The Revolutionary Stronghold
In the heart of a vast plain stood the massive encampment of the revolutionary army, centered around their main force: Kapitan Miguel's flying battleship, the Comintern. Surrounding it were airships of all sizes, while on one side of the plain rose rows upon rows of large tents—big enough for even Jin-cheol to move around in comfortably.
Trucks, ranks of soldiers, officers, and unidentifiable Lavitos bustled between the tents. It dwarfed the encampment Jin-cheol had seen under General Donchaba's battleship back in Siol. Sure, Donchaba's ship had been twice the size of the Comintern, but here there were countless airships large and small, and on one flank of the plain, dozens of battle wings stood in neat formation.
Donchaba's ship had overwhelmed with sheer size, but this revolutionary base sickened you with the sheer number of people it held. It was beyond imagination. He'd figured the revolutionaries were small-time since their leader got nabbed in some backwater bar. But considering the crowd gathered here, if Miguel had been taken to Siapo back then, the flames of war would have spread north for sure.
Dol Jumeok and Maro were just as awestruck as Jin-cheol by the scale. Maro's eyes sparkled especially bright—a look Jin-cheol found deeply troubling. A kid idolizing the military? What the hell kind of example are you setting, Dol Jumeok?
Lamien couldn't tear her eyes from the lined-up battle wings either. Come to think of it, that was her specialty. Even the airship they were on wasn't her main weapon.
As Jin-cheol observed the group, he turned and flinched. Everyone else was glued to the view outside the cockpit, but Snow was just staring at him quietly. Like she was observing him observing the others.
Jin-cheol mouthed at her gaze. "Why?"
"···"
She was silent today, too. Jin-cheol just shrugged it off. This Lavito land was full of eloquent generals; maybe one mute Esai balanced the scales. A silly thought.
After landing in one corner of the base, the group followed Aiman and Haeta toward the center. Eyes locked on them instantly—Kampoeni, Esai, Olrogs, and ancient humans they didn't recognize, all clumped together. It was only natural.
Thankfully, no one blocked their path or picked a fight. Some even recognized Snow by her owl mask, bowing in respect.
Haeta commented to her, "You're popular, huh?"
"···"
Snow didn't reply. The silence flustered Haeta, who blinked and glanced at Jin-cheol with a What is this? expression.
"She's always been the quiet type."
"···Is that so."
Jin-cheol's vague answer made Haeta eye Snow with that peculiar look of hers. Jin-cheol bet her eyes were rolling inside that owl mask, though Snow pretended not to notice.
Whatever their exchange, the group crossed the base to what passed for a command tent. Inside, Miguel—big cigar clamped in his mouth, grave-faced amid his staff—spotted them entering.
"Jin-cheol! Snow! And the rest! You all made it without a scratch!"
He boomed a laugh, welcoming them heartily. It felt like just days ago they'd bungled his rescue from Siapo, but Miguel looked changed already. Like he'd mixed exhaustion and disgust into a paste and smeared it on his face. Irritation and fatigue hung heavy between his brows.
Not directed at them, though. He greeted the newcomers warmly, extending a hand to Jin-cheol.
"The battle wings? I heard at least three launched."
"Dropped 'em all."
"All three? Even with support?"
"Thanks to a skilled pilot and Aiman's timely help."
Miguel gripped his hand and laughed again. Lamien, dubbed the skilled pilot, grinned sheepishly beside them.
Then another Lavito approached from behind Miguel's laughing form—one from the staff, round glasses, neat clothes, the picture of a sharp intellectual.
Aiman noted, "Our friend. We spotted the Muksaang House lurking on this continent thanks to him."
Ah, the bespectacled bunny's a knight? Jin-cheol eyed him, and the Lavito extended a hand.
These guys loved handshakes.
"Pleased to meet you. Pastel. Aiman's told me plenty about you."
"Yeah? What'd he say?"
"A warrior whose skill even Siol's noble houses would acknowledge. But he'd be several times stronger if he learned swordsmanship from me, he lamented."
Jin-cheol shot Aiman a look; the Kampoeni shrugged.
"Why? A few footwork forms, and you'd be way stronger."
Footwork my ass. Not some wuxia tale. As Jin-cheol smirked, Miguel clapped sharply.
"Thanks for coming all this way, Jin-cheol. The radio from Solka-in said you'd rescue those taken to Uratan?"
Straight to business. Jin-cheol nodded.
"And I'm interested in the Rostang ruins too."
"Rostang ruins... Coming south, I've heard tons of intel. Thousands dragged there, hundreds already dead."
Jin-cheol frowned. "Excavation's just digging. Why so many deaths?"
"Ancient ruins. Who knows what's under that thick soil? Old traps, uncontrollable yo-sul beasts, inescapable mazes—countless unknowns. Some sites kill you just for getting close."
Miguel sighed. "We should be in armistice talks, but Rahman that lunatic's making insane demands. Now Rostang piles on—treaty's off; war's coming."
"War?"
"This is our full main force. Minus garrisons holding Zasoyeonbang peace—everything's here. Guess why?"
"···One shot to win it all."
Miguel nodded. "No strength for two. We win, rescue the youths, Zasoyeonbang has a future. Rahman's scarred from the last war too—he needs to win. Lucky break. And you joining us!"
Joining the war. Joining the war. How the hell did it come to this? Crossing to this eastern continent, he'd planned only to find Snow and traces of Rebuild Opesis. But tumbling around, poking into Lamien's lover hunt, here he was.
He'd hijacked Donchaba's ship with no intent to meddle in their war.
Glancing around, the others showed no resistance to "joining." Lamien was ex-Zasoyeonbang pilot with her lover in Rostang—primed for battle. Dol Jumeok was an Olrog here to fight anyway; farmboy Maro burned with flames in his eyes, influenced by him. Snow's mask hid her face, but she'd boarded to rescue captives— she'd fight. Aiman talked like a xiaxia hero beheading evil generals; Haeta tagged along to help him.
Harmen and his cronies were MIA—they'd stayed on the airship. Should've done that, Jin-cheol thought.
Bail now? All the Muksaang House and Opesis intel gathered so far—wasted. No point flying to this continent.
No, wait. Joining a war for vague reasons was nuts. If Opesis was really humanity, he'd sneak in, not fight openly.
Maybe he just sought battlefields. Moth to flame, drawn back to the karma he'd fled.
"···Jin-cheol?"
Lamien called. Lost in thought, he looked up with a grin. Miguel noted his odd vibe and raised his voice.
"Hm. Rough flight, huh? Battle wings strafing you... I'll assign quarters. Rest up."
Guided out by a private, the group got a barracks near Aiman's. Jin-cheol slumped the moment he entered.
"Shit, this is a real army."
Like the mercenaries' quarters on Donchaba's ship—eerie lethargy.
Unlike slumping Jin-cheol, the others buzzed. Lamien got a battle wing assigned; Dol Jumeok and Maro bolted to fix their truck—and arm it. Even Snow got called by Miguel. Barracks empty, just Jin-cheol.
"···Feels like slacking off."
Lying on the bed—cobbled from Lavito bunks—he stared at the ceiling, murmuring. Memories of corner-hiding as a weary sergeant flooded back. Didn't think real war was coming then.
"Um... Jin-cheol?"
Half-drifting to sleep, someone entered. He turned his head: Haeta.
"What?"
Staring back at the ceiling, his gruff tone got a bright smile from her.
"Just... You seemed down earlier."
"I am."
"···Why?"
"Not my war."
He paused, amending. "Nah. My war or not, it's all shit. Don't even know what I'm doing here."
Haeta approached slowly, perching lightly on the bunk beside his. Smiling, she gazed at him.
"Why'd you come here, Jin-cheol?"
"···Ishanka's request. And to learn about the Muksaang House from Siol intel."
There was more: curiosity about Rostang's ruins, likely the "Amerika Arsenal."
"Not to join the Lavitos' war, right?"
"Right."
"Wanna leave together now?"
His ceiling gaze shifted to her. Their eyes met; her faint smile held, but his sharp eyes caught her trembling pupils, the gulp.
Staring, he smirked. "What? Wanna ditch everything and run?"
"···Don't you?"
Damn, what's with her? Jin-cheol sighed inwardly but grinned outwardly.
"What're you itching to ditch?"
"···My fate."
"Fate?"
"Yeah. The ancient duty to aid Sandesiya's royal line, revive the old kingdom."
Heavy stuff. Jin-cheol scratched his head.
"Royal line—that pirate?"
"···Yes. Harmen. True heir after decades. I'm the last of the old royal yo-sul bloodline. Must support him, restore Sandesiya."
"Dunno the details, but he seems uninterested in kingship. That's why he bolted from Siol, right?"
Her smile faded. "Yes. No interest in it—or my fate. Just himself. So I..."
She trailed off, staring at the floor.
Jin-cheol sat up. "So you wanna focus on yourself too. Avoid getting swept into war."
"···Yes. But I can't ignore Uncle Aiman. He's always helped and guided me. Now I want to help him."
Flee fate and war. Help loyal Aiman. Torn between. Jin-cheol snorted, rubbing his neck.
Why's this counseling session starting? Hate this shit.
He blurted, "Then just half-ass it."
"···Pardon?"
Haeta blinked blankly. Regretting it, Jin-cheol shrugged. Fuck it.
"Half-ass helping Aiman, half-ass minding Harmen. When it's too much, quit. You're a yo-sul user, right? That skill alone should let you live well anywhere. Try here moderately; if it sucks, bail and scrape by with it."
Haeta gaped, struggling to parse. Finally, she tilted her head with an awkward smile.
"···Pessimistic? Or optimistic?"
"Most call it spineless, indecisive."
She laughed—amused or incredulous, he couldn't tell. Damn, deep in my own shit here.
But he chuckled too. Her laugh grew; his followed. They laughed in the empty barracks for a while.
When it subsided, Haeta wiped a tear, saying, "Hoo, first time for such sloppy advice."
"First time someone's laughed at it, you rascal."
She beamed goofily. Jin-cheol stood slowly.
"Why?"
"One joy of late sergeant life: bugging rookies at work. Didn't solve your dilemma, so let's share that joy?"
"Sure!"
She grabbed his offered hand, rising. But as their hands parted naturally, regret flickered on her face.
Leaving the barracks with her, Jin-cheol scanned the bunny-filled base, heading to the battle wing area—not far.
"Hey!"
Lamien, descending the cockpit, turned at the call. Spotting Jin-cheol and Haeta, she looked puzzled. Dusting her gloves as she approached, she asked,
"What? Something up?"
"Nah. Like the new fighter?"
She wiped her nose with her wrist, grinning faintly. "Like it? Hell yeah. Fly that to Epani in ten minutes flat. First to Rostang after crushing Rahman."
True, all she thought about was her lover. From Solka-in to east camp, east camp to Rostang kidnapping—her heartache grew inevitable.
As Jin-cheol pressed for battle wing details, a massive siren wailed across the base: WHEEEEEE-
"···What the?"
The sudden blare panicked Jin-cheol and nearby Lavitos alike. Then his spine-chilling crisis sense—born post-hibernation—rang alarms.
Whipping around, he saw a colossal battleship ripping through southern clouds. Its guns flashed.
A shell streaked in—visible clearly because it screamed straight at Jin-cheol, Haeta, and Lamien.
Jin-cheol yanked Haeta's arm, hurling her and Lamien aside while raising his right arm's shield.
Eardrum-shattering blast, shockwave, pressure. His body flew back like a giant had chucked it.
"Jin-cheol-!"
Haeta's scream. Jin-cheol rolled to his feet, still skidding back. Smoke cleared; Haeta, who'd shrieked in shock, stood awkwardly unharmed.
His trembling right arm: translucent shield gone, gauntlet sparking faintly. Hope it's not totaled.
He looked up. The base plunged into chaos from the surprise battleship raid. Guns blazed; battle wings swarmed like hornets.
"Uratan ambush!"
Lamien was right. Familiar ship. Jin-cheol grinned savagely.
"···Clearing my head nicely."
She leaped into her battle wing, yelling, "Jin-cheol! Hop on!"
Her intent was clear. Battleship in the sky—out of reach. How? Fly up there.