Burning Blade vs. Blue Light
Jin-cheol, gripping the blazing blade, faced off against the envoy, whose left arm leaked an eerie blue glow. The envoy seemed baffled by the fiery light surging like flames from Jin-cheol's left arm—as if wondering why it was there, unable to comprehend the situation.
[How is the Sacred Blood Proof… Not from the colony, but in an outsider's hand…]
In stark contrast to the envoy's confusion, the mutants encircling the area moved with clear purpose. They let out monstrous roars and charged straight at the Urata special forces.
"Kreeeeek—!"
As the mutants closed in, the special forces' gun barrels spat fire once more. A net of copper bullets and flames whipped toward the mutants, shredding black blood and pale flesh into ribbons.
"Over here!"
Aiman quickly led the group behind the overturned tank. It was a smart call. In this open terrain, dodging the special forces' barrage was impossible anyway, so they were hunkering down until the mutants' charge cleared a path. Plus, the mutants showed no interest in them right now. Better to slip back than get caught in a crossfire between mutants and armored troops.
But Jin-cheol didn't budge. He couldn't break the standoff with the envoy. Moments ago, the envoy had flicked his hand, sending the tank flying and exploding the truck. If he didn't hold that gaze, another gesture would target his companions. And did Jin-cheol have any way to defend against it? No. The artifact wrist guards that generated shields were still busted. He was as good as standing naked in front of a firing squad.
Still, he had something to bet on. The envoy seemed as curious about him as he was about the envoy. He wouldn't kill him outright—not like how he'd turned Rahman into a puddle just now—to get those answers.
Jin-cheol's eyes flicked toward Rahman's remains. The blood pooled on the ground was already smeared by the mutants' stamping feet. Was it a fittingly pathetic end for a dictator, or the final defiance of a man who'd learned his species' truth? Hard to say.
[Where did you get that Sacred Blood Proof?]
Even amid the mutants' shrieks and the armored troops' gunfire, the envoy's voice rang clear.
Jin-cheol tore his gaze from Rahman's traces and swung the beam sword from his left arm through the air with a whoosh.
"Why? You want one too?"
[…Your identity grows more intriguing by the moment. I thought the last traitors were all executed a millennium ago.]
"Well, shit. There were traitors, huh? Opesis or whatever must be total bullshit."
[A bearer of sacred blood dares defile the Empire's name?]
Jin-cheol snorted.
"Sacred my ass. If that bloodline was so great, why'd it go extinct? Anyway, I'm atheist."
The mutants didn't interfere with Jin-cheol and the envoy's standoff. As if some invisible barrier blocked them, they swerved around in a wide circle. Amid the gunfire and beastly howls from all sides, only the spot where Jin-cheol and the envoy faced each other remained eerily calm.
[Insolent… I planned only to subdue you easily. But that crude tongue suits your lowly blood. You need proper discipline.]
What a prickly way of talking. As Jin-cheol thought that, he caught sight of the envoy's left arm, leaking a flash of light. He hurled himself sideways. Boom—the spot where he'd stood cratered like a giant's fist had smashed it.
[Hoh. Good instincts—]
Jin-cheol didn't stop at dodging. Wasting his experience, superhuman body, and Aiman's stolen techniques on a single evade would be a shame. He kicked off the ground and charged the envoy. The sprint zigzagged at near-right angles from his lateral dodge.
The envoy, mid-sentence, hastily raised his left fist in a guard over his torso. Blue light leaked between his sleeve and reinforced suit, erecting a translucent wall in front of him.
Jin-cheol didn't overthink. He thrust his left fist straight. The beam sword's light extended with the motion. In a split second, the fiery blade met the translucent wall. It resisted the light and heat for just an instant before shattering under the superior energy.
The blade pierced through, aiming for the envoy's smooth scalp. But the envoy wasn't standing idle. He'd twisted aside the moment the wall met the sword, narrowly dodging Jin-cheol's thrust. At the same time, his right fist hammered Jin-cheol's side from close range.
The punch itself was nothing special, but right after impact, a metallic clang echoed from the envoy's right forearm. Jin-cheol's body flew back like it'd been hit by a car, tumbling across the ground.
As the envoy watched, a spent casing ejected from his right arm with a click.
[Fool. Think the Sacred Blood Proof makes you a superhuman? That brute-force light and heat works on lowly scum. But before a true Empire warrior…]
The envoy trailed off smugly. Then he froze. Jin-cheol was brushing off his side and standing up. He'd hiked his shirt to check—skin red and inflamed, but no real damage.
[…Endured a vibration rupture round with bare flesh? Point-blank, no less?]
"Right arm's armed too, huh? What's with all the gear?"
Jin-cheol spoke lightly but circled slowly sideways. The short-duration beam sword had retracted into his forearm. In its place, the white blade of his ray sword spun in his right hand.
[Has the Sacred Blood Proof, yet no gear… Just a single sword—like some primitive savage.]
"Techno-barbarian calling me primitive? Kinda pisses me off."
No sooner had he spoken than Jin-cheol's body stretched forward—an optical illusion from his blinding speed. The envoy backpedaled, swinging his right fist. Another thunk from the forearm unleashed a powerful vibration wave. The air warped like heat haze, the shockwave's wide radius hard to evade sideways.
Jin-cheol kicked off and leaped skyward. His body twisted nimbly in midair like a gymnast.
[Foolish as expected.]
The envoy extended his left hand toward airborne Jin-cheol. Blue light flared with an invisible force—not vibration, but something grasping at him. Yet Jin-cheol sensed it instinctively, despite seeing or hearing nothing. He also realized he couldn't dodge the airborne grip.
Can't dodge? Simple. Break through.
The ray sword vanished from his hand mid-spin. A ripping ping sounded as the white blade sprouted like a branch from the envoy's left shoulder.
[Kuh!]
The shoulder pierce broke his focus. The grasping force dissipated. Jin-cheol landed, then charged instantly. As the envoy raised his head in pained groan, Jin-cheol's fist smashed his smooth helmet's faceplate.
[Grk—]
The envoy's body whipped back, black glass shattering with a crack, shards flying. Liquid gushed from within. Through the broken visor gleamed a corpse-pale face, utterly hairless—not an eyebrow in sight, grotesque.
The man glared at Jin-cheol through the cracks.
"[You, you bastard…!]"
His voice buzzed distortedly—internal speaker mixing with external modulator into grating noise.
"Healthy little shit. Say 'motherfucking bastard' like a man."
Jin-cheol closed in, raising both fists near the face. His left swept the envoy's aiming right arm outward; his right chopped the side. A choked gack escaped. Payback, asshole.
The deflected right arm's vibration wave veered off, blasting random mutants. As the envoy staggered back, Jin-cheol stepped closer and uppercut his jaw short and sharp. The shattered visor and jaw guards exploded in fragments. The mandible visibly crumpled.
Jin-cheol readied a finisher with his right, but the envoy's knee surged up. A ching—and a protruding blade tagged along. Jin-cheol leaped back to dodge; the envoy raised his left arm, electricity crackling with a zap.
"Oh, fuck."
Jin-cheol dove sideways. Lightning poured late, scorching empty air before arcing like tree branches, melting a dozen mutants and troops into gore.
Jin-cheol reversed direction mid-leap, charging again. But the envoy swung his right fist loaded with vibration. Jin-cheol's hands coiled like snakes, wrapping the fist and arm. He deflected the punch aside and squeezed.
A thud shockwave shot harmlessly skyward, then the envoy's right arm twisted with a crunch.
What the hell? Right after wrecking the arm, Jin-cheol paused in surprise. It was a human arm—or should be—but the envoy focused not on pain, but escape. Unlike his earlier rib-hit wheeze.
Jin-cheol wrenched harder to pulverize it. Metal snapped with a twang; the mechanical arm tore free, revealing screws, wires, cylinders, carbon-fiber muscles—no bone or flesh.
The envoy retreated a few steps, sacrificing the arm. Blue light glowed from his remaining left. Jin-cheol tossed the prosthetic and closed in—distance favored the envoy.
He reached for the ray sword still embedded in the envoy's left shoulder. The envoy grimaced, trying to aim his blue light, but the blade threw off his mark. Jin-cheol gripped the hilt; blue light erupted.
Jin-cheol flew back. Like a damn flea, he thought mid-flight. Always getting knocked assward. But he wasn't tumbling like a rice sack. He snapped his waist midair, landing on his feet—then skidded back from residual force.
Chest blackened and charred. He brushed it off—clothes and skin singed, painful but mobile.
Glancing up, the envoy looked far worse. Arm gone, suit torso torn from the blast, exposing not flesh but more cylinders, wires, synthetic muscles writhing. Human-like only in a deathly pale, hairless face and patches on left torso and lower body. Hard to gauge the split between man and machine.
"Whoa, future cyborg. Stylish."
[…]
The envoy glowered, face stiff as if hearing Jin-cheol's mutter, standing battered in seconds.
While they fought, the mutant-troop battle wound down. Armored suits, dominant with machine guns firing hundreds of rounds per second and unbreakable plating, ran dry on ammo. Fist-fighting mutants, their plates tore gradually, numbers overwhelming like waves.
Jin-cheol rose slowly.
"We done? You'll actually die like this."
"…Hrgh. Worried about the enemy?"
"Not worried, dickhead. Answer my questions before you croak."
The envoy chuckled hoarsely, staggering—then snapped his left arm up at Jin-cheol.
Jin-cheol shook his head at the rising blue glow.
"Don't learn, do ya? Think I'll take that sitting?"
"True. Remarkable agility. First time seeing someone that fast barehanded. Your reactions—like sensing my attacks beforehand."
"Scared? Surrender. I'll spare you."
"Spare me? Hah. You're the one begging soon."
Jin-cheol's face hardened, spinning the ray sword. The envoy's left hand shifted target: the overturned tank. Beyond, Aiman and crew peeked out.
Aiman spotted the aimed hand.
"Everyone, scatter!"
As he yelled, chaos synced like before: Aiman and Haeta sprinting, Snow grabbing Lamien and an unnamed revolutionary, envoy's left hand flashing blue.
Jin-cheol closed faster than before, but this light wasn't lightning—it was the beam that'd ashed mutants mid-pack. His kick slammed the envoy's chest center; the body flew back. Jin-cheol caught the smug grin. Baited. Using the kick's force to flee.
The beam exploded. The wrecked tank crumpled like paper, flying. Envoy rolled with the momentum, sprang up, and bolted into the hotel lobby—deeper inside.
"That fucker…"
Jin-cheol froze mid-chase, eyes on the blast site. Aiman, Haeta, Snow, her Lavitos—safe. Caught in the fringes: surrounding mutants, and Dol Jumeok with Maro.