Salt Fields (6)
“We’re just here to block your escape route. These days, young punks charge in all cocky, but the second things get real, they’re already plotting to run. And…”
His tongue flicked across his lips like a snake eyeing prey.
“Maybe it’s my age, but chasing down runners is starting to wear me out more than the actual fight. Why do the ones who are gonna die anyway bolt like that? So I had to borrow a hand or two.”
It meant all the guys he’d faced had turned tail. Kim Gwang-il felt his body tense up despite steeling himself.
“Ha! What the hell am I supposed to do with a bluffing old fart like you?”
He took a step toward the bastard.
“Is that bravado controlling your body? Listen, if a kid pulls that shit, we call it middle school syndrome and find it cute. But an old geezer like you? That’s just senility talking.”
The man’s laugh cut off. And Gwang-il’s rigid shoulders loosened.
* * *
The distance was three and a half steps. One step closer made it two and a half. My favorite range.
I held my breath and threw a punch. Didn’t expect it to land. Just testing his reaction.
But Cheon’s elbow twisted at an unnatural angle, closing the gap instead. His hand and foot moved near-simultaneously. Under the moonlight, our shadows crossed.
The distance reset to two and a half steps. My knee hit the ground. A sharp sting like a paper cut, then blood beaded on my forehead. Agonizing pain bloomed in my gut.
This must be his sweet spot too.
“Don’t show off fancy tricks. Think of every strike as a killing blow. This ain’t a points ring.”
His voice flowed out leisurely, like he was training a rookie. So that’s how it was. Not just some atmosphere-building poser.
The wind picked up. Our first clash had swapped our positions. He was at the cliff’s edge now. Nighttime. Onshore breeze blowing toward him.
As I stood, I hurled a fistful of sand into the wind. Whirrr!
In that instant—or split second—it was enough. The sand surged like a tidal wave on the breeze, blinding him. A low tackle scraped the ground and struck his base.
I heard his startled breath. Thud!
The impact of body on body exploded like thunder—unbelievable. He limped back, opening distance.
Splat! A stone slipped from my hand to the dirt. A smooth pebble worn by years of waves. I bit my lip in regret. Half a success. I’d aimed to shatter his knee outright but shifted on a hunch from the wind whistling past my ear. Hurt his ankle, but no room to relax.
Cheon’s head nodded slowly. A twisted smile crept onto his lips.
* * *
Huff! Pant! Kim Gwang-il spat out his held breath in ragged gasps. His lungs screamed for fresh air. He’d even forgotten to breathe.
Watching Detective Kang Cheol-gu fight Cheon was downright surreal. In his violent crimes career, he’d scrapped countless times. Sashimi knives and chains slicing air, shouts and curses flying. But this? Dead silent. Only waves crashing.
It didn’t feel like this world’s brawl. That was the realm Detective Kang Cheol-gu—his goal, his dream—lived in.
Gwang-il bit his lip hard. Then a massive shadow snagged in his vision. Choi the village head’s brother, Choi Du-seong, creeping up behind Kang Cheol-gu.
“Freeze.”
As Choi Du-seong’s bulk turned, Gwang-il crooked a finger. Kang Cheol-gu’s signature move when cuffing perps. He’d always wanted to try it.
Gwang-il’s lip curled up.
“Come here. Let’s play.”
* * *
“Guess I misjudged you. Thought you were just some flashy punk. Sorry about that, Detective Kang Cheol-gu.”
“Cut the crap and show your hand. This ain’t all you got.”
Cheon chuckled, patting his chest. Suddenly, a razor-sharp combat dagger gleamed in his grip. No yakuza sashimi—this was military grade.
“Special forces, huh? Which unit?”
“Guys bullshitting about army days all night is a national pastime, but let’s skip it tonight.”
The dagger ripped through the dark before he finished. Matte black blade—no spotting it visually. His hand moved first.
Shwick! Air whistled after.
The blade extended his reach by over 30cm. I swayed aside, but my balance crumbled. As I grabbed more sand mid-fall, the dagger sliced toward my hand.
I twisted my torso, creating space. His reverse-grip thrust speared where my hand had been, then the blade twisted 45 degrees on impact. Sand sprayed from my open mouth.
“Sorry. Force of habit.”
I spat grit and hauled myself up, his casual voice ringing. Thought I’d dodged, but blood trickled from my shoulder too.
“Krav Maga? Army Special Warfare Command? Or UDT? Which one?”
“Heh. Been a while since I heard those sweet words.”
His brow twitched. I wrapped my shredded windbreaker around my left hand—ruined jacket, but it’d do. Had to sacrifice one hand to even the odds. Sweat dripped from my forehead.
Vision blurred for a second, and the black blade danced again. Invisible. Only the afterimage lingered post-slash. My breaths grew ragged. None of my attacks had touched him. Only alive thanks to wrecking his ankle first.
Wind howled again. Not sighted dodge—instinct dropped my head as a gale that could’ve yanked hair out grazed me. Behind him, Gwang-il’s worried eyes flashed.
His eyes burned demon-red, signaling the end. I knew it. His final attack. My last gamble.
Thud! The blade halted at my throat. My jacket-wrapped left blocked it. And a small fishing knife plunged into his gut.
Cheon gasped in shock.
“...No way. You saw it?”
“You kidding? How the hell do you block a psycho swing like that?”
“Then how?”
His breathing roughened. Blood poured from his belly.
“...You’re special forces trained in Krav Maga. Military arts aim to kill, not subdue. Clean execution’s the goal.”
“...So, sp-spit it out. You saw it?”
He didn’t question the fishing knife from my ankle now in his gut. Obsessed only with whether he’d been seen.
“Special forces knife fighting finishes at throat or heart. Heart’s vest-protected. Pros go for the neck. If you were sloppy, I’d be the one down.”
“Heh! Th-that’s it?”
“And this? I learned from you.”
I twisted the blade in his gut 45 degrees. Blood sprayed from his mouth. Snap! Cheap fishing knife—blade snapped.
Cheon’s face paled. Clutching the broken shard in his belly, he backpedaled toward the cliff. One step, two.
Crackle! Pebbles tumbled 20m down.
His lips twitched like he’d speak. Corner lifted—then he kicked off the ground.
Wind whispered past. Silence so profound, it was hard to believe a man had stood there moments ago.
Splash! A distant sea scream.
Through blurring vision, I sought Gwang-il.
* * *
“Come here. Let’s play.”
Gwang-il’s finger pointed at Choi Du-seong.
“That over there? That’s big boys’ turf. No room for chunked-up nobodies like you throwing weight around. Got it?”
“Ha! You little shit. Got a rag in your mouth?”
Gwang-il glanced up at Kang Cheol-gu. Fast. Too fast—their moves blurred past his eyes. Out of his league.
Bro, don’t worry about a thing. I got this—you go wild!
“Hey, you looking at?”
Feeling ignored, Choi Du-seong closed in and grabbed Gwang-il’s collar. One hand, but it crushed his carotid like a full adult chokehold. Air cut off. Face purpling, Gwang-il still smirked. Low chuckle escaped.
Begging to die, shoving your head at Yama himself. Grabbing a judo national team dropout by the collar?
A dozen techniques flashed by. Wrist to elbow, shoulder to hip. Waist to full body. He could smash any spot he wanted.
Which one? Casually pondering, Gwang-il’s eyes flickered. Something off snagged his sight. Behind Choi Du-seong’s shoulder—Kang Cheol-gu tumbling to the ground. Blood spray. Cheon held a dagger!
Br-bro!
Forgetting his peril, Gwang-il whipped his head wildly.
* * *
He’d come here casually, just to fish. Sure, they’d uncovered the island’s corruption, but no real reason to dive in. Report to HQ, let the courts handle it. Job done.
Yet Kang Cheol-gu risked his neck. Kicked away the easy path.
Frustrating. Enviable. That man would burn hot till death.
Throat crushed in choking agony, Gwang-il eyed his strangler. Strength’s your thing, huh?
His lip curled coldly. A smile just like someone’s.
He released Choi Du-seong’s wrist he’d gripped for a throw. Like a coiling snake, his hand slithered to Choi’s collar.
Fine. Crush with raw power!
Light flared in Choi Du-seong’s eyes. A train-whistle roar exploded from him.
“This blood-clot grabbing my collar? You wanna power-play me, Choi Du-seong?!”
“Heh, maybe I’ll try the hard road like someone I know.”
Whoosh!
Giggling, Gwang-il heard wind. Not a boxer’s precise punch. Pure brute force, ignoring form, slammed his jaw.
Thud! One hit, vision swam. Mouth shredded—blood flooded his throat. Heavy regret for his choice.
But!
He bit his lip. Propped shaking knees with his hand, stepped back. Pushed off the ground, loaded full weight into a fist.
Thud! Choi Du-seong’s jaw whipped around at neck-snapping speed. Shock flooded his eyes.
Gwang-il wiped bloody lips and grinned.
“Rules are simple. First to drop or dodge loses. How’s that?”