The Arrival of the Giant Lavito Airship
The entire city of Siol seemed on the verge of plunging into panic at the sight of the massive Lavito airship, gripped by shock and chaos—but in reality, it wasn't like that at all.
"Them? Yeah, they're kinda fascinating. You wonder how something that huge even flies. But they show up every few years, so it's not really scary."
The Golden Whale's waitress, Chike, wiped down the tables as if it were no big deal.
"Actually, some merchants treat it as a chance to clear out their warehouses and just wait for them to come. Something about restocking? Those 'real rabbit-folk' splash around tons of silver every time they visit Siol and buy up everything in sight."
She emphasized "real rabbit-folk" as she pulled a round silver coin from her pocket and held it out to Jin-cheol. It was a thin silver piece embossed with a rabbit. Jin-cheol barely stifled a laugh at the sight of it. The simplified rabbit engraving looked just like the logo from some worldwide porn mag ten thousand years ago.
"They say if you keep it in your pocket, it brings you good fortune and money. I've got one too. Pretty neat, right? I don't know the details, but apparently they engrave their leaders' faces on their coins. Weird thing is, it's never the same face twice."
"Different every time they come?"
"Who knows. Maybe a different bunch shows up each time."
Jin-cheol flicked the coin back to her after inspecting it. Chike caught the flying silver in her apron and shot him a glare.
"More importantly, what are you guys doing up there?"
"What do you think?"
"Three guys from different races huddled together saying no need to clean the room—what the hell are you up to?"
Instead of answering her question, Jin-cheol just grabbed a bottle of booze from the bar.
"Ah! Not paying again!"
"Put it on my tab."
"Wait, Tuchi-raban said he had something to ask—"
Speak of the devil, or in this case, speak of the Kampoeni and one shows up. The door to the Golden Whale rattled open, and in shuffled an elderly Kampoeni with a red-tinged nose. Chike spotted his bristly fur and quickly backed away, pretending to tidy tables.
The Kampoeni scanned the empty tavern after entering, then strode over when he spotted Jin-cheol watching him. Jin-cheol held up the bottle he'd grabbed.
"Long time no see, Tuchi-raban. You'll put this on my tab, right?"
But Tuchi-raban—the owner of the Golden Whale tavern and the underground bare-knuckle fight ring, who called himself a former sailor—ignored the bottle entirely and stabbed out his words like a knife.
"Did you ask about Metidoti?"
"...Who said that? Even if you're framing someone, don't pin it on a pure soul like me."
"Pure? Put down that bottle first. And who? The whole back alleys of Siol are buzzing with it."
Jin-cheol shrugged, used his teeth to pop the cap off the bottle, spat it out, and took a refreshing swig. Tuchi-raban eyed him seriously and continued.
"Word's spreading from the Metidoti survivors who crawled out of their smashed headquarters. Some Sandesiya Kampoeni and you stirred up that mess. Watch your back. The other gangs see you and that Kampoeni as major threats. They might even send hitmen."
"Hitmen?"
"Guys who kill for pay."
Jin-cheol laughed. Now there's a bounty on my head too? Perfect.
"I know a friend who vanished after pulling similar shit—Metidoti. Looks like a lot of folks wanna end up the same."
"...You planning to smash every gang in Siol?"
"What, like that's the goal? Nah, just some serious talks for non-violent, constructive aims."
With that, Jin-cheol drained the bottle and sauntered up to the second floor. Tuchi-raban watched his retreating back with uneasy eyes.
*
Jin-cheol entered the second-floor room and said to Parm, who was fiddling at the table,
"Any progress?"
"Hmmm..."
The scholar crossed his arms and let out a groan instead of answering. In front of him sat the typewriter artifact they'd gotten from dead Bildo Bell's desk—what looked to Jin-cheol like a retro sci-fi mini-computer. Ever since finding it, Parm had holed up in this Golden Whale room for two straight days, trying to activate the machine. Jin-cheol saw it as computer-like, and Parm was convinced it was an artifact.
But he'd pressed every key, checked for other buttons or switches, and still found no power source to turn the damn thing on.
Jin-cheol stepped up beside him.
"Wanna just smash it open? Might be something hidden inside."
"That's... a last resort. We don't even know what kind of artifact it is or how it works."
Jin-cheol hadn't been serious anyway, so he dropped it. Instead, he turned to Udim by the window.
"You see anything from there?"
"People."
Udim didn't even turn from staring outside, rifle slung over his shoulder as he kept watch. He didn't get fancy artifacts, so he stuck to checking for anyone targeting the scholar.
Jin-cheol joined him, peered out the Golden Whale's window, took a gulp of booze, and offered it to Udim. Udim took a sip and handed it back. After gazing out a moment, Jin-cheol turned to Parm.
"Wish we had a yo-sul sorcerer right now. At least they'd know what that thing is."
"Sorcerers can't read the history of every artifact. Hell, the Sandesiya ones couldn't even explain what's in your left arm."
Jin-cheol lifted his left arm and grinned.
"...That Kasian bastard called it the 'blade of the sun' or some shit. What do you think, Doc?"
"Never seen its type before, so I can't say. But it's not harming you now, so we'll watch it. Speaking of, how were the Siol citizens reacting out there?"
While Parm tinkered with the dead scholar's gadget, Jin-cheol had wandered around scouting reactions to the Lavito airship—and Chike downstairs was his last stop.
Jin-cheol leaned against the window frame.
"Less reaction than you'd think. Outsiders are freaking out, but the locals are thrilled the 'real rabbit-folk' are here dropping cash."
"...Any link you sense between their arrival and the Muksaang House?"
Jin-cheol shook his head at Parm's question.
"Not enough info to say if it's a leap or not. But word is their leaders met Siol's top brass. Whatever they talked about, it ended badly—they went in bold to city hall and slunk out like thieves back to the ship."
"Hmmm..."
Parm stroked his mask, lost in thought. Jin-cheol watched him a beat, then plunked the empty bottle on his table with a thunk.
"Anyway, Doc. Time for you to crash. It's been two days straight. You busted out of prison, patched up a dying prisoner, raced through Siol's night streets, and holed up here messing with that thing. You'd drop dead any second."
"Mm, I caught a wink last night. You and Udim haven't rested either..."
"I'm built tough, and he's just been window-watching. We're fine. Take a swig of this and sleep."
"...And you?"
Jin-cheol jerked his chin toward the door.
"Gonna check downstairs for more rumors. Udim's got the room."
"Right?"
Udim nodded without looking away from the window. That kid's one heavy motherfucker. Jin-cheol chuckled, and Parm rubbed his eyes and nodded too.
"Got it. I'll... rest a bit then..."
Parm took the swig Jin-cheol offered and collapsed onto the bed. He'd played it cool, but he was beat. Jin-cheol checked Udim by the window, then slipped out.
"...If any Muksaang House bastards are left in this city, they'll try for the Doc now. Can't touch Gugban in Antela hands."
Muksaang House. Their black hand in Siol wouldn't stop at the scholar and his servant. Jin-cheol figured they'd have contingencies. With the Sun Temple and Esai elites cracking down after the plan failed, they'd consolidate remnants for a direct strike rather than get swept away.
Scouting the situation, locating the Doc—time before they moved full bore was tomorrow or the next day, by Jin-cheol's gut. Would the instincts of a squad leader who'd prowled Manju frontlines ten millennia ago still hold? That pent-up soldier's sense. Chilling. Eyes closed, he could see through walls. Rolling his brain for real after so long felt like a third eye opening on his forehead.
"...But after ten thousand years, maybe it really would open?"
Chucking at his dumb thought, Jin-cheol shook his head and headed downstairs.
"...Huh? That was quick?"
The first floor looked different from when he'd gone up. Chike and Tuchi-raban were still there, sure. But the space that should've been filling with customers was packed with shady fuckers in black coats and hats, and the other two were huddled in a corner, shrunken and silent.
*
Chike stared at Jin-cheol with a desperate, tear-streaked face. Tuchi-raban just hung his head, nose bleeding, eyes on the floor. Udim, what's the point of watching the window when the first floor's overrun? All twelve black-clad eyes locked on Jin-cheol at the stairs.
"Not Muksaang guys."
"Muksaang?"
The guy standing at the central standing table—with a bottle and glass—echoed the word. That's the mouth.
"The ones I was waiting for originally."
"Too bad for them. You'll be having a deep chat with us instead."
"Who the fuck are you?"
He didn't answer right away, just sipped from the glass and set it down with a clack. Pale blue eyes gleamed under his wide-brim hat.
"...Our little brother died by your hand."
"Little brother? Metidoti?"
"No, not that mongrel."
Jin-cheol descended the stairs while talking, heading straight for the standing table. The black-hats' gazes followed. The Esai man narrowed his eyes at the approaching Jin-cheol, who grabbed the bottle and filled the empty glass. Then downed it without pause.
"Then... yeah, one guy I can think of who croaked by my hand. That fucker who showed up at midnight with Dol Jumeok, trying to stick a knife in my back. Wasn't he Metidoti's underling?"
"...More like hired help. A dispatch from our Brotherhood to Metidoti, you could say."
Jin-cheol snorted a laugh and refilled the glass.
"Brotherhood? What the fuck is this city crawling with? Tell 'em to fuck off already."
Another gulp. The facing Esai rolled his tongue in his mouth, watching with narrowed eyes, then spoke.
"...Our Brotherhood serves the Mother of Vengeance. Thus, by the legends of her faithful servants—"
"Shut the fuck up. Don't care."
"..."
The Esai's eyes sharpened to blades. They could've sliced flesh just looking. But Jin-cheol ignored it, refilling and sipping again.
"I can guess why you're here. That sailor dude spilled."
"...Oh? Why?"
"Little bro's revenge is side shit. Siol's underworld just ponied up to have me killed."
"Heh, you know it. Wanna guess the price?"
Jin-cheol drained the glass. Refilled it.
"How the fuck should I know? I'm stressed enough—don't give me bullshit."
"Stressed? Ha! Afraid of us?"
Jin-cheol pressed the full glass to his lips, eyed the sneering Esai coldly.
"...Nah. It's just that after ten thousand years, I'm still killing to survive. That's the shitty part, rabbit fuck."
He snapped his jaw, draining the glass, then tossed it lightly across—like passing a ball to a kid, no threat. The Esai caught it reflexively, and the blade hidden in his palm clattered onto the table. At the same instant, Jin-cheol's foot shoved the standing table forward.
The heavy table flew like a leather ball, slamming the Esai and crashing into the wall with a boom that shook it.
The black-hats charged. Iron rods—daggers—in hand. But Jin-cheol moved too. A white blade erupted from his right hand's back, slashing air. The rod aimed at his vitals snapped with a ting. A front kick sent its owner flying, chest caved, blood spraying from mouth and nose.
He spun, deflecting a stab from the side, closed in tight. Wrapped his arm around the guy's neck trying to shorten his grip, spun half-turn. Two other blades plunged into that guy's body. Another half-spin, step back, and he slashed them all with the white blade.
The weight of three bodies on the blade was immense, but he brute-forced it. The white sword hummed. Three waists severed, blood gushing across the floor. Splatter dotted Jin-cheol's face. Some froze at the sight. Jin-cheol didn't.
Big step to the nearest, right arm thrusting straight. Blade plus arm length pierced a face dead-center. Flicked it off—the corpse flopped sideways like a marionette with cut strings.
Six down in seconds. The two by the door dropped daggers, yanked something from coat inners. Crude, stubby—but familiar. Guns.
Jin-cheol threw up his right arm to shield. Rat-tat-tat—bullets poured. But his forearm bracer glowed softly, a translucent barrier blooming. Rounds pinged off, pattering to the floor.
They emptied maybe forty rounds combined—not long. Mags dry, they gawked, fumbled reloads. Jin-cheol didn't wait. Dropped the shield, charged, grabbed one barrel while kicking its owner flying. The pipe pistol flew from his grip—straight into the other's chest like a spear.
Two more down. Four left. They exchanged glances, shook off shock, charged with daggers.
Jin-cheol instinctively thrust at the frontrunner. Blade speared chest. But the guy didn't stop, barreled forward—impaling himself up Jin-cheol's arm. Bloodshot eyes grabbed the arm. He'd baited it, sacrificing for the others' chance.
Right one, left two—all-in, life-be-damned thrusts.
Then the grabber's face froze. His body lifted off the floor. Jin-cheol's left forearm blazed with light and heat, racing up to forge a flaming blade.
Next instant, Jin-cheol spun, concentric circles of fire and white line radiating from him.
"..."
He stopped, knelt, breathing steady. Smoke wisped from his lowered arms. Left flame roared; right blade hummed.
He looked up. The four attackers lay in four chunks each, scattered before him.
Slow scan—no survivors.
"Kehk..."
Correction. One. Jin-cheol retracted the white sword and approached. The first guy, half-crushed against the wall by the table, bleeding out.
"What... kehk... what the fuck... grrrk... what monster..."
"If you'd gone under that temple, would Jindallae have told me not to kill you?"
The guy bubbled blood, mouth working for an answer. Jin-cheol didn't wait.
"...Maybe. Would I have spared you then? Who knows."
His still-burning left blade swept. A clean glowing line scored the wooden wall. The head thumped down, rolled.
As the light faded from his left hand, shadows seemed to gather around Jin-cheol.
He turned, spotted the slaughterhouse tavern—and stunned waitress Chike staring. Tuchi-raban huddled, trembling, head down.
The sight drew a hollow laugh.
"No one to stop me, and I'm a butcher. Hey, like you said, a monster..."
He turned to the guy he'd addressed—realizing only then it was just a rolling head. Stopped. Stared a moment, wry smile, turned away.
The door hung open. A fancy-dressed Esai woman surveyed the scene.
"You?"
"...Quite the mess. Hope you had good reason. Otherwise, I'll have to call the family guard to arrest you first."
The woman—Ishanka of the Antela—scanned the room with a frown.