Chapter 19 - AI in Place of the Tower of Babel

I lounged around on my hospital bed, enjoying a rare bit of rest.

Over the past few days, I’d experienced every kind of stimulation a person could expect in an entire lifetime. My brain felt like it was melting, so I needed to take it easy for a while and regain some peace of mind and body.

And I knew how to quickly find stability in a familiar daily routine.

TAP-TAP, TAP.

I tapped my phone’s cracked screen and went online—the internet was still alive—to find articles awash in every imaginable rumor and speculation. Keeping the web portals running might well be the Republic of Korea’s last shred of pride.

First, I scanned the headlines for a quick overview of how Korea was getting absolutely fucking wrecked in real time.

[Monster Revealed at Suwon Station Sends Shock Waves... Government Says “Major Announcement Imminent”]

[Korean-Flagged Merchant Ship Denied Entry? Experts Stir Controversy with Warning to Prepare for Severe Global Economic Crisis...]

[First U.S.-China Talks on Seoul Unrest Break Down... Details Yet to Be Released.]

[Emergency Martial Law Declared in Major Metropolitan Cities... Citizens and Troops on Brink of Confrontation]

I opened one article that caught my eye.

[Government Freezes Accounts to Prevent Overseas Transfers. Preparations to Repatriate Overseas Assets?]

Sure enough, this piping-hot news story had an equally heated comments section.

[You~~~~~ motherless bastards~~~~]

[No traitorous fuckers here who dumped money into U.S. stocks instead of going all in on Korean stocks, right???]

[You fucking asshole, the Korean market hit the circuit breaker. What fucking traitors?]

[Circuit breaker, my ass... The exchange is gone. What Korean market? Go to a factory and collect your rations.]

[MomImSorryIllOnlySaveAndWork]

People claim that twenty-first-century digitization has robbed us of human warmth and affection, but look at this.

They blather about how cold it all is because they’ve never seen these burning souls crying out from beyond the screen. I, Baek Je-min, had accomplished nothing at twenty-eight, and had never touched stocks again after dabbling in the Youngwoongmun trading app and losing a million won. But I couldn’t pass up a flame war like this.

[Traitors bleeding our national wealth dry: CUT! CUT!!! If you’re Korean, please put your money ONLY into Korean stocks!]

Step one: Restore the flame of humanity through news comments.

At last, I remembered that my heart was warm.

Next came checking the group chat. I decided to send a message to the guys I usually gamed with, partly to let them know I was still alive.

We’d known each other for a long time, after all, so I’d pass along some genuinely useful advice.

[I’ve seen the monsters. Pro tip.]

The unread count beside the message disappeared, and replies came flooding in.

[Whoa, Je-min’s alive???]

[Wait, man, monsters? Those monsters at Suwon Station are real?]

Had these fuckers been sent to the rear? They must’ve been lucky as hell. Then again, being in a group chat with someone who had actual combat experience, like me, was a stroke of good fortune in itself.

I gladly shared my knowledge with my friends.

[If you see one and think you can’t stop it and it’s gonna break through, just stick your gun barrel in your mouth and pull the trigger.]

[Typing...]

[🖕]

“Jesus. I give them advice and they still bitch.”

Step two: Confirm who’s alive through messages in the group chat with old friends.

They must’ve had the devil’s own luck, surviving even with things this bad. I chose to believe there wasn’t an Amalgam holding a phone and tapping out replies. Pessimism could be limitless, but so could optimism.

I’d always known how to live with inner peace.

Only then did I feel up to making a call I’d been putting off for some time. I returned to the home screen to dial and happened to notice the time.

January 22, 3:01 p.m.

The stitches in my left hand had been removed, and the chatty doctor had told me that a weaker grip was inevitable. The damaged nerve endings meant pain could flare up if I overexerted myself or became stressed, so I needed to be careful.

In other words, under stress or in an extreme situation, merely stimulating my left hand would provide the pain I needed for stage-two magic, without any additional self-harm.

I regretted that I couldn’t share this wonderful news. Instead, I channeled that joy into dialing a familiar number.

After a few rings, an urgent voice answered.

[“Je-min?”]

“Yeah, Mom.”

[“You... You need to call! Do you know how many days it’s been since you last contacted us?!”]

“Come on... I’m in the military here. It’s not like I can call whenever I want.”

I was a civilian and had a fairly relaxed schedule, so I could’ve called if I wanted. But admitting it hadn’t occurred to me would only make us both uncomfortable, so I offered a reasonable excuse.

Mom seemed to realize it was an excuse, but my alibi was so perfect that she couldn’t press me. She just fretted and unleashed a stream of nagging.

[“Everything’s been chaotic lately. People are out protesting in our neighborhood, too, and there are stories about the martial law troops firing guns. Nobody’s died yet, but the atmosphere is frightening. And now they’re saying some kind of monsters have appeared...”]

On second thought, she wasn’t nagging. She just needed someone to vent to.

I did my absolute best to endure the long ordeal with heartfelt eloquence such as “Yeah,” “Uh-huh,” and “Really?”

Only after about ten minutes of this did Mom change the subject.

[“I heard something terrible happened at Suwon Station. How are you? Are you in Suwon, too?”]

Instead of answering immediately, I turned and looked around the ward.

There were people with an arm or leg amputated, groaning as they hovered near death. Then there was Lee Dae-min, who met my eyes, snorted, and showed a small kindness by putting in his earphones.

Finally, I looked beyond the window frame, taking in the clear sky and the city beneath its oppressive atmosphere. Only then did I speak.

“I’m in Yongin, so I’m still okay. They say they’re tightening security here, too, but nothing big has happened like it did in Suwon.”

[“Oh... Well, that’s a relief, at least. Want me to put your dad on?”]

“Yeah.”

Mom called for Dad, followed by a brief silence.

Perhaps because his son had finally called after so long, Dad was quick to take the phone.

[“Je-min?”]

“Yes, Father.”

[“What’s with ‘Father’ all of a sudden? You always called me Dad.”]

“No reason.”

[“You and your nonsense.”]

“Let me move somewhere else and call you back.”

[“Mm. All right.”]

Thank goodness both my legs were still fine. Phone in hand, I escaped everyone’s curious attention and shut myself away in the restroom. Only after confirming that nobody else was there did I carefully adjust the volume and call again.

[“Yeah, I’m here. So?”]

“Never mind ‘so.’ Haven’t you or Mom been contacted about evacuating somewhere?”

What was the biggest reason I’d become a civilian Operator in the first place?

It was the promise that my parents, living a perfectly ordinary life in Daejeon, would be guaranteed relocation abroad or evacuation to the safest place available. I didn’t doubt First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi as a soldier, but I couldn’t trust a Republic of Korea that would get nuked if containment failed.

Dad answered my worried question in an even voice.

[“We were contacted. It looked like spam, so I hung up.”]

“What about people? Didn’t anyone visit?”

[“Soldiers came by and asked if we wanted to evacuate. Told us to come to the military base first, then go to Pyeongtaek Port. I turned it all down.”]

“Why?”

[“What do you mean, why? Where would I go, leaving my house behind?”]

Apparently, I’d seriously underestimated my parents’ homebody tendencies.

My life had been short, but experience had taught me that persuading an elder who’d made up their mind with logic was extremely difficult. They’d learned a thing or two themselves, and it was an undeniable fact that, more often than not, I was the less experienced one.

Besides, Dad was the frustrating sort who answered any logical argument with “But I don’t want to.” A reasoned, erudite explanation would fall on deaf ears.

So I gave up on persuading him to evacuate and decided to ask permission for something else.

“Father, there’s something I want to do.”

[“Something you want to do? In this situation?”]

“Yes. Something I genuinely want to risk my life to achieve.”

[“...”]

I didn’t know what Dad was thinking.

What I did know was that, across this cracked phone screen, we’d shared a surge of emotion only a father and son could feel. I decided to add a few words to seal the deal.

“I was lucky enough to get you and Mom a chance to evacuate. But if you stay here, I’m worried I won’t be able to give it my all because I’ll be worrying about you.”

[“... Son, what parents would run away and leave their child behind?”]

“Plenty do.”

[“You call me Dad, but that’s how you see me?”]

After a long sigh, Dad answered in a voice thick with emotion.

[“All right. If a man has an ambition, he should be prepared to stake his life on it.”]

“Father...!”

[“How could I stop my son from doing something for his country? You fool. Yes. Come to think of it, our family has served the nation for generations...”]

“I’ll come home once I’m an archmage!”

[“You little bastard. Are you—”]

CLICK.

Permission granted.

I switched off my phone in one swift motion, finally feeling a sense of liberation, as though the last lock inside my heart had sprung open.

Nothing could stop me now.

I headed straight back to the ward. Even in an urgent situation, I walked calmly and orderly, without running or bumping into anyone. That, I believed, proved just how moral and reasonable I was.

Then I lay down on my hospital bed and calmly hammered the nurse call button.

A little later, the chatty doctor came to see me. I did get special treatment, after all.

“How many times are you going to press that button?”

“Doctor, I’d like to be discharged.”

At that, the chatty doctor’s relaxed smile twisted into a demonic grimace.

“Mr. Baek, as I’ve told you repeatedly, you shot your left hand without blowing off your thumb, then seared it with a heated gun barrel. The fact that this is all you suffered must be thanks to your ancestors’ good deeds. You need to stay hospitalized until early February while we monitor your condition.”

“But then I’ll be fully healed.”

“Mr. Baek, do you come to the hospital to respawn?”

“Doctor, calm down first and hear me out.”

For the doctor, who knew nothing about magic, I offered a concise, precise explanation.

“My left hand needs to throb so I can open my eyes wide and stop my opponents.”

“If something’s wriggling in your left hand, don’t open your eyes wide. Stay in the hospital and get antibiotics and painkillers prescribed, Mr. Baek.”

“Ugh...”

This was why you shouldn’t associate with ordinary people who knew nothing about magic.

A doctor born into an elite family, who’d spent all their school years studying, kept studying at university, then studied some more as a resident, couldn’t possibly understand this practical, streetwise magic.

But I had a phone number prepared for just such an occasion.

Once the chatty doctor left, I immediately deployed my secret weapon.

[“Yes, Operator Baek Je-min.”]

“Lieutenant Shin Han-gi, please get me out of here.”

* * *

January 23, 9:12 a.m.

With First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi’s help, I successfully secured my discharge, on the condition that I return in a week for a checkup.

My policy was to reject orders from anyone weaker than me. But the chatty doctor looked stronger than I was in a one-on-one fight without guns or magic, so I decided to comply obediently.

When we arrived at the Suwon City Hall command post, I occasionally spotted familiar faces passing by.

Hearing singing from somewhere, I paused while following the lieutenant and peeked through a slightly open door. A group of Christians had gathered inside.

“Jesus~ who came~ into me~.”

“Jesus~ who came~ into us~.”

Pastor Park Yo-han seemed to have set up a makeshift chapel, gathering Christians—Protestants, specifically—for worship. I considered saying hello, but didn’t want to interrupt their solemn service.

More importantly, the sight of Shin Na-in the shitter, earphones in and lost in ecstasy as he played the keys of a piano-like instrument, frightened me enough to keep my distance.

Lieutenant Shin gave a bemused chuckle at my reaction and beckoned me over.

“Come to think of it, Mr. Baek, you haven’t seen them yet. Father Jeong Yong-hwan’s notes on his thoughts about localized penetrative alteration activity, I mean.”

“He left something like that behind?”

“We plan to share his personal records among the civilian Operators with permission from his Catholic diocese. We’ve already received permission to share them with the civilian Operators in southern Gyeonggi.”

“Have there been any newcomers? Apart from us?”

“There were about three, but one was killed in action, and the other two were taken by frontline cordon units that needed them. They seemed to have awakened the heart and eye branches of alteration-type magic. Almost no personnel are left to spare for Suwon.”

Lieutenant Shin apparently had troubles of his own.

Anyway, he showed me to my room.

It was the same former storage room as before. When I turned to look at him, he gave an awkward smile and produced something magnificent.

“Spam. Two cans.”

“The Richam was good. Please give me Richam next time.”

Receiving the Spam softened my mood considerably.

After unpacking on arrival, I felt the room was much more spacious and tidy than the four-person room had been last time.

I wondered why. Probably because it was a three-person room now.

Park Se-hyeok...

Despite his shitty personality, he’d held out to the end when all of us needed to survive together. You could say he’d done his best. He’d shown quite a few unexpected sides of himself underground.

He might not have been as selfless or remarkable as Father Jeong Yong-hwan, but there was no denying that he’d given it his all.

I quietly clasped my hands and took a moment to pray toward the now-empty spot. Though I believed in neither Catholicism, Protestantism, Buddhism, Islam, nor shamanism...

I could still spare time to honor someone’s passing, however obnoxious a bastard he’d been.

Didn’t that reveal the generosity of spirit of me, Baek Je-min, a future archmage?

“Mr. Park Se-hyeok, if you’re born again, please live with your fucking mouth shut.”

After my short prayer, I headed to a room in a particularly secluded corner of the grim Suwon City Hall command post.

Apparently, it had once housed a social welfare department. It had been left in disarray after the military moved in, but they’d taken this opportunity to reopen it as a space for magicians. So this was how people made progress. I felt privately pleased.

Once I’d settled in and prepared to study, a familiar face approached from a distance.

“Operator, these are the records Father Jeong Yong-hwan left behind. I’ll make you some coffee in a minute.”

“Thanks for your hard work.”

There wasn’t much material.

I opened it up to check. All it amounted to was a personal Bible with notes scribbled in it and a notebook.

Still, getting hold of the records of someone formally trained in theology was a rare stroke of good fortune, so I decided to be satisfied.

A few minutes later, the thoughtful driver brought over a paper cup of steaming coffee. I sensed a peculiar yearning in his eyes.

“Is there something you want to say?”

“Operator...”

He couldn’t continue for some time.

Then, his face deathly pale, he slowly spoke.

“If you see my mom... If she’s there...”

SLURP.

I took a sip of coffee and gave him a gentle smile.

“Don’t worry.”

“Operator...!”

“I won’t have enough breathing room to pick out your mother’s face. I’ll just be fucking shredding everything.”

“...”

Once the thoughtful driver withdrew, his mind now at peace, I could finally examine Father Jeong’s records.

Before long, I encountered a very serious problem.

Despite being a native Korean, Father Jeong Yong-hwan seemed to have taken thorough precautions, perhaps out of concern that others might freely misread or misuse these records.

I glanced pointlessly from side to side, then had no choice but to lift my phone.

I took a screenshot and asked an AI.

[What language is this?]

[The language is Latin. Based on the grammar, it appears to be ecclesiastical Latin. The first sentence begins, “O Lord, if this is Your will...”]

* * *

O Lord, if this is Your will, is it to rebuke me?

A priest must devote himself to spiritual salvation and do his utmost to ensure that the laity do not misunderstand the teachings established by the Church Fathers. Yet, by delving too deeply into the pagan rites and traditions that persist within the Church, I could not prevent my faith from wavering.

Lord, the account of Jesus Christ’s birth contains similarities and correspondences with earlier myths and rituals that are disquietingly close. I understand that the explanation that Satan or the Antichrist contrived these to prevent recognition of the true Savior’s advent belongs not to logic, but to faith.

Yet the recent trials seem designed to profane the Incarnation and human flesh. I have watched the faithful laity collapse before this blasphemous tide.

Were they weak? Was their faith insufficient?

If so, how steadfast can my own faith be?

The military calls us practitioners of localized penetrative alteration activity, but most people call us magicians. Such sorcery signifies the arrogance of believing that humans can bend the laws of the universe and nature to their own will. It is a designation that clergy serving the Lord must guard against.

Thus I am tormented between the voice telling me, as a clergyman, to submit obediently to this trial, and my human terror and desire to impose my own will.

Lord, should the moment come when I fall into their grasp, please grant that I submit in obedience to Your will.

* * *

I closed that record for the moment and examined another.

At last, I found something useful.

[It appears that only when one progresses beyond reading alteration-type magic to speaking it does one become capable of employing magic at its full tier. Letters are intended to be read, written, and voiced as language. Yet although the symbols currently secured by the military, known as the magic script, can be read and understood, nothing is known about using them aloud. We must determine their tones, phonetic notation, and so forth... Considering the side effects their true efficacy may bring, I suspect adjustments will be necessary, such as tempering the pronunciation through another language.]

[However, since nobody knows the phonetic notation or tones, research into the magic script can only proceed cautiously. We must find someone who can read it aloud. Failing that... may the Lord guide me within the fog.]

This was it.

One more reason to plunge into the fog.

I closed the records before anyone could see them, even feeling an urge to tear them up, but stopped myself. Surely a just and fair competition required everyone to begin at the same starting line.

Still, I couldn’t stop my heart from pounding.

“Hehehehehe...”

If only Father Jeong Yong-hwan were still alive.

I spent my time hurriedly copying out the notes. Every answer to this strange catastrophe lay within the fog.

I even felt a peculiar sense of regret.

If only the Amalgams and other monsters were friendly toward humans, I could have overcome their filthy, hideous appearance and enjoyed a horror-themed Disneyland, running around in the fog together.

But remembering Father Jeong’s final moments promptly killed any inclination to do that.

Right. Coexistence, my ass.

I’d live alone.

However much I liked people, I had no desire to live with our faces rubbing together like that.

I, Baek Je-min, always did my best, wherever and whenever I could.

But I also knew that saying “my best” wasn’t enough to convince other people. After days spent poring over all manner of mysticism and occult books while repeatedly clenching and unclenching my now-unbandaged left hand, a familiar face came to see me.

“Mr. Baek... Je-min?”

It was Hamza.

Thinking back, he was the person I’d had the least contact with, so I wondered why he’d come.

His eyes wandered about for no particular reason before he whispered cautiously.

“Could I have a slice of Richam later?”

“Aren’t Muslims not allowed to eat pork?”

“I can pray to Allah afterward.”

After a moment’s thought, I nodded.

Hamza might be a Muslim from Pakistan, but if he ate pork belly and washed it down with soju, didn’t that make him an honorary Korean? I was happy to share a slice of Richam.

Besides, he said he’d sort out the matter of faith with the party concerned. It wasn’t my place to interfere.

Hamza flashed a delighted, toothy grin and sat beside me.

“You don’t seem to be in a hurry, Mr. Baek.”

“Hm?”

“Look at everyone outside. They’re all tense and on edge. But you stay in here and just read books.”

For a moment, I thought I saw a strange light flash in his eyes.

I blinked, gave a bemused chuckle, and closed the collected works of Lovecraft I’d been reading. I’d picked it up for inspiration about the occult and strange myths, but had been starting to nod off, so this was a welcome interruption.

“Well... Are the monsters going to stop just because I’m in a hurry? If they break through the cordon, we’ll all frolic under the fallout clouds and die together.”

“Huh.”

“Worrying and fretting over things you can’t change only wears down your mind and body, so just do the best you can. Isn’t that what planting an apple tree even if the world is ending means?”

“Mr. Baek... That sounds more convincing than I expected. Where did you hear it?”

“It’s what I told my parents while holding my mock exam report card with grades of seven, eight, and nine in Korean, English, and math respectively.”

“Are higher numbers better?”

“It’s good because there’s nowhere to go but up.”

Of course, my parents weren’t satisfied with my wise answer to a foolish question. They went looking for a bat to swing at my calves instead. Looking back now, it was all a fond memory.

I sipped the coffee the thoughtful driver had made me and enjoyed my leisurely respite.

“What about you, Hamza? Why haven’t you gone home?”

“I worked hard to live here. I’m in the middle of the naturalization tests. I was planning to bring my family over...”

The two of us shared a conversation that was mostly pointless, but had a certain value.

Hamza was a magician who could use Angel’s Intuition, a suspected form of doctrinal magic that seemed close to danger detection or precognition. That meant I’d at least be safe if I stuck close to him.

I was thinking I should always travel with either Hamza or Pastor Park Yo-han, who possessed Soteriological Conviction, when it happened.

BZZZ.

My parents had called so much that I’d blocked them. That meant a vibration signaled a new message in the group chat. I gestured for Hamza to pause and checked the messenger. Everyone was losing their minds.

[Holy fucking shit]

[What are these fucking monsters?]

[No, more importantly, how did the government hide this until now? Fuck]

[They’re fucking insane. They hid this shit for two months? How is that even possible? Is the government out of its fucking mind?]

The guy who treated me like an older brother apparently hadn’t been able to check his phone yet. The unread count remained at one.

I played along so my friend beyond the cracked screen wouldn’t feel lonely.

[Only just saw it?]

[There’s a national address right now. Aren’t you watching?]

[Dumbass, I gave you a pro tip for dealing with monsters, didn’t I?]

[Holy shit, seeing that saved my life.]

Still, his fuss did get me interested in this national address.

The current time was February 1, 9:58 a.m.

I glanced at Hamza and offered,

“Want to watch together?”

“I have a phone, too.”

Rather than continuing our conversation, Hamza began tapping his screen to find the live video, just as I was doing.

The Republic of Korea was practically at war, yet the cell towers still worked, mobile data still flowed, and the two of us were perfectly relaxed. I felt pleased, thinking that lapping up every last sweet perk while everyone else worked their fucking asses off was surely the secret to a long life.

Soon, from beyond the screen, I heard the sitting president speak as he bent into a deep, formal bow.

[“My fellow citizens, our administration has wronged you. We misjudged the gravity of the situation and believed we could contain it. We treated nearly ten million Seoul residents as potential carriers and isolated them behind a cordon. And only now are we revealing the truth to you...”]

It was a peaceful morning. The sun shone brightly, and through the brisk wind I could hear a bird chirping somewhere.

[“... As such, 150,000 members of our Armed Forces are currently blocking Seoul’s major arterial roads and railway lines, and have leveled its outlying areas to establish kill zones. To resolve this crisis, our government will now acknowledge that we are effectively in a state of war and implement new measures. We know you are disappointed. But we ask you to place your trust once more in the Armed Forces and the government, which are firmly committed to bringing this situation under control and preserving order...”]

CLACK, CLACK, CLACK.

It was then that the sound of combat boots reached me more clearly than the president’s voice.

Captain Kim Ho-un and First Lieutenant Shin Han-gi, helmets tucked beneath their arms, looked at the national address Hamza and I were watching and gave a small sigh. Then they calmly turned toward us and spoke.

“Operators, let’s go. It’s beginning.”

* * *