Show of Prowess
Watching Mu Beob-sa start walking forward, Won-goo shouted out.
"Don't kill them, just subdue them! They're still kids! They've been brainwashed, that's all — so let's keep it to restraining them as gently as we can!"
Everyone nodded in agreement. As Mu Beob-sa closed the distance, the boy soldiers reacted. Their unfocused eyes locked onto a target.
Attack.
The rest of the crew advanced behind Mu Beob-sa — then stopped to simply watch. He was walking in so utterly defenseless that it made them hesitate, and they found themselves glancing back at Won-goo and his men for a cue. Oddly enough, none of them seemed in much of a hurry to charge in either.
So everyone just watched him move.
Few among the crew had ever actually seen Mu Beob-sa fight. Most of them knew next to nothing about him. But a handful did — and those few watched with particular attention.
And still he plodded forward, step by unhurried step. Even as the boy soldiers came sprinting at him at terrifying speed, he showed not the slightest tension. Anyone would have thought he was about to take a vicious weapon square to the face and crumple to the ground on the spot.
After all, it would have been hard to call Mu Beob-sa's appearance easy on the eyes, even as a joke. He looked like your average neighborhood uncle — the kind who'd clearly had a rough life of it. Not dark-skinned by nature, but the sort of tan that came from years under the sun, layered with a network of fine wrinkles.
He insisted it was all the hardship he'd suffered, but as Won-goo had put it, there was no telling whether he was simply old-faced by nature or had truly earned every line. Either way, four years had passed since the world ended. This was now the cusp of year five — an era when even Gen X was treated like doddering elders. And Mu Beob-sa had the kind of face that even Dr. Woo or Montage, men squarely in that bracket, couldn't afford to mock.
"We're really just letting him go in like that?"
It was Pacific's question, though even as he asked it, his hands were ready on his wheelchair wheels, prepared to roll out the moment things went wrong. He'd heard the claims. He just didn't believe them.
Could the man really be that good? He'd seen him raise his shield and intervene exactly where and when it mattered, had sensed there was something unusual in his movements. But that was all. From Pacific's perspective, that much was nothing special. Skilled operators at that level weren't a rare commodity these days.
"I'm telling you, he's good. Why won't you believe me?"
"Come on... he's not even an enhancement type. The man can't even carry a shield."
"Just watch. That old-timer is the real deal."
"The real deal?"
"What'd you make of Sde?"
"Well... he was decent."
"Decent? Be honest."
"He was an annoying bastard. Better at defense than offense. Landing a clean hit on him was a real pain. Give me a little more time and I could've managed it, though."
"That Sde — the man subdued him back when his coin count was way lower than it is now. Bare-handed. I told you this already."
"I figured that was half a joke."
"Just watch. That guy is legit."
"That good, huh?"
"Good enough that I was dumbfounded the first time I saw it."
Whoosh!
The first boy soldier to charge went straight for Mu Beob-sa's throat, swinging a long knife with a serrated edge — and Mu Beob-sa dodged it with nothing more than a slight lean of his upper body.
The boy was faster. Mu Beob-sa's movements were almost frustrating to watch by comparison. Not exactly slow, but with a certain unhurried ease about them. A smooth, angled lean back — and then the follow-up attack came.
Mu Beob-sa caught the incoming strike mid-swing, seized the boy's wrist, and snapped it. It looked something like an arrest technique, something like judo or aikido — and yet it was strangely difficult to pin down which martial art he was actually using.
The reason became clear in the next breath.
Thud!
Having bent the lead boy's arm back, he stomped the boy's leg to pieces with a low advancing step, then used the force of it to launch himself forward. This time there was nothing leisurely about the movement. Stomping past the downed soldier, a follow-up attack flowed out in the same motion — a bursting punch.
He closed three meters in an instant and let his arm fly. But it wasn't the long, fully extended bung-quan most people pictured. It was short and tight to the body, a punch like a compact hook, driving his weight through to deliver the impact.
And then something astonishing happened: the boy who took the punch was hurled backward, and his flying body bowled over a whole cluster of the others behind him.
A single strike was enough to carve Mu Beob-sa's existence into everyone's memory.
"Hold on... that's possible? The guy doesn't even have that much strength. He's supposed to be a mage!"
"You think you use all the power you have?"
"...?"
"The same strength, delivered differently, changes its power entirely. And he's had coin enhancements too. Nowhere near an enhancement-type's level, sure. That's why he can do this much. The old man was a monster to begin with."
"If he can do that without being an enhancement type... wouldn't it have been smarter to skip the mage thing and just pump his stats?"
"He made a promise to the old man about that. So no."
The flat, matter-of-fact tone left Pacific's mouth hanging open.
"What a frustrating 'part' that is."
"Think like that and there's no end to it. He pulls his weight plenty."
"Then why does the guy who thinks that spend every spare moment busting his chops?"
"That's what closeness looks like."
"So what is his deal, anyway? Some kung fu master or something?"
"Doubt it."
"That wasn't kung fu? Tai chi?"
"That bursting punch is a hung-gar move. The old man knows most of the martial arts out there. Watch — does that look like Chinese boxing to you?"
Mu Beob-sa slipped past a descending axe by a hair's breadth, using the momentum of the dodge to spin his whole body — a spinning kick. His passing heel caught the jaw of a boy soldier leaping in mid-air, striking it dead center. Then he immediately dropped into a crouch to slip beneath the next attack.
It was like watching choreography from an action film. Crouched under the swing, he rose diagonally and drove his shoulder and body into his opponent — a charging body strike, this one straight out of bajiquan.
Pop!
The strange thing was that though body met body, the sound was like a balloon bursting. Once again Mu Beob-sa sent the boy soldiers sprawling backward, his intent unmistakable: open up distance from the swarming enemy, then pluck them off one at a time and put them down. Even now he was following the same pattern — absorbing a boy's lunge with his shoulder while clamping a hand around the neck and elbow of another aiming for his flank, rendering him helpless.
Crack-crack!
This time it was elbows and knees. That, at least, was not a move from Chinese martial arts. It was far closer to Kali-Arnis, the Filipino art — a system built for exchange at close quarters. Because it specialized in fighting at a range shorter than where punches and kicks fully develop, it was rich in knee and elbow techniques. And since its techniques favored relentless combinations over single killing blows, Mu Beob-sa adjusted his movement to match.
Unlike the deliberate power of the bursting punch and the body check, he now moved with pure speed at the center — and perhaps because of that, his motions suddenly seemed fast-forwarded, a blur of afterimages. The boy soldiers dropped like cut puppets.
The truly interesting thing was that their momentum didn't flag in the slightest, and Mu Beob-sa showed not a flicker of strain. And through it all, he still hadn't picked up a single weapon.
It had all happened in the space of a few breaths, but everyone watching now understood exactly what Mu Beob-sa was.
What in the hell? He had a monster tucked away as a hidden card?
So the thought ran through Montage's head, an intrigued expression settling on his face as he observed the fight. Then he bellowed to his men.
"You plannin' on just standin' there watchin'?"
At that, Joce and the rest of the Montage crew surged forward, and the others moved as one with them. In that brief span, Mu Beob-sa had already taken down two more of the boy soldiers — subdued being a generous word for the rather violent method he'd employed.
But nobody worried. They were all veterans who'd seen it all. One glance at how an opponent moved told them whether coin enhancement was in play. So even these rough methods posed no problem for recovery, so long as no fatal wounds were inflicted.
"Let's go give them a hand."
Won-goo said it as he flicked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground.
"Yes, Hyeong-nim!"
Lee Hyun-sung, back with fresh bandages wrapped here and there, answered brightly.
"Hyun-sung, you sit this one out and rest."
"No, sir! Hyeong-nim! Your little brother's going in with you!"
"I said rest. You've done your share."
"Yes, Hyeong-nim! Then I'll stand watch!"
Won-goo's crew moved out as well.
Mu Beob-sa's rampage made subduing the boy soldiers far easier. There had been a great many of them, and their combat power was formidable — a notch below Ganjeol's Royal Guard, if one had to classify them. What made them genuinely troublesome was that, unlike the Guard, these children were fully brainwashed.
So even while being steadily overwhelmed, they never changed their stance. And with no fear of death, they kept attempting reckless attacks without hesitation. Add to that the one restriction weighing on Won-goo's side — subdue, do not kill — and the fight was anything but easy.
Difficult, yes. But they were all veterans, and they adapted and handled it well. Mu Beob-sa's performance played its part, and so did the fact that the surprise attack had landed perfectly. Because the assault had gone in cleanly, their own casualties were nearly nil. Which meant they could deal with the boy soldiers at full strength and with their numbers intact.
Watching them fall one by one, Won-goo found himself thinking, again, how lucky they'd been. And it was good luck — for the boy soldiers as much as for their own side. Had they run into this force before subduing Ganjeol, they might have faced real difficulty. And had that happened, Won-goo would not have hesitated to order them dealt with permanently. He could not afford to fail because of them.
So this was good fortune for everyone involved — even if the boy soldiers themselves were brainwashed too deeply for such talk to mean anything.
A berserker, by definition, was someone driven to such a fever pitch that the word maniac came to mind on its own. At the fishing grounds, when rookie anglers were strung up as bait, they liked to whip them into exactly this state first. But the boy soldiers weren't even that — and somehow that made it creepier. Like living machines, you could say. They clearly felt pain, yet they bore the pain and clung on to the bitter end with a relentlessness that sent a chill down the spine.
To the very last one of them.
If a unit like this had been commanded by Tak — the man they called "the Director" — it would have been a genuine nightmare.
"Director Gong. This all wrapped up or what?"
"Wrapped up. Tell everyone from here on it's restraint only, no more striking. The Administrators will be back soon."
The situation ended just before three o'clock — narrowly inside the promised time. Plenty of Ganjeolgot personnel remained unsubdued, but no one paid them any mind. Some surrendered on their own; others simply chose to run.
"Hey! Loudmouth!"
"What?"
"Didn't you hear? They said wrap it up. Push it any further and we tangle with the Administrators."
"So we just stand here and watch? They're getting away."
"Let them go. We've scooped up the entire leadership. Right, Hyeong-nim?"
"That's right. Ah — those bastards over there, they're Ganjeol's men."
"Hyun-sung."
"Yes, Hyeong-nim."
"Gather up the officers first. You know that bastard with the longsword from earlier? Drag him over too. He's definitely one of the officers."
And so they came, trussed up tight and hauled in before Won-goo — the officers. Some had been knocked out cold; others were just coming to their senses.
"Huh? Isn't that the bastard from earlier?"
"That's right, Hyeong-nim."
"Then why's he got no hair?"
At that, Suwon stepped forward.
"I-It was a wig, sir."
"A wig? Ha!"
And with that, Won-goo began rolling up his sleeves.
"This one needs treatment right away, I'd say. You see, I have a thing against bald men. But there's someone I hate even more. Know who that is? A bald man wearing a wig. Absolute piece of shit. So today, we're regrowing every last one of your—"
"Hyeong-nim!"
"What?"
"The Administrators are about to—"
"Ah. Right. Then we'll take this inside somewhere. Just need to do it where the Administrators can't see. Find us a suitable spot."
"Yes, Hyeong-nim! Your little brother will scout one out right now!"