NTN 20

Running

The jeep slipped through a stretch of deep shade, where tall trees on either side stretched their branches so far overhead that they nearly covered the entire road.

That was when it happened.
Seong Geon-woo, Jang Mok-hwa, Yong Yeo-hong, and Baek Sa-byeok all saw a thick shadow drop straight out of the air and slam onto the jeep’s front windshield.

The shadow revealed a face sheathed in pitch-black scales—a fierce visage with cold, dark-yellow eyes and a gaping maw full of rotting flesh, razor-white fangs, and a flickering blood-red tongue.

It was a snake—one unimaginably huge.

Baek Sa-byeok barely changed expression. Instead, she calmly pushed the accelerator to the floor.

The moss-green jeep shot forward like an arrow, skimming under the monster’s massive head.

The distance widened fast.
Shaking off his shock, Seong Geon-woo grabbed his Berserk assault rifle, twisted his body, and rested the weapon on the window frame.

Only then did he truly see the creature.

Its body was twice as thick as a standard water barrel and stretched well over ten meters. Its tail coiled around a tree trunk, and its hide was plated in thick, black scales that glinted like metal where stray sunlight filtered through the leaves.

Baek Sa-byeok yanked the steering wheel hard to the right, tilting the jeep just enough to give Seong Geon-woo a clear shot.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Each bullet sparked as it struck the serpent’s scales, leaving only superficial cracks; the thick armor was barely scratched.

The Berserk rifle couldn’t pierce that monstrous hide.

Hissing in pain, the serpent opened its jaws and spewed a cloud of sickly yellow-green gas.

The smoke spread quickly, cloaking the area in a pale, green-tinged haze. Grass it touched shriveled and collapsed.

“Windows, shut—now!”
Jang Mok-hwa’s voice was ice. “It’s a Black-Swamp Ironclad!”

The name alone drew a sheen of sweat across Yong Yeo-hong’s forehead.

During earlier training, he and Seong Geon-woo had heard Baek Sa-byeok describe the Black-Swamp wasteland and its most dangerous creatures.

The Black-Swamp Ironclad was a mutant snake dating back to the old world’s collapse—its genetic line stabilized through generations.
Its signature traits: a body plated with smooth, black, iron-like scales that rendered most weapons useless, and venom glands capable of spitting a highly corrosive toxin or exhaling a lethal mist that harmed both plants and animals.

These two abilities made the Ironclad a nightmare.
Even a well-equipped army needed heavy or specialized weapons to bring one down.

Its danger sense was razor-sharp: a sniper aiming for its eyes or head from afar would find the beast dodging the shot before the trigger was pulled.

That was why it was called a monster, not merely a beast.

And the one now bearing down on them was even larger than Baek Sa-byeok had described.

Far behind, a different drama unfolded.

A gang of wasteland raiders had been tailing the jeep in secret. Hearing the gunfire ahead, they traded eager looks.

“It’s started,” their leader said with a grin.

From the passenger seat of a black SUV, a young man in a worn cotton jacket turned eagerly. “Boss, should we go after them now?”

The scar-faced man who led them—his right eye framed by an old gash—shook his head with a cruel smile.

“No rush. With that kind of firepower and skill, they’ll last a while. And the Ironclad can’t outrun a jeep, not with that bulk. If we arrive too soon, we might get caught between both sides. Too risky.
Besides, we have preparations to make. Gil-seon, pull over.”

“Yes, boss!”

Gil-seon, an older man wrapped in leather, eased the SUV to a stop.

The leader stepped out with his Storm submachine gun and headed for the trunk.
He shrugged off his shriveled black tweed coat, handing it and his weapon to a comrade astride a nearby motorcycle.

Bending into the trunk, he grasped something with both hands, muscles straining until the veins stood out on his reddened forehead. His knees buckled as he heaved out a battered wooden crate big enough to hold a person.

With a heavy thud it landed on the ground.

Inside lay something like black armor reinforced with metal framework.

“Ha-yoon, Gil-seon—help me with this,” the leader said, glancing at the young man in the cotton jacket and the middle-aged driver.

They moved in and lifted the object free. Gravity unfolded it into full shape: a human-shaped military exoskeleton fitted with a helmet sporting crystal goggles.
Attached beneath were interlocking plates protecting critical pipes and wiring, and on its back a strangely solid, oversized black power pack encased in a lattice of metal bones—cervical, thoracic, radial, humeral, ulnar, carpal, femoral, patellar, tibial, fibular—each joint bristling with buckles and sensors.

The chest frame carried layered armor plates; grenade launchers and electromagnetic weapons were mounted on either arm.

This was a true weapon of war: a military exosuit so scarce that even major factions reserved it for their most elite.

Its intricate sensor systems let the wearer move fluidly, boosting strength, speed, and balance beyond human limits.
Integrated weapon-aiming, combat-assist, alert, and gas-filter systems, plus ballistic plating over vital areas, made the user a walking fortress.

Just as firearms had once reduced the role of raw muscle in battle, the exosuit allowed nearly effortless, prolonged combat.
With it, a single fighter could take on a lightly armed unit and win.

Its speed and all-round warning systems meant the wearer could evade lethal blows even without full armor.

With Ha-yoon and Gil-seon’s help, the leader climbed into the exosuit, snapping each metal buckle into place. Finally he adjusted the crystal-goggled helmet and powered the system on.

A self-check completed, and a satisfied smile touched his lips.

“Battery at thirty percent. Two hours’ run time—plenty.”

He accepted his Storm submachine gun again, now weightless in his black metal-clad hands.

“W-what do we do?”
Yong Yeo-hong’s lips were dry as parchment at the mention of the Ironclad.

He had never faced anything like this and could only look to Jang Mok-hwa and Baek Sa-byeok for guidance.

He had seen Seong Geon-woo’s rifle fail to harm the beast—bullets cracking scales but doing nothing more.

From training and observation, Yong Yeo-hong guessed even his own heavy-caliber Union-202 pistol or Baek Sa-byeok’s orange rifle wouldn’t penetrate those scales unless they struck an unprotected weak point.
Grenade rounds might scatter shrapnel, but that wouldn’t pierce the iron plating either.

Jang Mok-hwa checked the rearview mirror. “We run. That thing isn’t that fast.
Eventually it’ll tire. Our jeep won’t—so long as the battery, engine, and tires hold, we can drive all night if we have to.”

While she spoke, Baek Sa-byeok eased her foot slightly off the pedal to keep the speed steady and avoid damaging the jeep’s components. She clearly favored a drawn-out chase over a desperate fight.

The jeep hurtled on, bouncing violently as it struck rocks and stumps, threatening to lift off the ground at any moment.
Without Baek Sa-byeok’s sharp reflexes and wasteland driving experience, it might already have rolled.

The Black-Swamp Ironclad, enraged, plowed through sparse trees and thick weeds in pursuit.

Its speed couldn’t quite match the jeep’s full sprint, but the rough terrain forced them to slow at times to dodge obstacles and swampy patches, preventing a clean escape. At least the distance between them was inching wider.

Twice more the giant serpent opened its jaws to spit venom and poisonous mist, but it was too far to reach the moss-green jeep.

After those failed attacks, the monster seemed to understand and poured all its strength into the chase.