Why? Do You Know About Them?

"Why? Do you know about them?"

At Kang Jin-cheol's question, Aiman nodded.

"It's a gathering of scholars centered around the Zipain. They even hold their own academic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠conferences among themselves, mainly focused on ancient history and artifacts."

Jin-cheol's eyes met those of Parm Wirson. How the hell does this guy know that? Jin-cheol voiced his exact thought.

"How do I know? I was already investigating them... before all this happened."

Aiman's eyes flicked toward the shabby Sandesiya pirate trio standing behind them—specifically, the pirate named Harmen whose life Parm had saved with his own hands. Harmen himself, however, showed no particular concern, just glancing around restlessly. His expression was filled with nothing but thoughts of escaping this prison.

"Why were you investigating them, Aiman?"

"..."

Aiman blinked up at him in response to Jin-cheol's question, then said curtly,

"I'll tell you if you become my disciple."

"Fuck off."

That again? Aiman chuckled as if it were a joke and continued,

"Because there were some suspicious things about them. If you ask what was suspicious and why I was investigating... that's hard to answer. There are so many different positions and perspectives in the world. But I believe what I do is for the world's good. At least, I'm trying to keep it from getting worse."

"What kind of explanation is that? Some secret society?"

Aiman just smiled faintly. Then he stepped into the cell and closely examined the blood-soaked Essai.

By then, the blood-soaked man seemed to realize these weren't Sun Temple warriors, wriggling and stammering desperately,

"Wh-who...? Doesn't matter! Pl-please! Save me! Please, just save me!"

"Both your legs are severed, and your remaining arms won't escape disability. Plus, they pulled out your eyeballs intact—no way to restore your sight. And yet you want to live?"

Aiman's voice was ice-cold. The blood-soaked man fell silent for a moment, as if speechless. But the next instant, tears—or something like them, mixed with pus and blood—streamed from his wounded eye sockets. He uttered something utterly wretched while shedding them.

"I... I want to live... No matter how pathetic I look, I don't want to die. I... I want to live more... Somehow, just a bit more...!"

Aiman turned back, and the group exchanged glances. Parm spoke first.

"We should keep him alive for now. Setting aside the Sun Temple warriors' false testimony, he's the prime suspect in the recent murder of Bildo Bell. We need him alive to get the full story."

"You sure? This fucker tried to pin the crime on you."

Parm's eyes narrowed above his mask. He was smiling.

"The truth came out anyway, didn't it? And anyone clinging to life at the end deserves to live."

"Well said. The right to life isn't given—it's seized."

Aiman nodded in agreement beside him. These two might actually get along.

Aiman stepped out of the cell, and Jin-cheol and Parm approached the torture rack to tend to the blood-soaked man. Couldn't keep calling him that, so Jin-cheol asked,

"What's your name?"

"...Gugban."

"Alright, hold still, Gugban."

Pulling out the nails fixing his body in place, Jin-cheol watched Gugban tremble violently—but he clenched his teeth, stifling screams. The guy had some serious will to live. His blood spurted onto the cell floor with a hiss.

Then someone said,

"He's gonna croak before we get out."

Glancing back, Jin-cheol saw the sneering pirate, Harmen. Shaking his head at Gugban's bleeding state.

"I'm not carrying that corpse. Dragging a bloody mess through Siol's back alleys? We'll get nabbed by the night watch instantly. Just ditch him."

"You carry him if you want. Shut the fuck up otherwise."

"We're already late because of that lump."

What the hell's this prick's problem? As Jin-cheol yanked another nail, Harmen looked genuinely annoyed, like it was pointless bullshit. Haeta fidgeted awkwardly beside him. Jin-cheol was about to snap back when a massive bulk slipped in front, blocking the way.

It was Udim.

"...What?"

"I'll carry him."

He offered a bundle of rags to Parm—probably grabbed from a warehouse on the way. Parm took them and swiftly wrapped Gugban's body like a gourd.

"Why you?"

"My back's best for it."

Jin-cheol just chuckled dryly and helped Parm secure Gugban to Udim's back.

Exiting the cramped cell with the torture rack, they saw Aiman eyeing the pirates—especially ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Harmen—with clear displeasure, Harmen staring back defiantly, and Haeta flustered between them. They look like a real comedy duo.

Then Parm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠said curtly,

"At least repay what you received and live on, Harmen."

"..."

The prick who'd been mouthing off to Jin-cheol shut up and looked away. Ah, even a pirate can't be an utter asshole to the guy who saved his life.

Jin-cheol scanned the group. Near-death Gugban on Udim's back, pensive Parm, still glaring at Harmen, averted eyes from Harmen, oddly downcast Haeta, Peran and Morel staring thoughtfully at Gugban while eyeing the ragtag pirates warily. Shit, what a crowd. Prison break or group tour?

"Let's move."

Jin-cheol shook off his brief thoughts, took the lead, and the group followed in a rumble.

But they had to stop right after passing the cell door.

"...Shit. We're fucked."

At the far end of the corridor stood a stern-faced middle-aged Essai in crisp white robes, flanked by four Sun Temple warriors in formation.

Peran muttered,

"Kasian...!"

That guy's the crazy zealot? As Jin-cheol watched, the middle-aged Essai stepped forward a few paces.

"Even at high noon when the sun shines brightest, shadows still fall. A heretic has emerged among the noble bloodlines."

His eyes weren't on Jin-cheol up front, but on Peran behind him—specifically, her silver breastplate. Should've covered the armor, not the face?

But Peran boldly stepped forward, removing her mask.

"Guardian Kasian, don't you dare question my faith. I'm a witness who knows you fabricated evidence and coerced a false confession in this murder."

"...And who might you be, saying such things?"

"I'm Peran of Antela. Warrior who received the Sun's Proof, Essai sworn to protect Siol and the Sun Temple. And here to rescue Parm Wirson, whom you tried to frame."

Kasian's face soured. His eyes swept the ragtag group, landing on Gugban slung over Udim's back. They narrowed. Peran continued,

"The scholar's servant already confessed his guilt and named his backers roughly. No crime on Parm, so imprisoning him like this is wrong. If you block us now, I'll draw my sword for what I believe in."

He seemed to ponder, then spoke.

"A mere heretic with so many connections. But a heretic is still a heretic. And those behind you—Sandesiya pirates? Even the real murderer? If you're really just here for one Baika, no need to drag them all out."

A stern neutrality settled on his face—or at least, it looked that way. Seemed he had no intention of letting them go easily.

"Rescue? You're nothing but rotten souls who can't face a single ray of the sun's light! Sandesiyans who live by thievery, Baika who mock the light's doctrine—they can't stand tall under the sun—"

"Hold it!"

Another figure stepped forward—much shorter than the rest: Aiman. He removed his mask and strode boldly between the two groups.

Has this dog-sword grandpa lost it?

"...?"

But seeing Aiman's somehow relaxed face, Kasian's expression turned strange. The stern neutrality cracked into bewilderment.

Aiman stopped squarely in the middle, staring silently. Kasian moved toward him too. The Sun Temple warriors behind Kasian stirred uneasily at the movement.

What now? Jin-cheol strained his ears. Soon, the whispers between the close pair reached him—barely audible, even up close.

Well, damn. They seem chummy. Jin-cheol felt baffled seeing the wasteland dog-swordsman and the big-city zealot on decent terms. And talk of Sandesiya royalty? His eyes flicked to pirate Harmen and Haeta. Prince and wizard or some shit?

Both sides stared baffled at the huddle, but Aiman's relaxed face hardened slightly. Glaring at Kasian, he pressed,

Aiman's glare turned to dagger eyes.

"Hey, you pointy-eared fuck! I was gonna let slide that fake confession you cooked up targeting the Baika! But you pull this shit?!"

Kasian's brows shot up.

"You mangy mutt! Who do you think this is? Think sneaking in for a jailbreak gets forgiven?!"

"Power-drunk pointy-ear! You've always pissed me off!"

Aiman's eyes flashed; planting his staff, he leaped with a dropkick straight to Kasian's chest. Kasian grunted hard, flying back. The four distant warriors charged instantly.

Jin-cheol and Peran surged forward too. In that split second, the warriors uncoiled whips from their waists like belts. Four warriors, eight lashes slicing air toward Aiman.

Shockingly, Aiman used the recoil from kicking Kasian to spin midair, dodging all. And in that spin, a flash from his staff tip severed the whip ends with snaps.

Through the gap, Peran's silver armor gleamed as she dove in, green sword reversed, slamming the hilt into the lead warrior's solar plexus. His gut caved; he crumpled forward.

Before he hit the floor, Peran sought the next in accelerated sight—but the warriors wore red-emblem breastplates too, moving at her speed. Targets shifted from Aiman to her. Whips snaked like living serpents; she parried with her blade. Metal rang on leather.

But one blade couldn't block six. One whip writhed alive, slipping her guard toward her jaw. Panic flashed in her eyes.

Then her body yanked back, evading. The whip cracked empty air. Jin-cheol had grabbed her armor and pulled.

He rocketed forward like a cannonball. Whips missing Peran targeted him—but lagged a beat behind his velocity, whipping empty.

The wielder's eyes widened. Even in artifact-slowed time, Jin-cheol moved far faster. His fist loomed too.

No time to react—crack! The warrior's nose collapsed, head snapping back. He tumbled.

Jin-cheol swept his left leg into another's unguarded gut. The body launched upward. A trailing whip lashed his face; he twisted aside, grabbed, yanked.

"Gah!"

The opposite warrior flew in. Jin-cheol's left hook snapped his face mid-flight—whip-crack spin to the floor.

No warriors left standing. Dusting his hands amid the fallen, Jin-cheol met baffled stares from Peran, Aiman, and the rest.

He just shrugged.

"Heh. Your moves are getting—watch out!"

Sudden warning. Sensing motion behind, Jin-cheol knew Kasian was attacking—but an ominous heat prickled; he rolled forward instead.

A yellow beam grazed where he'd stood. Rolling to his feet, he checked back. A red melt-line scored the worn wall, dripping.

Seeing Kasian, Jin-cheol whistled.

"Whoa, shit! Lightsaber?"

"You bastard!"

Kasian wielded a yellow heat-lightsaber—not pure beam, but long sword with glowing blade. Wall damage rivaled what Jin-cheol knew. Tanks shoot beam cannons, priests swing lightsabers? Future folk were smart. That's why they fell?

Kasian swung wildly, face twisted. Jin-cheol arched back, dodging. Fast, precise—but no armor artifact. Easy to read.

As the strike ended, Jin-cheol closed, gripped the sword hand.

"...Grrk!"

Kasian's rage twisted to agony—Jin-cheol's grip crushed like a vice. Crunch-pop. Hand shattered; hilt cracked. A clang—yellow fluid leaked from the split. Blade died.

Kasian collapsed, kneeling before Jin-cheol.

Jin-cheol drew back his right like a bowstring. White blade hummed from his gauntlet.

"Wait! Show mercy, Jin-cheol!"

Aiman shouted as the tip touched Kasian's chin. Jin-cheol stared into his eyes.

"Seemed he meant to kill. Gotta be ready to die too."

"He was heated! As a swordsman, you know—there's that irreversible instant when you swing!"

Aiman rushed over, calming him. But I'm no swordsman, dog-dude.

"Not a fight to the death. Neither you nor that noble warrior killed the temple guards, right? We have the servant and the truth. We've already won."

"..."

Jin-cheol didn't reply. He hadn't spared them for that. It was Jindallae at the entrance—calling them her children, wanting them protected.

"...Aiman. You owe me some explanations."

The white blade retracted smoothly. Releasing the hand, Kasian groaned, dropping it limp.

Aiman sighed in relief.

"Let's get out of this underground first. Talk after. I'll explain everything."

"No disciple deal?"

"...Heh. Still, wanna learn some swordplay?"

Aiman laughed at the jab. Jin-cheol flicked blood from his hands, turning.

Then Aiman's relaxed face twisted in horror. And Kasian's presence rising behind.

Jin-cheol wouldn't spare a third time. In split-second world, white blade out, whirling back.

Pain, rage, humiliation—undamaged hand drawing a dagger hilt. A true beam blade ignited short.

Too close. Kasian lunged bodily. If that hit—like miniaturized spider-tank beam cannon—guts incinerated.

Jin-cheol thrust left hand. Hand for life. But you die for sure.

White blade rose as Kasian's throat targeted. In slowed split-second—

"..."

Time halted. Space and vision warped. Nearing beam and flesh pulled apart in distortion.

Jin-cheol felt the underground corridor stretch away from him. Amid warped space, only a black-haired woman held reality—hair flying.

Jindallae.

I'm the one about to die. No third chance. Frozen, Jin-cheol couldn't move or speak. But Jindallae reached for Kasian's beam dagger as if hearing thoughts—yellow beam yanked to her grasp like the world obeyed only her.

It became a tiny sun in her hand.

Right hand holding the mini-sun, she approached, drawing a thin square card from thin air with her left—like a card.

Then, pure magic unfolded. Long-short lines erupted from the card—like pulling barcode tape.

Glowing dust sprayed from the sun. Light and barcode swirled to Jin-cheol's extended left wrist, wrapping his forearm.

They etched a barcode tattoo into his skin. In frozen time, Jin-cheol felt awe, mystery—and absurdity. Is this science? Time stop, sudden Jindallae, her magic. Isekai theory peeked from his mental notes again.

Time flowed in the split-second; tattoo complete on Jin-cheol's left arm. Space rushed back.

The tattoo burned—like surging blood heat.

She leaned to his forearm, kissing the barcode tattoo.

"..."

Jin-cheol blinked. Space and time normalized. Jindallae vanished. Instead, horrified Kasian knelt again.

Ugly mug. Staring up, chest heavy, he muttered hoarsely,

"H-how... a heretic... the sun's light...?"

What bullshit? Jin-cheol realized he wasn't looking at his face—but left hand.

And warm heat emanated from the left forearm.

"..."

Tattoo encircled it, glowing yellow, spewing light and heat. Climbing his left hand, forming a raging burning blade.