A Blade in the Night
The Kampoeni with the pipe clenched in his mouth continued, puffing smoke profusely. "In Sandesiya, we punish those who point guns recklessly with the severing of a finger. Coming at us guns blazing like that gets our blood pumping too, you know? How about we start with proper greetings, like civilized folk?"
Jin-cheol couldn't help but marvel at the clean-cut end of the severed barrel. Slicing metal with a sword? Isn't that some comic book shit?
"Greetings my ass. You pop out from behind in a dark alley and swing a blade at me—is that what civilized people do?"
Snapping back lightly at the Kampoeni, Jin-cheol flung the ruined pipe-gun away and pivoted, sliding his right foot back. The Kampoeni still held only a short staff in his hand. The blade that had sliced the barrel was nowhere in sight. That meant the blade must be hidden inside the staff somehow.
Cutting metal was impressive, but there was an unbridgeable gap in reach between Jin-cheol and the Kampoeni. If Jin-cheol just lunged forward, the little guy would feel like he was getting skewered on a spear.
But the Kampoeni shook his head gently as he watched Jin-cheol assume his stance. "Looks like the young friend has confidence in his movements. Fine then—shall we put you down first and talk?"
He raised his staff. As Jin-cheol expected, a gently curved blade slid out from the tip with a shring.
The blade alone was longer than the Kampoeni himself. All told, it was even longer than Jin-cheol, making it a proper spear in the Kampoeni's hands.
"...You swing that thing around okay?"
The Kampoeni grinned at Jin-cheol's words. "Care to test it?"
A flash of light slashed diagonally toward Jin-cheol's front. Reacting on instinct, Jin-cheol leaped back and swung his right arm. With a ching, the silver etheric blade sprang from his bracer, blocking the strike. The blades clashed with a clear metallic ring, sparking briefly.
Jin-cheol was startled by the heavy force transmitted up his forearm. The power behind that blade was no joke—far beyond any other Kampoeni he'd faced.
Flashes came next in diagonal, horizontal, and another diagonal arc, targeting Jin-cheol's upper body. He retreated while parrying with his etheric blade. The enemy's sword was longer than expected, preventing any rash advances.
As he blocked, their blades crossed, bringing them face-to-face. Jin-cheol froze momentarily, surprised by the Kampoeni's swordsmanship. The Kampoeni tilted his head at the sight.
"...You don't know swordplay?"
"What?"
The Kampoeni grinned again at Jin-cheol's retort. "Then you die."
Twisting his wrist, the Kampoeni spun the spear-sword where it crossed the etheric blade. The curved tip reversed, hooking toward Jin-cheol's throat like a snake striking prey, leaping over the etheric blade.
"Uncle! Stop it!"
The voice of the Esai woman who had named herself Haeta rang out, and the so-called uncle's body flew backward. A bewildered sound escaped Haeta's lips.
"...Eh?"
The flung Kampoeni tumbled across the paving stones but rolled with the momentum, righting himself smoothly. His spear-sword tip pointed at Jin-cheol once more.
Jin-cheol extended his right arm, aiming his etheric blade in return. His left hand rubbed his neck lightly. Fuck, what was that just now? The crossed blades had spun, the tip whipping around Jin-cheol's outside guard to dive for his throat in an instant. It was a blade movement he'd never encountered.
Suddenly, he recalled old internet videos from before the war about Western fencing, Lichtenauer or whatever. The sword shape differed, but the motion was similar.
The Kampoeni eyeing Jin-cheol was rubbing his own belly. In that split second, Jin-cheol's kick had slammed it. No holding back in the heat of the moment, yet the Kampoeni merely looked mildly uncomfortable.
"Brute force. Thought my gut was gonna rip. You don't know swordplay, but you know how to fight..."
He stood his blade upright beside his face and lowered his stance. Short as he was, it looked like he was hugging the ground. His eyes sank deep with chilling intent flowing along the blade.
Jin-cheol lowered his own stance, etheric blade trained on him. He didn't know swordplay, sure—but he didn't think he'd lose. If swordsmanship was the art of killing with blades, his was the brutal craft forged in hell, killing to survive.
Killing intent began to flicker in his eyes.
That's when Haeta the Esai girl wedged herself between them. "Stop! Stop fighting! Why are you trying to kill each other all of a sudden?!"
She threw back her hood, hands outstretched to halt them both. Up close, her teary-eyed face looked young—not much older than a kid. Wait, she's just a girl?
As Jin-cheol scrutinized her, the Kampoeni quickly sheathed his blade, reverting it to a staff. He spoke up.
"He drew first, pointing that pistol right away. Then when I suggested talking it out, he got into fighting stance."
"That doesn't mean you go for the throat right off!"
"No, I... wasn't really gonna stab. I stopped midway to show off a bit, but this guy..."
"You could've just stood with me! Why sneak up from behind and scare the shit outta him?!"
"Haeta, you don't get it—when gathering intel, you gotta intimidate the target to..."
"Does it look like you're getting intel right now?!"
"Well, no, but..."
The Kampoeni lost his earlier nonchalance, sweating under the Esai girl's barrage. His tail had curled between his legs.
Watching the spectacle, Jin-cheol felt the tension drain away.
"..."
With a shring, the etheric blade retracted into his bracer. Hearing it, Haeta turned to him and bowed deeply.
"I'm sorry! Truly! My uncle gets weirdly aggressive around skilled warriors. He wasn't really trying to hurt you. I'm really, really sorry!"
"...No worries about Metidoti?"
She snapped her head up. "Like I said, I don't even know who that is! ...But seriously, who names someone Metidoti?"
Jin-cheol bent to pick up the fallen pipe from the ground—the one the Kampoeni had dropped mid-flight. As he brushed off the dirt, the Kampoeni approached cautiously, glancing at the girl.
"...Name's Aiman. Sorry for swinging first. I'm a swordsman, so I get touchy when a gun's pointed at my face. Plus, you moved with such confidence, I got competitive without thinking... Anyway, apologies."
"Sorry for pulling a gun first too. I was on edge from some shit earlier. Belly okay?"
Jin-cheol offered the pipe with his straightforward apology. Aiman's eyes lit up at the gesture. Taking it, he continued.
"...That kick packed a punch. You an Esai?"
"Nah, not Esai."
"Then? Not Olrog either."
Jin-cheol dodged the question. "I'm looking for my own people too. Came to Siol for that. Anyway, you were waiting for me, right?"
"Ah, yes. Had some questions for you..."
Haeta cut in. "Two months ago! You arrived in Siol two months back, right?"
"...Yeah. How'd you know?"
"Then you met him! Harmen! Lord Harmen!"
Jin-cheol was speechless. First time hearing the name. Harmen? Who's that?
"Dunno who you're talking about."
"What? Didn't you come to Siol on the freighter Romuto two months ago?"
Freighter Romuto—Romuto the captain's Baika merchant ship. Jin-cheol recalled how this girl knew his background. Haeta from Sandesiya. In his memory, Sandesiya meant...
"Oh, those pirates?"
"You remember!"
The pirates who attacked the ship were mostly dead. Three survived: two got beaten bloody by Antela warriors en route to Siol, the third—badly wounded—was laid up in the med bay thanks to Parm.
Shit, come to think of it, we never even exchanged names face-to-face.
"The pirates who hit that ship? Most died."
Haeta shook her head. "I heard some survived!"
"Yeah, three did... but I don't know their names. Can't confirm if there was a Harmen."
"Here! This him?"
Haeta pulled a small metal device from her pocket. As Jin-cheol watched, a hologram flickered to life above it, forming a face. Huh, holographic portrait? Not even surprised anymore.
Jin-cheol eyed the bluish hologram. Younger-looking, but it was him—the pirate dying in the med bay.
"Yeah, that's him. Not sure if he's still alive, though. The Antelas dragging him were brutal."
"It's fine! Confirming it's Harmen was key! We already knew the prisoners lived!"
Her voice rose, face flushing. Family or something? She bowed deeply again.
"Thank you so much! I know my uncle pissed you off, but you answered kindly anyway! You have no idea what this means to me!"
"Nah, just ID'd a face. No need for all that."
"No! Thank you!"
She shoved a pouch into his hand. Thinking of the hologram, he peeked—silver coins. Jin-cheol recoiled. Felt like shaking down a high school girl for directions.
"What? No thanks. Who takes money for this?"
"But you answered nicely, and Uncle wrecked your gun..."
"Take it back before I get mad."
He had a bed, coins for tomorrow's meals, even a tavern for drinks later. No need to fleece a kid. If money ran short, he'd handle it then. For a soldier fallen into this backward future from war's abyss, it was plenty.
He tossed the pouch back. Haeta, unprepared for refusal, hesitated awkwardly. Aiman's eyes sparkled brighter watching. He cleared his throat with a ahem.
As they looked, he drew a hefty metal lump from his coat. Unmistakable revolver pistol.
"Ahem. Not exactly compensation, but I broke it, so I should replace it. Here—revolver from 'Tomoras Workshop,' the finest in Sandesiya."
"Oh..."
This time, Jin-cheol accepted. Not from the kid, but the fluffy-furred Aiman. He examined it: thick, heavy yet smooth barrel; textured grip for hold; clean break-action body, balanced hammer and trigger. Drawbacks: three to four times heavier than the pipe-gun, still only four rounds.
Capacity sucked, but weight? Perfect for bashing heads. Lost one, gained an upgrade.
"Anyway, you really never trained swordplay?"
As Jin-cheol admired the silver revolver, Aiman spoke slyly from the side, eyes gleaming oddly.
"Nope. Why?"
"Really...? Say, ever thought about learning? Casually. For exercise."
Twirling the revolver on his finger, Jin-cheol eyed Aiman dubiously. What the hell's this fluffy uncle on about?
"What's that outta nowhere?"
"Ahem, bit boastful from me, but... I'm master of five northern sword schools from Sandesiya to Ohollam, and a scholar who restored ancient secret blades from the western wastes. Sandesiya friends call me—ahem—Haeta?"
Haeta eyed him sourly before relenting. "Sword Pavilion."
"Ahem. Anyway, clashing blades briefly, I saw potential in you. Not mandatory, but wasting talent's a shame, no? I'll teach you a couple techniques suited just for you. How about a quick lesson...?"
Jin-cheol chuckled. This the guy who nearly chopped my finger off for pointing a gun?
"Busy these days. Maybe next time I got free."
"Next time? Ahem. Look, Jin-cheol—mind if I call you that? Jin-cheol, I'm not one to toss this lightly. Esai nobles to northern Olrogs line up for one lesson if you visit Sandesiya—"
"Uncle Aiman!"
Haeta yelled, silencing him. Aiman deflated, peeking at her nervously.
Haeta bowed deeply to Jin-cheol again. "Thanks once more. Sorry for bothering you late, and wrecking your gear."
"Nah. Got better stuff thanks to you."
"It was huge for me. Confirming him. Thank you."
She bowed repeatedly, then bid farewell. "We'll head out. Peaceful night to you."
"Yeah. Good luck with yours."
Final bow, hood up, she turned away. Aiman trailed, glancing back repeatedly, eyes dripping regret. Jin-cheol waved with a wry laugh. Just a few exchanges—what'd he see?
Watching them bicker down the avenue, Jin-cheol lowered his hand and sighed deeply. Busy day. Parm during the day, Metidoti's thugs in the alley, now Haeta and Aiman.
Fatigue hit. "Still... gotta do what needs doing."
Muttering like a sigh, he strode on. Sandesiya duo delayed him briefly, but tonight's goal was Metidoti.
He veered into an alley, reaching his rented rooming house. Old Esai lady owner stayed downstairs, heavy sleeper—no complaints these two months despite late nights. Still, quietly: door open-shut, stairs up.
Inside, he pulled a cord; click, light on. Bed, wardrobe, small drawer, table—neat, stark, undecorated. Thought of sprucing up, but no clue where to start. Its clean minimalism worked; he left it.
Scanning the room, he opened the wardrobe, shoved aside spare clothes. Rifle and ammo behind. Started with six rounds; bought a box in Siol, pricey.
Guns here were handmade, specs varying by region, city, smith, race. Ancient standards existed, but compatibility first. With artifact wielders and sorcerers everywhere, melee folk outnumbered gun users—no surprise.
"Thirty rounds a box for five gold? Bullshit. Felt ripped off..."
Checking rifle and ammo, gearing up, he grumbled. Weird era. More reasons for high ammo prices, but sounded like profiteering to him.
"Ah, shit—won't fit."
Revolver ammo didn't match Aiman's gift. Kept it anyway—four rounds useful. Final check: bracer secure. Rifle slung. At the door, deep sigh.
"Night's long... so long..."
But Metidoti wouldn't get a pass. Warning sent; letting it slide past tonight looked weak.
Door open, stairs down. Time for real midnight workout. Hand gripped the rooming house door, flung it wide. Siol's night street.
Stepping out toward the dark alley, Jin-cheol froze. Something in the shadows ahead—a hulking black figure. Olrog-sized.
"What? Preemptive strike?"
Hand to rifle. Maybe Metidoti chose attack over defense after the warning.
But the Olrog ahead heard him and flopped forward with a thud. What the fuck?
Jin-cheol approached warily. Scanned for traps—no other presences. The prone Olrog mumbled.
"Jin... cheol..."
Jin-cheol's face hardened. "Udim?"
He flipped Udim over, propping him up. Shirt in rags, flesh blood-soaked. Udim confirmed his face, rasping.
"Room... ing house... address... remembered..."
"You bragging now, asshole? What the hell happened?"
Udim's flushed face paled bloodless. Gasping shallowly: "Teacher... Parm... captured..."
"What? Who? Why?"
"That guy... Bildo... dead... Teacher took the blame..."
Udim trailed off. Consciousness half-gone. Jin-cheol didn't hesitate, pulling a syringe from his belt and jabbing Udim's chest. Fancy injector pumped silvery fluid into the wounds, staunching blood, fighting infection, substituting lost blood.
Udim's awareness plunged into darkness. Moments later, stabilized. Jin-cheol's expression darkened deeply. In the alley's gloom, his eyes gleamed coldly, staring skyward through the narrow night sky—like glaring at Udim's attackers.
"...Night's really long."
Confirming Udim past the crisis, Jin-cheol hoisted him effortlessly. Back to the rooming house.
Thus, Siol's back-alley boss Metidoti earned one more night.