Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Juni
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"My name is Doyoung de Per."
Static, sizzle. A grating mechanical noise emanated from the old, rusted recorder.
The recorder was such an ancient model that it might only be seen in a museum nowadays, and it had taken quite some effort just to get it working. But at a time like this, Doyoung was grateful for anything he could get his hands on, so he didn't complain.
"MCTC TF-Pacific Team 1. Rank: Common Code OF-0. Callsign: Eagle Seven. Nationality: France. Current date: May 12th. Estimated time: 1900 hours."
He was on his third time recording the same information, switching languages each time. There was no telling if anyone would ever hear it, but he had to try.
"Current location: unknown."
Ssssss.... The mechanical noise from the recorder dragged on.
It was probably a pointless effort, but he gripped the recorder tighter anyway, hoping to quiet the noise a bit.
"I'm still alive."
The surroundings were dark.
Creak.
At that moment, the sound of a door opening echoed, and light seeped in through the gap. Amid it all, a black silhouette flickered. The shadow stretched long, as if lunging to engulf Doyoung.
Doyoung brought his mouth close to the recorder and whispered.
"I've been captured."
By that beast—
***
Red eyes stared straight at Doyoung. They were large and clear, gleaming with luster even in the dim space beneath the rock, like well-polished glass reflecting sunlight.
The woman pressed Doyoung harder against the rock, tightening her grip on one of his arms and the other forearm. The rock touching his bare back was slick with moss.
Roooaaar....
The waterfall they'd passed through roared deafeningly, crashing everywhere and shattering into white foam.
In that brief moment as they stared at each other, it felt like eternity might never end. Doyoung couldn't help but wonder how he'd ended up in this situation.
***
30 hours earlier.
"Major."
At the call, Doyoung looked up from his book. A sergeant standing at the entrance nodded toward the door.
"We're almost there."
The plane shook lightly from turbulence. The team members in combat gear sat strapped into seats along the walls.
Some, like Doyoung, were reading books or checking gear, while others had their arms crossed, catching a quick nap. One team member was drinking a liquid that looked like apple juice from a transparent pouch resembling a hiking water bladder.
A sergeant spotted it and hooked his thumb into the armpit of his military vest as he asked.
"Sergeant McCoy, we're landing soon. Aren't you afraid of getting too full?"
"The best part is, no matter how much you drink, it never feels like overeating."
Sergeant McCoy replied, glancing over. He was still too young for his eyes to have turned red yet, so they looked the same bulging blue as a human's.
"It even gives you an instant burst of energy."
The sergeant shrugged one shoulder.
"I wish we had something like that."
"We've got steroids."
Another team member chimed in, but the sergeant shook his head.
"They might not clear doping tests. My junior's too precious for that."
It was a surprisingly relaxed attitude for a special forces team about to head into action.
Doyoung tucked his book into his uniform's chest pocket and stood. He walked over to the sergeant, pulling on special-material gloves, and peered outside. They were passing over the sea, with land starting to come into view.
Humans and vampires now coexisted, living together.
One day, vampires were revealed to exist through some chance incident, and humanity struck a peace treaty on the condition that these beings with superior physical abilities would serve in human militaries.
Thus, the multinational counter-terrorism unit coalition—MCTC, or Multilateral Counter-Terror Coalition—was formed, where human and vampire operatives worked side by side.
That was the organization Doyoung's team belonged to.
"Hand it over, hand it over."
At that point, the sergeant reached out to the vampire—nowadays called a "Rua"—Sergeant McCoy.
"I've always been curious what that stuff tastes like that you Ruas drink instead of blood. Let me try some."
Bored stiff, the sergeant was indulging in pointless curiosity.
Right before a mission, there wasn't much to do anyway. They'd memorized the op plan so well they could recite it in their sleep, and dwelling on it would just ramp up the tension, so a bit of distraction was better.
The sergeant took a swig from what McCoy handed him, then yanked his mouth away like he'd been burned, grimacing.
"What the hell is this taste?"
"Tastes bad, right?"
McCoy grinned playfully. The sergeant waved him off.
"It's like a half-empty mojito with all the ice melted and saccharin mixed in."
McCoy burst out laughing.
"Isn't that too much?"
Then he grinned and added.
"Humans just don't know the taste of raw meat."
"You don't know raw meat taste either, do you?"
The sergeant shot back.
"Don't you get metaphors? Metaphors?"
Doyoung listened to their banter as he donned his helmet. He pressed the button behind his ear, and the lens—like a motorcycle helmet's visor, equipped with NVG functionality—lowered over his eyes.
"Alright, let's go. Time to earn our keep."
***
In the green-tinted NVG view, camp sentries came into sight far off.
Two in front, one on the side. They were as heavily armed as any regular army unit, but after a long stretch of nothing, they looked bored.
Doyoung gave a hand signal. In the darkness, the team moved swiftly.
"What—!"
They neutralized the sentries in an instant. Even if there were Ruas nearby, it was so quiet they wouldn't notice.
The team then rapidly infiltrated the interior.
It looked like they'd hastily packed up and left not long ago. There were a few abandoned items, but nothing evidentiary—just trash.
But on one corner of a desk, some white powder was scattered, like what hadn't been swept up.
Doyoung scooped a bit and sniffed it. It was pulverized, but the crystalline powder looked like methamphetamine—philopon.
The sergeant, keeping watch around them, asked without slacking.
"Is it ice?"
Doyoung brushed the powder off his glove.
"No."
The sergeant turned, looking surprised.
"It's not?"
"We'll need to take it back and test to be sure, but it's not drugs."
As Doyoung moved on, the sergeant scooped some and tasted it lightly.
"Yeah. What is this stuff?"
It could be a new designer drug, but they wouldn't make something that didn't work on Ruas anyway.
Human drugs didn't affect Ruas, so the only use for them was selling to humans. But if a Rua—reborn with a body closer to godlike—stooped to being a drug dealer, they had no ambition at all.
Sure, there were thugs trying to make easy money like in their human days, but setting up an organized ring like this in a place like this didn't make financial sense.
Just then, Sergeant McCoy—the team's sole Rua—entered the room, and the sergeant called out.
"Nine, taste this."
McCoy dabbed some on his tongue tip. Everyone stared, waiting for his reaction. His expression turned odd for a second, then he spat.
"Weird taste."
Definitely not drugs, then.
"Let's keep looking."
Doyoung gestured, and the team pushed deeper inside.
Crunch.
Doyoung's military boots crunched over small debris. Suddenly, he flinched and shouted.
"Eight!"
But the sergeant hadn't realized what was happening yet. Instinctively, Doyoung kicked off and lunged.
It was the moment he shoved the sergeant with his body.
Boom.
A bomb exploded from the cabinet next to the sergeant.
Doyoung took the blast full-force and was hurled back, slamming into the wall. The wall cracked like a spiderweb. Pain surged as if something inside him had snapped solidly.
Rat-tat-tat.
Gunfire erupted suddenly, and enemies appeared from nowhere, swarming from all sides.
"It's a trap."
Doyoung realized.
Through his wavering vision, he saw team members providing cover fire and advancing. He struggled to regain his senses. But the ringing in his ears was too intense; he couldn't stand properly.
No matter how well-trained a soldier, a human body had its limits against this kind of shock.
Then the sergeant shouted something and yanked Doyoung along. Doyoung took one pulled step, then collapsed.
Thud.
The moment he hit the floor, Doyoung lost consciousness.
***
There was a distinctive smell. The kind that told you something was wrong. An unfamiliar chemical odor.
Doyoung dimly opened his eyes. Head bowed, he saw his own legs in combat pants. Each leg was tied to a chair leg, hands bound behind his back.
He didn't need to look around to know he wasn't in a hospital. All his gear was stripped, and he was down to just the black military tee worn under the combat uniform top. He had no memory of removing it himself, so someone else must have.
Creak. Thud.
Then the iron door opened with a sound, followed by footsteps. Doyoung raised his still-stiff neck.
A woman entered the container, flanked by black-suited men.
She wore a red pantsuit two-piece with a slit skirt down to her ankles. Her platinum blonde hair was strikingly bright, and her eyes and lips matched her outfit's hue.
Doyoung knew at a glance. She was a vampire.
He'd seen so many that he could tell instinctively, but this time, her eyes—like a snake eyeing a plump mouse—screamed predator.
Everything else burned with fiery color, but those eyes felt utterly cold and merciless.
A man behind her approached, shone a light in Doyoung's eyes, and said.
"Not a Rua."
The woman chuckled softly.
"I can tell just by the smell. Males of my own kind don't have that sweet scent."
She stepped in front and looked down at Doyoung.
"You're handsome."
Doyoung smiled brightly.
"Thanks."
In fact, Doyoung knew who she was.
Rachel.
A high-ranking recruiter for "Legion"—one of the fragmented remnants of the vampire terror group "SN," which had nearly disintegrated three years ago when its leader was captured, and now classified as the most threatening.
He had no idea what happened after he blacked out, but this op had clearly been a Legion trap. He worried about the team.
First things first, though—he needed to figure out how to survive this.
"Bring it."
At Rachel's nod, the men at a nearby table began setting down items.
Doyoung's belongings. Rachel examined them like a woman browsing rings in a Tiffany store. She turned over the inside of a wristband laid flat. An ID tag was engraved there.
"Major Doyoung de Per...."
Rachel tossed the wristband aside.
"How old are you? Twenty-seven?"
She probably wasn't expecting an answer, but Doyoung just shrugged. For a job where skincare was a luxury, looking twenty-seven at thirty-one wasn't bad.
"No, majors are older, right."
Rachel placed a hand on Doyoung's shoulder.
"Doesn't matter if you don't talk."
Her fingertips grazed his nape as she circled behind him.