The Anointed Ones (13)
China hadn't just sent armored vehicles to Guangzhou. Starting today, enormous swarms of drones began patrolling the city's outer perimeter. Dozens of massive pull cargo trailers—serving as charging and control platforms—raced along the roads, launching surveillance drones to dynamically fill the gaps left by destroyed CCTVs. From the deck of the Becklux, on the verge of departure, I could count forty-six thousand of them.
I watched the organized flight of those small multicopters and thought to myself,
Even if they were pooling resources to avoid a full-scale intervention, there's no way such an extensive drone operation system could have been whipped up in a short time. They must have had prototypes ready long ago.
It wasn't particularly surprising. The imperialists' Communist Party would have prepared for every conceivable popular uprising. They likely had scaled-down scenarios for something like this, and matching response strategies and equipment development would follow as standard procedure. Impressive that they'd produced this many despite semiconductor shortages, though.
As these thoughts crossed my mind, one drone began tracing a parabolic trajectory verging on a crash dive. Naturally, it wasn't a real crash—I could see the charged explosives inside its frame through my Golden Age's Eye. In response, long spears erupted from the ground with ferocious momentum. These spear throwers, empowered by Awakened ability users, achieved astonishing velocities. By eye, they averaged around 300-400 km/h. The fastest ones, right after launch, rivaled the muzzle velocity of an old Soviet RPG-7 antitank rocket.
Given the projectiles' weight surpassing standard spears, a hit would pierce not just a drone but even the armored cockpit glass of most attack helicopters.
Of course, leaving attack helicopters within range would be suicidal.
No matter how superhuman the thrower, a spear's effective range couldn't exceed a few hundred meters. Attack helicopters, by contrast, had machine guns with kilometer-range reach. Comparing accuracy was pointless: a spear reliant on sight and instinct versus one corrected by thermal imaging and fire-control systems. Even if a superhuman's senses deviated from norms, surpassing cutting-edge military tech was a tall order.
That said, in urban jungles like this concrete forest—where infrastructure damage and civilian casualties demanded caution—attack helicopters lost much of their utility. The environment favored spear throwers.
Kyung-tae, staring in the same direction as me, let out an admiring whistle.
"Whoa, they actually hit it."
The descending suicide drone shattered on impact with a spear. Spiraling wildly due to thrust imbalance, it hit the ground and detonated with the force of five or six grenades. Black smoke billowed up, followed by a distant boom. The other drones reacted by climbing to safer altitudes.
Bzzz—my phone vibrated in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a call from Korea. The caller: the white Chief of the casino.
I gathered my thoughts briefly and answered.
"Yes."
“Oh, Chairman.”
His voice, unheard for so long, sounded frail enough to suggest mountains had shifted in the interim. “I called to greet you... and offer another thanks.”
Last Christmas, the casino heiress had ultimately entrusted her grandfather to me. She couldn't ignore how her plans to reclaim the tribe's sacred Waukulik might burden his health. I recalled Mashath's heavy tone as she made the request.
"No trouble at all. How do you like the facilities?"
“Of course.”
His replies came slow, as if speaking drained him. “Very... good. The room is clean, the nurses kind... And above all, under a friend's protection... It's shameless, but... better than those invaders' care... My heart's at ease...”
Words too frank for his healthy days. This old man never failed to draw a smile from me.
"Don't mention shame. Helping a friend is my pleasure. Focus solely on recovery, Chief. Who else will tend the tribe's woes without you? The corrupt tribal council? Or those oppressors' regime?"
“Grateful words... but...”
He sighed. “Even the finest warrior... can't win against time... For a frail old man like me to play elder... Is it truly for the tribe, or just an old fool's stubborn pride...?”
"So you're retiring?"
“Yes... While I can still judge wisely... I must settle succession... To spare the tribe chaos... For the tribe... for my granddaughter... Stepping down now is best...”
A faint sob mingled with the line at that point.
"Mashath's there with you. I heard she was leaving Korea today, but she hasn't left the hospital yet."
“Good child... Can't tear herself away worrying for this old man...”
Another sigh. “Chairman... You're the only outsider I trust... The tribe's benefactor... Our casino's top patron... Your support and faith... Will greatly aid my granddaughter in securing her place...”
Less thanks, more the real point.
"You want me as her political guardian?"
“Something like that... But no great burden... She just lacks a touch of authority...”
"Even if it's a bit troublesome, no issue. Still within the realm of friendship."
“Thank you. Truly... If only I'd known your character sooner...”
“I regret it several times a day...”
"No need."
I should be the one thanking him. For his granddaughter, tearful at his succession talk, these words were like a testament: Lean on this man in hard times.
"Tell Mashath: If any more tribesfolk are in poor health, send a few over. Say it's company for her grandfather far from home."
More good tales about me among the Desert People the better. A low-cost way to keep my presence fresh in minds—why not?
Faint gunfire echoed from afar. Yet riverside civilians showed no alarm. Like Mexico or Oakland before, shootouts had become this city's routine. Humans adapt well.
“Heard gunshots just now...?”
"Working."
“In a dangerous spot?”
"My trade is death merchant. Need more explanation?"
“...Foolish question on my part.”
He wrapped up. “You seem busy, so I won't take more time... Stay safe...”
"We'll talk again. Hope to hear a stronger voice then, friend."
That was it. I ended the call.
Moments later, the Becklux began moving. Pulling away from the dock, it nearly spun in place—180 degrees—thanks to bow thrusters and waves against the hull. The bridge crew, veterans of long smuggling runs, pushed the ship's maneuverability to its limits.
Riding the current now, the Becklux passed the still-docked Yongping, heading east. On its upper deck, a group of Uyghurs was out for air—a privilege I'd granted Maryam Batur's crew. We'd originally banned external activity to avoid eyes, but their small numbers and non-Islamic garb made them look like passengers on a cruise ship. To Chinese onlookers, just foreigners.
Seeing the Becklux depart, Maryam's group paled. I quickly guessed why.
Scared I'm abandoning them.
Like pets watching their owner leave... Pathetic, even crowding the stern, stamping anxiously.
"Kyung-tae, radio over there."
"There?"
He followed my gaze, nodded, and handed over the tuned radio.
Gripping it, I hailed the Yongping's upper deck.
"Upper deck, put Maryam Batur on."
One of her subordinates handed her the radio at a gesture. She flinched, pressing it to her ear. I cut straight in, commanding,
"I'm coming back. No needless worry—just wait quietly."
Fumbling the controls, she finally hit transmit. “Bestower of Authority, are you heading into danger?”
"Likely. But not what you fear."
“I see.”
After a baptized apostle's pause, she added, “Understood. We trust you. You are the Judge, the Bringer of Death—not its opposite. Return in glory.”
Judge and Bringer of Death—like Bestower of Authority—drawn from Allah's ninety-nine names. Handing the radio back, Maryam spoke to her siblings, then knelt prostrate toward me. The group followed suit.
Not a hint of hesitation or acting. No worldly Muslim could fake that. Her desperate claims about her siblings rang true. Muslims who bowed to Mecca yesterday now bowed to me today—and the shift in one day was key.
A sigh escaped me. Too much to do: Open circuits for them, interview remaining groups, manage organization affairs, research collected codes to hone mage skills, lead human hunts and fundraising...
Is mere survival this exhausting?
As the Becklux picked up speed, the prostrating deck receded. River traffic had noticeably thinned since our upstream journey. At a riverside naval base, two new Chinese patrol ships lay moored side-by-side. The type China deployed to bully Taiwan, Vietnam, Philippines over Spratly claims. Sailors bustled in launch prep.
Patrol ships in the city's watery maze could effectively block Black Sea Party movements. Risky, but desperate times.
Curiously, beyond the base stood the old Huangpu Military Academy, built by the Nationalists. Where Chiang trained anti-Japanese talent—including Korean independence fighters from armed struggle lines. Imperial foes' officer school cheek-by-jowl with imperialists' naval base. And the Communist imperialists—preaching One China—designated it a historic site.
History's irony.
Passing such sights, the Becklux pressed east. Toward the final battleground of this hunt.