Imperial Hunter - Chapter 127 (127/707) #17. Fragrance of Rebellion (7)
The air in the mess hall was warm. Having replenished my calories with two packs of energy gel, I sipped the coffee Kyung-tae had brewed for me while resisting the siren call of sleep. The gels, primarily composed of sugars, absorbed quickly, making them ideal for maintaining physical performance in combat situations—but that rapid absorption also caused blood sugar spikes, leading to intense fatigue shortly after consumption. Having come in from the cold wind, my eyelids felt even heavier. Each blink brought a wave of burning heat. The excessive caffeine in the gels offered no immediate relief either.
While my subordinates took turns dozing off briefly, Kyung-tae was experimenting with his ability, drawing out flames as thin as threads and manipulating them in various patterns. The searing lines, like incandescent bulb filaments, shifted into diverse and complex shapes. It was a balanced drill for compressing, shaping, and controlling mana-fueled fire. Not long ago, the best Kyung-tae could manage was a candle-sized flame; now, he could even slice through a safe by ejecting compressed bursts of fire. This was growth at a speed natural Awakeners could only dream of.
Still, it'd be tricky to use against other ability users.
Every incantation was influenced by the opponent's mana field the moment it encroached on their domain. Unless one's control over the spell vastly outclassed the foe's dominance, inflicting direct harm on another Awakener with pure magic was exceedingly difficult. For Kyung-tae to wield fire effectively in battle now, he was better off focusing on its light rather than its heat—and he knew it himself.
Techniques using light as a weapon shone in close-quarters combat. After former FBI agent Bill Rogers first formalized the concept, countless successors had refined it into sophisticated arts. One tactical lighting manufacturer had even trained specialized instructors to offer professional training services. So, imagine the utility of freely unleashing light at hundreds or thousands of lumens in modern gunfights and CQC. If the opportunity arose, that is.
Beyond combat, it could enhance wilderness survival and lighten loadouts by reducing carried supplies. Seemingly minor, but in prolonged operations within naturally labyrinthine environments, it could literally mean the difference between life and death. The power to ignite fire without fuel, cook food without smoke, and produce unlimited distilled water in remote areas with only filthy sources. Flames that burned even underwater or underground tested the user's imagination.
My reverie was broken by Suyeon's voice crackling over the radio.
"Hyungnim. We have a situation. Please come to the bridge."
I knew it. Things were never going to stay quiet.
Shaking off the languid warmth like heavy gravity, I rose. Kyung-tae dispersed his mana heat lines with a clap, rousing the sleeping subordinates.
"Everyone up!"
Leaving them to gear up for combat, I headed to the bridge. Before Suyeon could even speak, I spotted the anomaly. First, the laptop screen linked to the Public Security data network had gone blue-screened. Second, the patrol ship Luo Zhou ahead was drifting aimlessly, its main propulsion dead. With all lights out except emergency ones, her crew was in chaos from bridge to engine room.
Only one conclusion came to mind.
"Cyber attack?"
Suyeon nodded at my guess.
"Seems like it."
Cyber attacks on warships had long been a hot topic among insiders. At a hacking contest hosted by the U.S. Naval War College to test feasibility, one team had seized admin rights to a destroyer's drone control system and claimed the prize.
But that's assuming network access in the first place.
Public Security and military networks were fundamentally intranets—closed systems with no external entry points. The infamous case of multiple British warships infected by a virus stemmed from internal email servers breaching security barriers, not external intrusion. So the source of this incident had to be inside the network.
"The Black Sea Party bragged about rewards for seizing Public Security or navy ships. Makes sense now. Any intel from interrogations?"
Interrogating the prisoners from the earlier fight had been delegated to the onboard crew.
Suyeon shook her head.
"No. All we got is that they'd radio once they secured a vessel. That channel's been silent to all hails."
At least Becklux hadn't suffered the same fate. The laptop hadn't been on the bridge originally, so it wasn't linked to our navigation gear. Still, pity about the data we'd been about to exfil.
Tsking in annoyance, I grabbed the radio and hailed Patrol Ship Luo Zhou—592. Even if satellite comms were down, standard radio should work on emergency power.
"592, this is Becklux, Guangzhou Public Security Bureau. Respond if you copy."
On Luo Zhou's bridge, now anchored, the captain fumbled for his handset.
"592 here. Speak, Becklux."
"Report your status. Can you restore systems?"
"Working on it, but it'll take time."
"How long?"
"At least 30 minutes."
Thirty minutes was plenty for our hard-won advantage to turn to shit. It wouldn't just be warships affected—now Black Sea Party and military/police alike would be uncoordinated. If enemy Awakened slipped into the rear, it'd be perfect chaos.
Is the Round Table aiming for mutual destruction?
A fight where neither Chinese forces nor Black Sea Party wins, just mutual losses. If they didn't want to see their overconfident hounds snap their leashes, it'd be a plausible play. Unlikely pure Black Sea Party handiwork. No one just whips up a cyber weapon to cripple a warship's electronics in one go.
"Do you know where the network breach occurred?"
I hadn't expected much, but the reply surprised me.
"Not certain, but... probably 587."
"Basis?"
"About 10 minutes ago? Quiet sector suddenly signaled under attack, then went dark—but data link stayed live. Last update before our combat info systems crashed was 589 announcing recon on 587."
"587's position?"
"Uh, upstream from us, but hard to explain—"
Luo Zhou's captain stammered, flustered. Dead systems meant no precise allied positions. No one memorized every ship's spot. "Upstream" was too vague amid the tangled waterways—multiple branches qualified.
Suyeon stepped up.
"I know."
She beckoned a subordinate.
"Map."
He fetched a waterproof chart; Suyeon swiftly sketched deployments from memory with a grease pencil. Like a grandmaster replaying a match. The result marked eleven ships including Luo Zhou and the two mentioned, fifteen Public Security companies, seven armed police companies, other army elements, and opposing Black Sea Party forces.
Handing it over, she added,
"From about five minutes ago. Not all details, not precise coords, but enough for the big picture."
"Excellent."
Pocketing the map, I radioed Luo Zhou's captain.
"587 confirmed. We'll dispatch support."
"Wait! What about here?"
"Just part of the rotorcraft wing. No worries. Focus on systems recovery. Out."
I cut the line unilaterally, rubbing my temple.
"I'm heading out. Hold the fort."
"...Please be careful, sir."
She looked composed, but I caught her tension—voice pitched slightly lower. Natural, with Round Table potential. Something made me hesitate to just leave; I added unnecessarily,
"Don't worry. I won't overreach on a hunt that leaves traces. You know the plan."
"Yes, sir."
Suyeon glanced at Kyung-tae; he grinned quietly, thumbs-upped his chest. She sighed softly, bowing farewell—come back safe.
Atop the upper deck helipad, the flagship rotorcraft idled ready. Scars from engagements, but nothing critical. Strapping in with headset,
The pilot in the cockpit asked,
"You flying again, sir?"
"Mm."
I nodded, taking controls via telekinesis. Six birds total, flagship included. 5 and 6 paired with flagship; 7-9 as reserves trailing afar. With 3 ditched in the river by me, only 2 and 4 covered Becklux. Reserves could assist given rotorcraft agility.
Below max-speed flagship, moonlit waters narrowed sharply—too tight for patrol ships. Northern bank lined with military/police camps. Exhausted troops gawked blankly upward.
After 15 klicks, the river widened abruptly—a main stem splitting into branches. Blocking the fork: Patrol Ship Qingyuan—589—bow-marked. The one announcing recon on silent 587.
Having gotten Luo Zhou's engagement details? Armed sailors stacked deck cover frantically. With electronics dead, no other prep possible. Small comfort: emergency power allowed manual gun mounts.
Tuning the radio, I hailed Qingyuan post IFF.
"Any recon intel?"
Her captain replied warily,
"Launched two onboard boats, but visuals clean, so boarding underway moments ago. Internal search starting—appreciate quick link-up."
"Roger, 589. Thanks for the assist."
"Likewise. Good hunting."
Onboard boats: small launches, stowed aboard. Roughly ten armed per. Given speed and distance, they'd wasted no moment.