Lighthouse Sparrow Reports: Cuckoos Entering the Nest

"Confirmed."

A report came through my in-ear piece. The smart lens display showed the time as 12:30 a.m.—the dead of night, when you could truly call it the wee hours.

The sector they were entering was Incheon Port's Pier 2. Hidden behind a nearby container, I held my breath, waiting for the boat carrying them to arrive.

Amid the occasional sound of waves, a faint noise began to intrude.

A single boat slipped quietly into the pier without lights—for smuggling—and with its engine throttled way down. Soon, the engine noise died completely.

A dock ramp lowered from the boat, and dozens of figures walked up it to disembark.

Exhausted from the long voyage, all I could hear were snippets of conversation and idle laughter.

"Buona sera, amici. (Good evening, friends.)"

"You crazy—"

I tossed them a light greeting and pulled the trigger on my Chicago Typewriter. The black silhouettes in the fog immediately started dancing.

Perfect timing: the moment their tension was lowest, right before their feet hit solid ground—the most vulnerable instant. The plan exploited that perfectly.

Thanks to it, the guys clustered on the dock realized what was happening and began leaping into the sea one by one, oh so politely.

"If you hit the water, the formation breaks! Raise the barrier!"

A desperate ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠voice rang out from their ranks, but there was no way they'd get organized that easily.

The reason? One of the sub-effects of [Al Capone's Tommy]: [Chicago Typewriter].

Not just any item, but a Relic-grade effect sending them into panic—did they really think they'd stay in line?

While I fired down at them casually from above...

"Get up here now!"

A mana-infused voice came from the spot shielded somehow. Probably the boss of this crew.

I poured bullets mercilessly at the guy shielding and pulling his men from the water one by one, but his barrier still looked solid.

"Guess this is the limit with guns."

Guns were for sweeping trash without getting my hands dirty anyway. I blew the smoke from the barrel, stored the weapon in my cube, and tugged my [Midas Gloves] tight.

"Crow relays: commencing the hunt now. Maintain the encirclement so the prey can't leave the hunting ground."

Hearing the responses from my men already spread out, I took a deep breath and eyed the enemies ahead.

The survivors—or those who could still move—had gathered behind the shield, reforming ranks. I could see them struggling to climb from the dock onto the port proper.

"Guns can't pierce the shield anyway, so don't panic—group up!"

How long had it been since I holstered my gun, and they were still worrying...?

I clenched my fist until my knuckles cracked, gripped my right wrist with my left to steady it, and voices came from inside the shield.

"Wh-what's that guy doing?"

"He's not coming closer, is he?"

I accelerated slowly toward the shield's front, twisting my hips and torso back.

"He's not gonna smash the shield with his fist, right?"

"Ignore him for now and head into the port! Deal with him later!"

Judging me harmless without my gun, they kept advancing. I loaded maximum centrifugal force and weight, then unleashed a punch like slamming a punching machine with all my might.

"I'm a fistfighter by nature."

Calione bloodline powers shine brightest in physical combat.

The instant my fist met the shield's surface, a sharp crack like shattering glass filled the air, and it exploded into fragments.

"Wh-what the—gahk—?!"

The frontmost guy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠took the punch and tumbled away like a plastic bag in the wind.

The others nearby stared blankly, unable to process it.

A moment later, I shook out my right hand, still feeling the impact, as the guy twitched, proving he was alive.

"You've trespassed into Calione territory without permission. Surrender peacefully, and I'll spare your lives. Do you yield?"

My final warning—and offer. Accept, and they'd at least return home alive. Not smoothly, sure, but better than pointless torture and death.

"One question first."

The apparent lieutenant stepped forward. A stern-faced, ordinary Asian man.

"As long as it's not pointless."

"...You seem to have known we were coming. Why are you alone?"

He glanced around. My men were fully concealed, awaiting orders. Without detection skills, they wouldn't spot them easily.

So, time to play along a bit.

"Father's orders. Wanted to show you my prowess, that's all."

"...Father?"

"Oh, you didn't know?"

To gauge their true intentions, I grinned and spread my hand, flashing the ring on my finger.

A black diamond etched with a golden 'C'.

"Because I'm Calione's heir."

Murmurs rippled through them. Caught off guard by the sudden heir's appearance.

After quick huddles, the lieutenant smirked at me.

"...That makes this easier."

"Hm?"

"Grab the heir, and Calione won't dare move rashly. What an arrogant brat."

Thinking I was really alone? They grinned nastily and closed in slowly.

Attitude flipping the second they saw weakness. Mercy was a luxury for scum like them.

"Once we catch you, I'll send that ringed finger to your daddy."

The lieutenant drew a machete from his belt; others gripped hand axes and knives.

Having seen the shield shatter, their faces were deadly serious, at least.

"Good."

"...What is?"

"That you're the trash I expected."

A red aura surged around me.

Powers active since I first fired on them. Releasing the pent-up aura, red energy billowed from me, tainting the fog with menace.

"One bit of advice: don't even think about running."

We eyed each other through the thin mist, probing for openings.

Elite operatives, they weren't showing gaps easily. In the frozen silence—like time had stopped—a distant ship horn blared.

"Charge!"

"Kill!"

They rushed me, swinging brutal weapons.

Normally tricky, but after today's academy brawl against armed groups, their paths and my counters visualized naturally.

I mana-kicked the ground first, sending shockwaves to disrupt their formation.

Encircled? Fine. But charging clustered from one direction? One tangle, and they'd be restricted.

"Don't get in my way!"

"Stupid bastard! Back off!"

"I'll help."

I smashed a full-power fist into one's head—thunk—spinning him midair into the dock.

The unrealistic scene froze them; I body-slammed the rigid one, shoving the tangled mass back onto the dock.

"What are you doing against one guy? Grab him now!"

Why I could move so boldly? Simple: they needed me alive, not dead.

Their moves ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were thus cautious, restrained. I exploited that, luring them into my ideal battlefield.

"Don't clump up—encircle him!"

"Go any further sideways and we'll fall in the sea—how?!"

Pinned in the dock's tight space, they glared murderously. Finally realizing I'd herded them there.

"...I'll buy time. Scatter and await contact."

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lieutenant shoved through, machete raised, closing on me.

"You'll regret coming alone."

He lunged, swinging cleanly—unlike the rabble. No wasted motion.

His relentless barrage pushed me back slowly; in the gap, others slipped off the dock, sprinting elsewhere.

"Thanks, boss! We'll live to see—"

Thud. The guy's body crumpled.

A gunshot echoed belatedly across the port.

"S-sniper!"

The runners ducked fast, hugging crates and containers.

"...You bastard."

The lieutenant, briefly separated by the shot, glared daggers.

"...Not alone after all!"

Realizing they'd been duped? I shrugged at his even angrier face.

"Told you. Calione heir. Means I get VIP treatment. And more than that..."

I glanced at the shot guy sprawled on the ground.

Bright red blood pooling under him.

I sighed.

"Advised you. Don't think about running."

Why couldn't they see it was for their sake, not mine?