Reformed Ruffians Prove Their Mettle

Nautilus arrived in the Chromore territory, and by then, the traces of the magic realm disaster had all but faded. New grasses sprouted across the hills, and the people were working hard to recover from the catastrophe's damages.

Lucy, returning home after so long, set off the moment Nautilus's gates opened to meet her master, Lutisat. Savoring the feel of Chromore's grasslands underfoot for the first time in ages, she turned to see Jeokgu—one of the Rehabilitation Squad members—chasing after her.

"Isn't that heavy?"

"It's fine."

Suhyun, knowing Lucy was off to see Lutisat, had assigned her one of the promising Rehabilitation Squad recruits he'd been training, for her safety and convenience. The box was heavy, packed with a metal hearth furnace and all sorts of magical ingredients, but Jeokgu felt no weight at all. He was just thrilled to escape Suhyun's training. Compared to the hellish sessions the rest of the squad was enduring inside Nautilus right now, lugging a bit of extra baggage was nothing.

Suhyun's infernal drills pushed people not just to their limits, but a step beyond—right up to the brink of death. Compared to training under that demon Suhyun, carrying bags and guarding the angelic mage Lucy was paradise. Naturally, Jeokgu grinned and told her not to worry.

Lucy had brought the Warm Hearth Guardian she'd crafted herself, a bunch of magical ingredients bought with her salary, and heaps ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of cookies and bread she'd baked. As she pictured all she had to share with her long-lost master Lutisat, she knocked on the door to his office.

"Who is it?"

But the one who opened the door wasn't Lutisat—it was a young man who looked cynical and sharp-featured.

"Isn't Master Lutisat here?"

"And who might you be, looking for Master Lutisat?"

His response dripped with annoyance and irritation, making Lucy shrink back a little as she answered.

"I'm Master Lutisat's disciple."

"You?"

Lutisat had been an extraordinary mage in his youth. Great mages earned epithets for their feats, and Lutisat—roaming battlefields and wielding wide-area flames that scorched everything in their path—had been dubbed Wave of Fire Lutisat. His spells swept through enemy lines like waves crumbling a sandcastle, a name that captured both his destructive power and his aggressive nature.

The young mage, versed in Lutisat's battlefield exploits from the Ifrit Hearth records, scowled at the timid, mousy girl claiming to be his disciple.

Most mages took on traits from the mysteries they harbored within. Lutisat embodied the roaring blaze that engulfed all before fading, while Lucy mirrored the cozy warmth of a hearth flame. But Teramit, the new mage dispatched from the Ifrit Hearth, had embraced the aggressive, devouring fury of fire.

Teramit's inner mystery sneered at Lucy's nurturing warmth, and he followed suit, mocking her. A true master mage would call him a fool enslaved by his own mystery, but Teramit saw no issue in embodying what he'd embraced. The Ifrit Hearth brimmed with belligerent fire mages who prized raw firepower, a culture that left no room for him to change.

"What do you want?"

"I stopped by Chromore and wanted to pay my respects to Master, report my progress as his disciple."

"And that progress is baking cookies, I suppose?"

Teramit sneered, sniffing the aroma of Lucy's baked goods. Even the innocent, kind-hearted Lucy—who'd rarely faced malice—could tell he despised her from that barb.

Remembering her talk with Suhyun, she steeled herself. "If someone hates you for no reason, give them one." She'd thought it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠extreme at the time, but now, blocking her master's door, she felt a spark of anger.

A hearth's fire was warm, but it didn't embrace every careless hand that reached in.

"And who are you to question my achievements? Do you even have the brains to understand if I told you?"

If Lutisat had heard that, he'd have been stunned and proud. His disciple—once too mild-mannered to utter a harsh word—was delivering a razor-sharp retort. Travel really does make you grow, he'd boast, vindicated in sending her off.

But Teramit flushed beet-red with rage.

"Do you know who I am?!"

"Oh, did you introduce yourself? Or are you so dim you write your name on your face and washed it off this morning?"

"You little—!"

Impulsive, shaped by his ravenous flames, Teramit unleashed a spell. It wasn't powerful—just enough for minor burns—but it was an attack. Jeokgu, her porter-cum-bodyguard, gasped and blocked it with his body.

Trained in extreme yang arts by Suhyun, Jeokgu trusted his heat resistance, forged in endless sessions of being scorched and seared. His body held, flames bursting from his eyes.

"You bastard!"

What if even a hair of Lucy had singed? Remembering Suhyun's orders and the punishment for failure, Jeokgu charged Teramit.

Heat Wave Palm used a hurling palm (not a slashing chop), exploding extreme yang energy from the palm and sending shockwaves flying. Designed for deterrence, not raw power, it excelled at control.

The scorching blast hit Teramit's face, panicking him.

"Gah!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, hands flying up to shield his face. Jeokgu swiftly hooked his leg, toppled him, mounted, wrenched his arm, and pinned him with body weight.

"Who the hell do you think you're trying to kill?!"

Jeokgu, heeding Suhyun's warnings, checked Lucy first. Relieved she was unscathed, he cranked Teramit's arm harder.

"Aaaagh! Let go—let me go!"

"Stay still!"

"What's going on here?!"

Lutisat emerged from his room, book in hand, drawn by the commotion. Seeing Lucy—joyfully reunited—and the pinned Teramit, he clicked his tongue, piecing it together.

"Tsk tsk. I figured that temper would get you in real trouble soon. Looks like it has."

"Urgh... Master Lutisat, help!"

"Shut it! How many times have I told you to fix that attitude?! Lucy, you alright?"

"Yes, Master. It was nothing— weaker than I expected. Though I'm worried this jerk might've spoiled the gifts I brought."

Lutisat beamed warmly at her calm response, ushering her inside.

"Guh—let go!"

"Can't do that. You're already a proven threat. No order from Lucy, no release."

"So we're staying like this?!"

"Pretty much."

Suhyun's orders: subdue attackers and hold until the protectee commands otherwise. Jeokgu pondered how long that might be.

"Oh, Jeokgu, let that guy go and grab the gifts, please?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Finally releasing Teramit, Jeokgu checked the bags, hauled them in, and dusted off as he eyed the mage brushing dirt from his clothes.

"You're lucky, punk. Cross Suhyun and you'll shit blood."

"Grr... Get lost."

Jeokgu tsked as Teramit stormed out, pride in tatters.

"That idiot needs the Rehabilitation Squad to straighten him out."

Forgetting he'd been worse just weeks ago, Jeokgu followed Lucy inside.

The Rehabilitation Squad trained in martial arts alongside mental conditioning. To keep them from turning arrogant or aggressive despite growing stronger, Suhyun wove lessons into drills like brainwashing. Jeokgu recalled those words, eyeing the punks before him.

"Don't come with us, and you'll regret it."

The weaker they are, the louder they bark.

He'd been like that in his weak days, and so were these weaklings. As Daiyen scowled in displeasure at the cocky thugs trying a "kidnapping invitation," Heukgu stepped forward, blocking them from her.

"Showing off 'cause there's a lady present?"

"Heh heh, gonna piss yourself?"

The Black Dog—impulsive from his monster organ graft, self-control frayed—might've lunged at the taunts before. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But after Suhyun's anger management, Heukgu waited like a well-trained hound for Daiyen's command.

"Don't kill them. Not one escapes."

"Heh heh, what're you—gurk!"

The sneering thug took Heukgu's fist to the jaw, head snapping around. The encirclement charged.

"We only need the girl anyway—kill the guy!"

Daggers and shortswords gleamed as they rushed bare-handed Heukgu, but he stayed cool, recalling Suhyun's words.

Any attack misses if it doesn't land.

Light and swift footwork dodged blades. Heukgu drove his elbow into the lead thug's solar plexus, then chained into the next.

A crunch of breaking bone; the thug flew back, toppling the next. Heukgu eyed the panicked dagger-wielder and struck.

His hand slithered like a viper, twisting the wrist until the dagger dropped. Heukgu snatched it and slashed the tendons.

"Gaaah!"

The scream tore the air, but Heukgu impassively severed limb meridians with precise cuts. He'd endured it himself countless times in training and spars—incapacitating without killing. The thugs quailed at his deadpan face.

They hadn't even seen the first rush; one punch sent a man flying into another, then bare hands stole a dagger and crippled him. The encirclement faltered, eyes darting for escape.

"Halt."

Heukgu's low growl froze them. His monster heart graft had instilled ferocity and savagery—not erased by martial arts, but leashed and controlled. Dormant, he seemed ordinary; unleashed, he terrified, and in his voice, it cowed the timid.

One example set, Heukgu checked they were still, then knelt on one knee before Daiyen as Suhyun had drilled.

"Lady Daiyen, it's done."

Daiyen was stunned. Her order had been an ideal, not literal—she'd expected a couple to flee. Amazed he'd subdued them all, she hid her surprise and ordered him to interrogate the apparent leader.

"Who are you?"

"Like I'd tell you."

His defiant glare met Heukgu's smirk. Back-alley toughs were plentiful, but even they wept under Suhyun's hell. His drills were brutal, agonizing, nightmarish. Heukgu, who'd suffered most, knew pain intimately. Grinning, he raised the dagger.

"I promise, you'll beg to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spill everything."

Heukgu was certain. The thug wouldn't last a tenth of what he'd endured.

And true to that confidence, minutes later, he broke—begging to confess all.