their skills as [Collateral] and charge a fee.
Not too high—just enough to keep the entry barrier low.

But jumping into it right away isn’t feasible.
It would require real setup—promotion, player recruitment, renting a place, and so on.

I hadn’t had the courage to start yet.
That’s when Chief Choi contacted me.

– Keep your schedule open around lunchtime.

I didn’t like being summoned by the President herself.
But then I thought—

‘Actually, this might work in my favor.’

The more they demand from me, the harder it’ll be for them to refuse my proposal.

9:00 a.m.

Hwang Hye-ju showed up with Jung So-mi, ready for her hospital appointment.

Instead of the [Mass-Produced Dwarven Plate Armor], she was dressed in regular clothes.

“Senior, can I have the car keys?”

“Here. Get your treatment done, and fill up the tank on your way back.”

“I’m not sure I can. You know a national emergency order went out yesterday, right?”

“Oh, right. Don’t worry about the fuel then. If needed, I’ll ask Chief Choi.”

After sending the two off, about two hours later, a vehicle stopped in front of my house.

A car, just as Choi had said.

A black-tinted six-seater SUV—with no license plate. Definitely the one.

I put on a suit and coat from the house wardrobe and stepped outside.

“Are you Mr. Han Se-hyun?”

The man by the passenger seat spoke.
He was tall, with a sharp face, and I instinctively gave him a quick once-over.

‘Right hand close to his waistband, ready to draw a gun. Stiff posture. Eyes that study everything—just like mine.’

Security Service, clearly.

“Please get in,” he said, not waiting for an answer and opening the back door.
He’d finished assessing me, too.

The President must’ve sent one of her elite bodyguards.

“Heh…”

I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Something funny, sir?” he asked.

Of course it was obvious.
Sending a presidential security agent meant both the President and Chief Choi were desperate to recruit me.
If they weren’t, they’d have sent a soldier instead.

But I couldn’t exactly say that.

“Just… the weather’s nice.”

He was silent for a while, then said stiffly,

“…Please, get in.”

If a brick were shaped like a man, it’d look like that bodyguard.
Neither he nor the driver said a single word the entire trip—
just kept a cold watch on everything.

The SUV passed through Goyang and entered Seoul, heading toward Sadang.

Along the way, we passed through a “gate border zone” under heavy construction.

The morning news had said that “Restricted Access Zones” were being upgraded to “Isolation Zones.”
Now I was seeing it firsthand.

They were using players with construction-related skills—[Engineers], [Architects], [Civil Technicians]—
to build fortifications around the zones and contain the monsters.

There were two reasons this strategy was even possible.

First: Mana Stones.
These stones, harvested from monsters’ bodies, were being used as materials for construction-based skills.

Second: the Goblin Army’s lack of aggression.
They hadn’t moved beyond a 3-kilometer radius of the gates—a mystery no one could explain.

‘A single Goblin Captain could slaughter multiple players, yet they just fortify their gates and never expand their territory. Why?’

People had many theories.

– They’re holed up because this is all a “tutorial.” Mark my words, from the third wave onward, the monsters will get worse.

– Agreed. Remember what Morpheus said on the first day? “Humanity must survive long and work hard to repay its debt.” To survive long, they need an adaptation period.

Some called it the “tutorial phase for players.”

– Tutorial, my ass. The reason they stay put? Because they can, that’s why. They’re superior predators who could shred us anytime they want.

Others called it the “predator theory.”

– You’re both wrong. Goblins are sedentary, not nomadic. They’re just building permanent settlements. Read a book sometime, will you?

– What kind of book teaches that? Share your reading list, genius.

– Pfft. It’s all in web novels.

That one was the “settlement theory.”

Then today, a new hypothesis appeared:

– Maybe they’re not attacking because they haven’t received orders?

– The High Priest hasn’t given any?

– Not exactly. The Priest isn’t the true authority. There’s someone above him—something that didn’t appear in the second wave. Like a…

– King…?

The “King’s Descent Theory.”
That one was mine.

I’d been lurking in the community until now, but I suddenly wanted to see how people would respond.

Was my theory valid—or nonsense?

So, while waiting for the bodyguard earlier, I made an account and posted it.

– The Priest was already terrifying enough, and now you’re saying there’s something above him?

– Shut up, man. Don’t jinx it!

The replies were flooded with curses.
They said I was fueling panic in an already grim situation.

I understood their fear.
But I reminded them that now, more than ever, we must stay calm and keep every possibility open.

That only made the responses sharper.

– A Goblin King? What a joke. As if those primitive freaks would have royalty.

– There’s a priest, isn’t there? Then a king’s possible.

– Bullshit.

“…Bullshit?”

I muttered under my breath, annoyed—only to feel a sharp gaze from the rearview mirror.

“Ah, sorry. I meant to say that to myself…”

The stone-faced guard simply said,

“We’ve arrived.”

“Identity confirmed. Loyalty!”

The car passed through a guard checkpoint and climbed a steep, straight road.
At the top stood a three-story red-brick building.

But instead of stopping, the driver continued into a tunnel across from it—
the rumored command bunker.

We stopped halfway through and continued on foot.

Step… step…

After about ten minutes of walking, a vast command control center appeared—
half the size of a soccer field.

The first thing that caught my eye was a massive monitor covering the front wall.

At the center was a map of Seoul, with red dots marking the gates.
To the left, a full map of South Korea displayed all gates and military deployments.

I quickly counted.
Fifty-six gates in total.
Eleven more than I’d known of, nearly half concentrated in the capital region.

Below the monitors, partitioned desks stretched across the floor,
officers and government officials rushing everywhere.

Overhead, an electronic clock displayed the time remaining until the next monster wave:

[29 days 20 hours 11 minutes]

“…Hm?”

Something was off.
I checked again.

Still the same.

“Why… 29 days? Shouldn’t it be 28?”

It’s been five days since “Apocalypse Survival Season 4” began.
Two days since the second wave started.
We’re supposed to survive for 30 days total.

That should mean 28 days and 20 hours remaining, not 29.

The bodyguard only replied curtly,

“Please stop looking and follow me.”

He pointed toward another tunnel on the left side of the center.
I didn’t bother asking again—he wouldn’t answer anyway.

After a short walk, we reached a steel door guarded by armed soldiers.
The bodyguard scanned his ID card, completed a retinal check, and the door slowly opened.

And through the gap, I saw a familiar face.

“You’re here?”

It was none other than Chief Choi.
Standing beside him, however, was a far more imposing figure.

“You’ve arrived. We’ve been expecting you.”

“…An honor to meet you, President Jang Sehee.”

The nation’s leader and Commander-in-Chief herself.

She looked exhausted from the weight of her duties but stood straight, refusing to show weakness.

So it was true—she’d been waiting for me.

That only made me more uneasy.

‘What kind of favor is so great that the President herself came to ask it?’

I kept my face expressionless and looked at her.
Then, she spoke first.

“Before anything else, allow me to thank you. For your years of service to our nation—I offer my deepest gratitude.”

I lowered my head politely, pretending to be humbled—
while secretly curling my lips.

Ha…

Words like that make it harder to stay firm.