Chapter 19

AI Replacing the Tower of Babel

I sprawled across my hospital bed, enjoying a rare moment of rest.

Over the past few days, I had experienced enough stimulation to last an entire lifetime.

It felt like my brain had melted.

I needed time like this—time to relax and let my mind settle.

And I knew exactly how to regain a sense of stability.

Tap. Tap.

I poked at my cracked phone screen and logged into the internet, which was somehow still alive.

Articles filled with rumors and speculation greeted me.

At this point, the fact that Korean portal sites were still functioning felt like the nation's final source of pride.

First, I skimmed through the headlines summarizing the ongoing collapse of South Korea.

[Monsters Revealed at Suwon Station Send Shockwaves Across the Nation... Government Announces Major Statement Imminent]

[Korean Trade Ships Refused Entry at Foreign Ports? Experts Warn of Severe International Economic Crisis]

[First U.S.-China Talks Regarding Seoul Crisis Collapse... Details Not Yet Released]

[Emergency Martial Law Declared in Major Metropolitan Areas... Citizens and Military Forces on Brink of Confrontation]

One article caught my eye.

[Government Freezes Relevant Accounts to Prevent Overseas Transfers. Preparations Underway for Asset Repatriation?]

The comments were appropriately on fire.

[HEY YOU MOTHERLESS BASTARDS~~~~]

[BET THERE ARE NO TRAITORS LEFT WHO INVESTED IN U.S. STOCKS INSTEAD OF KOREAN STOCKS LOL]

[YOU IDIOT THE KOREAN MARKET HIT CIRCUIT BREAKERS]

[What market? The stock exchange literally exploded. Go work in a factory and wait for your rations.]

[MOM I'M SORRY I'LL SAVE MONEY AND WORK HARD FROM NOW ON]

People always say humanity lost its warmth in the digital age.

Nonsense.

The only reason they think that is because they haven't witnessed these burning souls screaming through a smartphone screen.

As for me, Baek Jemin—

A twenty-eight-year-old who lost a million won after dabbling in stocks once and immediately swore never to touch them again—

There was no way I could resist joining this dumpster fire.

[CUT OFF THE TRAITORS EXPORTING NATIONAL WEALTH!!! TRUE KOREANS INVEST ONLY IN THE DOMESTIC MARKET!!!]

Step One:

Restore your faith in humanity through internet comment sections.

My heart felt warm once again.

After that came the group chats.

I should probably let my gaming buddies know I was still alive.

Since we'd known each other for years, I decided to share a genuine survival tip.

[Saw the monsters. Pro tip.]

The unread marker vanished instantly.

Replies flooded in.

[HOLY SHIT JEMIN'S ALIVE???]

[Bro wait, monsters? The Suwon Station monsters are real?]

Lucky bastards.

They must've ended up somewhere safe.

Then again, they were fortunate enough to share a group chat with someone like me—a seasoned combat veteran.

Naturally, I generously shared my wisdom.

[If it looks like you can't stop one and it's about to break through, just shove the barrel into your mouth and pull the trigger.]

[Typing...]

[???]

"Ugh. Even when I help people, they complain."

Step Two:

Confirm your friends are still alive through group chats.

Apparently their luck was almost as absurd as mine.

I chose to believe that actual human beings were responding rather than an Amalgam tapping away at a phone somewhere.

Optimists lived happier lives.

I had always understood that.

Only then did I finally feel motivated to make a call I'd been putting off.

Returning to the home screen, I noticed the time.

January 22nd, 3:01 PM

The stitches in my left hand had finally come out.

According to the talkative doctor:

My grip strength would never fully recover.

Some nerve endings had been permanently damaged.

Stress or overexertion could trigger pain again in the future.

In other words—

Under stress or extreme conditions, simply stimulating my left hand would be enough to generate the pain necessary for second-stage magic.

No more self-harm required.

It was wonderful news.

Tragically, I couldn't tell anyone.

Instead, overflowing with happiness, I dialed a familiar number.

After a few rings, a frantic voice answered.

[Jemin?]

"Yeah, Mom."

[You little—! You could've called! Do you know how many days it's been since we last heard from you?!]

"Come on, Mom. I'm with the military. It's not like I can make calls whenever I want."

Technically, I was a civilian and could have called whenever I wanted.

But admitting that I'd simply forgotten would only make things awkward.

Mom clearly knew I was making excuses.

Unfortunately for her, it was a flawless alibi.

Unable to challenge it, she settled for complaining.

A lot.

Eventually I realized it wasn't really scolding.

She just needed someone to talk to.

[Everything's a mess these days. People are protesting in our town too. They're saying martial-law troops fired weapons. Nobody's died yet, but the atmosphere is ugly. And now people are talking about monsters appearing...]

I responded with the full extent of my conversational mastery.

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah."

"Really?"

For ten long minutes.

Only after she finally ran out of steam did she ask the question she'd wanted to ask all along.

[They said something terrible happened at Suwon Station. Are you okay? Are you in Suwon?]

For a moment, I didn't answer.

Instead, I looked around the hospital room.

People missing limbs.

People groaning in agony.

Lee Daemin, who noticed me looking and silently put his earbuds in to give me privacy.

Then I looked outside.

The clear sky.

The heavy atmosphere hanging over the city.

Only then did I answer.

"I'm in Yongin. Things are okay here. Security's tighter, but nothing like Suwon happened."

[Oh thank goodness... Want me to put your father on?]

"Yeah."

A brief silence followed.

Then Dad picked up.

[Jemin.]

"Yes, Father."

[What's with the formal title? You always call me Dad.]

"Just felt like it."

[Nonsense.]

"Let me move somewhere quieter and call back."

[Fine.]

Thankfully both my legs still worked.

I took my phone, escaped the attention of the others, and hid in the bathroom.

After confirming nobody else was around, I lowered the volume and called again.

[Alright. So?]

"Did anyone contact you about evacuation?"

The biggest reason I'd agreed to become a civilian operator was simple.

The military had promised my parents safe relocation.

I trusted Lieutenant Shin Hangi.

I did not trust a Korea that might get nuked if containment failed.

Dad answered calmly.

[They did.]

"What happened?"

[Looked like spam. I hung up.]

"...What about in person?"

[Some soldiers came by. Said we should evacuate. Wanted us to head toward Pyeongtaek Port. I refused.]

"Why?"

His answer came immediately.

[Why would I leave my house?]

I had severely underestimated my parents' attachment to home.

Experience had taught me something important.

Trying to argue logically with older people who had already made up their minds was nearly impossible.

Especially my father.

No matter how airtight my logic was, his answer would always be:

"So what?"

Therefore, I abandoned the evacuation argument entirely.

Instead, I asked for something else.

"Dad."

[What?]

"I found something I want to do."

[At a time like this?]

"Yeah."

I took a breath.

"Something worth risking my life for."

Silence.

I didn't know what expression he was making.

But through the cracked screen, I could feel the uniquely uncomfortable emotional exchange that only existed between fathers and sons.

To drive the point home, I added:

"I've been lucky enough that I can arrange evacuation for you and Mom."

"But if you stay here, I'll be worried about you."

"I won't be able to give everything I've got."

Dad's answer came quietly.

[What kind of parent leaves their child behind and runs?]

"Plenty do."

[And that's how you see me?]

Then, after a long sigh:

[Fine.]

His voice sounded unexpectedly emotional.

[If a man has found his purpose, he should be willing to stake his life on it.]

"Dad...!"

[If my son wants to protect the country, who am I to stop him? Foolish boy. Looking at it that way, our family has always served the nation—]

"I'll come back after I become an Archmage!"

[You little bastard—]

Permission granted.

I immediately hung up.

At that moment, it felt like the final lock inside my heart had been released.

Nothing could stop me now.

I strode back toward the hospital room.

Calmly.

Orderly.

Without running or bumping into anyone.

I considered this proof of my outstanding moral character and common sense.

Then I climbed into bed.

And repeatedly pressed the nurse-call button.

A little while later, because I was apparently receiving VIP treatment, the talkative doctor himself showed up.

"How many times are you planning to hit that call button?"

I looked up at him.

"Doctor."

"I'd like to be discharged."

The relaxed smile on the talkative doctor's face twisted into something resembling a wrathful demon.

"Mr. Baek Jemin, I've told you repeatedly. The fact that you shot your own hand, somehow didn't lose your thumb, then pressed it against a red-hot machine-gun barrel and still ended up with only this much damage—that's your ancestors looking after you. You're staying hospitalized until early February while we monitor your condition."

"But then I'll be fully healed."

"Mr. Baek Jemin, do you come to hospitals to respawn?"

"Doctor, calm down and hear me out."

For the benefit of someone who knew nothing about magic, I explained things as simply and precisely as possible.

"If my left hand hurts, I can widen my eyes and stop things."

"If something starts twitching in your left hand, you should stay in the hospital and get antibiotics and painkillers prescribed, Mr. Baek Jemin."

"Ah, come on..."

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

The doctor had grown up in an elite family, spent his entire youth studying, went to medical school, then spent years studying as a resident.

There was no way someone like that would understand practical, street-level combat magic.

Fortunately, I'd prepared for exactly this situation.

The moment the doctor left, I employed my trump card.

***

[Yes, Operator Baek Jemin.]

"Lieutenant Shin Hangi, please get me out of here."

***

January 23rd, 9:12 AM

Thanks to Lieutenant Shin Hangi, I was successfully discharged.

Well—

"Successfully" was a strong word.

The hospital made me promise to return in one week for a follow-up examination.

As a general rule, I rejected orders from people weaker than myself.

However, the talkative doctor looked capable of beating me to death in a fistfight even without magic or firearms, so I obediently complied.

Upon arriving at the Suwon City Hall Command Post, I saw several familiar faces wandering about.

Somewhere in the distance, music was playing.

I paused and peeked through a slightly open door.

A gathering of Christians.

♪ "Jesus who has come into me~" ♪

♪ "Jesus who has come into us~" ♪

Pastor Park Yohan had apparently established an improvised chapel and was conducting services for Protestants.

I considered greeting them.

Then I saw Shin Nain.

He had earbuds jammed into his ears and was playing something resembling a piano with complete spiritual abandon.

That alone convinced me to keep my distance.

Lieutenant Shin Hangi chuckled at my expression.

"Come to think of it, you probably haven't seen them yet."

"Seen what?"

"Father Jeong Yonghwan's notes regarding localized infiltration-type alteration phenomena."

"The priest left records behind?"

"The Catholic diocese approved sharing his personal research among civilian operators. We've already received permission to distribute them among operators in southern Gyeonggi Province."

"Any new operators besides us?"

"Three."

His expression darkened.

"One died in the field."

"The other two were taken by frontline containment forces."

He sighed.

"They appeared to have awakened Heart and Eye Branch alterations."

"There aren't enough personnel left over for places like Suwon."

Apparently even Lieutenant Shin had his own frustrations.

Eventually he led me to my assigned room.

It was the same converted storage room as before.

When I looked at him questioningly, he smiled awkwardly and produced something extraordinary.

"Spam. Two cans."

"Actually I prefer Richam. Next time bring Richam."

Receiving canned meat improved my mood considerably.

After unpacking, I noticed the room felt far more spacious than before.

Then I realized why.

It had become a three-person room.

***

Park Sehyeok.

For all his awful personality, he had held on until the very end when everyone needed to survive together.

The version of Park Sehyeok I'd seen underground had revealed unexpected sides of himself.

He wasn't as selfless or admirable as Father Jeong Yonghwan.

But nobody could deny he had done his best.

I folded my hands and offered a brief prayer toward the empty bed.

Even though I wasn't Catholic.

Or Protestant.

Or Buddhist.

Or Muslim.

Or a shamanist.

Still.

No matter how annoying someone had been, taking a moment to honor their death seemed appropriate.

Wasn't that proof of my vast capacity as a future Archmage?

"Mr. Park Sehyeok, may your next life be spent keeping your mouth shut."

A short prayer.

Simple.

Efficient.

Perfect.

Afterward I headed toward a remote office area that had been repurposed for magicians.

Apparently it had once housed social welfare departments.

Now it had become our workspace.

Watching humanity adapt so quickly filled me with satisfaction.

Once I'd settled in, a familiar face approached.

"Operator, these are Father Jeong Yonghwan's records. I'll bring your coffee shortly."

"Thanks."

There wasn't much.

A heavily annotated personal Bible.

And a notebook.

Still, obtaining the private notes of someone formally trained in theology was an incredible opportunity.

A few minutes later, the quick-witted driver returned carrying steaming coffee in a paper cup.

The look in his eyes was strange.

Hopeful.

Desperate.

"Something you want to say?"

"Operator..."

He hesitated for a long time.

Then, with a deathly pale face:

"If... if you see my mother..."

I took a sip.

Then smiled warmly.

"Don't worry."

"Operator...!"

"If I run into her, I won't be in any condition to recognize faces."

I took another sip.

"I'll probably be too busy turning everything into hamburger meat."

The driver achieved inner peace and quietly withdrew.

Only then could I finally examine Father Jeong Yonghwan's notes.

And immediately encountered a serious problem.

Despite being a native Korean, Father Jeong had apparently anticipated people misinterpreting or misusing his writings.

He had prepared accordingly.

I stared at the notebook.

Then looked around.

Then slowly raised my phone.

I took a screenshot and asked AI.

[What language is this?]

[The language appears to be Latin. Based on the grammar, it is likely Ecclesiastical Latin. The first sentence begins with: "Lord, if this is Your will..."]

***

Lord, if this is Your will, is it meant as rebuke?

A priest must devote himself to spiritual salvation and prevent the faithful from misunderstanding the teachings established by the Church Fathers.

Yet I could not prevent my faith from wavering after studying too deeply the pagan rituals and traditions that remain within the Church.

Lord, the birth narratives of Jesus Christ contain similarities to older myths and rituals that are uncomfortably close.

I understand that explaining this as Satan or the Antichrist attempting to obscure the true Savior belongs to the realm of faith rather than logic.

Yet the recent trials seem designed to mock the Incarnation and desecrate human flesh itself.

I have watched the faithful collapse before this blasphemous tide.

Were they weak?

Was their faith insufficient?

If so, how strong is my own faith?

The military calls us practitioners of localized infiltration-type alteration phenomena.

Most people call us magicians.

Such sorcery implies that humanity can impose its will upon the laws of nature and the cosmos.

It is a title a servant of God should fear.

Thus I suffer between obedience to divine will and the human desire to resist, fear, and impose my own will upon reality.

Lord, if I should fall into their grasp, let me submit to Your will.

I quietly closed that notebook.

Then opened another.

And finally found something useful.

It appears that true hierarchical magic can only be achieved once alteration magic can be spoken rather than merely read.

Writing exists to be read, written, and spoken aloud.

The symbols currently secured by the military can be read and understood, but there is no knowledge regarding their spoken usage.

We must discover their tonal structure and pronunciation.

Given the potential side effects of their true power, pronunciation may need to be moderated through adaptation into other languages.

However, nobody understands the pronunciation markers or tonal systems.

Research must proceed carefully.

We need someone capable of reading them.

Or...

May the Lord guide me within the fog.

There it was.

Exactly what I needed.

Another reason to enter the fog.

I immediately shut the notebook before anyone could see.

For a moment I even considered tearing the pages out.

Then I stopped.

A fair competition required everyone to begin from the same starting line.

Even so, my heart pounded violently.

"Hehehehe..."

If only Father Jeong Yonghwan had survived.

I spent the rest of the day furiously copying notes.

Every answer seemed hidden somewhere inside the fog.

Oddly enough, I even felt a little disappointed.

If the Amalgams and the other monsters had been friendly, we could have overcome their disgusting appearances and enjoyed some sort of horror-themed Disneyland together.

Then I remembered Father Jeong's final moments.

The thought vanished instantly.

Right.

Coexistence?

What nonsense.

I preferred living alone.

No matter how much I liked people, I had absolutely no desire to spend my life rubbing faces with that many of them.