Morning arrived without warmth.
The square was quieter than the night before—emptier. Those who had survived the wyvern battle moved slowly, carefully, as if the city itself might punish sudden motion.
Raon tightened the straps of his pack.
Han stood beside him, checking the edge of his blade. The metal was chipped. So were they.
"We're leaving," Han said quietly.
Raon nodded.
Staying meant waiting for the next scenario to start with no shelter, no supply lines, and no margin for error.
As they turned, they realized they weren't alone.
People were watching them.
Not openly.
Not desperately.
But with the look of those who had lost the ability to decide.
Raon stopped.
Raon looked around the square one more time.
At the broken pavement.
At the collapsed buildings.
At the blood that hadn't dried yet.
Then he spoke again.
"You can't stay here. You all wouldn't survive here if you stay"
The words weren't dramatic. They were flat. Certain.
A man near the fire frowned. "We survived. The monsters are gone for now."
"For now," Raon agreed. "That's the problem."
He gestured toward the ruins.
"Count the food you have," he said. "Not what you hope to find—what you actually have. What's left won't last more than a few days. Most stores were destroyed. What wasn't destroyed is already contaminated."
He shifted his gaze.
"And water?"
He shook his head. "Pipes are broken. Storage tanks cracked. You're already rationing without realizing it."
A few people exchanged uneasy looks.
"You don't have shelter," Raon continued. "Not real shelter. Most of the buildings that could hide people collapsed when the wyvern attacked. Basements are exposed. Upper floors are unstable."
He tapped the ground lightly with his boot.
"You'll be sleeping in open spaces. In ruins. Places that smell like blood."
His eyes hardened.
"Monsters are drawn to places like this."
Murmurs spread.
"They follow destruction," Raon said. "Ruins mean corpses. Corpses mean food. You're standing in a feeding ground."
Someone tried to argue. "But the roads—"
Destroyed," Raon cut in. "Bridges cracked. Streets collapsed. Emergency routes are blocked."
He paused. "That means no evacuation later. When it gets worse, you won't be able to leave."
The word when settled heavily.
"And it will get worse," Raon said. "Scenarios don't de-escalate. They escalate."
He let that sink in before continuing.
"If the next scenario starts here, you'll be fighting in narrow rubble paths, with no supplies, no cover, and monsters already nesting nearby."
A woman whispered, "So what happens to us?"
Raon answered immediately.
"You die," he said. "Not all at once. Slowly. First from thirst. Then from injury. Then from monsters you can't run from."
There was no cruelty in his voice—only calculation.
"This place is already dead," he finished. "Staying here just means you die with it."
He looked toward the broken road leading away from the square.
"If you move now, you still have time. Other areas have intact buildings. Water access. Fewer ruins."
He didn't raise his voice.
Didn't inspire.
Didn't promise safety.
"I'm not telling you this to lead you," Raon said. "I'm telling you because the math doesn't change no matter how scared you are."
The square was silent.
Not because they believed in him—
but because, one by one, they realized he was right.
Silence followed.
An older woman spoke hesitantly. "Then… what do we do?"
Raon didn't hesitate. "we are is going to Seoul so come with us."
Some gasped.
Some shook their heads.
"That's insane," someone said. "It's farther. More monsters."
"Yes," Raon agreed. "But there maybe also more survivors. More infrastructure. Shelter, food and water supply and some Supply hubs."
He paused, letting the logic settle.
"And more people means more chances someone knows something you don't."
A man with a bandaged leg scoffed. "What we can't walk that far?"
"Then you don't come," Raon said calmly. "This isn't hope. It's probability."
The decision broke the square in half.
From the hundred people who had once stumbled into this place, only fifty were still alive. And now—even among the survivors—only half of them stepped forward.
The rest stayed where they were.
Some were old, their bodies already worn down, unable to imagine walking for days through broken roads and ruined streets.
Some were injured, bandaged limbs and shallow breaths making every step a gamble.
Others stood silently beside family members who couldn't move without help—children burning with fever, parents whose wounds hadn't stopped bleeding.
"I can't leave her," one man said, his voice shaking as he held his wife
"She won't make it."
Another woman shook her head slowly. "Go," she told the group. "I'll stay with my father."
Han clenched his fists.
"We can help them travel," he said, stepping forward. "We can take turns carrying—"
Raon stopped him.
Not with a shout.
Not with anger.
He simply said, "No."
Han turned sharply. "Raon—"
"They'll die," Raon said, his voice low but unyielding. "And they'll take the rest of us with them."
The words cut through the air like a blade.
Han stared at him, disbelief flashing across his face. "You're saying we just leave them?"
"I'm saying the outcome doesn't change," Raon replied. "If we bring them, they die on the road. Slower. In pain. And when monsters come, we die with them."
A murmur rose—uneasy, bitter.
Raon didn't back down.
"We don't have food for extra days," he continued. "We don't have medicine. We don't have strength to carry people while fighting."
His eyes moved across the group. "Reality doesn't bend because we want it to."
Han opened his mouth again—
—but a man from the crowd spoke first.
"He's right."
Everyone turned.
The man's face was pale, his arm in a sling. "If we pretend we can save everyone, we'll save no one." He swallowed hard. "I don't want to die because I was afraid to accept that."
Silence followed.
Slowly, painfully, people began to nod.
No one thanked Raon.
No one forgave him.
But they listened.
The group split.
Those who were leaving gathered what they could—food, bottled water, usable weapons. Before departing, they quietly set aside part of their supplies and placed them near the ones staying behind.
Not out of hope.
Out of dignity.
The old woman Raon had seen earlier pressed her palms together and bowed, tears streaking her face. And then she said "take my granddaughter with you, I don't have enough time to survive . And I don't want that she die here so please take here with you. "
Others avoided looking at those who stayed, afraid their resolve would break.
When everything was ready, only twenty-five people stood behind Raon and Han.
Half of the survivors.
A quarter of those who had first arrived.
Raon looked back once—at the ruins, at the people sitting among the shadows, at a place that no longer had a future.
Then he turned away.
"Move," he said.
And they left, carrying what they could—
—and leaving the rest to a fate no one had the courage to say anything.
Raon adjusted his pack and turned southward.
His golden eye pulsed faintly.
Far in the distance, beyond ruined roads and collapsed bridges, Seoul's skyline stood warped against the horizon—too still, too dark.
Not safe. But alive.
"This isn't a rescue," Raon said, more to himself than anyone else. "It's a gamble."
Han smiled faintly. "That's all survival is now."
They stepped forward.
The city behind them remained silent.
The road to Seoul opened.