Looks Decent Enough...

Jin-cheol gripped the ship's railing and stood silently gazing at Siol. Towering spires and massive buildings glowed red in the sunset, while enormous galleons—looking like black hulks against the dying light—plied the broad Sidalria River that cut through the city.

Siol. When Atukai had first mentioned a "city," Jin-cheol had imagined something like a medieval town at best. It was hard not to, given that Atukai's own village consisted of bamboo huts perched in colossal trees. He hadn't expected anywhere else to be all that different.

But from the moment he boarded the Baika merchant ship, that assumption began to shift. He hadn't been inside, but the engine—access to the engine room required the captain's permission—possessed tremendous power. Watching cranes load cargo and the ship glide along without oars convinced him that this world's civilization wasn't so primitive after all.

Was this the difference between the post-Industrial Revolution West and East? Or between the Neolithic natives of New Guinea and modern man? Jin-cheol let out a hollow chuckle at the sight of towers soaring tens of meters high and buildings packed densely along distant ridges.

Atukai's casual description of this place as "bustling" suddenly felt woefully inadequate. Even the old man's got his limits, he thought.

"...Nah, they've still got those underground smart farms."

As the ship slowly advanced, Siol came into sharper focus. What especially caught Jin-cheol's eye was a massive structure visible even from afar. At its center stood a gigantic building with a high, rounded dome, flanked symmetrically by grand and lesser palaces. The gray walls gleamed in the sunset light, their glass facets sparkling beautifully.

Yet strangely, the palaces grew shoddier and more haphazard the farther they extended from the center—like lowly descendants defacing an ancient temple of glory with their crude additions, ruining its splendor. Still, that clumsiness couldn't hide the overall majesty. It resembled an aged temple or an emperor's grand palace.

For some reason, though, it looked like a factory to Jin-cheol. Amid its aesthetic grandeur, he caught a thick whiff of industry.

"That's Siol's Sun Temple. The heart of the city—and the driving force of its economy through Holy Oil."

Jin-cheol turned at the voice behind him. A Baika stood there—not Parm, nor the galley cook. It was Captain Romuto Quaibek.

"...Holy Oil?"

"Oil from the Sun Temple's solar furnace. It's the lifeblood of industry, powering their artifacts and countless engines. Care to see some?"

"Where?"

"The engine room."

Romuto turned on his heel without waiting for a reply. Jin-cheol glanced back at Siol one last time, then followed.

"Why show me the engine room all of a sudden?"

"Parm mentioned you love learning new things. My ship's engine isn't something you see every day. It's quite ancient."

As they walked the corridor, Romuto answered without looking back.

What's this fish-head scheming? Jin-cheol wondered suspiciously but kept pace. He was curious what an engine that pulsed like a heartbeat might look like.

Following Romuto down the stairs, they reached a hefty door. Compared to the upper deck cabins, it resembled a bank vault—solid steel. Romuto spun the wheel valve, and with a heavy clunk, it swung open.

"Whoa..."

Jin-cheol's eyes widened at the vast chamber and the structure dominating its center. The heartbeat engine. He'd pictured pistons and cranks lumped together, but this was no mere iron lump. It truly resembled a colossal creature's heart.

Not that it was tangled flesh and blood. Rubber membranes, thick hoses, and wires intertwined with steel frameworks in a way that evoked a whale's heart more than orderly machinery.

Above all, the overwhelming power of its low thump-thump-thump pulses filled the space.

Smack in the heart of that behemoth sat a striking feature: a perfectly fitted cylindrical glass canister, like a giant battery. Squinting, Jin-cheol saw it brimmed with yellow liquid, bubbling furiously. Faint light leaked from where it connected to the engine.

What the hell kind of engine is this?

"That's what they call Holy Oil. One canister's worth a hundred Siol gold coins."

"...Kinda small."

Jin-cheol tilted his head. No wonder—the engine dwarfed a mid-sized car, yet the Holy Oil vial was barely larger than his palm.

"How far does one go?"

"Round trip from Siol to Jipain."

How am I supposed to know what that means, fish-face? Whatever the distance, it was clearly vast.

"...Isn't this an energy revolution?"

Modern ships guzzled thousands, even tens of thousands of liters of fuel. This vessel ran for days on a palmful of liquid. What was Holy Oil?

As Jin-cheol reeled before this near-magical tech, Romuto—staring at the engine—spoke up.

"Kang Jin-cheol. I have a question."

"Huh? Shoot."

"We'll dock in Siol soon. Got a place to stay?"

"Of course."

"As expected. And that inn... you have one in mind?"

Romuto's eyes flickered with dismay mid-sentence. Jin-cheol met his gaze and smirked.

"You think I'd come without a plan? I've got it figured out."

"...I see."

"What, gonna recommend a spot?"

The captain's eyes narrowed. He studied Jin-cheol's smiling face, then replied frankly.

"Atukai entrusted your journey to Siol to me. Arranging lodging upon arrival seems only natural."

"Is that so?"

"Wasn't this your first time in Siol? Mind sharing where you're staying?"

Jin-cheol turned back to the engine.

"Not that I didn't have a spot in mind originally, but the Antela folks said they'd help out this time."

A lie. The Antela had mentioned compensation, not lodging. Jin-cheol just didn't want to dance to Romuto's tune.

But he figured he could ask the Antela. Ishanka was the third daughter of a high-society Siol house, and he'd saved her life. Plus, her personal reward as apology. A room in exchange for saving her and covering damages wasn't too much.

Above all, Jin-cheol felt an odd wariness toward Romuto. A soldier's instinct from battlefields where such hunches meant life or death. It made him want distance.

"Antela... I see. Good for you. But be cautious, Jin-cheol. Noble Esai are arrogant—even benefactors who cross them get stabbed in the back. Keep a proper distance."

"Noted. That all?"

"...May I ask how you met Atukai's tribe?"

Jin-cheol shrugged. Parm's warning echoed: Romuto would try prying info from him.

"They fished me out of the river. Fed me, housed me after."

"In exchange for what?"

"Dunno. Oh, I did save a few of their kids from some Olrog drifters later."

Romuto's eyelids twitched.

"...That's it?"

"That's it. We're done?"

"Hm..."

Jin-cheol nodded farewell to Romuto, giving the engine one last look. Still fascinating. With mechanic experience, he'd have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠examined it closer. Not that it resembled a car engine. Still, knowledge reveals more.

Regretfully, he turned and exited.

Romuto watched Jin-cheol's retreating back until he left the engine room. Even after, he pondered deeply before slowly heading up.

His steps led to the topmost bridge. Pirate gunfire had shattered the forward windows, letting wind whistle through. Bullet scars dotted everywhere, but navigation was fine.

Scanning the bridge, Romuto touched a wall panel. It slid open, revealing his safe room and captain's quarters. Inside, he sat at the desk and activated a device.

With a whirr, a palm-sized black screen lit up with Baika script.

Jin-cheol would have thought it an '80s 16-bit computer.

Romuto's gloved fingers tapped the keys.

The clacking stopped abruptly. Romuto manipulated the device, then stepped out to the windy bridge window.

His eyes fell on the massive ironplate sail amidships, a harpoon still embedded in its center. It harnessed wind for propulsion and served as a comms antenna.

Soon, its data would wing to some distant recipient, days' sail away.

Romuto turned away. The dock approached.

The ship buzzed with activity—specifically, the Antela warriors. The laborers carried on as usual, but when Jin-cheol grabbed passing Udim and asked, the Olrog grunted.

"No unloading at night. Too risky. Our work starts at dawn."

"Ah."

Udim cocked his head at Jin-cheol.

"You not disembarking? You're a passenger too."

"Eh. Nowhere to go really. Thinking of sticking ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with the long-ears for now..."

Udim's mouth twisted oddly. Jin-cheol noticed.

"What?"

"You just called the Antela Esai 'long-ears'?"

"Yeah, man. Big-eared bastards."

Jin-cheol realized the twist was a smile—the first on Udim's perpetually dour face. He chuckled dryly.

"Hey, Udim."

"Yeah?"

"Fist out."

Udim tilted his head again but extended a balled fist. Jin-cheol bumped his own against it lightly.

"...What was that?"

"You said you'd cut thigh meat if I starved? Treat my life like yours? Then we're friends now. That was a bro greeting."

"Is that how it works?"

"Yep. I'm off."

"Go."

After bidding Udim farewell, Jin-cheol returned to his cabin to pack. He stuffed the Kampoeni odds-and-ends into his pack, then eyed the long object propped in the corner.

"...This thing even work?"

A rifle: long barrel, simple bolt, hefty wooden stock. The least damaged from the pirate haul.

"Only five rounds, though. Sigh."

Scarce ammo. Grabbing the heavy rifle sent an inexplicable chill down his neck, souring his mood. He dropped it unconsciously.

"..."

Fired it fine before. What's this bullshit now?

Jin-cheol huffed at his trembling hand. Pathetic, shaking alone like a fool. No ghost in the gun—it was him.

His fist clenched suddenly, that inexplicable strength writhing fiercely within. He didn't know its origin, but for survival, nothing beat it.

He shouldered the rifle, pocketed the pistol from the bed—the pirate sorcerer's four-shot revolver pipe-thing. Smaller, more practical than the rifle.

"Let's go."

His fish sword whirled in hand before belting. Armed, Jin-cheol left for the infirmary.