The Shaman King (3)
Kangryeong Daegun seemed utterly unfazed, as if Ju Kang-rim recognizing him wasn't the least bit surprising. He'd shown up at the meeting spot with Ttakkachi in plain sight from the start, so there was no reason to be shocked that Ju had come looking for him.
"Too bad. I was curious what face you'd make when you saw Ttakkachi."
"Did she tell you I was coming?"
"Didn't need to ask. I've got eyes and ears everywhere."
Lee Hwi-myeong chuckled and shrugged.
"Besides, I spotted you coming from a mile away. Lighting up the place with those will-o'-the-wisps like a damn beacon."
This was Ju Kang-rim's mistake. The downside of will-o'-the-wisps was that anyone with a shred of spiritual sense could see them—including Han Min-ah. He should've figured Kangryeong Daegun would have that sense too.
Ju didn't dwell on the error. Instead, he circled Kangryeong slowly, gauging the distance. The man didn't appear armed—no visible weapons.
Pistol in the jacket, dagger strapped to his ankle. That's it, probably.
For the boss of a nationwide crime syndicate, it was disarmingly light armament. Then again, being a museum curator was unexpected too.
But Kangryeong's real weapons weren't those. Ju drew a deep breath, lips parting as if to speak—then lunged straight at him.
Tick, bang!
A hand shot out of thin air, snatching Ju's hand axe and shoving it aside. Same as when he'd first attacked upon seeing Lee Hwi-myeong. A screaming female ghost yanked at his nape, a legless man grabbed his ankle.
At the same instant, the front doors burst open as gang members poured in. A trap, as expected.
They drew weapons and opened fire on Ju without hesitation. Rat-tat-tat, bang, brrrt.
Ju rolled clear, closing the gap with Kangryeong while dodging. "You bastards!"
His roar shattered the ghosts' screams, splitting them apart. That split-second opening was enough. Unhindered, Ju swung the axe low-to-high in one fluid arc.
Kangryeong recoiled in surprise, glasses flying off—sliced clean in two by the blade.
Before the shattered lenses hit the floor, he whipped out his pistol. Ju had anticipated it, reacting fast. Boom, bang.
The bullet grazed his cheek. Agony ripped through his earlobe as it tore free, followed by dull throbs across his body. He'd dodged hastily, but the gang's barrage had already riddled him with wounds. The reaper's uniform blunted some damage, but not enough.
Still, Ju pressed toward Kangryeong. The man was the boss—naturally cautious about pulling the trigger recklessly.
But Kangryeong bared his teeth in a grin and charged Ju with arms wide, as if to embrace him. "You idiot!"
Ju twisted to evade, but the scattered ghosts swarmed back, clinging to his limbs. The moment Kangryeong wrapped him in a bear hug, the gang unloaded without mercy—on both of them.
They didn't stop until magazines ran dry. Click, click.
Acrid gunsmoke filled the museum. Reloading clacks echoed amid the chaos. The exhibited paintings were shredded tatters.
But Ju and Kangryeong were worse.
Moments later, a figure rose from the haze. Kangryeong. His pristine suit and watch were gone; his body a bloody honeycomb, leaking rivers.
Yet he stood calmly, straightening what was left of his clothes. "Ugh, uh... ah..."
He tried to speak, then noticed his jaw dangling. He scooped it up, reattached it. With a gesture, a hovering ghost burrowed into him. It thrashed in resistance but vanished in a blink. His jaw and wounds knit rapidly.
"Hmph. Thought we could talk, but you're a reckless fool."
He muttered down at Ju, slumped on the floor. Still no clue on Ju's identity or backing. Ttakkachi had only coughed up the vague alias "grim reaper."
"He mentioned companions—head to Deokheungjeon. If they're this guy's level, Black Bear can handle 'em. Just in case."
One ghoul offered a wet towel; another, fresh suit and watch.
"Heard the Gangnam branch was on the brink—thought it was some big shot. Turns out, small fry not worth my time. Dump the corpse in the pond."
Wiping blood from his face, something nagged at Kangryeong. Was he wearing that outfit before?
Ju now wore an archaic black hanbok, unlike their first clash. Tactical gear before the hail of bullets, surely. The oddity lingered, but unmoving Ju dismissed it. Ghouls advanced.
Crunch, thud.
As Kangryeong reached the door, bones cleaved and flesh pulped. He turned. Amid bisected ghoul corpses, Ju rose on ragdoll limbs.
"If that's all you've got..." Ju pressed a palm to the hole in his cheek, voice muffled. "Then today makes a fine death day for you, Kangryeong Daegun."
***
Kangryeong stared, unblinking, as Ju stood. The composure from axe swings and bullets evaporated; now he eyed Ju warily.
Fidgeting his lips anxiously, he murmured realization. "...Ah, I see. Another immortal, huh? Makes sense. Explains the mad dog frenzy."
He sighed deeply. "Who? Thought I'd cleared out anyone in Korea who could check me. America? I know they've got someone eyeing me. Or..."
"Shut it. You talk too damn much."
Kangryeong fell silent. Ju swept back his hair wearily. Kangryeong studied him. Blood loss heavy, one eye swollen shut—immortals regenerated eyes slowly, complex organs. Ghouls used small-caliber rounds for mobility. Whatever that hanbok was, it had decent defense; few penetrations. But bullets still shattered bones with impact. Ju's body had to be mush inside.
Pathetic.
Kangryeong's read was spot-on. Ju was a wreck—fatal for any mortal. But amid the lead storm, he'd crammed every healing pill—flesh and bone restoratives—down his throat, enduring. He'd lain still, letting regen kick in minimally. Bound soul as reaper, pill power, uniform defense—they'd held him together. But against a human? He'd have lost.
I'm weaker.
Stats up, skills and gear better. Yet Ju felt diminished. As a human, he'd have schemed dirtier, more thoroughly. Yoo Wol-ryeong said spirit ruled flesh—no fatal wounds, no problem. But for Ju, it missed the point.
He didn't want immortal vs. immortal. Or frail human overcoming mighty undead. He craved to embody crisp true death, delivering it to immortals. No defeat as man or reaper.
What he hadn't expected: Kangryeong's proficiency in immortal brawls. Newbies like Lopez or Jang Han-taek fought defensively, avoiding hits. Zombie hunters' creed—infection meant doom.
But veteran Kangryeong embraced suicide tactics without flinching. Ju needed to adapt.
Too complacent.
No repeats. "You've gathered quite the ghost posse—rare sights these days."
The curator eyed him surprised. "Ho, most don't clock it till they die. Spiritual awakener? Or sharp eyes?"
No need to mention Canine Eyes. But Ju's head throbbed from the ghost swarm. Unlike Jang Han-taek's possession buffs, Kangryeong commanded them outright.
Kangryeong sighed. "Anyway, call round one a draw."
"Draw?"
"Both wrecked, neither dead. We can still move. Situation sucks, so we bail? That's immortal fights."
Ju stared, baffled. Made sense—immortals didn't die easy. No all-out to the death; loser flees when odds sour. Kangryeong seemed wearied by such slogs.
"Don't waste my energy. Scram. Immortal? Hard to catch anyway. No next chance."
"What bullshit."
Ju growled low. Kangryeong blinked, puzzled.
"Wanna keep going?"
"Round one? Draw? Bullshit. A hunt ends when one side drops. I'm here to hunt you—not watch a match."
Kangryeong adjusted his tattered tie. "Ah, right. Cement barrel it is—plenty of reflection time."
Click, click. Ghouls leveled guns anew. More ghosts crammed the museum. Worse than before—no improvements.
Yet Ju's ghostly eyes bored into Kangryeong. "You think you've trapped me?"
"Else what're you now?"
"Laid the board to end your ass and org quick. You walked right in."
Ju crushed something in his hanbok folds. Museum-shaking blast—windows shattered. Power grid died instantly.
***
Lights out, museum plunged dark. Kangryeong glimpsed pale green-glowing eyes flashing past.
"Fire!"
Gunshots cracked. But ghouls couldn't tag Ju blind in black. Kangryeong cursed them. Loyal, tireless, but dumb as rocks beyond orders. Flashlights late—Ju's spot empty.
Soft footsteps pattered fast yet faint from museum shadows. Kangryeong prickled; too stealthy.
Eyes fine?
Chill hit. He'd shut them not from injury—but to adapt faster than them, sans will-o'-wisps.
Sudden glare: Kangryeong alone lit up. Dim glow, but sole light in blackout—perfect target.
Click. Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Dozens of rounds slammed his body. Ju had pasted a will-o'-wisp on him—like a bullseye.