Toward the Infirmary
Walking down the narrow crew corridor toward the infirmary, Udim—who was supporting one of the pirates alongside him—spoke up.
"Thanks."
There were pirates being helped along right then and there, and more wounded trailing behind, but it was painfully obvious who he was talking to.
Jin-cheol just flashed a grin without a word.
Udim spoke again. "Like I said, my name's Udim. What's yours?"
"Kang Jin-cheol. Call me Jin-cheol."
"Hm... Jin-cheol. If you ever get hungry later, I'll cut you some meat from my thigh."
Jin-cheol recoiled at the out-of-left-field remark. "What the fuck kinda nonsense is that?"
"Nonsense? Nah. Means I won't eat you."
"Oh yeah? Who said anything about eating who?"
Was Jin-cheol now part of this reckless gorilla's "us" now, too? Not that gorilla meat was on his menu anytime soon. Hell, Jin-cheol had never planned on hunting and eating other sentient races like the Olrogs did when hunger struck.
They reached the infirmary after navigating the tight corridor. Pushing open the door revealed surgery already underway in one corner—Parm and an Esai warrior fussing over a patient on the central bed.
"Ah, you're here. Hold on a sec. This one's critical... Oh dear. Looks like that one's in bad shape too."
The "that one" Parm was referring to was the pirate being propped up by Jin-cheol and Udim.
As he dragged the guy to the last empty bed, Jin-cheol said, "This bastard's the only one in real danger. No one else looks like they're about to croak. That disinfectant, right?"
"What? Oh, yeah. Sorry, Jin-cheol—mind handling the others with that?"
"On it."
Jin-cheol grabbed a fistful of bandages—stacked up in one corner, probably set out by Parm—and headed to the pirate shivering on the bed. The guy was Esai, but with skin far more purple-tinged than any Jin-cheol had seen. He shoved aside the hand clutching the wound to check it out. Deep stab to the side, blood still oozing steadily.
Jin-cheol pressed a bandage hard against it and slapped the pirate's hand back on top. "Hold that tight. Unless you wanna die."
"..."
Pale as a ghost, the pirate stared at him like he'd grown a second head. Whatever. Jin-cheol turned, gathered disinfectant and more bandages.
"Hey, Udim."
"Yeah?"
"Line the guys up by injury severity."
"Uh... sure."
Udim got it—or close enough—and sorted the laborers by wound order, helping with first aid. One Antela warrior jumped in right away—one of the two who'd followed when Parm had carried in the patient earlier.
And so Jin-cheol, Udim, and the nameless Esai disinfected wounds on Kampoeni and Olrogs alike, even slathering on that thick ointment he'd seen earlier in the day.
"Just smear it on?" Jin-cheol asked.
Without looking up, Parm replied, "Nothing better for simple trauma."
"What's this stuff?"
"Pensaline. The pinnacle of Baika surgical medicine. I'll explain later."
One laborer had taken a stray bullet clean through. The round was lodged right in his forearm wound. Jin-cheol casually grabbed tongs from the desk and yanked it out. The black-footed Kampoeni—about the size of a small man—whimpered through tear-streaked eyes. Up close, he didn't look all that different from Atukai's tribe.
Jin-cheol wrapped the wound and dropped the bullet into the guy's palm. "Here."
"Why...?"
"Souvenir. Brag about your bullet wound with it later."
"O-oh...!"
None of the laborers had injuries bad enough to warrant overnight observation, so they all shuffled back to their bunks. Udim started to leave with them.
Jin-cheol grabbed him. "Hey, Udim."
"What now?"
"We've got a patient right here."
Jin-cheol lifted his arms, showing the red gashes raked across both forearms by the mechanical beast's claws. Without a word, Udim fetched ointment and bandages.
The disinfectant stung like a bitch when it hit—Jin-cheol winced, eyes squeezing shut involuntarily. Fucking hurts, shit.
As Udim's rough hands worked on his arms, Jin-cheol's eyes drifted to Parm and the Esai assisting him. That face looked familiar.
"Seen that guy before."
The one who'd eaten a punch from Jin-cheol earlier that day. The one whose armor magic had triggered only to crumple after a throat shot. He was tense-eyed, laser-focused on Parm's instructions and the surgery.
Someone he knew? Wait—no, Esai clans were all one big family, right? Made sense why the guy was so wound up.
But there was another Esai too—the one who'd helped with the laborers alongside Udim. This one stood before the pirate's bed, glaring murderously.
Problem was, the pirate glared right back, unflinching. Even pale from blood loss, raw ferocity poured from his eyes.
Why the fuck are these purple bastards suddenly in a staring contest?
Then the Antela warrior spoke. "You'll hang in Siol. And before that, you'll spit out your base, who's behind this—everything."
"Heh... How, when I don't even know...? I just... heard it was big, tagged along..."
Taking the pirate's laugh as mockery? Fair—Jin-cheol would've too. The Antela's face twisted in rage.
"Santesiya scum, living like thieves. Filthy bastard. I'll skin that grimy hide of yours."
"Backstabbing Siol rat, pulling strings from the shadows. Ngh... Should've put a bullet in your skull..."
Same purple hue, different beef? Regional drama? Skin tone discrimination? Fucking perfect.
Jin-cheol let out a disbelieving chuckle.
"Arms up."
Jin-cheol raised them as Udim started wrapping. By then, the Antela's hand gripped his waist sword tight.
The pirate smirked. "Draw it... Even flat on my back, you're still one-punch chow..."
"You little—"
Perfect timing—Parm shouted. "Jin-cheol! Grab that brown vial over there!"
"Wrapping my bandages here."
The staring Antela snapped out of it, fetching the vial. Parm held out both hands. "Pour it here. Gotta wash up."
The warrior glugged it over Parm's hands. He rinsed, then strode straight to the pirate. The Antela stepped aside, lips pressed thin.
Seeing Parm approach, the pirate looked up in undisguised confusion. "...Why?"
"Why what? Shut up and hold still. Don't want you biting your tongue in pain."
Parm swept aside the bandage and dove into emergency surgery. Jin-cheol peeked—syringe, forceps, needle, thread. Way more legit than he'd thought.
The Antela glanced between Parm, the recovered patient, and the pirate before speaking. "Peran's... done for?"
"We'll know by tonight. I've done all I can here."
The warrior let out a deep sigh, clasped his hands in salute, and bowed to Parm—who kept working without looking up.
Then Udim said, "Done."
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks."
"I'm out."
"Go ahead."
Udim—still wearing that vaguely gloomy look—tidied the leftover disinfectant and ointment with efficient motions, then left. Slow but steady, like a seasoned day laborer. Jin-cheol got that vibe.
After he was gone, scanning the room, Jin-cheol saw the Antela pat the assisting warrior's shoulder. The guy slumped in a chair, staring blankly at the patient on the bed.
"I'll report to the captain. Rest up."
The Antela left the other behind and exited. More to their story? Jin-cheol didn't know enough about Esai clans to guess.
"Jin-cheol, running low on thread."
"Where?"
"Third drawer on that side. Square metal case."
Jin-cheol fetched the container of white thread and brought it over. "Here."
"Thanks."
Parm tied it on and kept stitching. Glancing over, the pirate was half-conscious, trembling and staring blankly at the ceiling.
Jin-cheol whispered, "He gonna make it?"
"Like that warrior Peran, it comes down to his will. Can't replenish the blood he lost. But I'd say better than eight-in-ten odds they both pull through."
"Why?"
"'Cause I'm that good."
Jin-cheol smirked. Cocky about his skills, this one. Parm met his eyes and smiled back—mask hiding his mouth, but those crinkling eyes said it all.
True to the brag, Parm finished the sutures quick, wrapped the pirate's waist tight. The guy finally passed out.
Parm sighed wearily. Dark circles under his eyes—Baika got them too, huh.
"Gotta monitor overnight, so I'll crash over there—"
A sudden voice. It came from a horn-shaped pipe mounted on Parm's desk against the wall. Jin-cheol spotted it—Captain Romuto's familiar timbre echoing out.
Parm's face fell twice over. "...Goddamn it. Can you watch the infirmary for a bit?"
"What if shit hits the fan? I ain't a doc."
"If either worsens, jab 'em with this syringe." He pulled one from a drawer. Not your standard disposable—fancy engravings and all.
"Just stick it in?"
"Emergency fix. Precious stuff—don't drop it. Thanks, be back soon."
Parm left, squinting hard against his fatigue.
One syringe for two? Means save at least one if both crash. Jin-cheol spun it in his grip, tucked it into his belt, and surveyed the room.
"..."
Two unconscious patients. One awkward Esai. Real tense in here.
"Ahem."
Jin-cheol cleared his throat pointlessly, dragged a chair over, and sat. Silence settled in, thick as fog.
Arms crossed, leaning back, he watched the patients. Then, abruptly: "We threw punches, but I don't even know your name."
"...Morel. Antela Morel."
The warrior Morel replied without shifting his gloomy gaze from the patient.
Jin-cheol kept his eyes on them too. "Don't know much about Esai clans. Family, right?"
"...Yeah. Technically."
"Hm. Sorry to hear."
Shit, those 500 Esai words from this afternoon all stuck. Lucky 'regret' was one. Wish studying had been this useful back then.
Morel snorted a laugh. "'Regret,' huh. Peran'll be the one regretting—got stabbed 'cause of that idiot."
"Idiot?"
Morel shut up, eyed Jin-cheol. That gloomy face. Aha.
"What happened?"
"...My blade was too slow. She saved me from danger, but couldn't dodge her own foe's strike. Should've watched her front..."
His eyes flicked back to Peran—swirling with tangled emotions.
"Same blood, but I saw her as just a senior warrior who'd made it before me. Normal in Antela—tons of clans, branches, warriors. That's all. Would I have helped? Nah. I'd have thought her clumsy, unworthy. But she didn't. She saved me..."
Yeah, got it. Short version: crippling guilt.
A bitter smile tugged Jin-cheol's lips. Familiar feeling. He'd lived it, seen it plenty from one step removed. Too much, even. A sticky, cruel shadow that never shook loose.
He stared at the surgery-messed bed—and saw dozens more overlaid. Empty, blood-soaked. No people. Just ghosts.
So, one big difference between him and this Esai: "She ain't dead yet. That make her weak?"
Morel's eyes turned. Lips trembling faintly: "...No. No. Peran's a tough warrior. Honorable, skilled—befitting Antela's name."
"Then she'll get up soon. Thank her proper when she does."
"Obviously. She saved my life—she's like a sister now."
"Wasn't she family already?"
"Her mom's my great-great-uncle's great-granddaughter. Bit distant for 'sister.'"
"...Right. Call her sis when she wakes, then."
Family tree's a mess. How many degrees is that?
Morel nodded, face lightening a touch. A spark in those gloomy eyes. Then, hesitating: "Uh, sorry about earlier today. For real."
"Psh. I did the one-sided pounding."
"...Felt like I landed one."
"Heh. That a punch? Listen, this fist's cracked Olrog skulls. Didn't hold back, your head would've flown. That's a real punch, man."
Jin-cheol teased, miming a throat strike. Morel chuckled, then sobered. The guy who'd ripped off a mechanical beast's jaw barehanded. Every warrior on deck had seen it. And that strength meant no joke.
"Y-yeah... Th-thanks. And really sorry about today. Inexperience on my part."
"Eh, water under the bridge. Mind if I ask something?"
"Shoot. I'll answer straight."
Jin-cheol rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing. "That yo-sul stuff earlier? Wild. Taming beasts, remote-controlling artifacts, chatting with the dead. So... any spells that let you invade dreams?"
Morel's face drained, sweat beading instantly. In seconds, he looked like death warmed over. His "straight answer" promise clashed hard with Antela loyalty, shredding his composure.
Jin-cheol's lips just curved into a sly grin.