Reunion! Pump Bombs
Cyber City's fixers often wielded pump bombs—weapons with a three-stage structure of suction, compression, and release. Their blinking green light earned them the nickname "emergency exit to the sewers" among fixers. A sort of grenade, but specialized for Cyber City, as they overloaded the joints and internal systems of cyborg users.
BOOM!
Pump bombs exploded simultaneously from all directions. When the smoke cleared, the cabin we'd been standing in had its walls and roof completely blown away, leaving it wide open on all sides. The house itself was gone, but the furnishings inside—and we—were unharmed. Thanks to the golden barrier enveloping us.
"Beloah...!"
Even as I called her softly, Beloah's gaze remained fixed solely on Arachino.
"If you're going all the way, I won't hesitate anymore, Arachino. Stop this here."
"This time, it's... an error in the knowledge you possess?"
"Arachino—!"
"They take my hand and say, 'Thank you.' They weep before me, saying their hearts are at peace."
His arm, thinner than his staff, rose up. At a glance, it looked like a bishop receiving praise, but from another angle, it seemed like a gesture begging for affection.
"It was the first time someone took my hand first, Beloah. I'm no longer Arachino of the Abyss Research Club."
"......"
"No longer just a sinner seeking comfort in your arms."
The staff he gripped began sucking in purple mana like a vacuum cleaner.
"I am Arachino, bishop of the Yeoeumhoe."
The staff pierced straight through his heart, gripped in both hands. Was his skin too thin? It stabbed right through without resistance, protruding from his back.
"The prophet who wipes away tears, carries off sorrows, and points to the future."
"......Fine."
A curt assessment. Beloah supported her open book with one hand, glaring at Arachino as if purging falsehoods from the knowledge called truth.
"A mage, fighting me."
Magic was, after all, knowledge. Beloah of the Infinite Library. There was no magic in the world she didn't know.
And thus, ways to counter it naturally existed. Perfection could not exist in magic. If it did, Beloah wouldn't need to pursue knowledge like this.
She could simply embrace perfection.
"Don't get arrogant thinking you know all knowledge, Beloah."
The moment Arachino's finger twitched upward, the house shattered by the explosion reformed—even more violently, more intensely. Teeth sprouted on the walls, a massive tongue on the floor.
The structure became a living being.
"Necromancer of souls. Corpses are merely the most suitable vessels to contain them."
Conversely, anything could serve as a vessel for souls, given sufficient ability.
No point in dragging this out. My folding knife, carried for self-defense, snapped open with a satisfying click.
The blade flew without hesitation, piercing Arachino's forehead dead center.
Crunch!
Red blood trickled down the knife as his body was shoved backward. Yet he pried out the knife without a flicker of pain, eyes still open, and tossed it to the ground.
"What, a zombie?"
I muttered in frustration, glancing at Beloah. She was furrowing her brow.
"Like this house... You're using your body as a medium."
"I can't win otherwise. It's a new magic I've created. Since I'm already dead, you can't kill me."
Golden letters linked like iron chains, wrapping around me and Deokgu. Then the house, its mouth slowly closing, spat us out.
"How will you counter magic not in your precious library?"
Thud!
"Beloah!"
The house sealed its mouth. Inside remained Beloah and Arachino. I had no idea what battle was unfolding, but Arachino, a fellow Abyss Research Club alum, didn't seem like an easy foe.
But I had no time to worry about them.
"Juseon... this place is trouble too."
As we emerged, Cyber City fixers waiting like hyenas trained their guns on us. Five of them. Not a huge number, but no pushovers.
"Whoa, fuck—! The house is wriggling? Lazesta's full of crazy shit. No wonder those magic-worshipping bastards drool over it."
"Looks like movie CG. Should I snap a pic?"
To them, this was no different from visiting a film set. Might as well pull some triggers and toss pump bombs while sightseeing.
But their gear and cyborg enhancements looked dangerous even to a layman like me.
"Hey, what's your win rate?"
"Odds? Porker at 42%, slippery one at 91%."
"Ha! See? I'm porker 51%, slippery 97%. I win."
"Bullshit. That's 'cause you got the expensive shit."
They bet coins casually, eyes likely displaying win rates, trajectories, punch/kick paths against us—a combat navigator.
"What's the boss at?"
The two bickering up front asked the one-eyed guy in back. Leather vest, shotgun slung over his shoulder—the boss—replied flatly.
"Porker 85%, slippery 99%."
"Pfft! Hilarious!"
"Can't you just round that to 100%?"
As they snickered, I drew another bending knife and charged.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
"Left! Right! Left again! Predictable!"
The blades sliced empty air. The guy boasting 97% against me laughed like he was playing with kids, reading my every move—
"Your side's wide open, slippery!"
As his fist swung toward my exposed flank, I leaned forward, dodging while reversing my grip on the knife.
Crunch!
The blade stabbed up from under his jaw, plunging into his brain. Win rate 97% hit the dirt. He'd sadly fallen to that 3% chance.
"......"
"W-what the fuck?"
"Don't mess around! Get up! This ain't fun!"
Their frantic cries over losing a comrade gave me time to rummage his pockets.
'Machine gun and knives... Not bad.'
I could handle a machine gun clumsily, and knives were my mainstay. As I donned their fallen comrade's gear, they finally realized shit was serious and aimed.
Bang! Bang! Baaang!
Bullets rained. And Deokgu hurled himself at me.
Bullets ricocheted off Deokgu's body. Grimacing, he yelled,
"How'd you do that?!"
"I'm more shocked you're fine!?"
To my question—how are you unscathed after bullets?—Deokgu replied, still wincing in pain.
"Divine power like armor! But how'd you win!? I thought 97% meant you'd lose!"
"That's how odds work. Ever pulled a gacha?"
"You pierced the rate?"
I smirked, familiarizing myself with the machine gun.
"Nav-users are the easiest. They always take the highest-prob route."
Show an opening, prep for it—they fall right in.
"......You can do that too?"
Deokgu looked stunned. Ryu Seram and Yu Ye-na had the same faces when I taught them back then.
"Just hold 'em off. I'll handle these."
"Hurry, please!"
Bang-bang-bang-bang!
Sounds like spoons on pots rang from Deokgu's body. Not great with guns, I went prone for stability. Deokgu's thick legs provided cover, barrel poking between.
"What are you doing?!"
"Don't fart."
As flustered Deokgu yelled, I pulled the trigger.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Two fixers dropped. Machine gun kick was fierce, ears ringing, but effective.
"Gurk?!"
"Aaaagh! My leg—!"
"What the hell's that guy?! Why's he shooting so well?! B-boss! What now? Barrier?"
"Waste that on these punks?!"
One-eye raged, grabbing a corpse one-handed as a shield and charging. Another tried, but a headshot dropped him mid-lift.
Just one-eye left.
"You primitive low-floor scum—!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A few hits, but no blood, no stop. Insane durability—who knew where the cyborg ended?
Entering shotgun range, he aimed.
"Looks like I get the full payout!"
As he squeezed—
Grrrrrind!
The shotgun barrel twisted.
"W-what?! What's happening?!"
It spiraled like a corkscrew, thinning to a rod. Panicked one-eye slammed down, arms and legs snapping in midair.
"Gaaaaah!"
"You do that too, Juseon?"
Rubbing his sore back, Deokgu asked. I sighed in relief, looking skyward.
"Why so late?"
"You were late for our date. Call it even."
Chilgeuk hunter Yu Ye-na. She'd finally joined us.