Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: Companion II
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Shin Noah
4
“Groooar!”
The Ten Tribes charged toward us ferociously. Every time its feet—made of countless tentacles—slammed into the ground, the earth shook with a boom, sending my shoulders and Old Man Show’s bouncing up and down nonstop.
To be precise, the Ten Tribes wasn’t stepping so much as crawling. If you enhanced your vision and looked closely, you could see it was shuffling along on an uncountable number of hands.
Things that resembled human hands and arms.
Every time thousands, tens of thousands of those arms hit the ground, chunks of red flesh and blood splattered with wet thuds. Bones cracked and joints shattered with grotesque snaps.
But it didn’t seem to matter to the beast at all. New arms were ceaselessly regenerating from the stumps where others had been severed.
A long trail of blood stretched out behind the Ten Tribes as it approached us, like a red carpet unfurled across the path. The blood flowed in the prints of thousands of handprints.
That massive red carpet was the Ten Tribes’ signature. That was why overseas, they sometimes called it the Red Carpet.
I muttered to myself.
“It’s like a celebrity showed up.”
“Ready?”
Old Man Show asked in his thickly accented Korean. The vanguard unit, including me, had already drawn our weapons.
I glanced at my adjutant, Yoo Ji-won. She nodded while unfolding a map on a nearby table. The signal that all preparations were complete.
I nodded back.
“Yes. Let’s wrap this up quick and grab some food.”
I took the first step forward.
The 600-strong suicide squad followed behind me.
Though not quite on the level of the Ten Tribes, the footsteps of six hundred lives—weighted with the gravity of life and death—created a formidable vibration of their own.
And at that moment.
“—Ah—.”
A song rang out from behind us.
Dang Seo-rin, leader of the Three Thousand Worlds Guild, alliance leader of the Korean Guild Federation, and known as the Witch of the Train Stations for her bizarre habit of haunting them.
But as just one Awakener stepping onto the battlefield—not as someone’s leader—Dang Seo-rin had another true face entirely.
“—Ah—ah—.”
A witch who manifested grand magic through song and poetry.
Song Enchantment, the creator and sole user of a technique that activated “curses” through “song.”
She had become a myth unto herself among those who awakened magic-type abilities. That was the Dang Seo-rin of the battlefield.
She humbly claimed she was no creator, just an imitator.
But the power she wielded was anything but humble.
“Ah——ah——ah.”
What began as a single thread of Dang Seo-rin’s voice soon split into two, then three, then four melodies, weaving through the skies over the devastated Seoul.
An a cappella made solely of her voice.
The principle behind Dang Seo-rin’s Song Enchantment magic was simple.
She first implemented a “repeating spell” through song. The repeating spell was essentially a recorder. It simply endlessly repeated and replayed the sounds uttered by the caster—nothing special about it on its own.
But Dang Seo-rin saw potential in this humble spell.
First, she let the repeating spell echo endlessly through the air. Then, right in the midst of it, she layered on an entirely new incantation. The repeating spell would then reproduce even the newly added part.
1st Melody: Repeat.
2nd Melody: Amplification.
3rd Melody: Reflex Enhancement.
Six minutes into the battle, the third melody finally began enveloping the hundreds of squad members.
The suicide squad, who had been on the verge of having their torsos sliced by tentacles or heads lopped off, blocked the Ten Tribes’ attacks once, twice.
“—Ah—ah—.”
“Ah——ah——ah.”
“—Ah—.”
Dang Seo-rin’s melodies didn’t stop there.
Just as the fourth melody was about to bud and sprout, the Ten Tribes sensed the shift in atmosphere and turned its body.
It had realized we’d deliberately lured it here and was now trying to flee without hesitation. Its building-sized bulk twisted in an instant, sending nearby Awakeners flying in all directions.
“Emmett!”
“Got it!”
Old Man Show—who had learned “Got it!” before any other Korean phrase—drew his sword and charged. His reliable back filled me with an involuntary sense of relief—no, it didn’t.
The retreat was a feint. The damn clever monster had planted six of its tentacles underground in advance.
The moment Old Man Show rushed in, thorns erupted from the ground, punching pretty holes through his body. Gray mist billowed as blood poured out. Instant death.
“Shit!”
Dang Seo-rin’s incantation cut off before it could reach the fifth melody. The squad was breached, the blockade collapsed, and the core of our plan—Dang Seo-rin—knelt with countless holes riddling her body.
The last thing I saw was the Ten Tribes opening a skewer omakase joint on the plains. The red carpet was just the decoration ushering customers in.
Iteration 6 end.
Iteration 7 start. Again.
“Emmett!”
“Got it!”
“Got it!” was a truly mystical Korean word. It meant “yes,” but also “I already know, you bastard,” and even “stop nagging.” Layering all those meanings, the Swordmaster swept the ground with sword energy.
“Krraaapfkaoo!”
The buried thorns were severed in one go.
The fake retreat was seen through. Enraged, the Ten Tribes harvested human lives with its tentacles—those that mimicked human arms and hands.
But it couldn’t harvest the song in the air.
“Ah—ah—ah——ah.”
The melodies continued. They layered on. They echoed.
Every time her a cappella embraced a new tone, we had to sacrifice one life.
Iteration 7 end. Iteration 8 start. Iteration 8 end. Iteration 9 start.
Within the eternally repeating da capo, Old Man Show and I charged. We surged forward. The Ten Tribes fought back against our sword strikes.
The Ten Tribes’ massive body suddenly ballooned like a balloon. As if all the tentacles it had shown so far were mere appetizers, thousands of thorns shot out from within the monster all at once.
Iteration 9 end.
“—Ah—.”
Iteration 10 start.
Within the eternally repeating da capo, Old Man Show and I charged. We surged forward. The Ten Tribes fought back against our sword strikes. And before it could swell its body, we dove into its embrace.
“Grooocupahk!”
Old Man Show from the left. Me from the right.
In the repeating spiral dance, I had learned the sword from Old Man Show. I had lived as his direct disciple, not as the vice leader of Three Thousand Worlds.
It might have been the same repetition to that monster, but not to me. With every inch our time advanced, Dang Seo-rin’s song extended by one more note.
1st Melody: Repeat.
2nd Melody: Amplification.
3rd Melody: Reflex Enhancement.
4th Melody: Weapon Durability Enhancement.
5th Melody: Stamina Recovery.
6th Melody: Mental Awakening.
A dirge aria was chanted into the gray sky.
Squad 1 swapped places with Squad 2, while the wounded continuously fell back. Even so, Old Man Show and I didn’t retreat a single step from the front line.
Dang Seo-rin didn’t either.
We were all staking our lives.
By the time the sixth melody had repeated, her song transformed. The melodies that had enveloped us suddenly bared their claws and lunged at the Ten Tribes.
Like red thorns.
7th Melody: Weakness Curse.
8th Melody: Darkness Curse.
9th Melody: Sensory Dampening Curse.
The Ten Tribes’ colossal body grew numb. When the monster swung its arms, abandoned skyscrapers crumbled in heaps. Perhaps that was its flinch.
“Old timer!”
“I know! You brat!”
We clung to it relentlessly.
The nickname I used for Old Man Show had changed, and the sass in his Korean responses had evolved. Now, we didn’t need to call out tactics—we severed the Ten Tribes’ tentacles in perfect sync.
The Ten Tribes fought back against our sword strikes. But it was futile. Our blades sliced its arms faster than new tentacles could sprout.
It might take a single step with its thousands of arms, but we raced forward on our own legs, always taking two steps to its one.
And so.
“Ah——ah——ah.”
“Ah—ah—ah——ah.”
“—Ah—ah—.”
“—Ah—.”
10th Melody: Petrification Curse.
Nearly meaningless to the Ten Tribes, with its endless tentacle regeneration. But to the beast, now with scarcely any thorns left, it was a fatal blow.
The dozens of thorns lunging at Old Man Show and me turned to stone all at once. Of course, it was just a momentary pause. In five seconds—no, three—the tentacles would regenerate and skewer us.
To buy us those three seconds, Dang Seo-rin had sung.
We swung our swords.
Where all the tentacles had vanished, the Ten Tribes’ two eyeballs lay hidden. They were eyeballs and hearts at once. Destroy one heart, and the other would regenerate instantly—granting the Ten Tribes virtual immortality, those mana organs.
“Uwaaaaaah!”
Old Man Show and I roared as we charged.
Our yells weren’t as eerie as the Ten Tribes’ bellows. Nor as beautiful as Dang Seo-rin’s incantation. The duet of two Regressors was a total mess. As song, it was tone-deaf disaster.
But for some reason—maybe just my imagination—our brutish shouts seemed to harmonize with Dang Seo-rin’s aria for a fleeting moment.
A mere coincidental chord alignment.
“Kpuuura kka hta!”
And the sole dissonance left in this world.
Toward that noise—the monster’s heartbeat, the source of the vibrations—we thrust our swords without hesitation.
Blood sprayed.
The tip of Old Man Show’s blade pierced the left eyeball-left heart, while my sword cleaved the right eyeball-right heart.
“—————!!”
A scream erupted.
Even as it spewed blood, countless tentacles burst from the Ten Tribes’ body. Their tips loomed right before us. But I didn’t fear the holes they’d punch through me—I just drove the blade buried in the eye-heart even harder.
Halt—
The tentacle inches from my face froze. The human-arm-like tentacle had five fingers. As if seized by convulsions, those five fingers splayed out to their limit.
One second passed, then two.
As the music faded and the final notes lingered endlessly, we silently stared at the monster, swords still embedded in its hearts.
And suddenly, I felt an urge I couldn’t suppress without blurting it out.
“Did we get it?”
Old Man Show looked horrified.
“Hey, you tone-deaf idiot! Don’t say that...!”
The Ten Tribes’ five fingers exploded. Flesh tore. Bursting, they poured out red blood.
Fingers, arms, countless tentacles—they ruptured and spilled one after another.
No reversal.
The colossal monster that had wandered so long, staining the world with red paths, drowned in its own crimson pool.
“...”
Old Man Show, suddenly drenched head to toe in blood, blankly looked down. Then at me.
Finally, he turned around.
The moment we turned our backs, a cheer even greater than the Ten Tribes’ earthquake shook the heavens.
Hundreds had died, but thousands still lived—they clenched their fists toward us, hugged each other, jumped like mad. They rushed over, grabbing my head, tearing my shirt to shreds. Laughter mixed with sobs.
“We did it! We actually did it!”
Old Man Show hugged me tight and wailed.
“Oh man! Doc! Thank you! It’s all thanks to you! I couldn’t have made it this far alone!”
The kind of words Old Man Show would never say under normal circumstances.
I got choked up too and mumbled something similar, but I won’t bother detailing it here.
I didn’t have a hobby of documenting my own black history.
[The Saintess of National Salvation blesses your victory.]
[The Red Horse Lord shows interest in your feats.]
[The Conqueror of the Alps marvels at your achievement.]
The Constellations sent messages as if they’d been waiting. This was still an iteration before I’d uncovered the Saintess’s identity. Like the other Awakeners, I could accept their congratulations purely.
The frenzy died down after a while.
Only then did Dang Seo-rin, the overall commander of this operation, slowly approach me.
“To think you’d draw out all the way to the 10th Melody.”
Had she overdone the singing? Her voice was hoarse.
She smiled, looking pleased yet somehow troubled.
“Impressive. I didn’t think we’d actually win.”
“How long did we hold out?”
“41 minutes.”
Sweat soaked Dang Seo-rin’s forehead. Her hair was a wild mess, strands sticking to her face. Still, compared to how I looked, she was positively prim.
Especially compared to the ends she’d met from Iteration 4 to 9.
“We finally retook it. Seoul.”
“Precisely, south of the Han River.”
“That’s where property values were always the highest anyway, right? Nice. We’re landlords now.”
Even right after this insane accomplishment, Dang Seo-rin spoke casually, like she’d just gone for a stroll. Her brazenness made me chuckle.
“Now it’s the shittiest land in Korea, though.”
“Hmm. Hungry? Hurt anywhere? Let’s go eat.”
Old Man Show piped up then.
“What’s on the menu? Raw octopus? I can’t eat that.”
The old timer who’d spilled all those embarrassing lines earlier was gone, replaced by his usual grumpy German geezer griping about everything.
“Jeez. I’ll never understand why you boil and eat those hideous Cthulhu krakens.”
“It’s fine. Funny you mention it now, but I’m not that into raw octopus either.”
I was shocked.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Dang Seo-rin beamed.
“Honestly, I prefer taco wasabi with highballs.”
Alias: Red Carpet. Red Gourmet.
Active-type monster nesting south of the Han River. Solitary. Amorphous.
Estimated civilian and military casualties: approximately 436,000. Estimated Awakener deaths: approximately 950. Injuries and missing: incalculable.
Official name: Ten Tribes.
Subjugation complete.
5
For the record, the after-party menu that day was pork belly and soju.
No Japanese places nearby.