Village Reckoning
“Th-that kid... he’s an orphan. No parents. That’s why he lives like some wild animal...”
“...”
The innkeeper stammered out his answer, his eyes flicking nervously to the pistol holstered at Lamien’s waist. He looked terrified she might draw it. But even after hearing that, Lamien’s expression didn’t soften. And Jin-cheol sensed something off too. The innkeeper’s face hid more than he was letting on.
That’s when Dol Jumeok, who’d been sitting quietly until now, shoved his chair back with a screech and stood up. All eyes turned to him. As if to say watch this, he yanked the dagger from his belt and declared,
“Liar. Cut off a finger, truth comes out.”
“...?”
Question marks floated over everyone’s faces. Dol Jumeok answered with action. He strode over and grabbed the innkeeper’s ears like he was ripping them off, yanking him up.
“Agh! What the hell is this—?!”
“We ask questions, you answer. Smells like bullshit, we start slicing fingers one by one. Got it?”
“...!”
The innkeeper, mid-scream, clamped his mouth shut at the sight of the dagger flashing before his eyes. His terrified gaze darted between Lamien and Jin-cheol, pleading for them to intervene. Lamien couldn’t hide her shock, glancing back and forth between Dol Jumeok and Jin-cheol. She’d suspected the innkeeper was hiding something, but was this really necessary?
Jin-cheol, meanwhile, calmly refilled his glass and took a sip. Sometimes, a brute-force approach like Dol Jumeok’s was the way to go. He set the glass down and spoke.
“What’s your name?”
“...?”
The innkeeper didn’t even realize the question was for him until Dol Jumeok twitched the dagger. He yelped in panic.
“Barti! I’m Barti!”
“Right, Barti. What’s that troublemaker kid’s name?”
“Ma-Maro... Maro...”
“Why’s Maro stealing food?”
“...B-because he has no parents...”
Jin-cheol toyed with his glass and shot Dol Jumeok a glance. Understanding the cue, Dol Jumeok slammed the innkeeper to the floor, pinned his back with a knee, and wrenched his right arm out to the side. The dagger hovered above his hand.
“Gaaah! It’s true! No parents, really! No one in the village looks after him! So he sneaks in sometimes and steals food! I swear!”
The innkeeper’s muffled voice came out in a desperate rush. Dol Jumeok paused the dagger and looked to Jin-cheol. Jin-cheol refilled his empty glass and pressed on.
“Why no parents?”
“They died—no, went missing...”
“How?”
“...”
The innkeeper’s round eyes darted from Jin-cheol to Lamien to his hand under the dagger. Confusion, fear, bewilderment—What’s happening? How did it come to this? Who the hell are these people? Why me?—all flashed across his face.
In that instant, Dol Jumeok’s dagger thunked down between the innkeeper’s fingers.
“Gaaack! Zasoyens! They were Zasoyens!”
It hadn’t even nicked his skin, but terror forced the words out. Lamien’s face, which had been softening a bit, hardened again.
She said, “Zasoyens? You mean Zasoyeonbang people?”
“N-no, not exactly... The couple weren’t Zasoyens themselves... They were immigrants from three generations back...”
Terrified, the innkeeper spilled the story of the troublesome boy, Maro. Decades ago, a few Zasoyeonbang families had moved to the village. They’d brought wealth, built the docks, loaned big boats to the fishermen. The villagers, wary at first, soon welcomed them after they poured money into public works. The newcomers became the village elite.
They integrated over time, loyal members until just a few years ago. Then war broke out in the south, and everything changed. Siapo, allied with Urata by non-aggression pact, inexplicably began persecuting Zasoyens within its borders. Called them arrogant, greedy thieves leeching Siapo’s wealth with shady tricks.
Anti-Zasoyen sentiment spread from cities to rural spots like Amachi. Even long-assimilated families faced bloodline checks. But lines blurred—strict purity tests would’ve branded a third of the village as Zasoyen.
So the village elder redefined it: not blood, but inheritance. One man emerged—the biggest owner of fishing boats, docks, warehouses, buildings. Heir to the most legacy, passed eldest to eldest. Maro’s father.
“...So? You hanged him?”
Lamien stared down at the innkeeper with an icy face, her hand inching toward her pistol.
“N-not hanged...”
“Then what? Speak!”
Under her shout, the trembling innkeeper confessed.
“We... burned their house. Nailed the door shut so they couldn’t get out...”
“...!”
The words hit like a shockwave; Lamien couldn’t speak. Jin-cheol, parched, refilled and downed his glass. They looked like rabbits, but their cruelty rivaled humans’. Was this the 121st century or the Middle Ages?
He asked, “How’d the kid survive?”
“There was a secret space just big enough for a child. We found it clearing the rubble later... The couple must’ve hidden it...”
“Who verified the Zasoyen?”
“The... the elder. Village elder...”
Jin-cheol eyed Dol Jumeok, who sheathed the dagger and hauled the innkeeper up. Staring into the man’s terrified face, Jin-cheol said,
“Fetch the elder.”
“...Huh? The elder?”
The innkeeper blinked, then caught Dol Jumeok’s glare and nodded frantically.
“Y-yes! I’ll get the elder!”
Dol Jumeok stepped aside; the innkeeper bolted out. The inn fell quiet again, just Jin-cheol, Dol Jumeok, and Lamien.
She muttered, “Locking people in their house and burning it...? These savages!”
“Not common, huh?”
“Common? How could burning people alive be common?! This whole village needs judgment!”
“Who by?”
“...What?”
“Who’s gonna judge them?”
“...”
Jin-cheol filled his glass with a glug-glug-glug and knocked it back. The booze was good, but it left a bitter aftertaste.
“We’re just passersby. Heard one story—doesn’t give us the right to wipe this place out.”
“...But.”
“And if we judge? Then what? Kid’s parents died ’cause they were the richest. They probably split the boats and buildings. Line ’em all up and shoot?”
“...”
Lamien’s bright eyes dimmed with gloom as reality sank in. Defeated soldier, fugitive, unintentional con artist. Far from judge or jury. She needed to escape before real Siapo troops or cops showed.
“...Then why call the elder?”
Jin-cheol smirked faintly. He stood and approached the inn’s small window, sized for Lavitos. He flung it open and reached out.
“Eek! Let go!”
A short yelp, and in his grip was the ragged Lavito boy, Maro, who’d just fled. Ears pinched, the kid thrashed and tried to bite, but Jin-cheol ignored it and turned to Lamien.
“We’re passersby, but this kid’s different. Let’s ask what he wants to do with this village.”
*
“...”
Maro glared back at Jin-cheol, Lamien, and Dol Jumeok. Venom lurked in the boy’s eyes. Seated, he didn’t bolt, but he said nothing, just stared.
Lamien asked softly, “You’re Maro, right? You okay?”
“...”
“It’s fine. You can tell us. We’re, uh...”
Her eyes flickered. What to say? Nosy travelers? Fleeing losers?
“Your dad’s friend.”
Jin-cheol cut in bluntly. Maro’s axe-glare widened.
“Came to get you out. Before we go, wanna know what you wanna do to the ones who killed your parents.”
“...Real friend of Dad’s?”
“Yeah. So, what about the villagers?”
The boy’s glare softened. He eyed them skeptically, then spoke.
“Dad never mentioned friends of other races.”
“Didn’t expect a Lavito buddy either. Later for that—what do you want with the village?”
Too sudden? The boy sniffled, hesitating. His glare had gone wide-eyed, staring at the floor.
Dol Jumeok chimed in.
“Eye for an eye?”
“...Huh?”
“Round ’em up in one house, burn it down.”
Like talking to a pup. The boy’s fur bristled; he trembled.
“No, no...! Don’t wanna...”
“Why? They ignored your house burning.”
“No... Aunt Tuba and Grandpa Sikara opposed it. Gave me food later...”
“What? Wanna stay here then?”
“No! I... wanted to leave too...”
Dol Jumeok frowned. “Spit it out. Revenge? Leave as is? Stay? We’re gone for good after this.”
Confusion swirled in the boy’s eyes, but resolve hardened them.
“...Just punish Elder Uncle. Then I’ll leave.”
“Just the elder? You’re too soft.”
“Am I...?”
Dol Jumeok reached out and ruffled Maro’s head.
“But you know exactly who to hit. Smart kid. Smart’s good—keeps you from getting screwed.”
“...”
Dol Jumeok’s massive hand, which could crush the boy’s skull, petted gently. Jin-cheol eyed him, surprised. Unpredictable guy.
Lamien tugged Jin-cheol’s sleeve, nodding aside for a private word. They stepped to the inn’s corner; she whispered,
“You really taking the kid?”
“Why not? Keep him till we find a village or someone to dump him with.”
“Really? But traveling with a child...”
Jin-cheol narrowed his eyes, smiling. “Decide to act, own the consequences. Wanna punish the elder for nailing shut and burning a house? Then handle what’s left—the kid.”
“...”
“Mad, but didn’t expect the responsibility?”
Lamien hesitated, then nodded. “...Can he keep up on the journey?”
“What, to the end? We’ll find a spot midway. Don’t overthink. Living’s living.”
She gave an ambiguous smile. “Living’s living? Weird saying.”
“No point fearing tomorrow and wasting today. Two days ago, couldn’t imagine us three teaming up. Now we’re bound for Solka-in. Future’s unknown—live in the now.”
Lamien looked half-convinced but nodded. Their eyes returned to the others. Dol Jumeok and Maro chatted: Dol suggesting burning the elder, staking his heart, quartering him; Maro gasping, “Qu-quartering?!”
The inn door burst open. Five or six Lavito men stormed in, wooden clubs in hand, faces grim. But spotting Jin-cheol and the bald, muscle-bound Dol Jumeok, they froze. Especially Dol—pure intimidation.
“...”
The bold entrants stalled; Jin-cheol and Dol just watched. Then a voice from behind:
“What’re you doing? Move! Gotta go in!”
Pushing through came a crotchety old Lavito with a long white beard and staff. He too paused at the scene, puzzled by the odd trio. But silence broke as the innkeeper rushed in.
“Th-them!”
Sent for the elder, he’d brought a mob to bury them instead. Jin-cheol chuckled in disbelief as the elder spoke.
“You claiming to be Protectorate cops?”
“Cops? Did we say that?”
The elder glared at the innkeeper, who protested, “Y-you yelled about impersonating cops and fixing the sign! Tried to cut my finger!”
“Never said cops.”
“But what... uh...”
The innkeeper realized they’d never claimed it outright. The elder shook his head pityingly, then thwacked his staff on the floor.
“Quiet. Got a report: outsiders impersonating cops, causing trouble. You’re all under arrest!”
Dol Jumeok rose. The Lavito men flinched at the motion alone, retreating with “Eek!” sounds. The elder barked, “What’s wrong?! Just two! Team up, take ’em down!”
The men glanced around—Yeah? Jin-cheol saw it: the agitator and the swayed masses. Pack mentality?
Lamien stepped forward. “You the village elder?”
“...Yeah. You the one impersonating a soldier?”
He’d been berating the men; now he glared at her. She met it head-on.
“Did you really nail shut that Zasoyen couple’s house and burn it?”
“Where’d you hear that nonsense...”
His eyes found Maro behind Dol Jumeok. Face twisting,
“That filthy rat pup... Let him scavenge like a stray out of pity...”
“I’m not a rat! You’re the rat! Dad said you always eyed food sneaky-like!”
“You little...!”
The elder advanced on Maro, staff ready, but halted at Dol Jumeok’s bulk. He turned, thwacking again. “Do something! They’re just drifters! Beat ’em!”
“But... not just drifters...”
The men wouldn’t budge—Dol too scary, plus the lounging Jin-cheol, bigger than average. The elder yelled; they shrank further.
Lamien blinked, underwhelmed. Not the epic showdown with a greedy tyrant she’d imagined. These clowns burned a family alive?
Jin-cheol stood, pulling a submachine gun—small, toy-like for him—from his leather satchel lining. He aimed at the bar and unleashed: rat-tat-tat-tat.
“Waaah!”
“Whoa!”
“Keeek!”
Bottles shattered; gunfire echoed. Elder, men—even Lamien—hit the deck. Only Dol, who’d seen it coming, stayed casual.
Emptying the mag, Jin-cheol said curtly, “Everyone but the elder—out.”
“...”
The Lavitos scrambled away. The elder panicked, “Wh-where you going?! They’re not cops! Together we—”
“He’s got a gun!”
“B-bullets must be out...”
His mouth shut as Jin-cheol’s barrel kissed his face. Looking up in shock, the elder met Jin-cheol’s gaze.
“Just wanted to pass through quietly. What’s with the commotion?”
“Wh-what...?”
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
Jin-cheol grabbed and dragged him. “No overnight here now. To the hogs.”
The trio, Lavito boy, and elder exited. Outside, villagers had gathered on rumors, but fled at the sight of armed Jin-cheol and hulking Dol, squeaking in terror.
Still, eyes peered from windows, alleys, walls. Ignoring them, Jin-cheol dragged the elder out of the village. Gazes followed to the edge.
There, Jin-cheol stopped and turned to Maro, who’d trailed naturally.
“Decided?”
“...”
The boy understood: how to get revenge.
“...Dump him on the far coast. Break his legs.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Enough.”
Jin-cheol nodded and resumed dragging. The elder, clueless, thrashed. “You! Who do you think I am?! Who the hell are you?! Why—”
Jin-cheol’s fist lightly smashed his nose; blood gushed, silencing him.
They fetched the hidden hogs, fired them up, headed northish to the coast Maro mentioned. At the cliffside, Jin-cheol got why “enough.”
“Heh. Live bait.”
Huge corpse snails everywhere—bigger than dogs, writhing, licking rocks. The elder spotted them and shook violently. Forgotten bluster; now pleading.
“Y-you! Spare me, I’ll give a hundred gold coins! Hundred!”
Jin-cheol dragged him silently to the edge. The elder’s screams rose.
“Why me?! Everyone agreed! And you—who are you?!”
No answer. Jin-cheol hurled him. The elder flew like a toy, tumbling onto rocks.
“Keeek!”
Bad landing; he writhed, unable to rise. Nearby snails slimed toward him. Groaning, he spotted them, screamed, crawled away.
Snails faster. Jin-cheol dusted his hands, mounted his hog. Fiddling the dash, Maro approached.
“What?”
“...You’re not Dad’s friends, huh? Or sis. Heard outside. Didn’t know my story before.”
“Figured that out now?”
The boy blinked blankly. Hog hummed to life.
Jin-cheol asked the blinking kid, “No relatives?”
“...None.”
“Hop on. Need a spot for tonight.”
Maro climbed silently behind. Jin-cheol eyed Lamien on Dol’s hog.
“Pick a direction. Where to?”
She scanned sky and coast, pointed southeast.
Human, Olrog, two Lavitos—split on two hogs—raced off. Late afternoon sun stretched long shadows from the horizon-spanning coast, pushing their backs like hurry on.
Left behind: snails clustered, casting one long shadow.