Chapter 93

Chapter 93
## Chapter 93: Filtering the Mimics

I focused on the chaotic stream of voices overlapping on the radio before slamming my thumb onto the transmit button. A piercing, continuous tone cut through the frequency.

Originally designed for sending Morse signals, it proved remarkably effective at forcing a moment of silence.

“Listen up and shut your mouths. Do you honestly think if you keep babbling, the impostors are going to volunteer and identify themselves?”

Panic was a luxury we couldn’t afford. Senseless chatter wasn’t the solution.

— So, what’s the plan? Do we start wearing makeshift armbands to tell each other apart?

“You’re a little late for that.”

Besides, it was a useless idea. In the pitch-black darkness of night, anyone could observe a soldier’s marking and replicate it in an instant. Only a fool would rely on a piece of cloth to distinguish an ally from an enemy in the heat of a real struggle. Such things were merely busywork created by command to make troops look organized during drills.

A verbal code, however, held some weight. I kept my voice steady as I addressed the group.

“Nobody respond to this. Just pay attention.”

These creatures could mirror our forms, but they didn’t possess our history. That was their weakness.

“Think about what we ate for dinner yesterday. The moment you encounter someone, ask them that. If they stumble or don’t know, kill them immediately.”

Last night’s meal had been a high-end prime sirloin. If someone managed to forget a meal that good, they were likely too dim-witted to survive this mission anyway. They’d probably end up forgetting to draw breath and suffocate on their own.

— That’s a temporary fix. They’ll catch on eventually.

“And by the time they do, we’ll have significantly thinned their numbers, won’t we?”

A different voice, distorted by the crackle of the airwaves, broke in.

— What if they’ve managed to replicate our memories as well?

“Messing with the psyche of a sentient being is a monumental task.”

Altering a person’s temperament or mimicking a few habits was child’s play compared to extracting and cataloging an entire lifetime of experiences.

“Memory theft isn’t like some creep using a gadget to hypnotize a stranger on the street.”

Human experience and memory occupy a higher conceptual plane than simple emotion or logic. Our feelings are dictated by our history; we despise what has hurt us and cherish what has brought us joy. Even our reasoning is built upon the foundation of past events.

Even the Paradox Flame required immense power to incinerate a mind’s history—a level of control I hadn’t mastered yet.

— Understood… we can find ways to utilize that.

“Keep the radio talk to a minimum.”

Even without inherent memories, these entities were capable of learning. They could listen to our strategies and adjust.

Ending the transmission, I slowly scanned the terrain around me.

“Who… are you?”

From the crystalline woods, a figure stepped forward. A featureless white mask obscured their face, and their clothes offered no hint of their identity or gender. Just as I’d noticed on the radio, their speech sounded warped.

They were dressed in a nondescript gray outfit. My spear—my primary tool—was missing, meaning I couldn’t even use equipment to identify myself.

“I suppose that’s exactly how I look to you.”

Visually, we were identical. There were no physical markers to rely on.

“What did we have for supper last night?”

The figure paused, letting out a confused “Uh…” I didn’t wait. I lunged forward instantly. No one needs to deliberate over a prime sirloin steak. If it’s real, the answer is instantaneous.

I threw a punch; the figure slipped the blow. I let out a sharp breath of begrudging respect.

“You’re thorough, I’ll give you that.”

Our physical stats had been leveled. I didn’t have the advantage of being faster or stronger here. However, I still held the power of the Paradox Flame. One of the symbols etched into the environment by the gem bird must have granted me an exception.

“A clever move. Actually, it’s quite pragmatic.”

If the mimics were allowed to use the Paradox Flame, the concentrated spite of the Erosion Core would likely incinerate itself. This was a forced compromise.

After a brief exchange of blows, I saw a gap in their defense and drove my fist into their skull. With a sickening snap, the head shattered.

“This trick has a shelf life.”

Using the steak question might help us clear out half the fakes if we were lucky. But soon, the mimics would start asking the questions themselves. The real hunters would have to provide the correct answer to survive, and once they did, the information would spread like wildfire among the impostors.

Another figure approached.

“Dinner yesterday?”

“Sirloin.”

“Your name.”

“Han Kyung-seok.”

I gave a short nod of approval.

“Correct. Now, which university did you attend?”

“…”

Contact. Another one caught.

I had committed the files of every participant in the Jaun Valley operation to memory. I might lose the details eventually, but my recollection was still sharp. I closed the distance, intercepted a kick, seized the limb, and shattered the knee with my elbow before finishing them off with a barrage of strikes to the face.

“They must share some sort of collective intelligence.”

I expected the fakes to broadcast the “sirloin” answer over the radio, but the channel remained clear of their chatter. The steak defense was compromised. I keyed the radio one more time.

“The sirloin answer is dead. Everyone, pivot to personal questions to verify your partners.”

The difficulty was that the questions had to be specific. While I knew the roster’s details, most of these hunters didn’t know their peers’ life stories unless they were long-time partners. They would likely try to use memories of the Jaun Valley mission…

“But that’s public knowledge among us.”

Asking about the last city raided would filter the initial wave, but once the mimics learned the answer, the question became a liability.

“This is becoming a headache,” I grumbled before speaking into the device again.

“This is Yoo Chan-seok. I’m launching a flare.”

Flares were standard issue for a hundred-man team operating without a central command post. I had roughly ten on me. Fired into the air, they would be visible from a distance, even if the shifting, multicolored sky made tracking them a nightmare.

These were professional hunters, though. If they couldn’t spot a signal flare because the sky was too “busy,” they were better off dead.

“When the lights go up, congregate at any signal point.”

I prepared the launcher.

“Launching on three. One, two, three.”

I fired my flare—and nearly fifty others streaked into the sky simultaneously. Predictable. I didn’t miss a beat.

“It doesn’t matter which one you picked. Just kill everyone you find at the destination.”

According to the logic of the flares, everyone but me was an impostor. The radio hissed with a response.

— But that puts the real Yoo Chan-seok in the crosshairs too!

“Don’t worry about me. Even if you all jump me at once, I’m not losing.”

Our attributes were the same on paper, but talent, combat history, and raw instinct weren’t something that could be copied. If fifty of them came at me, I’d take the challenge. It was a fast way to filter the grain from the chaff.

My head was spinning from the tactical overhead. As I waited for the inevitable confrontation, someone blurred into view.

“Damn, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I almost jumped out of my skin.”

“Skin doesn’t have a vertical leap.”

I countered the remark instantly.

“…Is that you?”

It was hard to imagine a fake having that specific brand of dry wit. Instead of a verbal confirmation, Han Sang-ah lunged, aiming a heavy downward strike with her leg.

I parried her ankle, redirecting the momentum into the crystalline sand. The ground shook with the impact. I caught her arm, twisted it to lock the joint, and forced her down until her head was buried in the sand and her feet were in the air.

She wrenched herself free, coughing up dust and wiping her face.

“Yeah. That’s definitely Yoo Chan-seok’s style.”

“Obviously.”

And I knew she was the real Han Sang-ah. No mimic could replicate that specific aura.

“Good to see a friendly face, Han Sang-ah.”

“How are you so certain it’s me?”

It wasn’t hard. Spend a few hours with her, and her personality becomes unmistakable.

“Try to deny it all you want, I know it’s you.”

The masked woman standing there was undoubtedly her.

“Just to be formal, what’s our ultimate objective?”

“Club Sandai.”

I nodded. She immediately threw a question back at me.

“The location of our first successful Erosion Core raid?”

“Gyodong Island.”

One ally verified. Any mimic trying to impersonate her now was in for a brutal surprise, though I doubted they could pull it off. If we could find Jeong No-hun, we’d have a solid leadership core.

“Did you actually memorize the dossiers for the rest of the hunters?”

She gave a firm nod.

“Every single detail. I could recite them in my sleep.”

With her help, we could verify anyone we encountered. Personal history, family, age—we had the keys. On our way to the rally point, we ran into seventeen individuals. Thirteen were eliminated; four joined us.

“No sign of Jeong No-hun yet.”

“He might be out of the picture.”

“Jeong No-hun? I’ve sparred with him.”

Even with balanced stats, a man like that wasn’t an easy target. He wasn’t the type to be taken down by a mere copy. You don’t survive the underworld just by being a nice guy.

“Regardless, we have to consolidate our forces.”

Wandering around was going nowhere. We needed to gather, verify everyone quickly, and execute the fakes in a public sweep.

“I wish we could start a signal fire.”

The issue was the environment. There was no organic life here—only mineral replicas. Even the creatures were echoes. This was a realm of stone and ghosts. To bring everyone together…