Chapter 129
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 128
Chapter Title: Desert Pilgrims and Black Mages
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"You guys again, Black Mages."
Jin pressed his forehead and shook his head.
These bastards were really everywhere. Who would've thought he'd hear their names even outside the city.
Of course, the name was a bit different.
Kkam-do-sul-jang-i. It seemed like a slur meaning "black magic freak," but they'd understood it somehow.
So Jin hurriedly added,
"I got bad blood with those black magic freaks! For real!"
He was trying to bridge the cultural gap by using their lingo first.
Like when a blonde, blue-eyed foreign beauty wolfs down kimchi, going, "Kimchi delicious! Not bad, kimchi. Not bad, paocai," with a thumbs-up.
-It just makes you feel like a decent human being. Like her affinity shooting up.
Was this any different? Whatever.
"......"
The man fell silent for a moment. His thick lips hung heavy in quiet, then spilled out unintelligible words.
It wasn't aimed at Jin.
He was muttering something to his comrades nearby.
And so, the murmuring began.
While they debated among themselves, Jin bought himself a bit of time to talk with Iron Maiden.
"Can you translate what they're saying?"
"Outlander dialects have long localized. They vary by region, so no clear guidelines exist, but pattern analysis and contextual inference should allow for translation attempts."
"Oh. How long?"
"Data insufficient. Currently, 2,843 seconds......"
"Ugh, forget it."
What was he expecting from an old-model android?
Jin shook his head.
The hope of this screw-loose party rests on me alone.
That was when it happened.
"Words alone, no matter what, can't be trusted. Faith is not something you chop up and show."
The man's words continued.
Still hard to parse, but Jin took it simply.
Just a few foreign words he could pick out.
So he resorted to gestures. Universal sign language deployed.
"Me! Uh? Black magic? Uh? Pow pow pow! Uh? Got kidnapped! Tied up, ow ow ow. Uh?! Crashed the contest whoosh! Trees exploding bam! Bats swarming the sky flap flap flap!"
"......"
It was performance art so bad—or communication so abysmal—that even a passing monkey might warn him not to drag its name into this.
It flapped on in the silence.
"......Cloe. What the hell is the surface world like."
Bagmar muttered in bewilderment.
Meanwhile, the muttering interpreter lowered the blade from Bagmar's neck.
"Hm?"
Jin noticed and stopped his antics, straightening up.
"You believe me?"
The interpreter slowly raised his knife.
Once, twice, three times.
The tip pointed through the air at the fallen men.
"Leave those there and step back. Then follow."
He flicked his fingers: come along. As Jin sighed,
"He says to do as they say."
Iron Maiden's words made Jin glance at her.
"Follow them?"
"He just spoke with someone not here. Seems they have their reasons, so he asks if we can check it out first and decide after."
"......"
"And he added that this is part of the pilgrimage."
"What kinda everything-pilgrimage bullshit is this?"
Jin let out a hollow chuckle.
He shot a side-eye at Bagmar.
"You know that? Bringing you along ain't no big deal."
Voice full of certainty.
An Omega-grade psyker was just a freakish entity.
Jin was a late 2nd Hierarchy superhuman too.
Breaking free from the frog-in-a-well life was the early stage. Breathing new air in a strange world.
Mid-stage was fully immersing in that world.
Late-stage meant perceiving worlds beyond the sky and reaching for them.
Mind and body unified, no bias toward any realm.
A mere flick of the eyes mapped out what to do, the path ahead crystal clear.
That's why Jin stayed calm even with Bagmar held hostage.
He knew he could save him.
And he didn't think the pilgrim was clueless about that.
So now.
Iron Maiden spoke again.
"He respects our opinion."
"Hm."
"And adds it's part of the pilgrimage."
"Agh, enough."
This too is the joy of pilgrimage—
Jin mentally kicked that incomprehensible crap to the curb.
Meanwhile, the desert warriors crept toward their fallen comrades.
"Fine, whatever. Let's follow and see."
Jin concluded.
They were on break now, but with a pilgrim around.
Something went wrong? He'd handle it somehow.
Seen Dune?
Jin had only watched the first one—the second was supposedly better—where the desert planet Arrakis and its native Fremen appeared.
No spoilers on the plot, but these leading desert warriors looked just like Fremen.
Of course, this was just barren wasteland, not a desert hiding the universe's rarest substance.
They weren't Fremen in stillsuits with turbans, but the vibe was spot-on.
Fusionpunk was so damn arbitrary.
Jin mused quietly to himself.
Just two days ago, he'd been in a hyper-advanced city full of tech marvels. Yesterday, aboard the dwarven Last Ark from a millennium past.
And today? Surrounded by outland natives, heading somewhere.
In this whirlwind of days, Jin silently pulled out his communicator.
He thumb-scrolled through contacts.
The kids must be worried.
As the now-clock-like gadget beeped in his hands and he powered it off,
Thud.
The lead interpreter halted before a massive rock wall.
He turned, checked his followers. Eyes met Jin's—he pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then at Jin.
I'll be watching. Jin snorted.
The man vanished around the wall.
What, now a Platform 9¾?
As Jin gawked, the warriors vanished one by one, sidecar first.
Then Jin's turn.
Excitement bubbling, he stepped forward—through the wall. A strange space unfolded.
"Whoa—"
His gaze climbed; a soft gasp escaped.
It was a massive junk jungle.
Wavy sheet metal and netted rebar formed walls and pillars in a tangled sprawl.
Bent pipes snaked everywhere like veins pumping life into the place.
A ruin of crudely fitted scrap.
Like Zone 50s turf, if it existed.
But people lived here.
An old man on a rickety chair puffed a pipe, eyeing them. Few teeth left, gaunt cheeks hollowing deeper as smoke curled from his nostrils.
Kyahahaha—
Kids romped through rusty plank gaps, an alien overlay.
Tiny feet creaked sheet metal endlessly.
Fading sunlight bounced off rough metal, bathing the village in tarnished brass glow.
Jin never expected this behind the wall.
Honestly, surprised.
He'd figured a dripping stalactite cave at best.
"......That's a village, right?"
Iron Maiden arrived, dragging the cart rattling.
"Seems so."
"Yeah. Can't predict shit anymore."
As they chatted,
The desert warriors (not) split roles and scattered.
Some dashed off carrying wounded, others grimly guarded sidecar and cart, rest headed to the biggest building.
Jin's gaze caught the dwarf in the sidecar.
"Hoarded antiques and made a decent setup. Plenty lacking, but for surface trash tastes, praise-worthy. Though that frame looks flimsy—gonna leave it? Want me to fix it? Hey, why the glare?"
Seemed he lacked hostage self-awareness. Otherwise, no way he'd yap at the silent guard.
But Jin was just as chill.
Ignoring blade-sharp glares, sword undrawn.
Not incomprehensible.
To them, Jin was the outsider who'd dropped three comrades. Glares inevitable.
But self-defense. Protecting himself. Explaining it was "generous" wouldn't fly. Damn.
Thus.
As Jin yawned from the wait,
"Here."
The interpreter emerged from the big building, beckoning.
Jin and Iron Maiden stepped forward together.
"You. Redhead outsider. You alone."
The words halted Iron Maiden.
"Go ahead. He says no worries."
Jin was used to her phrasing now.
Go ahead—Iron Maiden
No worries—Pilgrim
So Jin added shortly,
"Be back."
Under wary stares, he strode to the interpreter.
The man turned wordlessly and led on.
Jin followed casually.
Eyes scanning patched interiors, soon landing on a prone figure.
Gray hoodie over dingy overalls—like a day laborer.
Fussing under the desk, plugging/unplugging a long cable.
Frustrated or uncomfortable? Grunting like he was shitting bricks.
Deeply focused, clearly.
Otherwise, he'd notice the staring.
"Nngh—"
Another groan. The interpreter couldn't ignore it.
Ahem. Light cough.
"......Hm. Oh?"
The man finally noticed, twisting his head up from prone position.
"Ah. You're here."
Jin's eyes widened.
No mangled dialect, no unease—just standard pronunciation hitting his ears.
"Sit comfy. Gimme a sec, not like this......"
The man rose.
Average height, sweat-soaked clothes.
30s late, 40s early?
Next, a kindly face suited to gloves-off hands:
"Ema adīyat al-qāreeb."
The interpreter nodded lightly and exited.
Awkward silence settled.
Jin plopped on the sofa.
"What was that?"
"Bring something to drink."
The man extended a thick hand.
"Name's Leron."
"Jin."
Basics covered, straight to it.
"You called us here?"
"Oh. How'd you know."
Pilgrim intel, but Jin skipped that.
"Doesn't matter. Why?"
Leron replied,
"First, mind if I ask why city folk came to this hellhole?"
"......"
Jin hesitated.
Should he say?
As he pondered,
=It's fine.=
=Speak freely.=
A soft voice slipped into his mind.
Jin flinched instinctively.
But no newbie head-whip "Who?!" He knew the owner and spoke.
"Got a friend circling the Outlands on personal conviction. Helping him out for now."
"Personal conviction......"
Leron murmured.
The interpreter returned, steaming plate on table.
Milk.
Cows here?
Jin sipped, thinking.
"Perilous journey."
"Seemed so. Armed hijackers popping from underground."
"Sorry. We're on edge lately."
Leron grinned sheepishly, cupping his mug.
"Heard about the Black Mages, I assume."
"Black magic freaks."
"Haha. Dialects twist like that."
Sip. He continued,
"......You might've guessed, but Black Mages passed through recently."
Figured.
Jin twitched a brow.
Not paranoid for nothing, calling him their buddy.
"Just three, but creepy strong. They went their way, no fight wanted, but we bled. Over ten lost that day. No bodies found."
Recalling it? Leron's knuckles whitened on the mug.
PTSD loves rumination.
Jin, knowing well, nodded.
"......Sky-blanketing bat swarm. Still vivid."
"Hold up. What?"
Jin slammed the mug. Milk sloshed.
"Bat swarm?"
"Yes. Endless bats, but......"
Leron tilted his head. Jin, hopeful-faced:
"Were those Black Mages two guys, one woman by chance?"