Momentum
Human stamina was lower than one might think.
Given simple, repetitive labor, a human could keep moving for twenty-four hours straight. But take that away, and most people struggled to last even ten minutes.
No creature on Earth showed a wider gap between the trained and the untrained.
That was humanity in a nutshell.
Among them, survivors had to be counted among the thoroughly hardened. These were people who had survived more than four years of a despairing apocalypse that had appeared out of nowhere, so of course their stamina was on another level compared to ordinary humans.
But even survivors bled their strength dry in a life-or-death melee.
The crushing tension of knowing your life hung by a thread. Ragged, shallow breaths in a situation where you couldn't spare a single second to rest.
Anyone who could hold their own pace perfectly through conditions like that deserved to be called a Named and then some. Maintaining that kind of composure without experience meant you were a born killer — and born killers made up a fraction of a fraction of the total population.
The vast majority of survivors slowed down after roughly thirty minutes of ferocious combat. Not gasping on their knees, exactly, but visibly entering the zone where their focus began to fray. Spend thirty minutes that felt like five, and nearly everyone ended up that way.
And so, quite naturally, the battle lapsed into a lull.
The difference in casualties was stark. Ganjeol Point had suffered overwhelming losses, while on the Sabbath side, aside from a handful of wounded, not a single fighter had died.
It was a resounding victory.
But nobody had come this far just to settle for that. Won-goo least of all. He had arrived intending to cut off all four of Ganjeol's limbs — that was the whole reason he'd burned a precious gun. He had no intention of ending things halfway.
Still, even a man determined to see it through to the bitter end had judged that a brief rest was needed before pushing forward. To win decisively, one had to catch one's breath first.
Badugi stepped forward. There were several executives present, but in this situation, the man who could speak for Ganjeol Point was Badugi.
"Ganjeol's really gone as far as it can go, huh. Breaking the taboo of not touching anyone mid-incident. Is that what Ganjeol taught you?"
The representative on this side, naturally, was Won-goo.
"Creating an incident in the middle of an incident — that was you people, not us, wasn't it?"
"You surfaced in the Field. Did you expect us to just watch?"
"Then you shouldn't have made an enemy of Ganjeol Point in the first place."
"Unbelievable... an open mouth and anything comes out of it. Who was it that took the contract to hunt Taderson and then stabbed us in the back by dragging in the Number Society? What, you're going to ask me for proof?"
The words Badugi had been about to spit out caught in his throat.
"..."
Because he'd been planning to say exactly the same thing.
"Look at that, everyone. Take a good look. That right there is the textbook specimen of a silver tongue — a specimen. Hey! Badugi. Come on, you know it's over, right? Don't die stupidly — surrender and save what's left of your life. You have to be alive for there to be a tomorrow, after all. Sapiens will be thrilled to see you. Beastfolk go absolutely crazy for flashy patterns like yours."
Badugi forced down the grimace twisting his face. Tactics aside, when it came to talking, Won-goo was winning by a landslide.
"Director Gong. Ganjeol starts now. From here on, the element of surprise is gone. Be ready. And I'll say it again — the Number Society has nothing to do with Ganjeol. You carried out this attack without any proper verification procedure. The price for that will not be light."
"..."
This time it was Won-goo whose words caught. Badugi was reeling off the lie without so much as a flicker of expression.
At that level, Won-goo almost wondered if the man genuinely didn't know. But he didn't believe it. Badugi held one of the highest positions among Ganjeol's executives. Aside from his own children, he was one of the executives Ganjeol trusted most — there was no way he didn't know the inside story.
"Badugi, you lie beautifully. You deserve to be a Ganjeol executive."
"It's you who should be leaving. The Supreme Leader will be arriving shortly."
"Oh! Ganjeol himself is coming?"
"It isn't far from here to Slow. With the Supreme Leader's ability, he'll be here in no time."
Won-goo snorted with laughter.
"What do you want to bet?"
"...?"
"Whether Ganjeol comes or not. What are you willing to put on the line? That bastard only knows how to guard his own den. A man like that, showing up here? He's too scared to deal with a Taderson that appeared in his own front yard, so he outsources it — that bastard?"
"You can posture all you like. Nothing changes. The Supreme Leader is coming."
"Sure. Keep believing that with everything you've got. But learn one thing well. I gave you a chance. A chance to surrender. I tried talking, too — more than enough."
While trading words with Badugi, Won-goo had been secretly signaling to his crew. It was Lee Hyun-sung who caught it first and passed it along to Jeon Hye-ji.
Won-goo's crew had developed an extensive set of hand signals, and among them were signals that pointed to a specific member by number.
Won-goo was zero. Lee Hyun-sung was one. And so on — each assigned a number.
Jeon Hye-ji was number seven.
The signal that had just flashed meant: bring the gun.
Jeon Hye-ji relayed it to Geum Chul-soo, and Geum Chul-soo quietly passed the gun up to the front line. And so, while the conversation with Badugi dragged on, Won-goo's hand came to rest on Jeon Hye-ji's gun.
Then, the instant the dialogue ended, Won-goo raised the weapon and pulled the trigger.
The distance between the two forces was a good thirty meters or more. Normally people would talk at much closer range, but everyone here was a survivor. Get any closer, and there was no telling what kind of ambush might come flying out. That distance was the proper interval for negotiation.
Fwhoosh!
Flames fiercer than any he'd produced before erupted from Won-goo's gun. This wasn't fire-breathing — it was closer to a detonation being released outright. A blaze so violent that even allies standing behind him staggered back a step.
He had only sprayed it for about three seconds, but the terror it planted across the battlefield was considerable.
Triiiriiiing!
In those three seconds, more than thirty messages flashed across Won-goo's vision. Which meant he'd burned a good thirty coins. That was how powerful the flame was — powerful enough to threaten enemies more than thirty meters away.
Survivors caught fire here and there, one after another.
But it didn't deliver the near-annihilating single blow Won-goo had hoped for. A mage who had stepped out ahead of Badugi cast a wide-area spell and cut the flames off midway. It was nothing more than a barrier spell, but in this situation it was perfectly suited.
This was precisely why Won-goo rarely used the flamethrower mode. There were simply too many techniques that could counter it. This very blaze wouldn't deal meaningful damage to a psychic like Yeom-gwi, and heavily enhanced survivors could endure fire for a short while, at least.
For the coins it consumed, the ability returned far too little. But for clearing out small fry the way he just had, there was no better power in the world.
"Looks like they picked up a new recruit, too."
Pacific said, sidling up.
"Doesn't matter. We've done this much — the rest, the other crews will handle."
When survivors fought each other, credit was tallied afterward. Naturally, if another crew put on an exceptional showing, it was bound to grate — especially when, as now, Won-goo's own crew had done most of the fighting up front.
Right on cue, Dr. Woo's, Fresh's, Montage's, and Potion's crews pushed the offensive harder. Potion's crew in particular felt markedly stronger, as if the new personnel had lifted their overall power considerably. Before, they'd seemed a touch behind Montage's people in combat strength; now there was a clear sense that they'd overtaken them.
They had no survivor with a spectacular gift — just steadfast enhancement-types bolstering the reinforced Potion crew. And Potion's own abilities had grown. Fitting the name, she had always shown particular strength against internal injuries, but now her external wound treatment had developed to a remarkable degree as well.
At one point, a female survivor in Potion's crew had a finger sliced clean off, and Potion rejoined it on the spot, right there in the field.
For survivors — no longer ordinary humans — an ability like that was enormously important. The concept was taking root among them that a body, so long as it was properly reattached, could simply be used again.
Sure enough, the woman whose finger had been restored drank a mixture of painkiller and booster and threw herself straight back into the fight, as if nothing had happened at all.
"Ohh... Potion's gotten a lot better. What is that thing? A stapler? Mu-sa, do they even make medical equipment like that?"
"Director, I'm... not really sure either."
"Didn't you say you dropped out of school partway through?"
"Gong Director. You think that thing's medical equipment? One look and you can tell it's an item."
"Amazing. You just point at it and the finger sticks back on."
"If you're that curious, we can check later — duck!"
BOOM!
A massive boulder slammed into the Trailer. The impact was enough to dent the vehicle's hull.
"We almost got turned into dried fish paste right there. Which bastard was that?"
"Isn't that the glutton bastard who slipped away earlier? Why's his body all swollen up? And his arm's perfectly fine?"
"Ganjeol has healers too. But... that looks more like a booster than healing."
"Calling that 'enhancement' is a bit of a stretch."
"Hey — looks like he's winding up another one. Rafael!"
Before Won-goo even finished calling her name, Rafael had already launched herself at the incoming boulder.
BOOM!
KRAKOOM!
WHAM!
Shrapnel sprayed in every direction, dealing damage of its own. One fragment caught Pacific square in the head, hard enough to draw blood.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. I blacked out for about a second, honestly."
"Couldn't dodge one rock... Pacific's basically dead."
"It comes in irregular. How am I supposed to dodge that?"
"You're the only one who got hit."
"Oh, screw off—"
"Rafael. I think he's telling you to go out there?"
Rafael started to move — and that was when Montage appeared.
"Hey now! That's enough! Give it a rest, all of you. Joce, my boy! We're counting on ye!"
"Yes, hyung-nim!"
Won-goo said nothing more. If Montage was stepping up with that much confidence, he had to have a plan.
Joce stepped forward, a whistle in his hand. Montage had one as well. Two whistles — different colors.
Where have I seen those before?
Even Won-goo's memory couldn't place it precisely. An item unrecorded even in Turnon's Warhammer. What he did know for certain was that Montage had once begged him to give up the Shelter warehouse — for the sake of these very items.
"That's what you wanted the warehouse for?"
"That's right. My Joce lad's been at it since he were knee-high to a grasshopper — studied vocals, he did."
"Vocals?"
"Ye don't know diaphragmatic breathin', lad? Boy's got a set of pipes like a foghorn, I tell ye."
"Hyung! Ready when you are!"
"Then let's go!"
Without a moment's hesitation, Joce blew the whistle with everything he had. Montage matched him, blowing his own at full force.
Only then did Won-goo understand the whistle's purpose. It was a sound-amplifying item — but the amplified sound was dangerous enough that even allies could be hurt at close range. Sound-type attacks struck friend and foe alike, so from a certain angle, the allies standing nearest suffered the most.
That was why items of this kind usually came paired with auxiliary gear that protected the ears. Failing that, the simple preemptive act of covering your ears was required — and even that was no trivial matter. Asking someone to take such a measure in the middle of a frantic, close-quarters battle was beyond anything but the most seasoned veterans.
The item Joce held now had been developed to compensate for exactly that weakness — and the effect was undeniable.
On the allies' side of the field, all anyone heard was an ordinary whistle. But among the enemy, a pain like eardrums being torn apart tore through their ranks — as if an air compressor were dragging its blade through their ears.
Survivor or not, no one could fail to react to pain this raw. A few enemies who noticed something was wrong clapped their hands over their ears, but they were a handful — and this wasn't an attack that could be blocked by cupping your palms, anyway.
A second wide-area attack, on the heels of Won-goo's flames — and this time, no barrier could stop it.
The vast majority of Ganjeol's forces clutched their ears and rolled on the ground.
And the Sabbath side was not about to let that opening slide.
The momentum had fully tipped.
Toward Sabbath.