The Skin Bazaar
Russia specialized in biological weapons and biological modification. Perhaps because their superhuman soldiers were scientists who had modified themselves into the first superhumans. They actively altered animals, insects, and humans alike, turning them into soldiers. Savaka was one of those creations. The nightmare of the trenches. A single one slipping into a trench could slaughter twenty men. Even when struck by bullets it refused to fall from a single shot. Its agile limbs, savage ferocity, and pack-hunting tactics made it an infuriatingly difficult foe. Even with a machine gun, you could never be certain you had truly killed it. That was Savaka.
As superhuman soldiers, the captain and I had mainly faced such horrors. Stepping forward into swarms of them, rifle cracking, buttstock swinging, felt like it had happened only yesterday. Perhaps that was why, as we left the apartment complex and headed north, old memories kept surfacing.
At first I had been terrified, but eventually I grew used to it. After all, anything was better than charging through trenches while machine-gun fire rained down.
Forty years? To feel a strange fondness upon meeting an old enemy again after so long… I must be getting sentimental.
“Master.”
“Ah, yes.”
Noticing my steps had slowed while I was lost in thought, I quickened my pace. It was Vertea.
The wide road stretched ahead with sidewalks on either side. Arched decorations hung overhead. Following the cracked pavement north, we reached a four-way intersection that included the path we had come from.
Hajeong-ro
“You. What exactly are you?”
It was Moare. Arms crossed, brow slightly furrowed. The fact that she was now openly wary of me meant she had begun to sense my level. Maybe I had gone a little too far.
“This unit advises that excessive curiosity is not good.”
Fortunately I was not alone. At Vertea’s monotone remark, Moare’s eyes rolled. The mage glanced at the halfling who stood a good thirty centimeters shorter than herself and let out a sigh.
“Whatever. You clearly don’t want to talk about it, and it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“B-but it was seriously amazing! Labyrinth hounds are really tough, yet you smashed them one by one with a mace!”
“It is thanks to the weapon.”
I had not realized it when I first picked the thing up, or even until a short while ago, but the more I used it the clearer it became. This weapon was special. I did not understand the mechanism, but it seemed to grow stronger with every swing, every impact.
“The weapon?”
“You didn’t know? That’s obviously a magic weapon. At a glance, it’s from the War Memorial.”
“Oh, really? Stuff from there is insanely expensive…!”
Huh. That was news to me as well.
“You seem to know something. I was simply given it.”
“…What kind of idiot hands over a magic weapon? Well, whatever. If my information is correct, that is Yeojin.”
Thanks to the mage Moare’s explanation, I finally learned the identity of the mace I had looted. The weapon’s name was Yeojin. Its effect was simple: its power rose in proportion to the number of accumulated strikes.
Whether the name fit or not, the fact that such an item could be created at all was peculiar. This really was a fantasy world.
“No, more importantly, you’ve been swinging it all this time without even knowing its effect?”
“Mm. I lack common sense. It did not exist in the East.”
“I heard it was different from Karnevarin, but still…”
Her look of utter disbelief was becoming familiar. She was not so much ill-tempered as chronically irritable, the type who recognized her own irritability and felt self-loathing for it. Children like her usually grew into meticulous, considerate adults. And I was not so immature that I would snap at every complaint from a girl far younger than myself.
“Let us proceed. We are here to hunt fairies, yes?”
“Yes! Fairies usually travel in groups, so finding two or three small packs should be plenty. And we have a fire mystic with us!”
“I will conserve my magic as much as possible. The stone throw I used earlier did not cost much, but one never knows. You seem quite capable yourself.”
With two girls and one halfling in tow, I crossed the Dongdaemun District. The process was not so different from urban warfare. We avoided spots that looked like ambush points, kept narrow alleys and walls in mind for cover, moved quietly in single file while scanning for traces, and stayed alert for sudden attacks.
The Dongdaemun District was indeed different from the Seongdong District.
“What is the nickname for Dongdaemun District?”
“As far as this unit knows, it is the ‘Skin Bazaar.’”
“That’s a scary name. Metaphorical?”
“No. It is almost literal.”
A market that sells human skin. Just hearing the name was horrifying; if it was not a metaphor, then the fairies themselves were likely far more terrible than the name suggested. I raised my guard to the maximum, loosely lowering Yeojin before tightening my grip again.
“Is there a specific destination in mind?”
“I was thinking of the Seoul Folk Flea Market. There are usually lots of goods… It is a good place when you want to earn some side income. Fairies are often seen there too.”
“Is that common knowledge?”
“Yes!”
“Then would there be anything left? The labyrinth has been open for a long time.”
“…You really don’t know anything, do you?”
Moare snorted in disbelief. Despite her tone, I knew she would explain anyway.
“The labyrinth possesses homeostasis. The same applies to its resources. At regular intervals monsters and materials regenerate, and damaged buildings are repaired.”
“Hoo.”
“Therefore periodic visits are recommended. You may come up empty sometimes, but if luck is with you…”
So that was how the labyrinth functioned. It made sense. In fact, one long-held question had just been answered. I had wondered how the buildings and roads remained intact.
“Then let us go.”
I was no scientist; I did not need to understand the principle. After walking steadily northward we reached a road, turned left, passed through a narrow alley, and arrived at a large building that occupied a wide open space between structures.
Seoul Folk Flea Market
SEOUL FOLK FLEA MARKET
It was a place I had never visited in my life. Miscellaneous junk and abandoned cars lay rusting in front. Torn tarps and shade cloths lent the scene a desolate air, yet the glass door chained shut somehow made it feel real.
Yes, this was how such places usually looked. For some reason my heart was pounding. It reminded me of sneaking into the locked elementary school as a child. Entering a building—one clearly filled with danger—was a first for me.
“Looks like no one’s been here yet! We’re lucky!”
Jenia laughed brightly while Moare twitched her ears in agreement. When Vertea glanced back at me, I followed them forward.
“Then I will open it.”
“Can you pick locks?”
“Huh? Oh, I don’t need to!”
She laughed, reached out, and gripped the chain with her bare hand. What formed in her palm was something unfamiliar even to me—not the power gained through scientific modification, but something else.
Crack. Craaack! The chain froze solid. It was the same technique she had used to freeze and rip off the Savaka’s neck earlier. As the iron froze from the inside, cracks spider-webbed across it.
With a grating crunch the frozen chain shattered and clattered to the ground.
“Impressive.”
“You think so? Among mystics I am actually rather clumsy…”
“I cannot do anything like that.”
“But you are much larger than us. Everyone has their own talents.”
Looking somewhat proud, Jenia threw the door open. I followed her inside. Amid the stale smell of dust, the space that greeted us was… exactly what I had expected, yet somehow not.
More primitive than anticipated, yet modern in the way I had expected. It was contradictory, but no other description fit. Items covered with tarps, stalls left bare. Abandoned furniture stacked high with goods displayed on top. Interestingly, many of the waiting items were unique: Chinese medicines banned after the war, CDs of songs popular in the 1980s, boldly placed adult products, and medicines of dubious effect. There were also objects with clear military purpose.
“Oh, they have labyrinth portable rations!”
Combat rations. Some were very old American models, others Korean. Among them were the latest versions I had eaten while still on active duty.
“Huh.”
Items that involuntarily drew sounds from my throat. As I looked at military uniforms and the like, Moare let out a groan.
“No fairies. And without a cart we cannot carry much.”
“I can carry some for you.”
“Even if you stuff your backpack it will not be enough.”
She did not refuse. I set my backpack down while Moare bit her nails.
“If only we had kept the cart… I should not have sold it.”
“But this is still good! Let’s start packing!”
“All right, all right.”
Moare and Jenia proved how close they were by understanding each other perfectly. The mage, unable to resist her friend’s urging, packed combat rations and clothing while venting her frustration. Jenia, considerate of her friend, turned to me.
“Shall we camp here tonight? Would that be okay?”
“Camp here?”
“Yes! Wandering around Dongdaemun District at night is dangerous, you know!”
“Then it is fine. Vertea?”
“This unit will prepare the campsite. Do you have a recommended location, Lady Jenia?”
“Um, well… There is a decent spot on the second floor! The space is a bit narrow, but it is open so we can build a fire, and the approaches are limited, making it good for defense—”
That was when it happened.
♩♪♩
It was not a song with lyrics, but the kind that created harmonies using only voices, like acapella. An addictive rhythm and melody rang out from inside the flea market.
Jenia’s face turned deathly pale. Moare’s goat-like eyes widened. They both looked straight at me. The emotion in their gazes was close to pure terror.
“Mr. Jinwoo…!”
I nodded and broke into a run, following them. I scooped up Vertea—whose short legs made running difficult—and sprinted. The song pursued us. It echoed, filling the space, the presence drawing closer. I did not even need to extend my micro-current to know. There were many. An enormous number. Countless female voices forming perfect harmony. From the girls’ reactions they were enemies. Yet I had no memory of any enemy that sang like this.
The answer rose instinctively. Fairies.
I surged past the running group.
“This way!”
I shouted, calculating routes based on the spaces I had mapped with my micro-current. A location advantageous for defense, easy to hide in, capable of shaking off pursuit.
My eyes scanned the area and I shouted again.
“Over here!”
Rounding stall corners, sensing the scattering harmonies and their sources through my micro-current, I took the lead. Along the way I snatched up a tarp. After turning corner after corner, just as I sensed Jenia beginning to pant and gasp, we arrived. I kicked open the door to what had once been a food court, waited for everyone to enter, then closed it behind us. I draped the tarp over the entrance to conceal it. Spread across the shutter like a curtain, the tarp fluttered. Beyond it, light flickered. And shadows moved.
They looked like small children. Their diminutive size did not seem threatening, but their numbers were extraordinary. Dozens. At least several dozen small silhouettes cast shadows as they passed.
Seemingly unaffected by the fluorescent light, each hop made them appear larger against the tarp. In their rhythmic passage I sensed not intelligence but a chilling collective consciousness—the same distinctive intellect I had seen in the biological weapons of the war. As if to prove it, their perfectly timed, harmonious hopping slowly receded.
Until at last the song could no longer be heard.
In the silence that followed I lifted the tarp slightly and peered outside. Where the fairies had passed, hundreds of blood-red footprints stained the ground.