The Crocodile's Den
Zeon tracked Goran.
Goran left almost no traces, but he hadn't concealed them perfectly either.
Moving through the city inevitably left marks behind.
Whether on walls or floors, or in people's reactions and gazes, all of it became clues from which the situation could be inferred.
Zeon was exceptionally skilled at this kind of pursuit.
Just by sweeping his eyes over the surroundings, he could deduce the path Goran had taken.
The problem was the people getting in the way of his tracking.
Boom!
A man passing right by Zeon's side exploded without any warning whatsoever.
Fortunately, Zeon had dodged at the last instant and escaped unharmed. But everyone else nearby was caught in the blast and lost their lives.
"Hic! Hic!"
"It hurts!"
The few survivors wailed in terror or screamed.
The street turned into pandemonium in seconds, people scattering in every direction like a swarm of locusts.
The suicide attacks targeting Zeon kept coming, one after another.
What set them apart from typical suicide bombings was that the detonators weren't acting of their own free will.
True suicide attackers chose death willingly, but these victims perished without even realizing they'd exploded.
Goran ruthlessly turned slum dwellers into living bombs. The sacrifices had no idea they'd been selected as explosives by him.
Kwaaang!
Another explosion rocked the area.
This time, two people nearby blew up simultaneously.
Those in the vicinity died or were wounded, plunging the street into utter chaos.
The closer Zeon got to Goran, the worse the casualties became.
Only then did Zeon grasp why everyone feared the man.
"It's all because of that bastard."
"Explosions keep happening wherever he shows up."
"You fucking dog!"
The victims turned their rage on Zeon.
They blamed him as the cause.
It was a suicide strike using ordinary folk who weren't even Awakeners.
Even surviving the blast unscathed left you drowning in guilt.
Goran knew exactly how to dominate through terror—and how to hit his foe where it hurt most.
This way, he painted Zeon as the enemy of all.
In some respects, it was more terrifying than a head-on assault.
No one could move freely if innocents around them suffered or died because of it.
Goran understood that human frailty better than anyone and exploited it masterfully.
He was the worst kind of enemy to face.
The rumor that Zeon was hunting Goran had spread across all of Shinchon. Goran's people had leaked it on purpose.
It was a message.
One from Goran to the slum residents.
If you don't stop Zeon, you'll die.
So kill him yourselves.
His words reached the people loud and clear.
"You fucking prick!"
"You dare chase after Lord Goran?"
"Die!"
Sheer malice zeroed in on Zeon.
This was uncharted territory for him.
In the desert, lines were stark.
Enemy or ally—crystal clear.
Not so here.
Folks chased their own interests.
Justice? Revenge? Distant fairy tales.
Survival and gain came first. So they came at Zeon.
But their assaults bounced off harmlessly.
Stones or blades from civilians couldn't nick his skin.
The real threat was those who closed in before detonating.
They never knew, right up to the end, that they were human bombs.
Goran had methodically rigged slum dwellers as shields long ago.
Mana drain limited numbers, but he'd seeded enough across the streets to erupt on his behalf.
Zeon's gaze flicked over the approaching crowd.
After a few blasts, he could spot Goran's handiwork by their tells alone.
"You, you bastard! Lord Goran..."
A middle-aged man, eyes bulging, voice rising.
Zeon clocked it as the prelude to boom. The yeller remained oblivious.
Worth a shot...
Zeon launched at him.
Palm slammed over the man's face before he could react.
"What the hell..."
"Stay still—I'm saving your ass."
Thud!
Zeon's mana surged in via the man's face, channeled through the Superheat Gauntlet.
Heat infiltrated deep.
Compressed flames tore through his innards, incinerating the contaminants.
Those were Goran's implanted mana and blood—the trigger.
He'd defused the poor bastard.
"Gah!"
The man crumpled, legs buckling.
He had no clue Zeon had spared him. Nor did Zeon care to enlighten.
Chasing Goran took priority.
No time to let him dig in.
Zeon ramped up the pace.
No room for bombers to get close.
Relentless hunt led him to a dingy warehouse on Shinchon's edge.
Door swung open to stairs plunging underground.
Zeon muttered.
"Scumbags always hole up underground."
Not that he blamed them.
He'd do the same.
Zeon descended without pause.
Past experience made it routine.
The cramped sewer reeked to high hell.
Faint hearts would've blacked out on the fumes. Zeon didn't flinch, bolting through.
"He's on our tail."
Goran scowled faintly at Eiba's report.
"Tenacious fucker. Tracking us this far."
Human bombs sent as warnings, over and over.
Back off—I'm dangerous.
Zeon mocked it, closing in like a storm.
Goran eyed their trail.
"Never thought one punk would push me here."
"He's a powerhouse."
"I know. B-rank minimum—could be A or better."
"Sent from Neo Seoul, maybe?"
"Can't rule it out."
Neo Seoul hated slum powers swelling too much.
They crushed them every which way.
New Awakener pops up? They swoop in like ghosts to recruit.
Zeon dropped from the sky, zero backstory.
Smacked of city hall.
Goran ground his teeth.
If Neo Seoul dispatched him to kneecap Goran's empire, it meant war. But Zeon came first.
This stinking sewer wasn't flight—it held his ace, no forces needed.
Goran quizzed Eiba.
"Ever hear 'the one who caused it must fix it'?"
"News to me."
"Huhu! Picked it up lately. Old pre-cataclysm wisdom—the instigator cleans up their mess."
"Makes sense."
Eiba's eyes crinkled in a knowing smile.
Now she got why he'd picked this route.
Goran declared.
"He'll regret crossing me to his marrow."
"Boss as always."
"No one defies me in these streets and lives. Shinchon's small fry. I'll unite the slums, storm those walls someday, rule Neo Seoul. That's my destiny."
"I'll stick with you till then."
"Move!"
"Right!"
They melted into the sewer gloom.
Zeon emerged much later.
He halted at their spot, scoping the area.
"Yeah, this is it."
Zeon wasn't dense.
Goran's ploy was obvious.
Luring him deeper? Amateur hour not to spot it.
But retreat? Nah.
Zeon pressed on.
The air shifted sometime after.
No more damp squelch—soft sand underfoot.
Waterway cleared.
Zeon scooped sand.
It poured silkily between fingers.
A feral grin tugged his lips.
"Knew it—sand down deep."
Neo Seoul sat on dunes.
Sewers sucked it in.
Water dragged it here, piled high.
Zeon trekked the sands to the end.
Goran and Eiba waited.
Not alone.
Crocodile-scaled thugs packed the cavern, led by the bumpy-skinned boss.
Zeon pegged them instantly.
"Crocodiles."
Bang on—their lair.
Bumpy hide belonged to Croker, their chief.
Croker glowered at Goran, not Zeon.
"I asked you to handle him, right?"
"Sure did."
"So why drag him here?"
"Huhu! Tougher than he looked. Bit more than I could chew solo."
Goran flashed pearly whites.
Croker's mug turned to granite.
No need for Goran if they could squash Zeon themselves. Hired him to cut losses—but he'd imported apocalypse.
Prime den. Its fall guts the underground crocs. Goran knew, still baited.
"Let's coexist, help each other out. Symbiosis, yeah?"
"You son of a..."
"Easy. Enemy's him."
Goran jabbed at Zeon.
He'd tangled once—knew the threat.
Croker let go of the collar.
Payback could wait.
Intruder first.
Croker eyed Zeon.
"Blowing this out of proportion over one mana generator. You're a real piece of work."
"Why eye my gear? Plenty else out there."
"If easy to snag alternatives, would've."
"Your shortcoming, then."
"Won't be mouthing off soon."
Croker lumbered forward, thudding heavy.
His crocs trailed.
Goran chuckled at the sight.
"Huhu! Perfect setup now."
Madness lit his eyes.
Long coveted this spot.
Croker guarded the "secret," but Goran had mapped it ages back.
"Huhu! Fight it out. Both croaking? Bonus."