Saloon Showdown
The rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire sounded just like someone hammering away at a typewriter. Along with it came the clamor of every damn thing in the bar shattering—bottles exploding, windows splintering, wooden walls chewing up under the hail of bullets.
The moment Jin-cheol spotted the bartender's gun muzzle, he dropped low and scooped up Maro. The others were adults; they could fend for themselves. But this kid was still just a little one. In the frantic scramble, the milk the boy had been sipping spilled everywhere.
"Uwaaaah—!"
The bartender's bellow mixed with the relentless tat-tat-tat, turning the bar into a cacophony. But Jin-cheol quickly realized the man wasn't seriously trying to gun down everyone inside. The muzzle was aimed high—over people's heads, right at the ceiling.
Thanks to that, the soldiers, the pig doctor, and Jin-cheol's group all ducked low behind tables and dodged the spray unscathed.
"···"
The submachine guns in the man's hands clicked empty, their roar cutting off abruptly. In the sudden silence that followed—no more gunfire, no more shouts—the bar felt like it was holding its breath. Even the tink of falling glass shards rang out like thunder.
"···?"
The Siapo soldiers, who'd flattened themselves to the floor, cautiously lifted their heads. Despite the chaos, there were no screams of agony or moans of grief. No one seemed seriously hurt.
That's when the bartender tossed his empty SMG aside and vaulted over the bar.
"Kapitan!"
At his shout, the pig doctor peeked up from where he'd been prone. Spotting him, the bartender yanked a pistol from his belt and yelled again.
"On your feet, Kapitan! Run for it—out the door! Our guys are waiting! Get out now!"
Spurred by the cry, the Siapo soldiers scrambled up. The bartender leveled his pistol at the nearest one but hesitated to pull the trigger. The soldier, meanwhile, raised his rifle without a second thought. Unlike the trembling bartender, who gritted his teeth, the soldier shouldered his weapon and took aim.
The next instant, the pig doctor's clasped fists slammed into the back of the soldier's head. The rifle barked wide, chewing up the floorboards.
The pig doctor roared, "You crazy bastard! What the hell's your plan, just blasting away like idiots?!"
"Damn it! What do you want me to do—no other ideas!"
The bartender flung his useless pistol aside and booted a rising soldier. The two laid into them furiously with fists and feet, knocking down a couple more in a flurry of thuds and grunts.
But numbers won out. They ended up back-to-back, surrounded by rifle muzzles in a tight circle.
The pig doctor, chained fists raised by his jaw, eyes blazing like a street brawler ready for round two. Was it sheer guts facing down guns bare-handed, or plain stupidity? Hard to say.
Jin-cheol glanced at him, then turned away. Lamien, Maro, and Dol Jumeok were all fine, huddled tight in the corner. Dol Jumeok caught his eye and whispered,
"If we're lucky, we slip out without fighting. Let 'em beat each other silly—oh shit."
He'd whispered, sure, but his massive chest and gravelly voice carried. A Lavito soldier up front whipped around in alarm, spotted them—especially Dol Jumeok's mug—and swung his rifle over in panic. No warning; he just squeezed the trigger.
Bang—followed by a sharp ping.
A shimmering translucent barrier flickered up over Jin-cheol's outstretched right arm, deflecting the shot.
"···Jesus."
Jin-cheol sighed, pushing to his feet with a hand on his knee. The Lavito soldier stared in shock, fumbling to rack his bolt while fixated on him.
Jin-cheol dropped the shield and smashed a fist into the man's face. A heavy crack, and the soldier crumpled backward in a heap.
All eyes in the bar slid from the sliding body back to Jin-cheol. He met their stares curtly.
"He shot first."
One of the dazed soldiers—a Lavito who looked like an officer—shrieked, "Fire! Atta—"
His order cut short. Jin-cheol had bounded forward like a tiger, his foot slamming into the man's solar plexus. The officer floated upward for a second, puking his guts out before splashing down into his own mess.
Jin-cheol's palm then whipped across another Lavito's face beside him. Teeth flew with a smack; the soldier spun like a top and rolled.
"Gah!"
Another Lavito bellowed, swinging his rifle at Jin-cheol. The shot rang out—bang—but Jin-cheol had already sidestepped. A quick left jab caved in the man's face like putty. Blood and teeth trailed as he slumped.
Before that one hit the floor, Jin-cheol stepped in and swung his right leg wide. Three or four clustered soldiers pinballed away with a crunch of breaking bones—ribs or arms, probably.
"···?"
Jin-cheol paused mid-swing at the next. The Lavito in front had collapsed in terror, trembling. A quick scan: the rest in the bar were frozen, shaking.
As he halted, one dropped his rifle and stammered, "S-surrender···!"
"···Surrender?"
Like a signal, the rest clattered their weapons to the floor and raised empty hands. The whole bunch was giving up.
"Well, hot damn. Barely touched 'em."
Jin-cheol flicked blood from his knuckles and scanned the room. The Siapo soldiers gawked in fear at the fallen; the pig doctor looked stunned. Sighing at the Lavitos disarming—for some reason.
Wish folks back home had been this chicken.
The bar fell quiet again. Then the front doors burst open with a crash, three Lavitos tumbling in.
"E-everyone freeze!"
"Don't move! We'll shoot!"
"Kapitan! You alive, Kapitan?!"
"···"
From suspendered farmer types to hooded bandits to sharp-suited gents, they were a motley crew—armed to the teeth the only common thread. They burst in, guns sweeping warily, then froze in confusion at the scene.
The bar's occupants stared back blankly.
"···?"
"···"
What they saw: Siapo soldiers with hands up, weapons down; Jin-cheol front and center; the pig doctor and bartender nearby. Hardly matched the recent gunfire.
The pig doctor snapped to first.
"Stand down. Easy now, lads. It's over here."
"Wh-what···? Over···?"
"Yeah. They've surrendered. Well, technically to that guy over there."
He jerked his shackled hands at Jin-cheol. Eyes swung back to him. Jin-cheol shrugged at the stares.
"What're you lookin' at?"
"···"
Ignoring the baffled looks, Jin-cheol headed to his group. He crouched by Maro first, the kid blinking wide-eyed.
"You hurt anywhere?"
"···No."
"Good. You two okay?"
Lamien and Dol Jumeok nodded—one blank-faced, like she couldn't process it; the other smirking, figures. The difference between knowing his capabilities and not.
"Impressive footwork. Name's Miguel."
The pig doctor approached, offering his chained hand with his introduction. Jin-cheol gripped it after a glance.
"Kang Jin-cheol. Call me Jin-cheol."
"Pleased, Jin-cheol. Thanks first off—no casualties thanks to you."
True enough. Shockingly, no deaths in the bar. Even the Lavitos Jin-cheol had smashed weren't gone—just wrecked.
Miguel waved his hand, about to say more.
"Kapitan! No time—gotta move now!"
Shouts from the late arrivals—his subordinates, probably. They herded the surrendered Siapos to a corner at gunpoint, then grabbed Miguel's collar.
Miguel asked, "Why? Reinforcements still far?"
"They moved faster than expected overnight. Siapo company's breathing down our necks! Leave now!"
"Mm···"
He nodded gravely, eyed Jin-cheol.
"Truly grateful, Jin-cheol. You're my lifesaver. Can't repay now—urgent—but soon as I can, I'll make it worth your while."
"Perfect timing. Got questions."
"···Now?"
Miguel's eyes widened. Jin-cheol had plenty: Where's Ishanka's daughter? Why's a Zasoyeonbang rebel here? How'd he get nabbed? And why "pig doctor"?
Unaware of that, Miguel met his gaze silently, then burst out laughing.
"Hahaha! Fine! Then come with—we move together! Can't dawdle. Ask away at the hideout!"
Straight shooter. Jin-cheol's lips twitched into a smile at the hearty grin.
But a subordinate nearby scowled, whispering urgently.
"Wait—can't reveal the hideout to outsiders, Kapitan! Too risky!"
"Enough. Trust goes first. He's already fought Siapos."
"But there was a traitor! Forgotten how you got dragged here?!"
"Willie had reasons, lads. I get it."
"But···"
The sub glared between them frustratedly, then stormed out. Miguel watched him go, smiling apologetically at Jin-cheol.
"He's touchy from before. Sorry about that."
"No sweat."
"Good. Let's roll then. Our ride's waiting."
"Nah. We'll tail in ours."
"Fair enough. Follow close."
He nodded, heading out with the rebels—the bartender too. Jin-cheol turned to his crew.
"We're tagging along. He knows who I'm after."
"I drive!"
Dol Jumeok bolted out yelling. Maro glanced between them, then scampered after. Jin-cheol followed, but paused—Lamien was staring, face grim like when she first saw the doctor.
"What? Spill."
"···The Pig Doctor worships the evil god Marx."
"···Uh, yeah? So?"
At Jin-cheol's baffled tone, Lamien shook her head.
"No frame-job or misunderstanding—he openly admits it. A true apostle of the evil god."