The Gun Is a Sword (3)

"That was a decent warm-up. Don't pick a fight next time, all right? Though I suppose there won't be a next time, once you're serving life in Purgatory."

Namgung Hanran looked down at the three she had just torn apart, pressed an index finger to her lips, and smiled. A faint smell of brass drifted from the pistol in her left hand — not the usual nose-stinging reek of gunpowder.

Now-bald Mo Hae-yeon stretched out a hand, a groan leaking from her throat.

"You filthy bitch. You think you can do this and walk away?"

"Big sis, you really shouldn't poke her like thaaat~~!"

Cameleon — tail and arm both severed — tried to stop her, but Hae-yeon's eyes were burning.

"Whatever do you mean? The ones who aren't walking away from this are you."

"The Bad Friends Alliance of District 54 is a hornet's nest. Stir it, and the queen comes out furious."

Hanran's eyes narrowed. They were the ones who had ambushed her, were they not? The sheer nerve of it aside, the name was one she knew.

"The Bad Friends Alliance...? Ah, yes, I have heard of you. I believe my junior disciple recently found a corpse belonging to one of your lot."

She had the shape of it now. They had heard about the first person on the scene somewhere and come running — not even for revenge, just to take it out on someone. To go after a junior disciple so kind he couldn't hurt a fly (and, honestly, so weak). They deserved to die, but being locked in Purgatory, the sorcerers' prison, would be a far greater agony.

"You bitch!"

"Kindly keep your voice down. Raise it one more time and the next shot goes through your skull, understood?"

The moment she pressed the XD pistol to Mo Hae-yeon's brow, the woman shut her mouth, seething.

A prickle ran down Hanran's spine. She had sensed a killing intent incomparably fiercer than anything these three idiots could produce, and her eyes flew wide. With perfect calm she swapped the magazine in the Walther as well, and gripped it.

The very next instant, a steel blade came whispering through the air and grazed her cheek. She threw herself backward and twisted aside.

A chain-sickle? So there was another one of you.

It was only a small scratch, and yet the blood poured out at twice the volume. The effect of an Innate Cursed Technique, perhaps. This was no ordinary opponent.

Reflected in Hanran's pupils was the attacker, whirling a chain-sickle large enough to rival a great scythe. A mask hid the face, but the frame was small. A boy? Or a woman?

"Young Captain! ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Did you get the text I seeent~~!? You stopped by Seonggwan Academy, didn't youu~?"

"You're late, you little brat. How long does it take to cut off one non-sorcerer hanger-on's head? Look. My gorgeous hair is completely ruineeed—"

"Yeeeaaah— yeeeaaagh!!"

A ragged cheer burst from the three who had been getting unilaterally wrecked.

Went by Seonggwan Academy? Cut off the non-sorcerer hanger-on's head?

The moment the meaning of those words sank in, the world froze solid. Why hadn't she considered a simultaneous attack — something well within the realm of possibility? The Namgung clan was only two people now.

Beom was dead.

She hated it. She truly, truly hated it. But there was no way her junior disciple could have survived an assassin radiating killing intent like that. She admitted it to herself.

"No…"

The voice that slipped through Hanran's lips was so wretched it did not sound like her own.

"No… no. That can't be…. It can't, ……it can't be. Why would Beom? Wh-why? Nngh? My junior disciple……."

For the first time, she lost her composure.

Her junior disciple of ten years — wise and mature enough to seem like he could see the future, and yet at times stubborn to the point of foolishness. From the moment Father died and her older brother left home, the Namgung clan had been just the two of them. She had grown ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fond of him. That he was a non-sorcerer hadn't mattered. She had given him her heart.

And that Kim Beom was dead. At the hands of thugs playing at being ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gangsters in a sandbox.

Her chest burned black with rage. The world in her eyes bled over into sepia.

The fury she could no longer hold down tore loose, and Hanran jerked her muzzle up.

A clear ring of metal sang through the air. The masked assassin spun the chain-sickle and came crashing toward her at a terrifying speed.

I was on my way back from Jujutsu Jujutsu Bakery, a local favorite near the Namgung estate, carrying a carrot cake.

A bakery named Jujutsu Jujutsu Bakery. Kinda on the nose.

Even if it's cliché, couldn't they have just gone with Warm-n-Toasty Bakery?

Anyway. I arrived at the dojo expecting my senior sister to jump for joy at the surprise, and the moment I got there—

I had no choice but to stand there with my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open, staring into despair.

"No. My Namgung!!"

The building had been split in half. Split so cleanly in two that there was no hope of ever restoring it. However fierce the fight had been, the garden Senior Sister had tended with such care had been obliterated. Acrid cement dust scraped the throat. A vicious stink of paint thinner. And threaded through it all, the raw stench of blood. Personnel from the Jujutsu Bureau and a swarm of reporters had gathered around the wreckage of the Namgung estate.

What the hell had happened here?

"Kim Beom. Over here."

A middle-aged man with a smoking cigarette between his lips spotted me and waved me over. He was wearing a pitch-black suit, as if he had come straight from a funeral.

"Sir!"

Park Hyeong-woo. Jujutsu Bureau, Cursed Crime Investigation Division, Team 1. Simply put, a detective specializing in jujutsu — and a sorcerer himself. One of the named characters from Jujutsu Gwi-hwan, and a man with ties to both me and the Namgung clan.

"One of my men was murdered by the District 54 Bad Friends Alliance yesterday. Sounds like he ran his mouth before he died. I'll apologize in his place, as his senior."

"Ran his mouth about what?"

"Well…. Kim Beom, they found out a Namgung disciple discovered their buddy's corpse, and they came looking to settle the score."

District 54. The place where I had killed the Last Words Collector, Hwang Seonpung, in the same breath as my jujutsu awakening. The Bad Friends Alliance shared the comic's villain slot with the Seven Deadly Sins Cult, the Nephilim, the traitor of the Seven Stars, and the rest — a coalition of small-scale stray sorcerer crews. The range was all over the place, from neighborhood thugs all the way to grand sorcerers with Jujutsu Bureau official-level skill. The Last Words Collector may have been an early-arc trash villain, but the District 54 Alliance he belonged to was anything but weak. Of course it wasn't — it was the group the Alliance's vice-leader had once called home.

"So this whole mess is because of me."

I pressed a hand to my throbbing head. Was this what they called the butterfly effect? The good-natured detective practically jumped out of his skin, at a complete ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠loss.

"This isn't on you, Kim Beom. 'Avenging a friend' was just an excuse. They were looking for a pretext to hunt a Great Clan. If they actually gave a damn about Hwang Seonpung, they'd have gone after the monster who killed him."

"The monster?"

"You filed the report, so you saw Hwang Seonpung's condition, right? Whoever did that is a cruel bastard. No epithet yet, but he's a super-rookie among the strays."

"Good thing he hasn't shown his face since," he added, shaking his head.

Guess Detective Park never even considered it might be me. I'm wounded.

More importantly, I had completely forgotten the one thing that actually mattered.

"What about Senior Sister Ran? Don't tell me the Bad Friends got to her?"

I pressed him at once.

"She's been transferred to the Tang Clan hospital — of the Twelve Great Clans. Stay calm. I've known you two since you were kids, and even I felt my blood run backward at first."

Something ominous coiled in my gut at his words. The moment the police car stopped at the Tang Clan hospital, I burst into the private room as if I meant to ram the door off its hinges.

A vase held monkshood, the emblem of the Tang Clan, and the curtains swayed in a breeze slipping through the crack in the door. At the center of the room, a black-haired girl lay on the bed.

It was her. It could not be anyone else. Senior Sister Ran. Namgung Hanran.

The rise and fall of her chest told me she was breathing, but she was seized in black cursed energy. Her eyelids were shut tight, and her lips trembled as if she were in pain. With shaking hands I lifted the hospital gown, and there it was — a wound stamped in a straight line, as if a ruler had been laid against her skin. The doctors had managed to stop the bleeding, but a skull-shaped bruise sat over the cut, as if promising it would split open again at any moment.

"She was hit by the Reaper, captain of the District 54 Bad Friends Alliance. Wounds from the Reaper never heal for the rest of your life, and once enough fatigue builds up, they say you dream nightmares forever. The known technique name is, I believe—"

"Grim Nightmare."

"Huh? Kim Beom, how did you—? Ah. You must've seen the Reaper's wanted poster."

Park filled in the blank himself. Truth was, I only knew because it was an Innate Cursed Technique that had shown up in the original. I bit down hard on my lower lip and listened through the regret.

"Hanran put up one hell of a fight. She didn't die, and she drove off an extremely dangerous individual like the Reaper and his underlings."

"Have you identified the perpetrators?"

"The Blood-Portrait Reader figured it out. Said your exhibition duel left quite an impression—ow, not the time."

Right. There was that senior who could read memories by licking blood.

"First, the Hanging Ghost, Mo Hae-yeon. Dropped out of Seonggwan Academy early and has been living as a stray. A sorcerer who controls her hair."

"Second, Cameleon. Looks ridiculous, but he's an exceptional assassin. A chameleon, as you can see."

"The third is Leatherjae the Skinwalker. Put on an animal or Nephilim hide and he gains its power. Transformed into an eagle Nephilim and fled with the rest of his 'friends.'"

"The Reaper, captain of District 54. Beyond the skull mask, he's wrapped in a veil of mystery."

"Kim Beom. The Jujutsu Bureau and the Great Clans are doing everything they can to hunt down those four, so I need you to stay by Hanran's side. Poor girl's a sleeping princess for the time being. You're all she's got."

"Grim Nightmare ends when the caster dies. I'll hunt down the Reaper."

Park's face twisted into something helpless, and then he looked at me and got angry.

"Even if you meant that, it's absurd!!! The Reaper is far stronger than some Last Words Collector. A non-sorcerer like you going up against—sorry if that sounded discriminatory."

"No, it's fine. I got carried away too."

"Why not ask Tamrangseong? You're close with her."

"If Eunha actually listened to anyone, the Bad Friends Alliance would've been wiped off the map already."

"Hah, fair enough," Park said, and stood.

"Don't you worry. They dared to hurt my subordinate and my friend's daughter. I will bring them in!"

No. You won't catch the Reaper. I already know that. In the original, they survive all the way to the story's present and climb all the way to the Alliance's number two seat.

After he left, I took Senior Sister's hand — the one trapped in Grim Nightmare — and held it tight in both of mine. The pained look on her face eased, just a little.

"Senior Sister Ran. I told you I'd handle my own problems with my own two hands, didn't I? And I said a man needs the courage to face hardship."

What was I supposed to do?

The answer was already decided. I let go of sleeping Senior Sister Ran's hand and stood.