The Mad Moon World
“That’ll be 1,400 won.”
“Ah, here.”
The moment he finished paying he tore open the milk carton and drained it in one long pull without so much as pausing for air. Plenty of people could knock back a liter of milk in a single go, but doing it right after sweating that hard made you wonder if he wouldn’t get sick. Still, he emptied the carton in a rush and tossed it into the trash with a clean, theatrical flick of the wrist.
“Huh?”
His gaze snagged for a second on the magazine rack. The covers were plastered with the latest bizarre murder case. A serving detective had slaughtered his ex-wife and daughter, and the weeklies were churning out wild speculation and baseless theories at full tilt.
“Damn it. Let them run their mouths however they want.”
He muttered the words and stepped outside.
In the end there was nothing left to say about that case except that death had been a kind of release. A cop who killed his own family could never return to ordinary life. Hell, even if he hadn’t done it, the frame-up would have stuck—he’d murdered his divorced wife, after all…
“You bastards!”
Yet Se-gun knew full well he was in no position to lay every sin at the vampires’ feet. He was no champion of justice. He was just a hunter who killed vampires for money; the moment he tried to claim any higher ground, everything would twist even further out of shape.
Building justice out of violence the way American superhero comics did was pure fantasy. The second you actually used force you created victims—just like this time—and you would have to cut those victims down with your own hands forever after.
Once a human stepped into the world of the mad moon, he could never return to the ordinary one. That was probably why even that reckless Jinma hunter, Father Silvester, had hesitated to drag Se-gun into this business in the first place.
Arms dealer Kenneth Yang approached his weapons warehouse the same way he always did—provided no one had broken in ahead of him.
“Well now? A visitor?”
He spotted the telltale scratch marks of a lock pick in the keyhole where he had dusted powder, and pulled a pistol from inside his coat. Of course a handgun wasn’t going to solve the problem if an arms dealer’s warehouse had already been compromised, but plenty of his “friends” liked to pull exactly this kind of prank.
“But… those guys would know I use powder, wouldn’t they?”
He muttered the thought and eased the door open.
“Hey. Finally here, friend?”
“…”
A man stood inside. The men flanking him already had their muzzles trained.
“Whoa, whoa. How’d you end up with this much good stuff?”
“W-wait. Sarhyuk. When did you get back to Korea—”
“Because you sold weapons to vampires, a whole lot of my people died. Not only that—we lost every weapon and every vest. The losses are so big I figure I’m owed some compensation.”
The man called Sarhyuk said it casually and drew a knife.
“And I really don’t like your business policy, you know? I’m not exactly in a position to lecture anyone for selling guns to vampires—I know that better than anyone. Friend. I don’t want our deep friendship to snap over something this petty either, but public and private have to be kept separate.”
He spun the knife in his palm as he spoke.
“Hold on. I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding—”
“Ahh. Human history is nothing but a string of misunderstandings and grudges. What’s one more from me going to change? I prefer to stay misunderstood, so why don’t you just shut your mouth?”
In that instant the knife sliced the air. Kenneth Yang felt a sharp sting across his throat.
“Sarhyuk…”
Of course, cutting a throat clean in one stroke was never Sarhyuk’s style. But the fact that the vampires who had used those weapons had wiped out Sarhyuk’s own men—Kenneth had made a mistake he never saw coming.
“Normally I’d just kill you… but prices tanked in the States, so I’m looking to set up shop in Korea. Living abroad’s a little rough, you know? And the only arms dealer I can trust in this country is you. Ahh, our friendship’s going to get nice and solid again. Yeah. Absolutely.”
“…”
“So from now on, no more dealing with vampires, friend. Understood?”
“I-I’ll do that.”
Kenneth Yang answered through gritted teeth, like a man forced to swallow mustard while crying. Sarhyuk threw his head back and laughed hard.
“Ah, now that’s a good friend. All right, boys, let him go!”
“But—”
“Let him go. Our friendship’s only going to get thicker from here.”
He laughed with open-handed cheer. Kenneth Yang, watching him, shook like a rabbit that had just seen a hawk. Even when he went to deal with vampires, the arms dealer never showed fear—yet now he trembled. That was how deeply he feared the man named Sarhyuk.
Kenneth pressed a hand to his neck just to make sure it was still attached, then let out a long breath.
“But… prices tanked?”
“Ah, something came up.”
Sarhyuk answered with a little smile.
When he wasn’t fighting vampires, Han Se-gun’s days were filled with training every bit as brutal as a prizefighter’s camp before a title bout. Right now he was skipping rope with white foam plugs jammed in his ears.
Working out like this in a public park was a sure way to get labeled a lunatic, but he hated gyms and health clubs. He was training for purposes that had nothing human about them; the idea of rubbing shoulders with ordinary people made his skin crawl.
Carrying this filthy heart, this dark-red murderous intent, and still trying to hide among normal people—his conscience simply would not allow it.
“Kid’s working hard.”
From the Tiburon parked across the park, Song Deok-yeon watched Se-gun and muttered to himself. The Pride he had driven for so long had been scrapped after a fight that could only be called urban warfare—too much risk of the police tracing it. In its place he had bought this Tiburon. At his age a quiet midsize sedan might have looked better, but midsize cars were almost never practical for a vampire hunter’s work.
“Anyway, that kid suddenly turned into a heavyweight.”
To think he would throw down with the vampires head-on—that kind of guts was something else. Deok-yeon, who had practically raised him, had never dared touch the Sangdong Faction, yet this one had charged straight into them… Well, the old saying about the student surpassing the master really was true.
“Never figured he’d be this fearless. That’s why I didn’t want to take in a kid whose eyes were already dead… *cough*.”
Deok-yeon clamped a hand over his mouth to hold back the coughing fit. Even if Se-gun’s eyes were dead, it was still better than Deok-yeon’s own body, which was already halfway to the grave. Continual drug use meant he would have to retire from this life soon. The fact that a young man had already grown strong enough to stand level with someone as steeped in the trade as himself was, if anything, a danger. Fast growth invited fast ruin.
*Knock knock.*
Someone rapped on the window. The very man he had been watching had somehow walked right up to the car.
“What are you doing right now?”
“Ah—no… What are *you* doing stopping in the middle of a workout?”
“Some weird middle-aged guy keeps staring at me. You think I can keep exercising like that?”
Se-gun sighed as he spoke. Even a young body took damage after back-to-back fights with the Sangdong Faction and the vampires. He could still move without trouble, but fatigue and internal injuries might be stacking up, which was why he was holding off on a second strike against Sangdong for now.
“Oh, right. I think I can finally finish off the Sangdong Faction soon. Want in?”
“Forget it. I’m not an eighteen-year-old hotshot like you. And Sangdong pays tribute to the Jeoksu Faction.”
Song Deok-yeon stuck a cigarette between his lips. Se-gun snorted at him.
“Jeoksu Faction? Weird name.”
“In a world that already has the Apple Box Faction, the Gyeongsang Agricultural Friendship Society Faction, and the Chocolate Mousse Faction, don’t go picking fights over gang names.”
Deok-yeon delivered the line with a completely straight face. Se-gun blinked. The Gyeongsang one he could almost accept, but Apple Box and Chocolate Mousse?
“Anyway, if the Jeoksu Faction has any brains, they won’t touch a lone wolf like me just because one of their underlings got wrecked.”
Organized criminals might talk about loyalty and friendship, but at the end of the day a thug moved for profit. Anyone with half a nose for self-interest would not make the mistake of attacking Se-gun—who had already dismantled an entire organization—out of pure “honor.”
“In that case I won’t stop you… but stick to Sangdong. Touch Jeoksu and it’s war.”
“Hmm.”
Se-gun nodded once. But if the Sangdong Faction had vampire connections, how could their parent organization, Jeoksu, not have them too? Vampires always tangled themselves in illegal work, and nothing handled that work better than organized crime. Arms brokers, smuggling and illegal-entry brokers, safe houses and hideouts—they were practically a full-service agency for vampires.
“….”
Se-gun sank into thought for a moment. In the end even the Korean police could do nothing about vampires. Detective Sim Gu-jin—if Se-gun had never charged in—might have gone mad, but he might never have met that wretched end either.
No matter how loudly he shouted inside that he bore no responsibility, that he was no champion of justice and therefore needed no sense of duty, the truth was he did not believe it. That was why he could not endure. He had planned to train quietly until a body worn down by drugs and combat recovered, yet sudden, overwhelming murderous intent rose up and would not be denied.
A throb…
The urge to kill vampires lifted its head. Kill them, kill them, kill them again—wipe the whole species off the face of the earth. A holocaust would do nicely. Herd them into trains like pigs, pack them into gas chambers, and finish them. Or dump them on some deserted South Pacific island and erase it with nuclear missiles. Build a giant grinder and pulp them all. Or do it like Vlad the Impaler, the real model for Dracula—skewer them, plant wicks in their skulls, and light them up.
Kill them, kill them, kill them, kill them!
Every time the savage bloodlust writhed, the stabbing pain in his chest grew worse.
“Kh…!”
*Click.*
In a warehouse stacked with powder and ammunition, a lighter flicked open and a cigarette caught fire. The man who looked half-Asian, half-Western—Sarhyuk—drew on the Lucky Strike with pure pleasure while looking down at Kenneth Yang, who lay bloodied at his feet.
“Lucky Strike really does taste special. Don’t you think so, friend? Classic flavor.”
“Urgh… I’m more of a Mild Seven man myself.”
“Is that so. Didn’t expect a difference of opinion over something like this. Well, whatever. Setting that aside—my people got pretty torn up, so I’m looking to pad the roster. Know any good hunters?”
He blew a stream of smoke straight into Kenneth’s face. Kenneth coughed and managed a reply.
“For example?”
“Ah, right. The Jinma hunter Father Silvester, for instance. I hear you’ve made contact with him. Why don’t you introduce me? Ask him to join my team.”
“You’re insane!”
Sarhyuk might be a heavyweight, but next to the Jinma hunter Silvester he was a star compared to the sun. That was how different the tier of a Jinma hunter was. This was the monster who had taken vampires fully armed with the very weapons Kenneth sold and slaughtered every last one of them with a single blade—in under a minute.
“Now now. Calling me insane? I’ll have you know I observe public manners very carefully. Very carefully…”
Sarhyuk spoke, then ground the cigarette out against Kenneth’s side.
*Sssss.*
“Ugh!”
“See? I’m even preventing forest fires. Right?”
“Gaaaah!”
“Toughen up a little. Even middle-school girls do cigarette burns these days.”
Of course, if you chose to do it yourself you might endure it. But after a beating that left your pain resistance shredded, having raw flesh burned was another matter entirely.
“Just give me the contact info. I’ll handle the rest myself.”
“Khrrrk…”
“Or would it be faster to just go through your notebook or phone?”
Sarhyuk smiled a cruel smile. Kenneth Yang’s mouth opened at once.
“All right! All right, I said. Stop!”
“Oh my. Sudden change of heart? So little integrity.”
After beating him, torturing him, and threatening his life, the man still had the gall to complain about a change of heart. Kenneth was speechless, but Sarhyuk was a rabid dog—logic was useless.
“Damn it. I always prided myself on being a pretty crazy bastard. Turns out I’m still human, not a dog.”
“What are you muttering about?”
“Nothing. Go to hell.”
Kenneth Yang said it and forced himself upright.