Suppression
Dae-young, a member of Ganjeol Point, had been working harder than anyone lately.
The reason was that, for reasons of some kind, his superiors had been lopped off at the top.
Rumors about the cause were running rampant, but that didn't matter to him. What mattered was that an opportunity had finally come his way.
Ganjeol Point had a main organization that governed Slow, along with crews that had broken off entirely to act on their own. Dae-young belonged to the main organization.
Impressive credentials. Good people skills. And outstanding combat ability.
The only shortcoming, as he saw it, was a lack of a power base. He believed that failing to make the Royal Guard, failing to become an executive — all of it came down to not knowing the right people. So when the openings appeared, he genuinely believed he'd seized his chance.
Ganjeol Point operated on a system where every executive lost meant a new executive appointed, after all.
And so Dae-young floated through his days in a giddy haze. Plenty of Ganjeol Point people shared his ambitions, and he had every confidence he could strike out on his own whenever he pleased.
But right now, that dream was being shattered to pieces.
The Shelter had come under attack.
And not some hit-and-run raid, either. This was an attack meant to see things through to the end.
How? How could the Shelter even be attacked?
Everyone harbored that question, but nobody carried it far. Fighting came first; questions could wait.
"What are you doing! We have to save the Supreme Leader, now!"
Dae-young — not even a member of the Royal Guard — shouldered his way straight into their midst and shouted.
The guards had been faltering in the face of Won-goo's warning, but they were stirring to move again.
"You bastards!"
Seeing enough, Dae-young moved himself. His weapon of choice was a massive two-handed greatsword, the kind medieval knights might have swung.
He stood nearly two meters tall, yet there was nothing bloated about him — just lean, well-maintained muscle. In truth, even among the Royal Guard, Dae-young's skill was widely acknowledged.
Unfortunately, his opponent was a bad matchup.
As Dae-young stepped forward and brought the greatsword sweeping down from above, Suwon darted out from the side and activated Claw.
It was a weapon used by beastmen, its output tuned so that the power packed an even harder punch.
Dae-young's downward strike and Claw's descending talons met in the same instant — and the claws shattered the greatsword, carving a deep wound across Dae-young's chest.
"Huh?"
"Admirable courage. The weapon's a little cheap, though."
Zzzt-crack!
Jo Mu-sa's attack followed immediately, the stun baton pinning the frozen Dae-young down.
And yet, even with that wound, Dae-young did not fall.
Only then did Won-goo's face flicker with surprise.
"You're pretty good, huh?"
But Dae-young had no room for a reply. He was desperately twisting to look behind him — at the wavering ranks of the Royal Guard.
"Why……."
"Jo Mu-sa. I think we'll need to raise the output."
"Director, this is maximum output."
"Is it now?"
"Director, let me handle this one."
Geum Chul-soo stepped forward, morningstar in hand. He'd recently swapped his weapon for a morningstar studded with what looked like star candies — a perfect fit for his role as the crew's middle tank.
"Don't kill him. This one's apparently an executive. Might be information worth pulling out of him."
"Yes, Director."
In truth, Dae-young had never gotten the chance to show his full skill, but he was proving that he was no ordinary man. A body tough enough not to be shredded even after taking Suwon's Claw. And resistance enough to withstand a stun baton that could put down a bear. This was presence far beyond a mere foot soldier.
On top of that, he wasn't wearing the uniform the Royal Guard alone carried — which made it highly likely he really was an executive.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Geum Chul-soo closed in on Dae-young, who was still grimly clinging to consciousness, and swung the morningstar.
He'd been told not to kill — but watching the swings, the attacks carried enough murderous intent that you'd suspect otherwise. After three blows from the ponderous morningstar, Dae-young's eyes began to cross like a serpent's.
Even so, he didn't pass out.
Seeing that, Won-goo handed Ganjeol Point's prisoner off to Suwon and walked over.
"Chul-soo. You think swinging like that's going to knock him out? You've got to hit the jaw. Give it here."
Taking the morningstar directly, Won-goo landed a precise strike on the jaw of Dae-young, who was kneeling and swaying woozily.
Crack!
The clean blow connected, and Dae-young crumpled to the ground.
"See that? That's how you knock someone out."
"Um, Director……."
Geum Chul-soo pointed at the fallen man. Dae-young, though down, was pushing himself back up — blood streaming in a thin line from the corner of his mouth.
Watching him, Won-goo spoke with bewildered eyes.
"Why won't you pass out? Hitting there is supposed to put people down."
Even as he said it, he kept hammering at the rising man.
Thud! Thud!
Like a roly-poly toy, Dae-young kept coming back up no matter how many times he fell.
"This weird bastard. Why won't he go down? Doesn't look like a recovery-type either. Fine — we'll just have to make sure he can't get up."
Thud! Thud!
He drove fierce blows into both knees. Dae-young screamed — and yet his mind stayed perfectly clear.
CRACK!
Then another strike to the face. Still, Dae-young did not lose consciousness.
"Goddammit…… Are you a zombie or what? Hey. You on drugs or something? What's wrong with you? What the hell are you?"
"Th-that……"
Dae-young forced the words out through his teeth, and Won-goo paused his beating.
"What was that?"
"I th-think he's asking you to just kill him, sir?"
"No can do. Looking at how hard this bastard is to put down, he's no ordinary executive. Chul-soo. Let's break him down properly, piece by piece."
"Wouldn't it be a part where we simply tie him up?"
It was Mu Beob-sa's remark. At it, both men froze mid-motion.
"He is already in a state where fighting is no longer a part of him. Tying him up would be sufficient — and yet……"
"…Huh, you're right. What are we even stalling here for? Pointless. Chul-soo, tie him up."
"Yes, Director."
It looked like a pointless exchange, but it was anything but. Before anyone had noticed, more Royal Guards had arrived — and watching Dae-young get destroyed, not one of them had managed to move.
Their numbers now were several times what they'd been when Hyun-seong was holding the line. If they threw themselves in with suicidal desperation, things could get seriously tedious.
One brutal demonstration solved the problem on the spot. Had Ganjeol not been captured, the Royal Guard would have charged without sparing such things a second thought. But now, with their Supreme Leader taken and a vivid display of cruelty laid before their eyes, they had every reason to lose the will to fight.
They carried the grand title of Royal Guard — but they were still, in the end, human.
"Everyone, drop your weapons now."
One by one, the guards lowered their arms — though not with any crisp, unified discipline.
Won-goo checked the time.
12:38.
They had pushed in at an incredible speed and subdued Ganjeol. So fast, in fact, that even his closest Royal Guard hadn't fully grasped what was happening.
"I said drop your weapons! You there! Yes, you, bastard!"
The guards had cowered, but they weren't letting go of their weapons, so Won-goo switched tactics and began singling individuals out — one of the classic ways to work a crowd's psychology. The guard he pointed at glanced around nervously and set his weapon down. The others, reading the room, began lowering theirs as well.
And before he could even give the order, the crew rushed in and bound up the guards who'd dropped their weapons.
Won-goo checked the time again.
With Ganjeol swiftly subdued, the primary objective could be considered achieved. But it couldn't be called a complete success. The plan didn't end with capturing Ganjeol — it ended with entering Slow and bringing the whole situation to a safe close.
Three hours had been allotted, so it looked generous on paper. It wasn't. Within that window, they had to neutralize every single Ganjeol Point member inside Slow.
He'd predicted the cleanup would take longer than the fighting itself — and that was exactly how things were unfolding.
THUD-THUD-THWACK!
"You fight well."
Abal launched three consecutive kicks while airborne, blasting an enemy clean off his feet. The kicks were so flashy that onlookers couldn't help but marvel.
Moves you'd expect from a taekwondo demonstration, Abal was using in live combat. The difference from a demonstration was that her strikes carried more than enough force to actually kill a man.
On top of that, coin enhancement had sharpened her physical abilities so far that her airtime had grown. With the strength in her legs, she could kick off enemies themselves and maneuver midair without the slightest strain.
In a world where the vast majority of survivors fought with weapons in hand, the fact that she churned through battlefields with nothing but kicks was something you simply had to acknowledge.
"Seems like you're fighting even better than last time."
Pacific slid over and asked. Abal answered without looking away from the fight.
"Should be. Had time to get used to the prosthetic."
"That thing was a prosthetic?"
"Respect's people took the leg off back then. The original was decent enough, but I hear she's swapped in an upgraded model recently."
"Good for her — she wears it well."
"Agari may be all mouth, but her skills are the real deal."
"You think if I swapped my legs for prosthetics, I could walk again?"
The thought had come to him out of nowhere.
"Your curse is different. Bolt on a prosthetic and the pain stays exactly the same."
"Figured as much."
"Yeah. Lifting the curse is the only real answer. And listen — for enhancement-types, equipment like prosthetic limbs counts as a defect."
"A defect?"
"Yeah. A defect."
"In what way?"
"Say the coin enhancements keep stacking. Enhancement-types keep pumping points into physical stats — but a prosthetic never benefits from any of it."
"Ah…… yeah, that's a defect all right."
"Exactly. A major one. That's why enhancement-types who lose limbs have to restore their bodies one way or another."
"Meaning they'd have to graft on someone else's limbs if it comes to that."
Won-goo nodded quietly and pulled out a cigarette, clamping it between his lips.
Tak! Tak! THWACK! CRACK!
Light jabs put enemies into a stun, then a spinning kick finished them off. It was Abal's signature pattern, and it almost never got shut down — her kicks were blindingly fast and precise, and the combinations were endlessly varied.
"Prosthetic arms are more or less fine. Not to the point you'd call them a defect. But legs — legs are a real defect. Hands and feet just aren't the same."
"And since Agari fights with her legs, it'd hit her that much harder."
"Right. She knows it too, probably."
"So that's why she keeps staring at people's legs now and then?"
"But legs are no easy fix."
"Wouldn't it just be a matter of matching the length?"
"That works for people who don't rely on their legs. Abal would feel something's off if the balance is even a little wrong. Finding the right leg is the hard part."
"It's that hard?"
"Finding the right leg is."
"No way around it? Even magic can't do it?"
"Magic that makes limbs regrow. It probably exists. But since when was that kind of magic ever common?"
"…Fair point."
"Failing that, cutting off both legs is one method."
"There's a method like that?"
"The problem's a balance mismatch, isn't it? Graft the same pair of legs on both sides and there's nothing to be mismatched."
Tak! THWACK!
Just then, a rock came hurtling at Won-goo's face. He batted it aside with a casual flick of his fist.
"Fuck's sake, Tteng-gu! Everyone's bleeding their guts out fighting and you're standing here chatting?"
"Everyone's fighting just fine on their own."
"If you're done, you help out! What the hell are you doing?"
"Tsk."
At the click of Won-goo's tongue, Abal stalked over, features twisted into a scowl.
"You think it's just our people here? You've got to give the others their moment to shine too. That's how you keep anyone's mouth shut later."
"You've always got an answer, don't you. And why the hell are you messing with my legs?"
"Ears working overtime too, huh? You caught that?"
"Caught some of it. But what's that even supposed to mean? There's a fix?"
"Yeah. See a decent leg, cut off both of hers, graft them on. Below the knee is plenty."
"Why would you cut off perfectly good legs, you insane bastard!"
Abal roared. Won-goo just shrugged.
"Tell you the fix and I still get cursed out. Handle it yourself. Looks like things are mostly wrapped up anyway."
And sure enough, most of the Ganjeol Point people were surrendering.
"Director Gong! Get yer ass over here, quick!"
Montage's voice was urgent. His crew were backing away, as though they'd stumbled onto something.
"What is it?"
"Look fer yerself. Ain't that… that thing?"
"……."
Everyone froze. Inside a single building, a force made up entirely of children was advancing, slow and steady.
Every one of them wore the masks Ganjeol Point used for outside operations — and every one of them clutched a vicious weapon.
But nothing could hide their small frames and slight bones.
"How is this being done, one wonders — that is the part in question."
It was Mu Beob-sa, who rarely asked questions outside, drifting close to speak.
Instead of answering, Won-goo checked the time.
12:57.
"Is this going according to plan, Director Gong?"
Fresh asked too. By the plan, those children were to be treated as Ganjeol Point assets and dealt with accordingly. But the situation had shifted. Things were drawing to a close, and the response would have to change with them.
Won-goo deliberated for a moment, watching the clock — then looked not at anyone else, but at Mu Beob-sa.
"Mage. Can you help out this time?"
"That is a part that can be done."
"Don't be too rough with them."
"That, too, is a part that can be done."
The two men looked at each other and nodded.
CLANG!
Mu Beob-sa lowered his shield and began walking toward the child soldiers.