The Solar Blade
Jin-cheol stared blankly at the blazing blade. A fierce light and heat enveloped his hand, but deep inside, it was just comfortably warm. Is this some kind of psyonic shit? No, it's sunlight, so... Solar Blade?
"What the fuck is this?"
While Jin-cheol muttered dazedly, Kasian gaped at the blade of light, his eyes wide as if they might tear.
"How... the Sun Blade... how in the world...?"
His gaze slowly shifted to Jin-cheol's face. Jin-cheol, who had been staring in shock at his own hand, flinched at the look. A strange, hard-to-fathom light was seeping from the depths of Kasian's eyes.
Jin-cheol reflexively touched his face. Fortunately, his mask was still on, so his features hadn't been exposed. But hell, I'm the only pink-skinned human in this city anyway. We're fucked.
At that moment, the burning blade in Jin-cheol's hand began to subside. The raging heat faded, and the tattoo on his forearm, which had glowed yellow, lost its light and turned black. The blade of light vanished as if its fierce blaze had been a lie.
But Jin-cheol could instinctively feel it. The blade still lingered in his arm. He didn't know how to summon it again, if its form was truly meant for slicing enemies, or why his left hand was unscathed despite the scorching heat—but the hot warmth pulsing from the tattoo, his skin, and the veins beneath was undeniable.
The blade of flame slumbered in his left arm.
"Fuck, it's not like some Left Hand of the Black Flame Dragon or some shit... what the hell just happened...?"
The rest of the group stared at Jin-cheol in stunned silence. Haeta and Peran, however, wore expressions of mysticism and doubt rather than mere surprise. Both seemed eager to question him once they were out.
Aiman snapped out of it first, rushing over and kicking the kneeling Kasian.
"Hey, you pointy-eared bastard! Have you lost your fucking mind? Sneaking up from behind!"
"Gahk!"
Aiman started stomping on the fallen Kasian. A small Kampoeni like him couldn't do much damage, but he danced nimbly on his feet, methodically trampling every inch of Kasian's body. Kasian could barely breathe.
But Jin-cheol felt a chill despite himself. Even as he was being thoroughly stomped, Kasian's eyes grew more dangerously intense, tracking Jin-cheol's every move. It was the gaze of a deranged cult fanatic beholding their messiah—enough to send shivers down his spine.
What the fuck. Why's he staring like that?
Seeing Kasian's nose broken and blood streaming, Jin-cheol spoke up.
"Aiman. Enough. Let's get out of here."
"Huh? Leave? I need to beat this fucker more..."
"No time for that. If we linger, that guy Gugban might actually die."
"...You sure?"
Jin-cheol shrugged and started walking. They'd barely been underground half a day, but he was already sick of it. He needed sunlight or moonlight—any outside air.
Aiman watched Jin-cheol's back with sparkling eyes, then whipped a kick at Kasian's jaw.
As Kasian toppled with a groan, Aiman whispered,
"You're expelled from the knight order. Show your face again, and I'll take your head."
"...Heh heh. For expulsion, you need three members' consent or the captain's approval..."
"Once I announce your corruption today, every member will agree. Never thought you'd sink this low in just three years. Disappointing, Kasian."
Aiman left those words and followed Jin-cheol. The others began to move as well.
Peran alone paused before Kasian, picking something up from the floor and looking down at him.
Kasian, spitting blood on the ground, looked up at her.
"You... Antela warrior..."
"Choose one."
"What?"
"Make today's events public and expose your fabricated evidence, or bury it quietly. If you pick the former, Antela will join the city council to dismantle you completely. Your recent rhetoric has been crossing lines."
"...Antela allying with the mayor? The seven council families? That make any sense—"
"Why do you think I'm here?"
Kasian's face hardened.
"No way... the head of Antela...?"
Peran, gazing coldly at Kasian, pocketed the item she'd picked up and walked away. Behind her, Kasian hung his head, lost in shocked thought.
Morel hurried to Peran's side and whispered,
"You okay, sis?"
"What?"
"The head doesn't know about this, right? Using her name like that..."
"Idiot, it's a bluff. When did I say I had orders from her? That fool jumped to conclusions."
"...If he calls your bluff, we're screwed..."
Morel glanced back anxiously. Temple guards lay scattered in ruin, Kasian sprawled amid them, blood pooling. Their white robes were filthy with blood and dust. A faint smile tugged at Morel's lips.
"...Yeah, we'll be fine."
After watching a moment, Morel turned and ran to catch up as the group moved away.
*
The original plan had been to bust Parm out and load him onto a merchant ship to escape Siol. But securing Gugban—the real killer of Bildo Bell—shifted the top priority to keeping him alive.
After navigating the underground city—Udim had memorized the paths perfectly, and Jindallae no longer activated the spider tanks—they emerged at Siol's docks and headed straight for a barbershop. The nearest clinic was too far, and the harbor's only spot for sharp scalpels, clean needles, and bandages was here.
The barber panicked at the late-evening crowd, but Morel shoved a handful of silver coins into his hand and chased him out. The barber left grinning, dreaming of a night at the tavern.
Watching his face, Jin-cheol thought, Better not get a shave here.
Parm cleared the table in the back room, laid Gugban on it, and barked at the crowding group,
"Everyone out except Morel!"
"Huh? Why me...?"
"You'll assist me."
"Uh, I... uh..."
"If we'd done emergency treatment straight from prison, he'd be fine. He's in bad shape now. I need your hands."
"Ah, yes. If you say so, Doctor..."
'Morel-kun'? Creepy title.
Jin-cheol thought that as he stepped out. The small barbershop felt packed thanks to the group.
"..."
But despite the crowd, it was silent. Everyone slumped around, wordless.
Jin-cheol wrapped his arms—scraped up from the underground brawl—with bandages from inside. The bleeding had stopped and scabs formed, but better covered than exposed.
Haeta sidled over to help. She gave a shy smile, then wrapped firmly—her hands deft despite the grin.
Harmen slipped away watching. Udim noticed.
"Where you going?"
"...Check the kitchen for food."
"I'll come."
The two tagalong pirates followed them down the hall.
Udim soon returned with a bowl heaped with bread.
"Where're the others?"
"Said they'd eat inside. That Kampoeni's stare is too intense."
"...Ahem."
Hearing Aiman's awkward cough, Udim offered the bowl. Everyone took a piece and ate. Bellies empty from the ordeal, no one refused.
After silently munching awhile, Jin-cheol spoke as if it just occurred to him.
"What's this knight order?"
"..."
Casual as it was, Aiman and Haeta froze. Peran's eyes sharpened. Oblivious Udim kept devouring bread.
Aiman pulled his bread from his mouth and sighed.
"...Forgot how sharp your ears are. Makes sense—you hear breaths from afar. Fine, I promised to explain everything."
Shaking his head slightly, he met Jin-cheol's eyes and continued slowly.
"...Our 'Order of the Crown of Understanding' isn't tightly knit or forceful. More like a social club. As you saw, members don't even communicate well, and breaking mutual aid pacts is common."
He scratched his chin sheepishly.
"You might say what kind of 'organization' or 'knights' is that... but members all share one ideal, swearing lifelong pursuit."
"What ideal?"
"...'Harmonious coexistence through mutual understanding of all people.'"
Jin-cheol snorted mid-bite.
"Too lofty aside, Kasian being a member tanks the credibility."
"Kasian was always a bit off from induction. But the captain and others interviewed him personally, approving because his power-hungry side matched fierce loyalty to his own. We hoped interactions would broaden his view, extending that love to all Siol's citizens..."
Seeing Aiman's melancholic face, Jin-cheol said,
"You were on that interview panel."
"...Yeah. Early years, we exchanged letters, met casually—it seemed to work. But lately, his words hardened, no replies. That's why I didn't ask him to rescue Harmen... Embarrassing. The older you get, the more doubt over certainty. Because of failures like this."
Aiman looked as weary as he was sad—a life-weary elder's face. Haeta scooted close, kneeling by his chair to lean against him. It brightened Aiman's expression a bit.
"So investigating the Muksaang House was knight order business?"
"Yes. Letters from eastern friends: an old scholarly group in disguise, but suspiciously erasing history with ruthless zeal."
Jin-cheol tilted his head. Eastern?
"Jipain's south, right?"
"Known base is Jipain, but they have eastern outposts too. This incident shows their tendrils in Siol. Gugban will have much to explain—if he survives. Wonder how much he really knows."
Fuck. What the hell are these assholes?
Jindallae's final words resurfaced: beware the self-proclaimed 'Emperor'? Clearly the 'sacred imperial bloodline' nut. So humans like Jin-cheol existed now. And Muksaang House erased human traces ruthlessly.
...Or maybe they're a low-level cleanup crew preserving records.
"What?"
"Nothing. Thanks for explaining openly."
Aiman shook his head.
"No secrets anyway. As I said, more social club—only three or four active. Most just lend names. Excuse to drink for some... So, about that..."
"Want me to join?"
Aiman grinned faintly.
"What do you think?"
Jin-cheol shook his head with a smile.
"Sorry, Aiman."
"...Ahem. Fine. Wasn't expecting much. You're past Dragon Fist training—what would sway you cheapen my name? Ahem."
Embarrassed, he stood and headed down the hall.
"How much did those guys eat to hole up like that...?"
With Aiman gone, the shop quieted. Correction—not quite. Udim's munching echoed.
Jin-cheol offered his half-eaten bread.
"Take this."
"Why?"
"Not hungry."
"Not hungry? You dying already?"
"Shut up, asshole."
As he scolded Udim, a silent one spoke.
"I have a question too. Mind if I ask?"
It was Peran. Her eyes fixed on Jin-cheol's left arm—specifically, the barcode tattoo of long and short lines.
Ha. How to explain without getting stabbed for blasphemy.
"That... uh... it's..."
"Guardian Kasian called it the Sun Blade upon seeing it. A sword from Siol's ancient legend: it crushed an army of winter's snow and ice, cleaved the pale gray sky, summoning summer."
Fuck, more head-scratching bullshit.
Jin-cheol rubbed his temple unwittingly.
"Not that. Why would I have such a relic?"
"I haven't studied ancient history deeply, so details escape me. But the holy sword returns only when winter's curse raises its pale banner and white legions again. And... winter's curse was born 19 years ago."
Jin-cheol gawked at her. Now she's spouting crazy shit too. Dying to call her lady's daughter that?
"What's your point?"
"Have you met the Holy Spirit?"
"..."
They called the power plant a temple, the reactor a god—so their "Holy Spirit" had to be AI Jindallae.
He pictured himself shoved onstage by lunatic cultists. Spiritual leader of elf freaks who jailed and dismembered for fun. 121st-century cult leader. Shitty title. Might need levitation tricks for the faithful.
How to dodge entanglement?
"The 'Holy Spirit' she means is that demon you met—the one warping space and twisting time."
A clear, bright voice chimed in. Haeta.