The 1.5 Million Won Sewer Tour
The iron door of the lift at Incheon Port Pier 3 slid open, but instead of fresh air, I was greeted by the acrid stench of burning rubber from the tire factory, mingled with the fishy tang of sea breeze. My nose, accustomed to the crisp air of the Underground, rebelled against the factory's harsh fumes.
"Heading back up?"
The guide standing by the lift asked indifferently as I covered my nose with my sleeve.
"Nah, still got business to take care of."
"Suit yourself. Wind's picking up—watch your step."
I exchanged a nod with the guide, who conveyed his pity with a blank expression, then pulled my hoodie over my head and slipped out of the industrial complex toward Incheon Port.
The port at 4 a.m. wasn't some sentimental spot. It was just a massive, merciless factory reeking of heavy fuel oil and the cool ozone tang from unrefined mana stone dust. The wind nipping at my nose was chilly, but the air near the entrance hung stagnant and lukewarm, thanks to the endless heat belched out by the giant trailers.
I kept my hood low and blended in with the workers in their coveralls, weaving between the trailers. The main road from the outer harbor to the inner one was more orderly than I'd expected. Yard tractors hauling dozens of tons of containers followed the yellow guidelines on the ground with ruler-like precision. The sight of these mechanical behemoths meshing together so flawlessly was eerily clean. Not a scrap of trash on the pavement—a single tire blowout could halt the whole logistics chain, so any mess in this ruthless efficiency was a cardinal sin.
The only change was that the old oil smell now had an extra layer of nauseating mana-burn stench on top.
In the distance, massive gantry cranes shrieked mechanically as they hauled cargo. So-called "hybrids"—post-war monstrosities force-feeding low-grade mana stone power sources into diesel engines. Every rev of the engine sounded like a hacking cough spitting up phlegm, which always left a weird feeling in my gut.
I stuck to the blind spots of the yard tractors like second nature, pushing deeper into the inner harbor.
Once past the zone where sleek new ships stamped with Hyundai Arcane Holdings (HAH) logos were docked, the scenery crumbled fast.
Pier 3. Once the heart of Incheon Port, now shoved aside by the outer harbor's fancy new mana setups, it was far from "orderly." The precise yellow lines were faded beyond recognition, and the high-strength asphalt was cracked everywhere, forming puddles. Oil-slicked seawater sloshed dully over them.
From gaps in the rusted, abandoned pipelines, piles of discarded mana stone crates leaked dying purple glows like trash.
[Crack, crack]
Broken concrete chunks and gravel crunched sharply underfoot. This neglected corner was packed with dank nooks perfect for staging "accidents."
Lights flickered, and even HAH's latest surveillance cams didn't bother with a rundown pier like this that brought in no cash.
I squeezed through a hole under the weathered chain-link fence dividing the pier sections. Splintered wooden pallet debris scraped my collar, but I ignored it. Sixty years rolling in this world had taught me one thing: these filthy blind spots saved your skin way more reliably than shiny new gear.
The client-mentioned sewer entrance was casually abandoned behind the warehouse. The manhole cover that should've blocked it lay tossed aside like someone had pried it open in a hurry. No telling if early guests had arrived or if it was always like this.
[Click]
Before descending, I snapped a habitual certification photo by the entrance. More evidence for the mercenary office meant fewer headaches later.
Grabbing the ladder leading down, a sticky reek of rotten seawater and degraded mana particles hit me like a slap. I'd seen every kind of hellhole as a merc, but this sewer stink never grew on me.
"Alright, time for the 1.5 million won sewer tour."
I climbed down the rusty ladder into the darkness.
---
The sealed sewer was like a massive concrete tube. A far cry from the brightly lit Incheon Port above with its safety lights, ship deck lamps, and such—this place was dim and choked with the stench of rotten seawater and urban mana waste.
I focused my senses and padded silently into the dark passage. Faint red emergency lights dotted the way sporadically, but no mutant mana beasts yet.
About 30 meters in, all surface light vanished, leaving only the scattered red lamps to stitch the gloomy sewer.
Normally, you'd flip on helmet-mounted night vision or a flashlight, but I didn't need that crap.
"Hoo..."
I closed my eyes, steadied my breath, and drew out the tiniest mana thread from my body, pulling it up to my head.
Normal human eyes detect darkness via rod cells in the retina. I channeled the mana into the capillaries and optic nerve around my eyes. Stimulating the optic nerve spiked retinal sensitivity, amplifying even minuscule photons. At the same time, I forced refraction of light wavelengths through the lens, converting heat and mana waves from living things into visual data.
My brain stung like it was frying, intraocular pressure spiked as the optic nerve soaked in mana—but the payoff was a transformed view.
Pupils dilated cat-like into perfect circles, forcing instant dark adaptation. It drained me to maintain, but it beat lugging night-vision gear or extras. Minor side effect: my eyes glowed eerie, but who cared down here.
Eyes snapping open post-prep, the sewer's layout lit up crystal-clear. Wall slime viscosity was visible; a bit more focus, and airborne mana particles sharpened too.
And there, far off between ceiling pipes: dozens of twitching red eyes.
No normal critters survived this filth. The client's targets: mutant mana beasts.
"One, two, three, four... hmm, about twenty, give or take."
My murmur echoed down the sewer. The twenty red glares reacted, and shrill shrieks erupted from the far end as they charged.
Sewer rats, warped by mana wastewater. But "rats" was an insult to their size—big as Jindo dogs, with mana-mutated bald patches hardened into black-red scar-like leather.
"Screech, zzt!"
Twenty red glares blinked in the dark. They weren't just bigger. The mutation's essence was in their tails: once flexible, now elongated into razor sword-shapes, tips gleaming with condensed mana metal sheen.
I drew a deep breath, circulating body mana. Not the flashy full-body glow or explosive power modern kids used for "body enhancement." Just weaving mana tight into every muscle fiber for elasticity, reinforcing cartilage and ligaments with mana membranes to silence joint screams during bursts.
Whoosh!
The lead rat twisted mid-air, whipping its tail. A sharp slash—sparks flew where my head had been. Concrete gouged deep like a sword cut.
Mana-boosted optic nerves read its next trajectory. Brain overload burned, but reflexes stretched instants into eternities.
Tail arcing diagonal again, I detonated knee-joint mana, body flopping sideways. Lethal angle for normal ligaments, but mine—sprung with mana—absorbed the shock, slingshotting me into its blind spot.
Crunch!
My dagger plunged into its nape. 45cm blade severed vertebrae clean; it crumpled without a squeak.
"One down."
The hunt was on. The rest swarmed. Three lunged frontal with jagged incisors; others lashed tails like whips at my limbs from behind.
I maxed muscle flex, kicking off narrow walls upward. No flashy anti-grav flight—just brute physics, forcing joint ranges beyond limits to rebound off the wall.
Three tails crossed over my head, clanging metal-on-metal.
"Nice teamwork, fellas—but your aim sucks."
Landing with a spin, I swept my dagger. Mana-forged arm muscles snapped like a taut compound bowstring. Wherever the blade passed, sword-tails sheared off in chunks.
Black blood fountained from stumps as they writhed.
I stomped the nearest's chest mid-chaos. Joint boosts turned my leg to a steel pile driver.
Splat!
Chest caved, tumbling into its buddies. I exploded forward through the gap.
Shick, flick.
Dagger paths optimized for efficiency: heart, throat, brow. Sustained enhancement heated muscles molten; lungs burned—but cold reflexes tracked foes.
Just as incisors grazed my shoulder, I backbent freakishly, reverse-gripping the dagger up under its jaw.
Last rat got a vertical face-plant from the blade, ending the brawl.
"Hoo... hoo..."
Yanking the dagger from the final runt's brow, only sewage trickle remained.
Releasing enhancement, dull aches surged through taut joints and muscles like a tide. Price of forcing reflexes and mana-wrapping ligaments.
Steadying shaky hands, I slit chests, extracting nail-sized mana stones into my pouch one by one.
Clink.
The merry jingle of stones bumping was damn satisfying. 1.5 million won fee plus these scraps? Rent-free samgyeopsal and soju for a while.
Wiping blood-and-sludge hands roughly on my pants, I started to stand with a grin—
Then the damp air behind froze solid in an instant. Decades-honed survival instinct clawed my nape.
Refined mana pressure rolled in like waves from the tunnel's end. That cool, arrogant mana scent? Unforgettable.
Ha Ye-rin, Incheon Branch vice director of the Ability Management Bureau. We'd crossed paths four times at the convenience store. But this was leagues beyond her office drone vibe—an ice blade aura slicing the dark.
*sigh* Perfect timing, shitty luck.
I'd pegged her for a brainy bureaucrat, but these mana waves? Way deadlier than expected. Major threat upgrade.
I yanked mana-neutralizing spray from my pocket, misting everywhere. Mercs called it "perfume"—wiped my presence, amped the rat-stink.
Dodging corpses, I crammed into a rusty narrow drainpipe beside the sewer. Injected mana into every joint for serpentine folds, melting fully into shadow.
Moments later, blue hologram lights tore the gloom, flooding the sewer like daylight.
Textbook four-man tactical squad. Ha Ye-rin's Ability Management Bureau elite team.
"Vice Director, mana density unstable here. Scattered mana beast biosignatures."
A subordinate's voice filtered through the pipe gap. They wore full HAH tactical suits, HUD goggles streaming real-time data over faces. Oddly, ignoring the blood reek right under their noses, eyes glued to goggles' numbers and graphs.
"Ignore the beasts. Target's an Ethnic Federation infiltrator with abilities. No time to waste on lowlife vermin."
Ha Ye-rin's icy voice echoed. Centered among them, she tuned her wrist Atlas-G7 bracelet's output, leading point.
Her eyes hunted faint mana traces beyond the goggles, but sadly, her world was machine-filtered "clean data" only.
Team maintained formation, advancing cautiously. They kicked aside Jindo-sized rat corpses with disgust.
"...Too many bodies. Vice Director, cuts are clean—looks like bladed."
"Infiltrator's work?"
"No. Infiltrators are psy or explosive types. Not this primitive butchery."
Ha Ye-rin halted where I'd stood moments ago, answering the analysis. Instead of inspecting a body gloved-hand-on, she activated scan, reading data. But my neutralizer mixed with contaminated rat blood likely garbled the system.
Her brow furrowed faintly—visible through the gap. For her nitpicky type, vague data was irritation incarnate. No ability user traces, just filthy beast corpses? Enough to piss anyone off.
"Trail's cold. No infiltrator presence—just beast bodies. Search efficiency's in the toilet. Pull out."
She snapped off the hologram irritably. Blue light died; damp quiet returned.
Rhythmic tac-boots faded overhead. I held breath till her chill mana fully vanished.
"Phew, nearly lost my head repaying that 6,400 won."
Leaning on the pipe wall, I exhaled long. That woman's instincts? Scarier than cash.
Most bureau elites dismissed powerless civs after a glance—but Ha Ye-rin remembered me like an indelible stain.
Not gratitude for 6,400 won favors—more like plotting my silver bracelet collar. Shiver.
*This* is why you don't tangle with feds.
But her field command? Solid score even from a merc's eye. HAH suit assists aside, mana control flawless. Precise chill dominated the sewer's mana balance; orders crisp, no fat.
Flaw? Over-reliance on "right answers." From my dirt-caked war vet view, she fixated on machine-filtered data. If graphs said "all clear," even cloying blood-stink got dismissed as glitch.
That elite arrogance—their fatal blind spot. She hadn't factored raw battlefield's sticky variables into her calculator yet.
"Well, thanks for the save, I guess."
Confirming her mana gone, I rose slowly. Stiff joints cracked.
Decades in, muscle pain never charmed.
Stripped the blood-sludge hoodie, rinsed in flow, secured mana stone pouch tight inside tac vest.
Exiting the secret passage to surface, the night's humid blanket lifted bit by bit. Beyond Incheon Port's cranes, ink-blue dawn sky blushed purple.
Across the road, HAH's skyscraper cluster in the new city stirred awake. Hologram billboards pierced morning mist with brilliance; glass towers sparkled like gems in rising sun.
Suits opened the glittering morning; old mercs like me closed the sewer night.
"Fancy view for a night-shift grunt."
Dry smile, I headed cityward. Soggy sneakers squelched wet asphalt—mood good. 1.5 million won weighed my shoulder sturdy.
New city outskirts at dawn's break: Pandora Mercenary Office loomed in a shadowed alley under looming towers.
Time to cash these bloody stones, down hot gukbap with samgyeopsal.
"Alright, clocking out."
I shook night dew from gray hair, blending into the waking city's hum.