He slowly sat up.
His body felt heavy and weak. An unfamiliar dizziness clung to him. Anemia, the medic had said earlier. He had not even washed his face properly before Seo-lang came knocking.
"You should go to the hall. Food is being served," Seo-lang said calmly.
He nodded and forced himself to his feet.
When he opened the door slightly and walked toward the hallway on the left, rows of neatly arranged tables came into view. It was not luxurious or spacious, but it was far better than he had expected for an underground shelter.
People were already eating quietly.
Just seeing food made Treason feel a little better.
At the far end of the hall, a long counter had been set up. Volunteers were serving meals, and a line of people stretched across the room. He took a plastic plate from a stack and joined the queue.
His body was still weak—months of malnutrition had taken their toll. He stood silently until it was his turn.
Then, as if life had suddenly become peaceful—
A large man, built like a wall of muscle, stepped in behind him. The man leaned forward and deliberately pinched Treason's shoulder. He was the type who bullied others either for personal gain or to assert superiority.
For that, he needed an easy target.
A Level-1 refuge.
That was enough.
"Hey, punk," the man sneered. "Can't you see I'm here? Hurry up. Take my food and get out of the way."
Treason glanced back. Just a glance. He was not in the mood to talk—lack of food and sleep had drained him completely.
He said nothing, his mouth stitched shut in irritation.
What a nuisance… he thought calmly.
The silence only irritated the man further.
"I said MOVE," the man barked, grabbing Treason's shoulder harder this time.
Something inside Treason shifted.
He was unusually sensitive lately because of the constant nightmares. Normally, he would not get angry over something so trivial.
Subconsciously, a faint green mist began to emit from his body. No normal person could see it—only feel that the pressure in the air had changed.
But before he could act—
A calm, clear voice cut through the tension.
"Uncle," the voice said with a childish smile, "you shouldn't bully someone weaker than you."
Everyone froze.
A young boy, no more than fifteen, had stepped forward. His appearance immediately stood out—clean, refined features and luxurious clothing that felt completely out of place in a disaster bunker.
There was no fear in his eyes.
The large man blinked in surprise.
So did Treason.
It was rare—almost unreal—to see someone so young step into danger so naturally.
The boy turned toward Treason.
"Uncle, what's your name?" he asked politely.
Treason looked at the boy with faint curiosity.
"Trisen," he replied shortly.
The boy smiled.
"Then Uncle Trisen came first. You should stay in line."
He turned back to the muscular man, his tone still gentle—but firm.
"And you, other uncle… you shouldn't disturb good people. Please go back and don't bother him again."
The hall fell completely silent.
The big man—Dong-wo—narrowed his eyes.
Not angry.Not yet.
Just restrained.
Treason exhaled quietly.
"Thank you," he said with a faint smile. "You're very brave. Your family must have taught you well."
The boy nodded. "My name is Yoon-sook."
Dong-wo scoffed.
"If Yoon-sook wasn't here," he said coldly, "I would've crushed you."
He leaned closer to Trisen.
"Remember this name—Dong-wo. Executive of Halberd Corporation. You got lucky today."
Trisen didn't even look at him.
That indifference angered Dong-wo more than anything else—but before he could react, his subordinates pulled him back.
"Boss, please," one whispered urgently. "You know what happens if you go against that child."
Dong-wo clicked his tongue.
"…I know."
As they walked away, the pressure in the hall finally eased.
Trisen looked at Yoon-sook once more—then focused on the food placed on the counter, ignoring everything else.
Yoon-sook smiled at Trisen and left silently.
*
Yoon-sook walked alone through a long corridor. Soldiers flinched at his presence, their posture becoming rigid. Though they did not salute, there was unmistakable respect—perhaps even fear—in their eyes.
He stopped in front of a door.
"Open."
Just a single word.
The soldiers hurriedly opened the elevated door.
He entered a room that resembled a command office, filled with documents and terminals. Behind the desk sat a middle-aged man.
"Yoon-sook… young master?" said Manager Han, a Level-3 executive, standing immediately.
"Manager Han, how have you been?" Yoon-sook asked with an innocent smile as he sat down.
"Young master, have you eaten properly? Do you need anything?" Han asked, sitting again.
"Yes," Yoon-sook replied. "I want to know about a refuge… hmm… Number 10240."
"Oh, about that refuge," Han said thoughtfully. "Apparently, he is the latest arrival—only two days ago. Lieutenant Kang brought him from Seoul Central Hospital. I suspected as much."
"You know quite a lot," Yoon-sook said calmly. "Is there anything else?"
"I may need to review the report to know everything."
"Then check the details and send me the full documents."
"Understood, young master."
"I'll see you next time, Manager."
After Yoon-sook left, Manager Han leaned back in his chair, finally able to breathe.
This child is only fourteen… yet he gives off the presence of a veteran.
The more I speak with him, the more I realize how mature he is.
As expected of a general's child.
Shaking off unnecessary thoughts, Han turned his attention to Refuge 10240.
He opened his terminal and pulled up the file.
[Refuge No. 10240]Name: TrisenAge: 22Profession: UnknownAddress: Seoul Central CityDate of Arrival: ———
Description:Ventilation department discovered him in an ICU room at Seoul Central Hospital. Subject was in critical condition. Lieutenant Kang recommended immediate transfer to the bunker.
Hmm.
This report is incomplete. Poorly prepared.
"I'll need to speak with them directly."
"For now… I'll report this to the young master."
*
Adrian had already finished his breakfast and was now walking through the corridors, observing the place more closely.
That child… he seems special.
He could not say exactly why, but the way the mist had reacted made it feel undeniable.
Later. I will investigate that child later.
First, I need to go outside and assess the situation properly.
Ever since he had returned here, he had been unable to accept reality. Strange dreams. Strange people. Strange powers.
I can't forget about the Amwar Duchy. I've only seen this power used there. And somehow… I can use it too.
It wasn't difficult—at least, not as difficult as one might imagine. One only needed to visualize and concentrate, gathering the mist at a chosen point, then pushing it forward with controlled mist-based air pressure.
A basic mist gun, he thought. That's what I'll call it.
This massive bunker is divided into five major floors. I'm currently on the first floor—a Level 1 refuge.
If I reveal that I am Adrian Skyre, they might grant me better treatment… perhaps even a Level 2 badge.
Level 3 is reserved for executives and soldiers. Level 4 is for high-ranking officials. Level 5… probably the most important people of the nation. Only a handful of them exist.
As Adrian wandered through the bunker, he suddenly felt something familiar.
What—this feeling…?
He immediately rushed toward the source, but quickly realized it was coming from the deeper floors of the bunker. Naturally, he wanted to go there.
But there was a problem.
A Level 1 refuge was not permitted to enter the deeper levels.
As he approached a massive steel door, four armed soldiers stood guard. From their posture alone, Adrian knew there was no chance of passing through—especially while wearing the light-blue uniform of a Level 1 refuge.
"You. Stop right there," one soldier muttered.
"Sorry," Adrian replied quickly. "I was just wandering around. I'll head another way."
With that, he turned and left at once.
Better not make myself look suspicious.
"Hah, he left," a tall young soldier said lazily. "Would've been better if he could run errands for us. What a shame."
"Jim, focus on your duty," a bulky officer said sternly.
"Yes, Commander Aron."
Each entrance to the deeper floors was heavily guarded, overseen by a commander-level officer whose rank fell between Level 3 and Level 4.
*
Damn. Is there really no way to reach the lower floors?
Using brute force now would be far too risky.
First, I need to master my mist powers. Only then can I move freely without causing trouble.
As he muttered to himself, Adrian quickly realized the importance of proper training.
Then another thought surfaced.
But what exactly am I supposed to train? I have no clear method.
He thought hard—then suddenly remembered something.
Right… my dreams.
I should make better use of this time. I know some basics from that world, and a few things from those strange dreams. Maybe I can combine them.
As that realization settled in, a strange chill coursed through his entire body, the mist within him stirring once more.