Emergency Landing Reunion
The airship's instrument panel warnings had reached a critical level, forcing Kang Jin-cheol and his group to set down on the ground first. Naturally, the other airship followed them down. On the vast plain, the battered wreck and the rickety old vessel settled side by side. As they climbed out of the airship, smoke billowing from spots here and there, they spotted people scrambling out from the other one.
"Jin-cheol!"
The first to come running was Haeta. The sorceress from Sandesiya whom he'd met during the underground prison breakout in Siol. She rushed right up to him in a single bound, gazing up at him with flushed excitement. But the moment she actually faced him, something seemed to catch in her throat.
"Uh, um, y-you... h-have you been... w-well?"
"As you can see, getting by. You?"
"Hehe, me? Well... honestly, just getting by myself..."
When Jin-cheol nodded toward the mangled airship and asked again, she scratched her head with a goofy grin. Looking closer, he could see faint traces of fatigue on her face. Yeah. Everyone's got their own struggles in life.
As he shared a smirk with Haeta, Aiman approached from the side, his staff slung casually over one shoulder, strolling over with a leisurely sway. In the windy plain, stepping through swaying grass with his long robes fluttering, the Kampoeni swordsman exuded an indescribable coolness and freedom. The dog-like swordsman flashed Jin-cheol a crooked grin, his ear twitching slightly, the earring dangling from it jingling softly.
"Looks like you've been through hell."
"Pretty much. But thanks to you, I'm still breathing, Aiman. That last battle wing was a close call."
Aiman. A swordmaster so skilled it was hard to believe he was Kampoeni. Also from Sandesiya, he'd been part of the group with Haeta during the prison breakout.
"This guy next to me was making such a fuss. I barely held him back from yelling to shoot you down quick before you died, and all he managed was one shot. And he even missed, so I thought he'd get chewed out. Then he starts bawling his eyes out, thinking the worst..."
"Uncle Aiman!"
Haeta yelped in shock, calling out to him like a scream. Then she clapped her hands over her face in embarrassment, her ears already burning red. This girl's got some serious shyness, Jin-cheol thought.
As he watched her, he spotted two more people descending from the other airship. His sharpened memory, clear since waking from that long slumber, brought their faces to mind. One was Harmen, the Essai they'd tried to rescue from the prison with Aiman and Haeta. The other was the pirate they'd grabbed as a bonus. Each carried a large leather bag that looked like a toolbox, striding purposefully toward Jin-cheol's airship.
The Essai man, Harmen, spotted Jin-cheol and spoke up.
"Your airship's totally smashed. You'd make more scrapping it for parts."
"You buying the scrap?"
"Ha. I don't deal in junk. But I'll fix it enough to limp to the next city."
What a prickly little shit, Jin-cheol thought. Does this guy actually know airships, or is he just talking out his ass?
Ignoring Jin-cheol's glare, Harmen headed straight for the smoking airship. Lamien, who was spraying a small extinguisher at the smoke, chatted with him. Their conversation didn't seem smooth—both were gesturing wildly. Soon, they pulled out tools and climbed aboard together. Were they really fixing it? Or was this a ploy to hijack their ship?
"Harmen's a bit rude, but he's a natural with his hands. He handled our airship's maintenance all by himself on the way here."
Jin-cheol turned to Aiman at his words.
"Last time we met, you called him a moron."
"...Well, yeah. Back then, that's all he seemed like."
Aiman scratched under his ear with a wry smile, looking sheepish.
Gazing at that expression, Jin-cheol spoke up again.
"It's great seeing you all again, Aiman, Haeta. But it's also pretty damn sudden. Perfect timing, too."
"Ah, yeah. Glad we weren't too late. We took off the second we intercepted their comms, but even our airship couldn't keep up with a battle wing's speed."
"Intercepted comms?"
When Jin-cheol asked, Aiman nodded.
"There's nonstop comms eavesdropping and info warfare between the revolutionaries and Urata forces. They're avoiding direct clashes, but in this case, they figured shooting you down was smarter. They probably thought you'd put them at a disadvantage if you reached the negotiations first. Plus, taking out Miguel's top guerrilla."
Aiman raised a finger smoothly, grinning as he continued.
"Now, you'd ask about the middleman, right? Here's the rundown: Solka-in's revolutionaries sent Miguel a comm about you and the incident you caused there. It got intercepted. But the revolutionaries were listening in too, so they caught wind of the battle wing launch. Haeta here insisted we had to help you somehow, so we scrambled our airship."
Jin-cheol crossed his arms, listening. A similar smile tugged at his lips.
Aiman pressed on.
"So why were we with the revolutionaries? Blame Harmen there."
"The pirate came a long way. Eyeing eastern treasures?"
"Heh heh. Treasure'd be nice. But I meant after we left Siol and reached Sandesiya. You know his background, right?"
"Some royal bloodline or something."
Aiman nodded, and Haeta finally lowered her hands from her face, though her cheeks stayed flushed.
"Right. The knights figured executing that bloodline in Siol's temple would spark a massive clash between the cities, one way or another. That's why Haeta and I busted him out. Back in Sandesiya, we showed his face to the swordmasters... and shit hit the fan."
He paused there, mouth shut, lost in the memory.
"...We'll talk details later. Anyway, after that mess, Harmen had to bail from Sandesiya immediately. Couldn't stay. Tangled interests led to them handing over that airship, and we headed straight east. Remember I said? Without the Harmen rescue, I'd have come east anyway. To investigate the Muksaang House."
"Yeah."
Aiman had mentioned knights in the east before. Lavito knights. Sounded cool, even if the Order of the Crown of Understanding was half social club. Rabbit knights. Gotta be high-level.
"So we flew straight east from Sandesiya. Planned to swing by Siol and meet you midway, but you'd already headed here. We hustled after. Fate's a funny thing, huh?"
"Sure is. So that knight's embedded with the revolutionaries?"
"Yep. Thanks to him, we met their leader, Miguel. Heard you'd already crossed paths? Lit up when we mentioned you. Treated us better than their own guys. Thanks for that."
"I didn't do shit. No need."
As Jin-cheol brushed it off modestly, Aiman let out a hearty "Uhahaha!" Jin-cheol chuckled too, but Haeta, who'd been listening quietly, jumped in.
"Jin-cheol! What about you? How've you been?"
"Me? Well..."
Jin-cheol glanced toward their airship. Snow was approaching slowly, owl mask on, steps deliberate. Lamien was bickering with Harmen by the side, and Dol Jumeok and Maro were probably still checking the truck's damage inside.
"Came on General Donchaba's Lavito flying warship originally..."
Watching Snow draw near, Jin-cheol gave a trimmed version of events since landing on the eastern continent. Skipping Snow's family secrets and fluff, just the trip to Solka-in and what went down there.
"...Sounds pretty condensed."
"Next time."
Jin-cheol grinned, and Aiman laughed again, nodding. Spotting Snow, he greeted warmly.
"You're the Essai called the White Nightmare of Jaso and Urata, right? Nice to meet you. I'm Aiman."
"...Snow."
A small voice, mask still on. Aiman seemed to gauge her vibe from that alone, nodding without pressing.
But Haeta eyed her curiously, studying Snow's visible outline, the braided hair swaying behind the mask. Snow's owl mask seemed to turn toward Haeta too. To Jin-cheol, both were clearly wary. Sandesiya vs. Siol—makes sense. They'd even gone to war.
Thankfully, Aiman broke the tension.
"Don't hold it against Miguel for no backup. Rostang revolutionaries are gearing up for war."
"...Thought they were negotiating peace with Urata."
"Urata's demands are insane. Rostang reparations, selling most Jaso factories around there to Urata folk. That's no peace treaty—it's a threat to become a vassal. Add Solka-in's comms and revolutionary intel, and one fact emerges."
Aiman's hand scratched his chin. He clearly hated flying this far for this.
"You sent the Solka-in intel, so you know. Urata forces are forcing Jaso people to dig in Rostang. Dozens dying or injured daily. For some ancient city excavation?"
Jin-cheol's eyes darkened too. Aiman bared his teeth, continuing.
"Combining our Order's intel, the Muksaang House is key to this dig. Baika merchants funding it. Sacrificing ordinary lives to dig. We gotta stop it."
"...Miguel and the revolutionaries' view?"
"Yeah. They're prepping to save Jaso citizens dragged to Rostang. I'm pitching in."
Jin-cheol eyed Aiman steadily.
"Order's ideal is harmonious coexistence through mutual understanding, right? Thought that's why you stopped the Siol-Sandesiya war."
"War's always the last resort. But this ain't the time for soft talk. Rostang dig's confirmed dead already near hundreds. That's no construction accident—it's a Lavito slaughterhouse wiping out Jaso's future. Where's coexistence there?"
He stabbed the ground with his staff.
"Before knight, I'm a swordsman. Swordsmen cut what can't be untangled. And above all, those pulling this shit pay a price. That's me."
Jin-cheol watched him quietly. Aiman's gaze was firm, posture unyielding.
Aiman wouldn't know about Opesis mercs—that was Jin-cheol, Parm, and Udim's intel. And Opesis as ancient humans? Just Jin-cheol's hunch. This mess would end with clashing them, probably. How would Aiman react? Dismiss Jin-cheol as some old monster?
Aiman spoke again.
"What do you think? You're heading to Rostang anyway, so you get it. That Urata general Rahiman deserves payback for tormenting all those people, yeah?"
Lost in thought, Jin-cheol smiled bitterly. Cut what can't be untangled. Spot on. For now.
"Nearly died thanks to that bastard coming east. No qualms beating his ass now."
Aiman nodded, satisfied. After a moment, Jin-cheol jerked his chin toward the airship.
"C'mon. Introduce you to my crew."
"Oh, that pilot dodging battle wings from our ship earlier? Gotta shake his hand."
Jin-cheol led Aiman and Haeta over, introductions followed. Aiman blinked at Dol Jumeok but no clashes. They'd come to help Jin-cheol's crew in a pinch—hard to butt heads. Though Harmen's sniping drew a yell from Lamien.
*
After emergency repairs, the airship named Brigantine took to the skies again. Not fully fixed—just enough to reach the revolutionary outpost. No seasoned mechanic could pull that off. To Jin-cheol, Harmen seemed more cut out for this than piracy. Saying so would just earn a scowl from the hot-tempered Essai, though.
Brigantine and the Sandesiya pirate ship flew southwest side by side. Brigantine lagged from damage, but the pirate matched speed, no gap widening.
The unwanted dogfight and repairs had eaten the day; now late afternoon bled into night. The sky filling with a bright moon and twinkling stars as the two ships flew.
Jin-cheol huddled in a corner of the airship, head against the wall, staring blankly at the night sky through ragged bullet holes. Lamien, Maro, and Snow slept up front; Dol Jumeok manned the controls. Jin-cheol had slipped away from there.
Crouched in the dark corner, he gazed at the sky with clouded eyes. Beautiful night visible only through tears and breaks. If invisible, fine—but seeing it highlighted the junked hull. Like his heart.
"..."
But his eyes saw not now, but past. Not distant—just days ago, Solka-in forest camp.
Reflecting on past swept by past. Wordplay, but for him, madness-inducing.
After realizing he was stranded far future, Jin-cheol avoided past and future. Focused on now. Otherwise, he'd crack. Two months wandering Siol alleys worked somewhat. No whining about being past soldier, last human.
No nostalgia, no hopeful futures. Just accept total stranding. Nothing else.
But recent weeks shook that. Jindallae in Siol temple basement. Muksaang House erasing human traces. Opesis humans behind? Donchaba's warship, eastern flying fascist rabbits. Too human, too past-like.
War images, fading in Siol's pseudo-medieval, slammed him. Armored machine-gunners dragged him back fully.
They didn't win, but scarred deep. Thought in Atukai's forest: isekai or purgatory before afterlife. Purgatory better—cross over, meet loved faces.
That brought shivering cold, loneliness. No one here knew him, shared identity. Total dropout. Only 21st-century human: him. True isekai.
At thought's end, unshakeable line resurfaced. Avoided in 21st wars, post-drop desperate flee: Wanna go home. Miss Mom. See friends. Eat pork belly, soju. All-nighter PC bang. Normal life—no comrade dead same day joined, no gratitude for surviving. Job hunts, dating woes.
"..."
Hunched, Jin-cheol dropped head, hands wiping face. Then up, clutching hair.
Can't reclaim lost. Not here, not even 21st anymore. No one to vent to.
Lamien: lover rescue. Dol Jumeok: raising Maro fun. Snow: enigma. Aiman, Haeta: glad reunion. Shared Siol underground trials. But no dumping woes on them. Too one-sided. They'd try listening, but sense distance.
Hell, he'd dodge a 10,000-year vet too.
Thinking that, Jin-cheol giggled. Imagining self huddled, clutching head, laughing—giggles grew.
He felt split like a coin. Ruthless, adept side: mercenary unraveling Muksaang, Urata east. Recent eastern self.
Other? Now. Without cornering self, lost floor/ceiling, gasping wreck. Unspoken: Siol two months, holed up like this.
Plausible words to Lamien, "kinda believe"—wished belief himself. No certainty. Buried underground time-skip—what certainties?
"...Fuck."
Laugh slipped curse. No armored fight Solka-in? No past pull, no corner panic.
But pus would've burst eventually. Unavoidable.
Morning: strapped waist-deep, sniping hundreds meters up. Now: huddled cargo corner, face buried, giggling solo. Shameful for show.
Footsteps: Jin-cheol startled instinctively.
"..."
"..."
Moonlight filtering dimly through bullet scars. Through it, approaching Essai: woman pale skin/hair like moonlight. Glowing red eyes in moon. Snow.
"..."
They stared wordless. No frown, smile, pout. Blank—dazed—gaze at Jin-cheol. No flinch at his wrecked, shadowed state.
Airship passed clouds; moonlight vanished. Cargo dark; her red eyes faint glow. Jin-cheol deeper shadow.
She turned gaze to recent moonlit scar, whispered softly.
"...Mother of Vengeance behind the moon. Grant small comfort to the grieving and suffering."
Moonlight returned—like airship clearing clouds. Not goddess answering. But she didn't gasp luck, grin lighten mood. Gently reached, caressed one moonbeam through scar.
As if touchable, physical.
Caressed silently, turned wordless back to cockpit.
Watching blankly, Jin-cheol huffed laugh.
"...What was that for?"
Chuckle done, eyed moonbeams through ragged scars. Heart suddenly calm. Finally facing night sky beauty properly—not cornered—sat relaxed long, admiring.
Airship reached Jaso revolutionary outpost at dawn: moon/stars set, hot sun blazing cheerful rays over world.