The Fourth World War
"Huh? What's this? It looks like ancient script. Why the hell is this showing up all of a sudden...?"
Morel, watching from the side, muttered in confusion. Jin-cheol stared expressionlessly at the text on the glass wall.
He said, "I'll take it back."
"What?"
Morel questioned him because it wasn't in Essai tongue. At that moment, new letters appeared on the glass wall.
Right after the text appeared, a ripple washed over the entire pillar-shaped glass wall. While Morel struggled to hide his bewilderment, Jin-cheol, still stone-faced, asked, "If I'm the administrator, what can I do?"
Instead of words, the glass wall displayed a new screen. A list of various foods from simple grilled meat to fried seafood and stir-fries. At the top was the title [Administrator Menu].
Most items were marked in red, annotated with [Ingredients unavailable].
When Jin-cheol tapped one without the red note, a simple description and sales history graph popped up. His finger slowly pressed a section of the graph, and daily performance data appeared immediately.
But every recent date was the same, only the items differed.
"...Fucking retards. Couldn't even flip one goddamn date past 3000?"
A hollow smile cracked Jin-cheol's expressionless face. He fiddled with the [Administrator Menu], but aside from adding or removing existing items, there wasn't much else. The daily records were endless pages of the same date—no other dates appeared no matter how far he scrolled.
"That's it? Nothing else? Aren't you some kinda AI or something?"
The glass wall didn't respond, as if what was shown was everything it had.
As Jin-cheol scrolled through the records with that hollow smile, someone approached another section of the glass. It was the Kampoeni who'd taken the grilled food earlier. He smacked his lips, ignoring Jin-cheol and Morel entirely, and touched the wall—he'd finished eating and come back for more.
"...?"
But touching the wall only brought up weird text—the screen didn't budge. The Kampoeni drooped one ear, poking at it in bewilderment. No change. He glanced around, then at Jin-cheol and Morel, but hesitated to speak, intimidated by Morel's armor.
Jin-cheol met the Kampoeni's brown eyes and said quietly, "Renounce administrator rights."
"Yeah."
"Waived my ass—why don't you tell me what the fuck this Final Decree is?"
The glass wall gave no answer. It just reverted to the hazy food menu like before.
"This thing's a total clusterfuck."
As Jin-cheol sneered, the Kampoeni beside him lit up seeing his screen return to food images. He gave Jin-cheol and Morel a cautious grateful bow, then printed his food and left like before.
"...What the hell did you just do?"
Afterward, as Jin-cheol stared silently at the wall, Morel finally spoke, eyes full of bewilderment.
Jin-cheol didn't take his eyes off the menu video. "Do you know exactly what this is?"
"This? What exactly is the Wall of Meals?"
"Wall of Meals, food printer, whatever you call it—what is it?"
Morel eyed Jin-cheol's returned blank expression and continued slowly. "...To most Siol citizens, it's just a glass wall that spits out food for coin. But according to our house's histories, this place is where the sun's grace gathers into sustenance. Long ago, Siol's people starved under winter's curse. With the Sun Temple's ignition, they received this grace from the Wall of Meals and endured the harsh spring."
He turned to the wall, chin slightly raised—proud. "Afterward, our Antela founder ensured even non-Siolians could taste this grace. Anyone, from anywhere, poor or rich, pays coin according to their conscience and receives a meal..."
"How much is 'conscience coin'?"
Morel didn't snap despite the interruption—Jin-cheol's utter blankness looked too grave. "No fixed amount. Gold, silver, even fake silver from Sandesiya—it gives food."
"What if you don't pay?"
"No meal. The wall demands something in return. It's a lesson it teaches us—"
"Are there more like this?"
Morel's face twisted oddly. He tilted his head. "Like what?"
"Things you don't know shit about but slap myths and legends on. Right—your temple's closest. Gotta check there first."
"...You, like I said before, watch your mouth. Blasphemy like that gets you in trouble with temple guards. And a 'lowly birth' without the seven houses' blood can't enter the Sun Temple—ever."
In a flash, Jin-cheol's hand clamped around Morel's throat—crack.
"Ghk...!"
Morel choked, clawing to pry it free. But Jin-cheol's grip was iron, unyielding. Morel's feet lifted off the ground. A breath later, Jin-cheol's blank eyes met his.
Even strangled, Morel sensed something off in that face—like a poorly drawn portrait. It spoke slowly: "Don't talk shit. Answer the fucking question."
Morel rasped his last air: "Li, li-brary... li..."
The grip loosened. Morel shoved the hand away, staggering back, coughing. "Fucking—cough—fucking psycho—cough! Crazy bastard—krrgh..."
As he clutched his knees hacking, the eatery's mood froze solid. Diners around the central glass pillar stopped mid-bite, staring at Jin-cheol and Morel. Two Essai in the corner stood—unarmored, but swords at their waists. Green blades. Antela warriors.
They halted as Morel raised a hand, steadying his breath to signal them off.
"...Are you alright, sir?"
"Yeah. Trainee warriors?"
"Yes. If you need assistance—"
"No. Dismissed."
At Morel's firm tone, they bowed and returned to their seats without protest. Morel watched with a bitter smile—he was just a trainee captain now too. Amuta the captain always kept his word.
Shaking off the distraction, Morel faced Jin-cheol again. Still blank-faced.
"...Are you sane? This is Siol. I'm an Antela warrior. Attacking me like that declares war on all seven houses. Whatever you saw at the Wall, calm your excitement."
"Do I look excited?" Jin-cheol said lowly.
Morel rubbed his throat. "Then you're deranged. Talking Sun Temple entry outta nowhere, trying to snap my neck..."
"What about the library?"
"Outsiders can't enter the Sun Temple. Not even if you break my neck. But..."
"But what."
"...The Third Library is the only temple space open to outsiders. And, like you said—legends or whatever—full of weird shit. That's what you're hunting, right?"
"Lead the way."
Morel grimaced. "Third Library's closed by now. Come back tomorrow and—"
Jin-cheol did nothing. Just stared silently. Morel sighed.
"...Knew something was off since you slapped Suka on the ship... Ishanka didn't mean this when she ordered me to guide you..."
Muttering, he shook his head and turned. "Follow me."
He led out of the Wall of Meals; Jin-cheol trailed wordlessly. They retraced steps: Antela Plaza to night streets, docks. Toward the path Ishanka and the warriors took. Toward the massive structure Jin-cheol saw entering Siol—the Sun Temple.
Soon, streets and shops vanished. Neat, quiet roads. No crowds. Only streetlamps flickered, echoing their footsteps.
Without stopping, Morel said, "If we run into anyone, stay quiet. I'll talk. Damn, good I still have the armor..."
A wide bridge appeared. A river branch from Sidalia encircled the temple like a moat—this crossed it. More than connecting, it divided: free city Siol here, Essai nobility's Sun Temple beyond.
But Morel veered not across—to a squat building this side.
Jin-cheol halted. "You're shitting me?"
"What? Why?"
"That look like a temple to you?"
"It was a temple. Dismantled from inside and moved here..."
Jin-cheol's eyes narrowed; Morel rushed on. "Can't let you inside the temple proper, no matter what. But you'll see something like the Wall!"
Morel's face hardened with resolve. This, he'd defend to the death. Jin-cheol glanced and said shortly, "Lead."
The building was dwarfed by the temple—drab gray stone, few windows. Clean compared to chaotic city buildings, but puny next to the gleaming distant spires.
No fence around—just open park. They crossed to the entrance, pushed in without pause, faced an Essai at the desk.
"Who are you?"
"Morel of Antela."
The librarian rose to greet his bold advance, eyes scanning the armor. "I'm Librarian Ronto. Rare for a noble warrior to visit—delighted."
"Ronto. Good to meet you."
The aged Essai seemed more pleased than perturbed by the late visit—but not letting them roam free. "Third Library's closed. Return tomorrow for books or materials."
"Urgent item to check now."
"I see, but..."
"I'll take responsibility."
"Still..."
Ronto's eyes shifted to Jin-cheol—unknown outsider, no go.
"Jin-cheol is a warrior under Ishanka's protection."
"Mm, her protection... Well then... Not like we have vital texts here."
At Morel's words, Ronto emerged, unlocked the inner door. "Lights off past curfew—can't turn them on. Take this lantern instead."
Jin-cheol took the lantern—it looked like one but wasn't oil-based. Morel nodded thanks; they proceeded.
The Third Library brimmed with massive shelves, thick tomes—not just books, but scrolls, paper bundles. A dark tomb of knowledge.
After a bit, Morel stopped in a corner. "Here."
"..."
Before him: full-length mirrors, waist-high smooth gray boxes—misc oddities, likely leftovers not books.
Jin-cheol held the lantern forward. Light revealed a huge map pinned over junk to the wall.
"...That's a map?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Explorer Tukin’s, twelve years to complete. Inaccurate inland except Sidalia River and coast. But that's not what I meant to show..."
Jin-cheol knew world maps—continents' positions, major nations. East Asia especially familiar from school and war. This map differed sharply. No matching terrain.
His blank face lightened slightly. "Terrain doesn't change in thousands of years..."
Yeah. Still don't know. Land shifts take millions of years minimum—no way for such alien shapes.
Then Morel dug out a full-length mirror, propped it before Jin-cheol, dusted it.
"This is it. Asked if there's Wall-like stuff? This artifact's similar."
"Food comes out of the mirror?"
"No—it's tied to Antela founder legends, like the Wall. Isn't that what you meant? Worthy ones meet the sage inside. No one's actually seen... Anyway, try it."
"Do what?"
Morel opened his palm. Clear intent. Jin-cheol extended his hand slowly to the mirror.
Hand met smooth surface—a faint ripple. Blue lines traced his reflection, scanning his form.
Lines vanished quickly. Jin-cheol squinted, peering closer—then whipped around startled.
A suited, upright old man stood behind him in the mirror.
"What the—?"
Nothing behind. Just dark shelves. Back to mirror—the tailor now measured his torso with a tape.
Jin-cheol realized: events inside the mirror.
"...Moves only in the mirror? What is it? Mirror tailor?"
As if hearing, the old man's image stuttered, then bowed politely.
Jin-cheol's eyes widened. "You understand me?"
Bow again—like yes.
Speechless, staring—Morel whispered from behind, "Damn... You really see the Mirror Sage? It's still working? Only a handful met it since Founder Antela Modern..."
Since Antela founder. Ancient history.
Thought hitting, Jin-cheol yelled unwittingly, "...Date! Today's date!"
The tailor's image glitched. Vanished briefly, reappeared with a scroll. Unrolled it—a calendar.
Top: 12098.
Below: large June.
Among dates, slashed one: 15th. Sunday.
Year 12098
June 15 ✗ (Sunday)
"..."
Jin-cheol blinked blankly at it, speechless. The tailor resumed glitching measurements—a waiting screen.
"...What happened? Where's everyone else?"
Quiet voice. Tailor vanished, reappeared glitching—with a ledger. No need to peer close; blue text etched contents on the mirror as he "read."
Names, measurements, costs, payments, notes—packed. But scattered words blinked insistently.
4th. World. War.
"..."
Silence. Ledger faded; tailor resumed measurements—like that was his limit.
But it was enough for Jin-cheol. No need to press.
Atukai and Tobi. Kampoeni Mother Tree. Wandering Olrogs. Dinosaur cawing, mermaid gentleman on cargo ships. Yo-sul Essai. Flying airships. Parm's tales. Tribal myths. Forgotten empire's fall. Siol on ruins, Sun Temple gleaming. Stuck-date food court. Mirror tailor.
All events since waking riverside melted in his mind, fusing.
Insight forged from experience—or soldier's delusion from lack of imagination? He couldn't tell.
But its jagged blade pinned one glaring truth—one he'd ignored.
"...Ha, haha... Couldn't help laughing. Absurdity bubbling up—Jin-cheol let the giggles leak free.
"...Haha, you fucking retarded shits... Survived that war bullshit, and still couldn't get your heads straight? So you finally finished the job? Hahaha...! Left only human-like scraps and all croaked anyway...?"
"J-Jin-cheol?"
Morel called anxiously from behind. But Jin-cheol laughed harder, uncontrollably.
"...Pfahahaha—! Uhahahat—! That bullshit—psycho brass grinding billions to dust, then doing it again? Tripped into the same pitfall twice? Makes sense?"
He bent backward laughing, lantern clattering down.
"Puhahaha—! No, wait! Retards from the start—did it three times! Why not four? Hahaha—! You goddamn morons! How many died and you pulled that shit again? Finally, finally did it again? Uhahaha—! You braindead fuckheads! How many—how many died...! Who died...! That retarded shit...! Again, AGAIN—YOU GODDAMN RETARDED FUCKS—!!"
Laughter peaked in scream. Lone survivor's wail.
Jin-cheol's knees buckled. He collapsed as if the floor pulled him.
"...Then why'd we fight...? My parents, friends, squad—why all dead...? If you're all gonna croak the same way again, what was our war...? And me... I..."
Lantern light hit his hunched back. Face shadowed in gloom, his shadow stretched cold across the library floor.
The tailor glitched over his seated form, then vanished. Morel left to explain to the peering librarian—keep other warriors away.
Finally accepting his stranding in this distant future, the soldier buried his face in darkness, back to light, sobbing quietly amid alien maps and musty tomes. Long he wept there.