The Tasters (3)
Berjnak was in a bind. All because of Shira Vito.
"You mean martial arts?"
Shira nodded.
"You're already pretty good at it. Why bring it up now...?"
"Compared to tasters like Chardonnay or Grenache, I'm sorely lacking."
"The tasters are those who've honed their skills surviving near-death experiences. I'm not joking—some of them actually went mad or lost their blood blessings. Besides, you have plenty of talent, Shira."
"I'm not even using a tenth of my potential right now. I inherited Father's blood directly, but I can't even muster half of half its power. Even you, Berjnak—you're way better than me."
"Teaching you wouldn't be hard, but your body's not in normal condition. You've lost too much blood; even if you learn, you won't perform at full strength. Plus, honing your abilities would be more advantageous than martial arts, which have limits. You have the talent, after all."
"But..."
"Focus on recovery for now. Eating well and rebuilding your body is the path to strength. So why the sudden urge to get stronger?"
Shira shut his mouth.
He'd finally gotten detailed intel on the Knight Order from Ju Kang-rim, but Shira had no idea how to use it. Telling Berjnak would lead to questions about the source, and leaking it secretly wouldn't earn him credit. In the end, he'd have to hunt Knight Order members himself when the chance arose.
But right now, Shira had no strength.
"I need to at least pull my weight before Father arrives. If all I've done here is screw things up, it'll shame him."
"Hmm..."
Berjnak still seemed reluctant, but he knew he couldn't just suppress Shira. Among the royal family, Shira's position was ambiguous. His siblings shone in politics, arts, and business, but Shira had no standout talent. It was unusual for an immortal with such a long lifespan.
Well, Shira was special from birth, after all.
The main family's members were rigorously selected—even assassins. Royal family members went without saying. But Shira hadn't gone through that process. He'd entered through a somewhat complicated, special route.
So even without talent, Shira had contributed by mingling with the rank-and-file. Lately, though, his head had been scraped too much on the asphalt, leaving him a bit off.
"Fine. Then I'll lend you some gear my godfather gave me long ago."
"From Father?"
"I've been retired from fieldwork for ages, so you'd better hold onto it."
Berjnak rubbed his palm, then plunged his other hand into it. The hand warped into something between liquid and gas, dispersing into black haze—before spitting out a silver gleam. Two steel stiletto daggers, each as long as an arm.
"You know how to use stilettos?"
"Yeah."
"This isn't your average stiletto. It's like a syringe."
"A syringe?"
"I'll show you."
Berjnak gripped a stiletto in each hand, stomped back with his heel, and turned to aim at Shira. Shira conjured blades from his hands and assumed a stance.
Without warning, Berjnak charged. Shira deflected the attack effortlessly. Even with his dulled senses, it felt slow and clumsy. He aimed to slice Berjnak's arm in the opening—but suddenly, blood splattered into his eyes.
It poured from Berjnak's stiletto. Before Shira could process it, his vision went black. Agony exploded as his eyes dissolved.
Blind, Shira focused on regenerating his eyes and regaining balance—but blood sprayed the back of his neck. His cervical spine severed.
Before his body hit the ground, Berjnak stabbed the stiletto into him repeatedly—liver, heart, spleen. Blood lingered at each wound, seizing control of Shira's body.
Moments later, Berjnak addressed the fallen Shira.
"Get it now?"
"......"
Shira nodded weakly instead of answering. Berjnak released his hold on the blood dominating Shira's nervous system. The blood Berjnak had injected absorbed into Shira, rapidly repairing his body.
Main family assassins didn't hold back during training to spare lives—they fought to kill, even in simple spars. Shira had tried to sever Berjnak's arm, so he couldn't complain.
Berjnak held the stiletto's hilt before Shira's eyes. A sharp needle pierced through his palm.
"Blood absorbed through this needle collects at the tip. You can shoot it or spray it if you want. But the best is injecting it directly into the enemy."
"Directly?"
"You know detached body parts can't be controlled directly. But blood drawn out via this stiletto can be manipulated briefly."
An astonishing weapon. Tasters, with their long careers, often wielded such special tools.
"Simply, it can heal or act like poison. Used delicately, it can induce blood clots or halt regeneration. More useful against immortals than humans."
Shira flinched. He'd hidden his intent to hunt Knight Order members for recognition, but Berjnak seemed to have seen through it. Yet here he was, handing over a blade from Basha Vito to help.
Shira took the stiletto and nodded.
"Thanks."
"No problem. You don't have to tell me your situation now—just speak up if issues arise. Godfather would..."
Berjnak trailed off. One of the tasters, Muska, rushed into the living room, his face etched with rare bewilderment and fury.
"We have a problem."
"Problem?"
Instead of explaining, Muska held up his smartphone.
Berjnak rubbed his eyes and looked again, then regenerated them entirely before peering at the phone.
"What the hell? Is the poster insane? Or am I?"
"It's real. I've already hit 'dislike,' but..."
With assassins' safehouse and identities plastered online, a dislike wasn't enough.
Berjnak frantically checked the comments. Most treated it as a joke. The Vito Family was a massive mafia known even to civilians, but no one would take "assassins" seriously.
"It's not just this."
Muska followed links, showing how it spread across awakener pages, humor sites, and SNS. Most reactions were amused—"Assassins this hot exist?"—but some worried, "Murderers entering our country?"
Among viewers, some surely knew their purpose. The Vitos had plenty of enemies.
Berjnak gritted his teeth and ordered Muska.
"Call the tasters now. Pack up. We're changing safehouses."
Arlberg Hotel was the safest for Vito Family. But the leak itself was the issue—possible betrayal inside. Several photos were taken inside Arlberg.
"And ask your master to track the poster. Once identified, kill them as slowly as possible."
Muska nodded. Shira watched anxiously, wondering if this tied to Ju Kang-rim. But he'd shared no taster info, so he dismissed it.
"Berjnak! Where to?"
"Can't stay with Arlberg specified. Don't know the leak source. No info on me, luckily, so find a new safehouse for the tasters and I'll return."
Berjnak patted Shira's shoulder and left without further explanation.
"Young master, wait here. I'll be back soon. That stiletto takes time to master, but you have assassin talent—you'll get it quick. Practice till I return."
"Mm..."
Shira suddenly thought "great assassin" just meant "undetected serial killer." But it was too late—he was already an accomplished one.
"Cars ready underground!"
Muska reported briskly. Berjnak nodded and departed with the tasters.
They're moving.
Leaking the photos via Cyber Fiend to provoke the Vito Family had worked.
At dawn, Ju Kang-rim, waiting outside Arlberg Hotel, spotted three emerging Benzes and started his engine. A rental for this mission.
No matter how cocky about their looks, they couldn't ignore "Vito Family" and "assassins" plastered publicly. Shapeshifting could hide faces, but Ju Kang-rim's goal was just luring them out.
But he soon faltered.
Splitting to counter tails?
The three cars split immediately: one north, one west, one south. The feared scenario.
Smart foes would anticipate tails.
Ju Kang-rim signaled rearward. Yoo Wol-ryeong in the Hummer tailed the southbound Benz. He pursued west.
Using Ttakkachi was an option, but tunnels or garages complicated it. Korea's CCTV-dense roads were better.
Soon, the westbound Benz entered "Garden 7," a massive abandoned complex—relic of a failed admin project, hulking department-store-sized buildings looming empty.
The Benz parked dead center in what was a plaza, not a lot. Driver didn't care.
Ju Kang-rim parked grimly.
Only moved this far?
He realized they'd spotted the tail. He'd been careful, but pros were hard to fool.
Of course—if tailed, they'd lure to safehouse? No, drag to remote spot, kill, proceed. Or capture for intel.
The derelict mall gaped eerily, like a monster swallowing him. But Ju Kang-rim didn't hesitate. He parked only to spare the rental scratches.
He drew his Saingeom and headed in.
Thud.
Over the wall, he locked eyes with a man before the Benz. A Vito taster. "Grenache," the Italian in Ju Kang-rim's memory.
Grenache waited calmly.
"You post that online?"
Ju Kang-rim ignored the pointless talk, drawing hand axes instead.
Grenache seemed pleased, smiling as he hefted a massive two-handed axe from the car.
Ju Kang-rim startled at its size, dwarfing his own.
"Wanna see whose is bigger?"
"Size isn't everything."
"Why assume it is? My technique's superb too."
Yoo Wol-ryeong was right. Ju Kang-rim stomped the ground and dove into grim reaper duties proper.