Headhunting (8): The Madman's Last Spar

My body brushed past in a blur. The blade held at the end of acceleration stopped dead. No, I hadn't even swung it. In the instant of acceleration, I had simply leveled the sword and locked it in place. Because both I and Oh Jin-uk accelerated at the same moment, there was no need to put power behind a swing. It was exactly like the lance charges medieval cavalry used. The only difference was that I'd planted a blade with considerable cutting power directly in its path.

The moment the severed forearm dropped to the ground with a dull thud, I registered the zombies swarming in and reset my stance. It was the upper stance—hilt raised to chest height, blade tilted upward at an angle. A motion almost never seen in modern kendo. Something you inevitably picked up during fundamental training. Rarely spotted in sport matches, but a stance that saw real use in actual combat.

With me holding the position rock-steady, the fallen Oh Jin-uk accelerated. Dirt exploded upward as he flipped off the ground. Eyes bloodshot and gleaming wildly, he charged. As the machete raised to waist level scattered sword light, I responded without a flicker of doubt. The instant my sword tilted and my foot moved—

Clang. The sound of metal ringing. Not the noise you'd expect from cutting muscle and bone. Closer to chopping through wood.

“Kruaaaak!”

Oh Jin-uk screamed as he was blasted backward. In a single exchange I had burned the incoming trajectory into my eyes, twisted at the waist, and cut across his midsection. A natural flow from upper stance into rear stance. What I applied at the end of the transition was no different from before. I didn't swing the sword—I released it. Anticipating the acceleration path and rushing trajectory, I simply let the blade go. It wasn't my strength that cut him. The speed itself carved through his body.

I regulated my breathing, pivoted, and reset my stance.

Kakakakakang! Gunfire began to roar. The sound of Kang Ahyeon aiming at the approaching zombies and pulling the trigger. At that noise Oh Jin-uk groaned and twisted his head—

Thuddddd! My body accelerated. A speed normal humans would struggle to follow. By the time he regained his senses, the shoulder he'd been regenerating had already been sliced clean off.

“Kruak…!”

Oh Jin-uk. Pastor of the New Heaven Rapture Mission Church. One of those chosen by the cult leader—someone who had willingly, fervently risen for the cause, taken the holy relic the leader bestowed, and begun the Rapture.

He tumbled across the ground, wandering through the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shattered fragments of his broken memories.

Cicada, cicada, cicada—the cicadas cried.

What appeared in those memories was a familiar face.

“Hyungnim, you’re incredible. Better than the Japanese guys.”

Someone spoke to Oh Jin-uk. The current Oh Jin-uk and the one in the memory opened their mouths at the same time. But their reactions diverged completely. The past Oh Jin-uk, eyes shining with respect, was nothing like the present one.

“Hyung… nim? Who… who are you talking about…?”

He rose, blinking vacantly. His mind drifted through a world of madness. That was what madness did. It twisted cognition, twisted senses, and channeled an alien power through that very madness. At the same time, the mind itself collapsed. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A human mind could not comprehend that power. Madness was the force closest to its true essence.

His tear-filled eyes fell on the corpse lying on the ground. It wasn’t a rotting, bitten, twisted, blood-soaked corpse. They were beautiful people. His countrymen. Those who had risen to heaven with the Rapture—the ascended. People he, with his power, was duty-bound to protect.

A sob poured from his lips. The sight of blood splattered across the beautiful landscape of Eden stretching into the distance was grotesque. People were approaching from afar, terrified yet still coming. The righteous man blesses himself—so he rose, tears streaming.

Yes. He had to fight. The strong must kill the devil.

He turned and looked at me. A devil clad in armor. Guns and gunpowder, strength and blood, blades. Blades…?

Oh Jin-uk’s gaze lingered on my sword for a long time. It felt familiar. Long reach with a slight curve. Pure white blade, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠familiar thickness.

Huu. As he exhaled the breath caught in his throat, his memories crackled like static in his skull. Pazuzut—a dead vacuum-tube TV suddenly flickered before his eyes. Reflected on it was a young Oh Jin-uk.

“Hyungnim really is amazing. I want to be like you.”

When he smiled brightly, An Seong-ho smiled back.

Pazut. The Eden garden flickered for an instant. What appeared in that flicker was a desolate field strewn with rotting corpses.

“Ah, th-that, aaaaaaaaagh—it hurts—!”

He screamed. Kakakang—the gunfire grew distant. While a lone girl kept firing to hold back the approaching zombies, he stood once more in the garden of Eden. A devil stood before him. A devil holding a sword. What he had to do was clear. He had to kill it. In the name of God, in the name of the Second Coming Jesus, the cult leader, the master of the New Heaven Rapture Mission Church—Ju Ye-su.

Grrrk. Burning with desperate emotion, he gripped the machete.

“Kraaaaa—!”

He charged again. Bang—he stamped the ground and rushed forward. The sword swung at the end of that rush. I took one step forward while maintaining middle stance.

Clang! The machete swung at my head. I deflected it with the flat of my blade, pushed it aside, and stabbed with the rebound force.

Crackkk! The blade sank into his throat, severing even his scream. For a brief moment both breath and thought stopped. I brushed past him sideways, leaning forward. What I executed was Tadol. My body accelerated.

Kwaaaaaaaaang! A roar thundered out as my body sped up. The neck sliced open wide along with the embedded blade. Pushaaak—between the gushing blood, I was already gone. The machete swung in spasm cut only empty air.

I had already gained distance and reset my stance. Oh Jin-uk staggered and collapsed to his knees. Heuk, hek—clutching his regenerated neck, eyes convulsing, he stared at the ground. His neck had been cut. Cut, then instantly regenerated. Extraordinary regenerative power. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠His arm had finished regenerating as well, yet—

His mind had briefly severed the moment his neck was cut, then returned. The mind that returned was no longer in the garden of Eden.

“One round. Has it gotten better?”

A voice both unfamiliar and familiar. As the shape of Eden distorted with noise, he suddenly found himself inside a kendo dojo.

“…Ah.”

The creaking wooden floor came into view. Even the signboard hanging in the rather large dojo was familiar. Several Japanese swords displayed high on the wall. The largest kendo dojo in the region. A very old place. Oh Jin-uk had loved it there. He had probably kept loving it. He loved being able to exchange swords without thinking in that place.

Yes. Just like now. And in that place there was—

“…Seong-ho, hyungnim.”

There stood An Seong-ho, extending his sword in the same upright middle stance as always. Oh Jin-uk rose unsteadily.

“Yes… I was sparring.”

Oh Jin-uk took his stance. Gripping the somehow short-feeling hilt tightly with both hands, he extended it forward. Middle stance. Ugly protruding belly, an arm that had been cut and barely regenerated without even skin covering it. Oh Jin-uk holding his sword in middle stance exactly like me, face deadly serious.

The two of us stamped our feet at the same time and leaped toward each other.

Kaaang! Against the backdrop of gunfire we rushed each other, swinging our blades. Straight trajectories fired from upright stances. Machete and crusader sword clashed repeatedly, exchanging offense and defense.

Kakakakakakakang! The sound of gunfire and clashing steel were eerily similar. While Kang Ahyeon aimed her rifle in every direction, firing, and when zombies drew too close, drew her revolver faster than reloading to shoot them—

Oh Jin-uk remained suspended in the moment where the sparring from memory and the sparring in reality overlapped perfectly. It was beautiful. He forgot even the garden of Eden, forgot his own appearance. Immersed, he remained in this single instant, right now.

Upper stance. A sudden chest stab. Middle stance. Wrapping counter. Matching the thrust while wrapping and pushing the swung blade, rolling across the floor, feeling that burning pain fill his chest—he smiled.

Techniques long forgotten in his head. The fundamentals he had repeated countless times until they were carved into muscle, until blood flowed from his hands, blisters burst, and calluses formed.

Beneath his planted feet he no longer felt dirt. The only thing he felt was his opponent. The sword his opponent extended, the swinging blade, the presence that surged in upon contact.

Kagagak—the crossed blades tangled at the tips. Even as he was cut, stabbed, and sliced again and again, Oh Jin-uk was smiling. How long had it been since he last felt this much joy?

The entangled blades, before the referee could even call for separation. Both their feet moved at once. Bang! The target was obvious. He would aim for the head. He would swing down while retreating. So this side would answer first. The experience he had accumulated, the habits engraved while sparring with hyungnim. He would strike the habit. Aim for the gap. The retreating foot, the withdrawing sword—everything was familiar. So it would definitely come.

The instant Oh Jin-uk smiled and raised his machete, the image distorted and vanished.

“Uh—”

His back foot planted. Acceleration. Tadol. I had thought it would come, but it didn’t. Instead what I heard was—

Kaduduk! The sound of a foot forcibly planted, tearing through dirt and flipping the ground.

‘It disappeared…’

The sound of my body spinning from the leftover acceleration as I tried to stop by slamming my foot down.

‘It’s not hyungnim.’

A technique An Seong-ho would never use. Not kendo—something closer to fantasy. After I drew a trajectory impossible for a human body and drifted, I seized Oh Jin-uk’s rear.

Chaaaaaaaak! The crusader sword, its milky-white blade drew a horizontal line. It had been white when it entered, but when it emerged the blade was drenched red. The machete slipped from Oh Jin-uk’s hand and rolled across the ground.

“…Ah.”

The illusion finally lifted. The real world entered his eyes. Himself standing naked, zombies lying dead and sprawled across the floor. And the young man who had brushed past him and stopped in the posture of having swung his sword.

He was not weak. Overflowing strength, outstanding regenerative ability. Even advanced heavy swordsmanship. If the opponent used a gun as their main weapon or lacked understanding of heavy swordsmanship, they died. That was how Oh Jin-uk had slaughtered several soldiers—charging while being shot and butchering them all. At the end, what he faced was not a fellow kendo practitioner.

Regret and fury, relief and joy. As Oh Jin-uk shuddered with a storm of emotions, trembling at the foreign sensation rising in his throat, a familiar madness flickered at the edge of his vision.

‘This won’t do.’

His neck was trying to reattach. Even though a severed neck should not reattach. His madness pushed him forward. It distorted reality as it pushed.

‘I must have revenge.’

He had been used. He had suffered something horrific. He had to take revenge. What he needed for that was a body no gun or blade could fell. Strength surged through his body. Every cut and stab wound began to close. He poured every miracle he possessed into regeneration. After that he would kill the enemy, and the president—

“The president, we’ll kill him.”

The casual remark cut through his madness. Spoken lightly, almost indifferently, yet with unmistakable weight. Oh Jin-uk’s twisting face froze blankly. The new flesh of his neck that had been trying to reconnect melted into blood and flowed away.

“Rest now.”

Hearing those words, Oh Jin-uk smiled one last time.

“One round—”

Even until the moment his head fell.

“Oppa, I killed them all—”

I listened to my sister’s bright, nasal voice and slid the blood-cleared sword back into its sheath.

I lifted my head and looked at Exodus Arcadia.