The Barbarian's Fist
"Didn't sleep well? You don't look so good."
Parm Wirson said that as they sat facing each other over breakfast. Jin-cheol stirred the mystery mush—some kind of porridge stew hybrid—and replied.
"Woke up early from a nightmare. But you can read my face like that?"
"Like I said yesterday, you're not that unfamiliar to me. Reading expressions is a piece of cake. Anyway, ready for today's lesson?"
"Not tired. Should be fine."
Parm nodded at Jin-cheol's answer.
"Good. I'll head ahead and set up. Come to the infirmary after you eat."
Parm, who'd scarfed down his otherworldly sushi substitute for breakfast, stood up. Jin-cheol nodded vaguely and shoveled in the bland slop. Damn, already missing Atukai's village. This place looked like a modern freighter, but the food was army slop level. He was gulping it down just to clear the plate when he felt eyes on him.
"Hm?"
He looked up. In the corner, a cluster of Esai were glancing their way. What? Why stare? When Jin-cheol met their gazes, they quickly looked away. He didn't. Their appearance fascinated him.
He'd learned about them from Tobi and seen them in the mess hall yesterday, but up close like this, he couldn't look away. They had pale purple or dark gray skin. Even Jin-cheol, battle-hardened with aliens alongside the allied forces, found the color alien. Long ears, vertical slit pupils—like eerie cat eyes. He'd thought elf at first, but those eyes were too off-putting. Closer inspection showed they weren't human-like at all.
Not Olrog-ugly, though. Hell, even Olrogs were starting to feel familiar after bumping into them in the mess the last couple days. These Esai seemed approachable enough.
He scraped at his mush while staring, then crammed the rest in his mouth and stood. Tempted to chat, but he didn't speak Esai yet. With Olrogs, basic communication worked somehow, but fluent talk was better. Foreigners who nailed Korean always got a likeability boost, right?
Jin-cheol cleared his dishes and left the mess. He felt Esai stares on his back but ignored them. Stare all you want. What're you gonna do?
Out on deck for a digestive stroll, a bright morning sky and cool river breeze greeted him. The ship pulsed with a faint thump-thump like a heartbeat and the shhh of slicing water. Modern boats roared with motors—this was mystical.
"Definitely some kinda magic..."
Magic ups the isekai odds. Jin-cheol leaned on the railing. Chilly river wind brushed his face, sweeping away last night's nightmare and parting blues.
Then, Olrogs and Dobermann-like Kampoeni poured onto deck from below. They spotted him but just glanced past. Jin-cheol stayed put, watching from the rail. They whispered among themselves, then started shifting crates to one corner. Making space for new cargo, probably.
After a moment, Jin-cheol turned. Parm was waiting. He knocked at the infirmary; Parm appeared. Desk, chair, and a big black slate stood ready—like a chalkboard to Jin-cheol.
"There you are."
"Yeah. Been waiting?"
"Not really. Let's begin."
Parm sat Jin-cheol at the prepared desk and started chalking words on the board. Actual chalkboard.
"You already speak Kampoeni fluently, so other tongues should be easy. Each race's language is like dialects—close enough."
"Huh. Different races, similar speech?"
"Hence theories all races once shared one tongue, forming a utopia."
"Utopia? Not utopia?"
Parm paused mid-scrawl and turned.
"...Some ancient linguists pronounced it that way. Can't confirm—my ancient linguistics fall short. How'd a forest newbie know?"
"Forests got their own wisdom."
Jin-cheol grinned it off. Isekai odds minus one.
"Atukai must have old texts. I'd love to see them. Anyway, start memorizing Kampoeni words and their racial equivalents."
Lesson flew by. Parm favored simple, intuitive explanations; Jin-cheol's inexplicably sharp brain devoured rote memory. By noon, he could introduce himself and chat weather in Baika and Esai tongues.
"Incredible. You really didn't know Baika?"
"Kampoeni's recent too."
Parm shook his head in disbelief.
"What was all my university time for? You've got a gift for languages, Jin-cheol."
First praise like that—Jin-cheol just grinned. Flashed him back to village hype over basics. Isekai where drinking water earns cheers. He shook it off.
"Got other questions beyond words."
"Ask away. I'll explain what I know."
"History, I guess. Old tales—"
The door rattled open. Both glanced over; the intruder froze. Parm quickly assessed.
"Injured? Come here."
"...Yeah. Hurt."
An Olrog—the one who'd unloaded Kampoeni cargo yesterday. Iron chunk necklace gleamed on his neck.
"Arm wound."
"Totosaga dropped cargo—smashed me. Hurts..."
The Olrog dragged to the other desk—Parm's probably. Parm cleared junk and treated the forearm gash. Smeared dark liquid; Olrog shuddered. Antiseptic?
Parm applied thick ointment, wrapped neat bandage. Jin-cheol noted the world's tech patchwork: Atukai grimy with mud and sap, Baika ship with proper meds. Yet they traded. Messy world.
Watching the wrap, Jin-cheol blurted,
"Holding up?"
"...?"
Olrog blinked blankly at him. Jin-cheol leaned back.
"That neck bomb—real deal?"
"...Talking to me?"
"Who else? Not Parm."
Parm eyed them curiously but kept wrapping silently. Olrog blinked again.
"Bomb necklace?"
"Blows your head off if you bolt or hit the captain."
"...Yeah. How'd you know?"
"Obvious. How'd it get on your neck?"
Olrog tilted his head, puzzled why he cared.
"Hunted an Esai near Siol. Cooked it—patrol caught me. Thought I'd die, but they said work or death. Chose work. Lucky."
"Lucky to be slave?"
"Lucky. Not dead. Alive means chances."
"..."
Kid's got philosophy. Jin-cheol chuckled dryly.
"Heard about your kind—got questions."
"What?"
"Why eat people? You chat with other races fine— no guilt eating talkers?"
Olrog scratched chin with good hand.
"Why not eat?"
"...Why not?"
"Hunt to eat. You kill for fun?"
Jin-cheol nearly snapped no—froze recalling war's human scum. Was "you" him or humans?
"Post-hunt, thank prey for full belly, for becoming your blood and flesh. No reason split people from others."
"Talker or not, hunted means daily bread?"
"Hunt when hungry. Miss, you starve. Catch, it feeds you. Hunter-prey, that's it."
Jin-cheol studied the Olrog's mildly glum face—same as first meet.
"Here on ship—get hungry, hunt work buddies?"
"...No."
"Why?"
Glummer now.
"...They're comrades. Can't eat comrades."
'Them' vs 'us' more fluid? Or group intelligence shapes values. Individuals over race? Other races like him?
"...Dunno. Not a xenobiology prof."
Shaking his head thoughtfully, bandage done—Olrog stood, bowed faintly to Parm, left.
"Hey."
"...What now. Questions annoy."
Slurring on purpose? Nah, that prey gratitude was fluent.
"Name?"
"...Udim."
"See ya, Udim."
Udim eyed him like a weirdo, tilted head, then out. Tidying up, Parm commented casually,
"Odd questions. First to ask Olrog that."
"Weirder no one has."
"Is it? Your race all that curious?"
Jin-cheol barked a laugh.
"My race? Plenty assholes, yeah."
"Ho. Big community. Never saw your minority in university."
"...Yeah. That's the issue."
"Issue?"
Jin-cheol thunked head back, stared at gray ceiling.
"...Where my people at?"
Parm blinked moist eyes at him. Jin-cheol looked beat.
*
Short break—back to deck. Cargo sorted; quiet. Breeze cool, sky clear like morning.
"Weather's killer."
Leaning on rail, eyes shut, sunbathing—not bad. Bamboo huts missed at dawn, but scenery soothed now.
Sun-soak paused. Eyes snapped open—clank of scabbard on armor ahead. Four Esai passing.
"Gorillas with pistols, yet swords and plate?"
Pistols barely pierced my chest. Maybe isekai gunpowder sucks—armor works.
They spotted him too. Jin-cheol staring blankly, they whispered, then strode over purposefully.
He watched from rail. Lead Esai spoke.
"You, barbarian. Name? Speak Esai?"
Barbarian? Unforeseen—Jin-cheol couldn't stifle the snort.
"Dare laugh before Antela warrior?"
Esai faces hardened—already stiff, now grim. Jin-cheol was baffled. Shorter by heads, skinny—local thugs vibe.
Grinning still,
"Why'm I barbarian?"
"...Speaks Esai. Learned from medic—or knew already?"
"My tongue's no business of yours."
"That attitude... Whatever. Name? Esai blood? More kin?"
High-handed, ignoring prior words. Even Captain Romuto Quaibek showed respect—this scrawny sword-jocks saw him as dirt. Mood soured. Fuck this.
"Don't feel like telling."
"What?"
Spokesman blinked, then chill settled. Wingman gripped sword hilt.
Oh ho. Chat wrong, draw steel?
But no draw—leader blocked the hand, raised fist instead, stepped up.
"Unciv'ized barbarians need blood to learn place and power."
Half-day lesson, and I get it. Bullshit's the problem.
Fist cocked, he stopped at arm's reach, chin high.
"Teaching Antela dignity to such filth—warrior's honor!"
Mid-sentence, fist snapped at Jin-cheol's jaw—fast, clean ambush. Connected; head snapped sideways.
"..."
Esai planned follow-up on rude barbarian. Couldn't grasp Ishanka or Amuta's caution. Outlaws knelt to force—like slaving Olrogs. Knock down, interrogate.
But froze. Jin-cheol's sideways-glanced eyes met his—like adult eyeing naughty kids, pondering punishment.
That gaze chilled him spine-deep, locked muscles. Jin-cheol said,
"You struck first, right?"
Crack—Esai body lifted, flew back. Jin-cheol's palm-slap to cheek. Power reined—head intact. Clatter of deck and armor. Foe slumped unconscious.
Jin-cheol dusted hands, eyed the stunned trio.
"Barbarian fist packs heat, eh? Want a taste too?"