The White Executioner
Was her focus broken from staring at where Jin-cheol was? The black ironclad impaled on the tip of the owl mask's spear slipped down the blade and toppled forward. The body hit the ground with a massive clang, thanks to its weight and the already rattling armor.
Jin-cheol and the owl mask's gazes both snapped to the falling corpse, then to another spot. There, one ironclad soldier had turned around at the sound of the body collapsing.
The ironclad spotted the owl mask and the fallen comrade. Without any warning shout, it immediately aimed and unleashed hell.
A heavy dr-r-r-r-r of gunfire erupted, bullets streaking like beams of light and sweeping the wooden building where the owl mask had been perched. Under the barrage of dozens, hundreds of rounds, the structure shredded like it was being chewed by a chainsaw.
But the owl mask wasn't caught in it. The moment the gun barrel swung toward him, he'd kicked off the roof and leaped high. Like a gymnast off a vault, he spun gracefully through the air and landed without a sound, impossibly light. Then he charged the ironclad like a snake slithering through grass.
The ironclad's barrel jerked to track the movement. But it was already firing blindly into the air, unable to keep up with the mask's leap. Against the mask gliding irregularly through the grass like he was on skates, precise aiming was impossible. A few rounds—three or four—grazed him, but they all struck the mask and ricocheted off.
In the next instant, the mask closed the distance in a flash, his spear blade slicing through the flaming muzzle. Metal met metal with a shower of yellow sparks as it cleaved apart. The ironclad dropped the ruined gun and swung its left arm. With a king, a short blade popped out, followed by a psshht of steam—and its movements accelerated several times over in that instant.
The flashing blade targeted the mask's face. The owl mask whipped his spear shaft in a spin, deflecting the blade and arm downward while pirouetting his body wide to the ironclad's left flank. Before the ironclad could react, he smashed the spear shaft into its helmet.
A metallic clang rang out, and the ironclad pitched forward. The owl mask's thrust followed immediately, piercing the downed foe. Whatever that spear was made of, it punched clean holes through the ironclad's plating—stab-stab-stab.
"Whoa..."
Watching the brief exchange, Jin-cheol let out another sigh of admiration. Clean, efficient movements without waste, exploding into beastly violence at the critical moment. The owl mask was like a savage—not some muscle-bound brute roaring battle cries, but one racing forests and plains, competing with wild predators for prey. His fierce motions brimmed with that kind of raw vitality.
But then, as he finished off the fallen enemy, two more cyclopean ironclads arrived, drawn by the gunfire. Spotting the owl mask, one immediately hit the comms.
The instant that ironclad's barrel swung toward the owl mask—tang. Its head snapped sideways violently. One side of its iron helmet crumpled inward. It had been shot.
The owl mask, finishing the downed ironclad, whipped around at the gunshot. Through the mask's eye slits reflected the staggering ironclad—and Jin-cheol, kneeling in a shooter's stance where she'd been looking moments before.
"Shit."
Jin-cheol, cheek pressed to the stock and racking the bolt, lifted his head. One of the two ironclads had swung its barrel toward him. He dropped the rifle instantly, yanking his right arm up to shield himself.
Right then, both ironclads' machine guns roared in different directions—dr-r-r-r-ruck. The owl mask dove behind a nearby wooden hut. Bullets shredded the camp structure, hurling debris everywhere.
Jin-cheol, on the other side, confirmed the rounds pattering harmlessly against his translucent shield before charging straight ahead. Just like before, sparks flew wildly as bullets collided on the barrier. To the gunners, it was just faint flashes amid the hundreds of tracers. The problem was those flashes closing the distance in a blink, hurtling toward them.
Before the ironclad could react to Jin-cheol suddenly in its face, he spun left. His shield vanished, and a white blade erupted from the back of his right hand. It slammed into the already dented helmet, neatly piercing the brain and snuffing out the pilot's consciousness.
The other ironclad, aiming at the owl mask, realized its comrade was dead. It whipped its barrel around and pulled the trigger. Jin-cheol dropped low, shoving the ironclad corpse on his harpoon sword in front as a shield. Bullets ricocheted off the black plating in a storm of sparks. The limp limbs flopped from the impacts. The armor cracked wide, spewing oil and steam like blood.
The ironclad who'd turned its ally into Swiss cheese reflexively stopped firing. But spotting Jin-cheol peeking from behind the corpse, it narrowed its cyclopean iris and thrust the barrel forward again. Before it could pull the trigger, a spear tip burst through the back of its helmet and out the front.
The owl mask had circled behind. He shook the spear, and the body clanged to the side. Jin-cheol shoved aside his meat shield too.
They faced each other.
"..."
"..."
It wasn't hard to guess the owl mask's identity. Though her face was hidden, the long braid swaying behind the mask and the glimpse of snow-white skin at her collar and armor gave it away.
What to say first? 'Hey, I'm not an assassin. Your mom sent me—she misses you.' Wait, how old is she anyway? She's pretty tall. Three or four years ago she left Siol, right? She was an adult then, and Esai come of age at sixteen or so...
Suddenly, their gazes flicked toward the camp. A cacophony of clanking metal echoed—every ironclad in the camp converging. Cyclopean machine-gun monsters charging, barrels raised.
Their eyes met again. Jin-cheol's weary drifter face—looking like a deserter to her—reflected in the owl mask's eye slits. Whatever expression hid behind it was hers alone to know.
In the next moment, he and she launched in opposite directions. Six ironclads in a line unleashed a volley at their former position. Not scattered shots like rifles, but a dense net—a wall of interlocking fire.
In that split second, trees, buildings, bodies nearby—nothing was spared. Everything shredded to bits. Splinters, dirt, flesh chunks flew, only to shatter further on more bullets.
Thanks to Jin-cheol and the owl mask splitting wide, the gunners divided into two groups of three to track them. Indiscriminate destruction tore through the camp.
Then, a couple of heavy metal lumps thudded down amid them. The ironclads aligning ranks caught sight of the fist-sized orbs, their irises clicking wide.
Explosions dwarfing the gunfire erupted. Grenades Jin-cheol had lobbed high mid-stride.
As blasts and dust bloomed, Jin-cheol's foot slammed the ground. His body veered nearly ninety degrees toward the ironclads. His hand brushed the back of his right glove.
The retractable blade was great for ambushes and freed up his hands. Above all, Jin-cheol just found it fun having a blade pop from his hand at will.
But these foes were all clad in thick black iron. Steam soldiers puffing vapor for bursts of speed matching his own. Guns barely dented them—even the close-range machine gun hadn't fully penetrated earlier, doing minimal damage.
To hurt them for real took massive force. A wrist blade lacked the power and wasn't ideal for melees against dozens.
This sword might snap today.
Thinking that, Jin-cheol gripped the harpoon sword's hilt two-handed as its blade extended—shring. He raised it high and brought it down hard.
The white blade crashed onto an ironclad's helmet, still dazed from the grenade. Like a lightning strike—crack—it split from crown to right hip on a diagonal.
An ironclad nearby gasped in horror. The smaller half dropped first; the larger spewed oil and blood before clanging down.
Jin-cheol didn't let the fluids soil him. He lobbed another grenade at the distant horde, then thrust the still-vibrating harpoon sword into a nearby ironclad's neck. The thinner armor parted with sparks, skewering the Lavito pilot inside.
The Lavito didn't even scream—gack—before silver blood swirled in its body. It was the ether blood injected into all Urata Ironclad Special Forces recruits, linking body and armor signals.
As consciousness faded, the ether blood stimulated the nerves and signaled the suit. At death's door, devoid of free will, its left arm rose—king—blade out, swinging at close-range Jin-cheol.
That was the startling move he'd braced for. Flesh dying, but ether blood and suit following pre-programmed orders to maximize damage on threats.
Already alert, Jin-cheol tilted his head to dodge and gripped harder. After slight resistance, half the neck severed. Consciousness winked out; ether blood stopped. Freed, the harpoon sword surged with power, smashing another black ironclad.
Metal clashed furiously, sparks and ear-splitting noise exploding. The chest plate gaped, spilling blood and oil.
As it fell, the tossed grenade blew. Jin-cheol turned amid the boom—and froze for a split second.
Dark sky, rickety camp huts between, ironclads swarming with glowing cyclopean eyes. In that instant, it all overlapped with a memory from ten thousand years ago.
Night-shrouded city, gloomy fires lighting streets, people moving like shadow monsters. Flames from their gun muzzles. Deafening gunfire.
Reflexively, Jin-cheol dropped low, ducking behind a nearby shadow monster. Bullets missed, but he held only a rifle—not even a greatsword.
With all his might, he swung at the shadow. It split and crumbled. Vision cleared—bad against armed foes. He moved again. Low posture, seeking cover behind shadows. Like a beast hunting dark corners.
The shadows fought back, shooting or drawing blades. He couldn't dodge everything—stabs, slashes everywhere. But he didn't die. When he faced a shadow head-on, he always survived.
Breath ragged, heart pounding. Mouth dry, throat parched like blood draining. But he couldn't stop. Halting meant accepting death.
A round metal ball rolled ahead. Jin-cheol dove reflexively. Close flashbang? Best survival: fling far from blast and prone.
Not a frag—flashbang. Light and boom too fierce for closed eyes. He'd dived back and flattened, dodging light but ears ringing like they'd burst. Vision wobbled, gut churning.
But no staying down. Flashbang meant enemy entry next. Staying put was suicide.
Half-dazed, Jin-cheol rose and charged the nearest shadow, thrusting the greatsword. Tough like body armor, but dragging down split it with a crunch, blood spraying.
Turning for the next, he froze. Wobbling vision stabilized on a bizarre sight filling his view.
Cyclopean iron soldiers, crude camp huts, transparent night sky beyond packed with stars. No black hell from moments ago.
Where am I? What was I doing?
Then, the owl mask dove into the ironclads like a hawk stooping. Keeping them from full-auto, sowing chaos by burrowing into their center.
She scattered handfuls of round metal balls. The grenades—no, flashbangs from before.
Oh, you threw those?
Jin-cheol spun, plugging ears. Light and thunder crashed.
Turning back, amid tinnitus and shaking vision, staggering ironclads appeared. Their eyes iris'd wildly, focus lost.
The owl mask danced through them, spear whirling. She'd clearly dodged the flash somehow. Her mystic blade sheared black iron like cloth.
Not all were blinded. Not all held fire for comrades.
One fitting both raised its machine gun at her. A white blade whistled through the air, skewering its face.
The barrel drooped; trigger squeezed—dr-r-r-r. The mask whirled. She saw the gun chewing earth, harpoon sword buried in the ironclad's face.
Her gaze flicked to Jin-cheol. He'd thrown it, glanced once, then clenched his left fist and charged another ironclad.
The tattoo on his left arm glowed white-hot, radiating light and heat. It formed a blade of light extending from his fist.
In the dim camp, a white line slashed the ironclad's neck. Its head floated up into the air.