Chapter 88
Lee Hyuna and the term “Balhut Internal Revenue Service” were enough to instill fear even in Jung Dong-gun, the hero who reclaimed Pohang.
What on earth did the Balhut Cult do in the Internal Revenue Service after its founding that made Jung Dong-gun, the brave leader of the army, tremble in fear?
To understand this, one must have a clear grasp of the institutions operated by the Balhut Cult and which government organizations are preferred by its citizens and members.
“What’s your favorite government organization run by the Balhut Cult? Why ask all of a sudden?”
“It’s for a survey based on social strata. Since you’re somewhat of a businessman, your perspective would suffice.”
“Not just ‘somewhat.’ I’m a legitimate businessman representing the cult. So, the government organization most favored by the cult, huh…”
To investigate this, we look through the perspectives of Kim Taehyun, a businessman who earned substantial wealth within the Balhut Cult, and Kang Jaewan, a journalist.
Kim Taehyun pondered for a moment in response to Kang Jaewan’s survey question.
“That would be the expeditionary force led by Jung Dong-gun, right? It’s my main client, so naturally, I’m inclined to favor it. Besides, isn’t the expeditionary force led by Jung Dong-gun known as heroes?”
Kim Taehyun unhesitatingly answered that he preferred the military led by Jung Dong-gun.
Admittedly, this was partly personal bias and a reflection of his main business dealings. Still, considering public opinion, it was understandable that the most popular organization at present was the army led by Jung Dong-gun.
“After all, they liberated the villages and towns near Gyeongju and even reclaimed Pohang, didn’t they?”
In peaceful times, the importance of the military might not have been evident. However, with the apocalypse underway, the army fulfilled its role as humanity’s guardian, protecting daily life.
The army, under the command of God Bahamut, defended Gyeongju, liberated numerous villages and towns, and eventually reclaimed Pohang, crafting the narrative of a liberation army.
Who in their right mind could dislike an army with such a narrative, one that saved humanity from zombies?
Of course, those being pursued by such an army would naturally despise it. However, for Kim Taehyun, representing ordinary citizens and entrepreneurs, the formidable liberation army that successfully reclaimed Pohang was seen as the sole protector of their lives amid the apocalypse.
“Well, though God Bahamut concluded things, it was Jung Dong-gun and his army that liberated Pohang before that.”
Kang Jaewan also agreed with the term “liberation army” and directly stated that it wasn’t Bahamut but Jung Dong-gun and his forces who practically liberated Pohang.
However, Kang Jaewan added:
“Ah, of course, it’s not that God Bahamut didn’t play an active role. His power was just so overwhelming that it couldn’t be recklessly deployed.”
“I know. I witnessed that overwhelming scene myself.”
While Bahamut’s involvement wasn’t absent, it didn’t resonate with ordinary humans. Instead, it was the army, steadily building a liberation narrative and ultimately bursting forth with latent potential, that earned greater empathy.
The liberation of Pohang concluded with the descent of God Bahamut, but before that, it was the expeditionary force led by Jung Dong-gun that had been making the advances.
Thanks to the remarkable achievements of this expeditionary force, the cult was able to contact the remaining survivors within Pohang and safely integrate them, a fact widely acknowledged by the general public in Gyeongju.
“What about the second most favored organization?”
“Hmm.”
What then was the next organization that resonated deeply with ordinary citizens?
“It has to be the administration led by Administrative Official Lee Sua, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed. Sua’s swift administrative orders are on a whole different level compared to the sluggish bureaucracy of the pre-apocalypse era.”
From a practical standpoint, it was the administration led by Lee Sua, who excelled at addressing the immediate needs of citizens.
Before the apocalypse, bureaucratic processes were known for their inefficiency. Now, with swift and precise handling of numerous complaints arising from the apocalypse, Lee Sua and her team promptly addressed emerging issues and effectively resolved them.
For Kim Taehyun, who benefited significantly from these quick administrative measures and made a fortune, disliking the administration was out of the question.
“Honestly, I owe my livelihood to her.”
Similarly, Kang Jaewan found ways to continue his career as a journalist with Lee Sua’s assistance. Even when reporting the dark realities within the cult, he was legally protected thanks to her administrative support.
“What about after that?”
“Well, that’s a bit tricky.”
Naming the next most favored organization seemed to enter the realm of personal preference.
Kim Taehyun and Kang Jaewan exchanged thoughtful glances, hesitated for a moment, and then concluded:
“Even with mixed opinions, wouldn’t it be the judiciary under Hwang Seung-man?”
“You mean the laws he established that also caused me legal headaches?”
Despite some misgivings, they mentioned the judiciary led by Hwang Seung-man as the next choice.
While Kang Jaewan, who often exposed contradictions and dark realities within the cult, found the judiciary to be tolerable, businessman Kim Taehyun sighed, mentioning how he was dragged into annoying lawsuits despite doing nothing wrong.
Law and order weren’t easily established, and even now, new legal foundations were being laid to suit the apocalypse.
However, the interim laws formed before the complete system was implemented were, regrettably, riddled with loopholes, regardless of the efforts of Hwang Seung-man and his judges.
Exploiting these loopholes, some individuals caused trouble, leading Kim Taehyun to face false accusations multiple times.
“As a businessman, consider it a badge of honor.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong! Besides, there are clear problems!”
Distrust in the judiciary was a common phenomenon in any nation, and complaints about outdated laws unsuitable for the apocalypse continued to emerge from citizens.
Particularly, the primary reason for the cult’s citizens to harbor distrust toward the judiciary was:
“Our distrust stems from the fact that Do Josoon’s sentence has yet to be carried out.”
“Logically, I can understand, but emotionally, it’s hard to accept.”
The delayed execution of Do Josoon’s sentence was the main reason.
Despite God Bahamut’s stern judgment, the judiciary’s acceptance of Do Josoon’s appeal naturally bred distrust among the cult’s residents.
This sentiment was especially pronounced among the residents of North Gyeongju, who had suffered under Do Josoon’s tyranny. They were bitterly disappointed with the judiciary’s decision and continued to protest daily, demanding Do Josoon’s execution at the former site of the Gyeongju Branch.
The longer Do Josoon’s appeal process dragged on, the louder the voices of distrust from North Gyeongju grew, with petitions constantly submitted questioning why, despite Bahamut’s judgment, the sentence had yet to be carried out.
“No way. There’s no reason for us to like Do Josoon.”
“Even with the great Bahamut’s judgment, we want to resolve this without any legal repercussions.”
“Sure, he deserves to be executed during the apocalypse. But if we refuse his appeal and dismiss the case, it sets a dangerous precedent for abuse!”
Of course, from the judiciary’s perspective, they didn’t think God Bahamut’s judgment was wrong.
The Gyeongju branch also recognized that even by apocalyptic standards, Do Josoon was someone who deserved to die. However, to prepare for potential precedents, they reluctantly accepted his appeal.
From the judiciary’s point of view, accepting Do Josoon’s appeal was the only way to ensure his punishment proceeded without complications. Yet, the deep-rooted hatred for Do Josoon lingering in North Gyeongju led to widespread criticism of the judiciary.
“Please give us a chance to explain the rationale behind this judgment!”
“Get lost.”
The judiciary was genuinely frustrated.
However, it was also true that law itself had always been a complex subject for ordinary citizens, often misunderstood.
Even before the apocalypse, it was common for the public to fail to understand reasonable judicial decisions, leading to widespread discontent with rulings.
The judiciary, for its part, carefully deliberated legal principles and procedures to reach its verdicts. Still, the number of people willing to comprehend these efforts was remarkably small.
Aware of this fact, the judiciary recently began efforts to alleviate the deep-seated mistrust. They explained the recent rulings in simpler terms to the protestors, trying their best to resolve the root of the public’s distrust in the judiciary.
“And next up, well, it’s time to discuss disliked organizations.”
“The National Assembly. Or should I say the legislative branch?”
Next, they turned to the organizations that most citizens disliked or didn’t care about at all.
The legislative branch, the organization that had been called the National Assembly before the apocalypse, came to mind.
Currently, it was led by Park Cheol-gon and Han Geun-chul, though beneath them was a host of lesser-known politicians serving as members.
“It’s hard to call it a National Assembly anymore. It’s more like a council.”
“Yeah, but let’s be honest—it has zero presence.”
The legislative branch’s authority was fragmented, with much of its legislative power monopolized by the Priestess or shared with the administrative and judicial branches. Realistically, there weren’t enough representatives to justify a fully functional legislature.
Nevertheless, they were somewhat respected as advisors or aides to Bahamut and the Priestess. They held veto power over policies, gathered opinions, and could even draft policies, meeting the basic requirements for a council.
Still, most citizens found it difficult to form an opinion about the council due to its vague and minor role.
It was an institution whose presence was appreciated but not essential—nothing more.
“But for some reason, it’s just unpleasant.”
“I don’t like the compromises politicians keep shouting about.”
At this point, the role of politicians was to mediate social compromises and persuade citizens to accept these negotiated agreements.
In practice, they announced the cult’s policies to the public while also seeking public support for their new ideas. Yet, the results weren’t particularly positive.
“If Bahamut intervened, everything would be fine!”
“You fool! Why would Bahamut bother with such trivial matters?”
“Well, we have the Priestess as his proxy… She’ll handle it!”
Frankly, most Balhut Cult members wished that God Bahamut himself would intervene directly instead of the politicians standing before them.
The pre-apocalyptic disdain for politicians had carried over, fostering deep mistrust toward the current political figures. As a result, citizens preferred someone detached from the ideological conflicts and divisive rhetoric of the past.
In other words, the existing political framework had generated widespread disillusionment.
“To conduct proper politics, the nation’s scale needs to grow first.”
“And considering the legacy Bahamut has built so far, there’s no point in trying to beat him in popularity. Realistically, a prime minister is the limit.”
“From now on, politicians should focus on promises to support Bahamut.”
Naturally, politicians were aware of this public sentiment.
They realized that future political strategies needed to align with the apocalypse and emphasize social harmony.
For experienced politicians, crafting such strategies was straightforward. They could also leverage Bahamut’s overwhelming popularity to gain support for their policies.
The problem lay elsewhere.
“If you elect me, I’ll declare independence from the tyrant Bahamut!”
“I’ll slay the wicked dragon Bahamut and earn Gyeongju the title of Dragon Slayer!”
“Get that lunatic out of here!”
The growing disappointment with the traditional political system had led to an influx of political newcomers.
While the emergence of new political talent wasn’t inherently negative—it could signal generational change—their extreme claims were… best left unsaid.
“Who in their right mind would outright deny the founding principles of the Balhut Cult!?”
“If they were competent candidates, they would’ve joined our party by now.”
“Oops!”
Frankly, during the apocalypse, no stable political group was likely to form without controversy. Yet, to attract attention, some individuals resorted to outrageous acts, even insulting deities.
These so-called “brilliant Luinoxes” outright ignored the founding principles of the Balhut Cult and even blasphemed against Bahamut.
Proposals such as declaring independence from Bahamut or killing the deity were immediately dismissed by the cult’s mainstream political factions. Such ideas never gained traction outside the fringe.
After all, a nation’s founding principles are critical to its identity. To disregard them lightly was equivalent to declaring that the nation had no right to exist—an idea citizens naturally rejected.
“No, you monopolized all the good slogans first! So now we’re stuck with limited options!”
“Typical! Kicking down the ladder for latecomers! This is political oppression and an attack on minor parties!”
The “brilliant Luinoxes” also had their excuses. They claimed that the established political framework had already adopted apocalypse-appropriate policies before their arrival, leaving no room for their ideas.
The seasoned politicians had proposed centralized monarchies led by Bahamut or constitutional monarchies centered around the Priestess, monopolizing these platforms as their campaign promises.
The Luinoxes criticized this as an unfair monopoly, arguing that the existing system left them with no space for innovation.
“Then join our party! We’re open to generational change!”
“No! Only I can do this! Only I have the ability!”
The established political groups’ response was simple: “Join us for generational change.” However, the newcomers refused to comply, claiming unique qualifications.
And next…
“Ah.”
“Don’t even remind me.”
One organization stood out as universally despised by all Balhut Cult members.
An organization so formidable and feared that it was often referred to as the ultimate boss.
“I didn’t evade taxes! I didn’t evade taxes! I swear I didn’t evade taxes!”
The Balhut Internal Revenue Service.
The idol of all… or rather, the nightmare of everyone.
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