Whispers from the Dead
“Are you alright?”
Ishanka flinched at the hand steadying her from the side. Turning her head, she saw Amuta's pale face.
“Yeah, I'm fine... Wait, what about you?”
“I'm alright too.”
“Don't bullshit me. I know you're not the type to go pale just from worrying about me.”
As she spoke, she placed her hand on Amuta's breastplate. A stifled groan clearly escaped his lips.
“Ishanka... ma'am...”
“Fool. Looks like your ribs are cracked. We need to call the ship's medic.”
“Ishanka, more importantly...”
Amuta's face was grave—not from pain, but as if pleading his case. His gaze fixed ahead. It was clear what he meant: Look at Jin-cheol over there, standing tall like the legendary superhuman who slew ancient beasts, panting before the mechanical beast's corpse.
The deck battle was wrapping up. The Antela warriors were the victors, and most pirates were already dead and cooling or bleeding out. The Antela warriors who had claimed victory stared at Jin-cheol in stunned silence.
“...Casualties?”
“Two. One will be dead before nightfall, the other needs treatment.”
“You're the one who needs treatment. Who's on the brink of death?”
“Peran.”
Ishanka's face hardened.
“...Everyone else alright?”
“No serious injuries.”
“Got it. Clean up the deck then.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Ishanka straightened her clothes and approached Jin-cheol. Amuta watched her and Jin-cheol for a moment before turning to the other warriors.
*
“Fuck, that stings like a bitch.”
Jin-cheol lifted his forearms, clawed by the mechanical beast, and hissed. Blood poured from the cracked skin. But what worried him more was tetanus. One of those claws had definitely been rusty as hell.
“Are you alright?”
As he blinked back tears of pain, Parm approached. Oh, teacher. Getting casual with me now?
“Alright my ass. It hurts like fuck.”
“Oh dear. Let me see.”
Parm hurried over to examine the wound but soon tilted his head.
“...Doesn't look bad. Skin's split, but no major vessels hit. Bleeding's already stopped anyway. Just disinfect and bandage it in the infirmary later.”
“Gonna need stitches.”
“Stitches? Can't you see the wound's already closing? Stitching it would just make it worse.”
“Then what about painkillers? This shit hurts bad.”
Not knowing the Baika word for analgesic, he put it that way, and Parm's eyes curved in amusement.
“Painkillers? You don't need any. Just disinfect and you're good.”
“But the patient says it hurts...”
“I said you're fine.”
This guy. Wanna take a mech tiger claw to the arms and say that?
As Jin-cheol and Parm bantered, someone approached with a polite cough. Both turned. It was the Esai, Ishanka.
She clasped her hands politely in front of her face and said,
“I am Ishanka of the Antela. What is your name?”
“...Kang Jin-cheol.”
You already know that.
Jin-cheol narrowed his eyes at her. Just moments ago, in the heat of the moment and sudden doubt, he'd yelled shit like bitch and worse. Luckily, not in Esai tongue. If she'd understood, those sword-wielders would've had him on his knees in seconds.
“Kang Jin-cheol. We thank you for your aid. In the name of the Antela, we will repay you.”
“Uh, sure... But I got some questions for you...”
“Forgive me, but talk later.”
This elf just says her piece.
Ignoring Jin-cheol's thoughts, Ishanka turned and headed to the fallen pirate sorcerer. His chest had a longsword protruding like a white tombstone.
What're you gonna do with the corpse?
Then came the sound of ropes snapping—thud thud. Looking up, Jin-cheol saw the pirate airship, all ladders cut, floating away high.
“Hey? Those fuckers are escaping?”
“Indeed.”
Parm's flat reply left Jin-cheol dumbfounded.
“...That's it? We should chase the pirates left on that ship, right?”
“Us? Now? How?”
“Uh...”
“What we should do is report to the Siol patrol when we arrive. They'll tighten patrols on the Sidalia River and put out a warrant for that airship.”
“They'll catch 'em quick?”
“Who knows? If they're dumb enough to enter Siol, sure. But if they flee to another region? Could take years.”
What the hell.
Jin-cheol let out a hollow laugh in disbelief. He'd thought rare because no special guards on board, but with security this lax, anyone would raid cargo ships.
Reading his mind, Parm said,
“Look at this cargo ship's size and armor. Unless we stop on purpose and drop ladders, no river boat can board us. We just shove 'em off usually. Wooden boats shatter and sink.”
“But they had an airship.”
“Airship pirates aren't rare. Pirates targeting a food cargo ship? Even rarer. Hiring armed guards for such slim odds? Romuto Quaibek would never.”
Huh. World makes less sense the more I know.
Turning, Jin-cheol saw Ishanka kneeling before the pirate sorcerer. She placed her right hand over the corpse's face, eyes closed, whispering something. Parm's face twisted slightly at the sight.
Jin-cheol cautiously asked,
“...What's she doing? Praying for his soul?”
“No, that's... such an outrageous act...”
“Outrageous?”
Then Ishanka's forehead circlet flashed. From her palm over the face, something flowed like sweat—thick silver liquid, creeping into the corpse's features like it had a mind of its own.
“What the hell is that?”
“Necromancy...!”
Necromancy? Esai magic again?
As Jin-cheol thought that, the face soaked in silver twitched like reviving. He gaped.
“...He's not dead?”
“No, he's dead. That's Yo-sul you can only use on the freshly deceased...”
Suddenly, Ishanka snapped her eyes open before the twitching face and demanded,
“Name.”
“...Nanami. Saukai Nanami.”
The corpse's mouth stuttered like a broken machine but formed clear words.
Jin-cheol stared blankly as Ishanka continued calmly,
“A Saukai survivor. How did you know I was aboard?”
“...Commission. Baika merchant ship's Antela delegation info. He... knew I couldn't refuse...”
“Client's goal?”
“...The artifact you'll have.”
“Artifact? All I have now is... So another faction...”
Ishanka's face darkened, fatigue from anticipating tough fights ahead.
But the corpse's mouth moved on its own.
“Hee, heehee. No. Not one of the seven houses. No interest in Sun Temple repairs. He wanted something worthless amid those parts. An artifact none of us—you, me—know the value of...”
Ishanka's eyes sharpened, her eerie features turning blade-like.
“Be precise.”
“Heehee, heeheehee... He pretended it didn't matter, but I know. He wanted something else among those parts. So important he offered gold mountains...”
“What parts? No—who's the client?”
Ishanka's circlet glowed brighter. The face convulsed like under electric shock. Then, one eye glared at her fiercely.
“Won't tell you, bitch.”
The eye burst red inside. The convulsing face slackened. Muscles twitched, but not like before.
“...Defiant even in death. So Saukai. That hatred doomed you, pirate. Should've been colder for revenge on my lord...”
Muttering, Ishanka withdrew the silver liquid back into her palm. Jin-cheol watched, now intrigued.
“What the hell was that?”
“Silver blood... the sorcerer's blood. A mystery even Baika scholars can't fathom. But few sorcerers wield necromancy with it...”
“All sorcerers have that blood?”
Parm whispered,
“Sorcerers have red blood too. Yo-sul is finding and wielding the faint silver blood within...”
Fucking wild.
Jin-cheol stroked his chin in awe. Talking to the dead? Magic. His mental 'Isekai Trip Theory' notched a point for fantasy.
As he pondered, Ishanka pulled the longsword from the corpse like a tombstone. Examining it, she offered it to Jin-cheol with both hands.
“Your sword?”
“Uh? Yeah...”
He took it reflexively. Ishanka tilted her chin up.
“Fine blade. Beautiful edge.”
“...Thanks.”
No, wait—I had questions.
But face-to-face, words failed. How do I say it? 'You were in my dream, elf bitch—no, you appeared in my dream. And now we meet...'? Not like meeting fate's partner. Or 'Saw your face in a nightmare'? Same weirdness. What then?
She'd just revived the dead for chat. Entering dreams? Trivial. In that nightmare, her tentacles demanded his identity.
Instinct won.
“We know each other, right?”
“...Pardon?”
Disbelief crossed Ishanka's face, like he'd spouted nonsense. But Jin-cheol caught a fleeting fluster. Human-like features let him read it—though no guarantee of human emotions.
Esai still felt alien. He couldn't be sure.
“...Nah, just thought you looked familiar.”
“This is our first meeting on this deck. Must be mistaken identity.”
Damn, hunch but no proof. Can't slap her like before.
Irritation rose. Fuck it, just deck her?
Amuta approached.
“We'll handle the deck now. Please head below.”
“Mm. Peran?”
“Preparing to carry her inside. She's already un...”
Amuta's face was stone, but Ishanka's shadowed with deep gloom. Jin-cheol glanced at the Antela warriors: one down, others tending her.
Seeing it, Parm bellowed,
“You idiots! Dangerous patient and you don't call me?!”
Ditching his poised demeanor, he rushed the fallen warrior. Checking her, he yelled again,
“You fools! Critical case and you're dawdling—get her to the infirmary now!”
“Wait. We're warriors walking blade's edge; we know death wounds from treatable. Better hear her last—”
“Shut it! All patients on this ship are my charge—I haven't pronounced death! Jin-cheol!”
“Yeah?”
Dazed, Jin-cheol answered as Parm scooped the unconscious warrior.
“Check for others and bring to infirmary!”
“I'm a patient too?”
“Bring patients, I'll disinfect!”
Jin-cheol shrugged. Casual and bossy already.
“Pirates?”
“...Bring any still alive.”
Parm dashed to the cabin, two Antela following. Before entering, they met another Baika: Romuto Quaibek. Emerged from safety once quiet.
“...”
“...”
They eyed each other with those slick gazes. Romuto glanced at the warrior in Parm's arms, then stepped aside. Parm ran past wordlessly.
Romuto's eyes gleamed, scanning the deck. He approached Ishanka.
“Ishanka ma'am.”
“Captain Romuto.”
A curt eye-greeting passed. Romuto's eyes narrowed.
“Ship's badly damaged. Massive losses.”
“...I get what you're saying. But does it compare to our blood?”
Tension crackled between them. Jin-cheol slipped away. Not the time to cling like a kid demanding dream explanations. If she was the dream woman, she'd seek him—she had been investigating.
Find proof, then slap.
As leaders haggled reparations, Jin-cheol found injured workers: grazed by stray shots, a black-footed Kampoeni punched by an Olrog. One pirate still lived, stabbed but breathing, trembling at approaching Jin-cheol. Helping him below, an Olrog—Udim—lent a hand.
Jin-cheol just smirked silently and moved.
The midnight pirate raid ended thus. The infirmary's night was about to begin.