Octopussy Gate (8)
Each step felt heavy. The moment I sensed the thug's shoulder twitch as he advanced with his blade pointed at the ground, a whoosh of wind accompanied the dark machete slicing toward my throat.
Fast.
It wasn't the structured form of Japanese kendo or Filipino kali arnis. Just a body honed for the shortest, fastest path to strike the opponent.
I swallowed hard and took a step back, but he'd already closed in—the distance didn't open at all. A step-out works fine in bare-knuckle fights where you can read the opponent's hands, but in a blade fight where every strike is life or death, it's a fatal mistake. Once you give ground, you get pushed relentlessly in their rhythm.
But even knowing that, his aura allowed no approach.
Is this what Maeng Seung-woo was talking about?
Any ordinary brawler would shrink under that overwhelming presence, flail wildly, and collapse. It was an innate killing intent that broke the enemy's will—a butcher's stench, forged only through slaughtering countless lives, learned solely from experience.
No more backing up, or it's over.
Biting my lip, I slowly raised my blade from the ground. His expressionless eyes, fixed on me like a spider eyeing trapped prey, narrowed slightly.
No kiai shout. I exhaled sharply and thrust straight for his throat.
To beat him, I had to charge with the intent to kill—not subdue or arrest.
His eyes wavered as he twisted his waist to dodge, preparing a counter. My reverse-gripped blade arced upward from his groin in a semicircle. Dirt from the ground billowed up along the edge.
Intimidated by my momentum—like I meant to cleave him in half—he froze and took a step back.
For the first time since the fight began, he'd retreated.
A brief silence fell.
Back home, maybe he'd faced different foes, but every opponent he'd met in Korea fought to survive. This was the first time he'd encountered someone fighting to kill. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
I'd end it before he regained his feral edge.
The instant I stepped forward again, I spotted the rigid faces of his gang in the back. Some gripped their weapons, poised to jump in.
They'd been snickering and spectating when he first drew his jungle blade.
Then, a faint laugh broke the silence.
"Never seen a warrior like you in this country. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm V Ban Hong."
V Ban Hong shook his head and extended a hand. One of his underlings rushed over with a jungle blade.
He gazed at it with narrowed eyes, like a lover, then spoke.
"My orders were to cripple you. No—orders canceled. I'll just kill you!"
The moment his ragged breath burst out, he closed the gap in a flash, his slash blotting my vision.
Ching!
I blocked on reflex, but the shock jarred my wrist. Dual-wielding jungle blades, his attacks were simpler than expected. Why bother with two swords?
But the twin blades flying in the same arc were methodically wrecking my own. Like he'd targeted it from the start, not me. His strikes hammered relentlessly, like chopping logs with an axe. Chips flew from my sturdy blade.
My breath grew ragged.
Ching!
Sparks flew under the dim moonlight as metal clashed. Close enough to feel his breath. As we leaned our full weight into a blade lock, my knee buckled weakly.
His body lurched forward, his shaking pupils flashing before my eyes. Then his legs, losing balance.
A single horizontal slash.
Blood sprayed, blurring my sight, followed by a scream that tore the air.
One of his legs—the one that had planted firmly moments ago—was gone.
Thud!
"Giết thằng đó đi!"
An unfamiliar shout reached my heaving ears. Then the pounding of feet charging from behind.
His machete-wielding thugs howled like demons and rushed in.
I tried to rise using my blade for support, but my body swayed limply. The spent sword snapped, pain flooding my frame.
Round two?
As my blurring vision met theirs—
Bang!
A gunshot shattered their roars. Silence crashed down.
Tires screeched like they were shredding. A black BearCat SWAT vehicle with SOU markings barreled through, blocking the thugs.
Then bootsteps thundering like earthquakes. Dozens of red laser dots pinned to the gang's foreheads.
"Inspector Kang, you okay? We tracked your GPS! Any injuries...!"
"Which bastards roughed up Cheol-gu hyungnim? I'll snap their spines and stack 'em in a drawer!"
The masked on-site commander asked breathlessly, but Kim Gwang-il's tirade drowned him out.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Round 'em up, and handle the wounded separately. More importantly..."
My voice dropped.
"Can you keep today's incident out of the press? Can't disclose for security, but these are small fry. To get the head..."
"Don't worry. Got orders from 22nd Police Guard Chief en route. Site control and investigation direction are fully at Inspector Kang's discretion."
His masked eyes crinkled.
"Keep those eyes wide open, punk!"
Thwack!
"Daring to swing that savage blade at Cheol-gu hyungnim?"
Smack!
Gwang-il was pummeling a Vietnamese gang member in the jeep. He'd insisted on personally transporting the least-injured one—clearly for this.
"Gwang-il, that guy's Vietnamese anyway."
"Nah, hyungnim. These types learn curses first when they come here—not 'hi' or 'how are you.' They get the swears! You fucking dog, you shithead, you goddamn bastard!"
Thuds echoed from the back seat nonstop.
* * *
"The detective really took down that bastard? And lopped off a leg?!"
Maeng Seung-woo's choked gasp came from the rundown flop.
"Not doing it for your sake, so drop the look. I caught him 'cause he needed catching. Anyway, now's the time to target Park Seung-hyun directly."
Maeng Seung-woo, Bang Gyu-tae, and the others fixed their eyes on me. No turning back now. Fail to nab Park, and they'd be crippled or jailed on bogus charges. Desperation burned in their gazes.
"Bang Gyu-tae, spill everything you know about Park Seung-hyun. Patterns, weaknesses, style—everything."
"Got it."
He hesitated, glancing at me, then spoke softly.
"Park Seung-hyun eliminates threats through his network. Everyone who's anybody in Korea has ties to him. Pressure's probably coming your way soon, Detective."
"I'll handle that. Something else."
The quick ones got it instantly. Their eyes widened more than when they heard I'd crushed the Vietnamese crew. Bang Gyu-tae stared at me like a ghost, his lips curling up.
"...Honestly, I didn't fully trust you, Detective. I've seen big shots lose their heads to one call from that prick. But now I'll stake my fate on you."
"Not taking a criminal's fate. Just cough up how to catch him."
Despite my curt reply, he grinned like it was the best news.
"Catch him in the act. No other way."
"In the act?!"
As eyes converged, he shrugged, eyes narrowing slyly.
"Seung-woo hyung here—and now you—know he's got killer instincts. Normal warrants? Forget it. Too many cops in his pocket; they all play safe."
He was right. From Prosecutor Jung Jae-hoon to Councilor Park Man-cheol, everyone blocking his provocations had traced the orders back. But they all hit an invisible wall, dodging answers. No one pinned the source.
I nodded; he continued.
"Park doesn't touch drugs much. Always yapping that self-control's a businessman's lifeblood. But even he indulges twice."
"When?"
Maeng Seung-woo cut in, holding his breath.
"Once a month, a party at his villa in Gyeonggi-do. 'Networking,' they call it—booze, girls, drugs. The event where his connections form. What he values most. Nab him red-handed dealing then."
"...But with this mess, will he even hold it?"
Maeng Seung-woo shook his head skeptically.
"His Vietnamese crew's smashed by you, Detective, and his secretary's vanished. Party now?"
"That's exactly why he'll hold it."
"To flaunt he's still kicking and tighten his lines?"
Bang Gyu-tae nodded at my interjection.
"Spot on. With the hit via his network failed, he needs to rally his forces and build new ones. He'll party for sure."
"I get the need. But you're AWOL, knowing all his dirt. Wouldn't that smart bastard consider you ratting him out?"
Maeng Seung-woo tilted his head dubiously.
"Seung-woo hyung, you think no one's ever tried blowing the whistle on Park? No one's charged at him ready to die together?"
Bang Gyu-tae gave a bitter smile, shaking his head.
"Of course there were. Cops, tipsters to press—plenty. But Park sailed through. And I saw it all up close. Me tipping off the cops? That scenario's not in his head."
"The villa—you mean the one in Jeonghyeon-myeon, Gyeonggi-do?"
"How'd you know?!"
Bang Gyu-tae jolted, staring.
"I know the spot. Just give me the guest list and date."
History flowed similarly in my past life, but players differed. My eyes darkened, recalling his name.