Fragrance of Rebellion (8)
The source of the cyber attack, Patrol Ship 587, floated twelve kilometers further upstream. Its name was Jieyang. On the way here, I'd spotted several water police boats stained with blood drifting sluggishly downstream. They must have been the remnants of those escorting the patrol ship in close formation, just like what had happened earlier in Luzhou.
The defensive position assigned to the Jieyang was a river bend called Jinsha Bay, but despite the name, it wasn't a bay of glittering golden sands. The patrol ship floated silently over the river waters distorted by moonlight and flares, exuding an eerie menace rather than grandeur, even to the naked eye. Its deck was drenched in blood, and the surrounding land was a scene straight out of hell.
A pair of grappling hooks and rope ladders dangled from the mission bay at the stern, with two unmanned rigid-hulled inflatable boats moored by ropes tied to the hooks. Traces of an attempted boarding by personnel dispatched from Qingyuan.
As my silence stretched on while observing the patrol ship, Kyung-tae cautiously asked,
"Hyungnim, what's the situation inside?"
"Plenty of moving heads, but no living people."
"......Pardon?"
"Magic. I didn't expect one of the Round Table's haughty Masters to grace such a filthy battlefield in person."
In that brief moment, Kyung-tae and the subordinates' tension spiked to its peak before gradually easing. I'd already declared there were no living people aboard.
What lingered on the ghost ship was merely a Grand Magus's spell, not the magus himself.
Kyung-tae licked his dry lips, his heartbeat a touch faster than usual as he asked,
"I remember what you said during the executive retraining, hyungnim. The Round Table has magic that makes the dead move. You called it 'Resuscitation', right?"
"Correct. More precisely, it's an incantation that makes dead organic matter mimic the living."
"So, like zombies?"
Zombies? For a split second, I recalled the Haitian Vodou variety, but realizing Kyung-tae meant the media stereotype, I shook my head.
"We'll see the difference once we look."
"Look ourselves? Can't we just blow the bridge off from here? Or destroy the antenna mast to stop any more virus spread. Worst case, hyungnim could sink the whole ship with your power."
"This is to give you all some experience. And to secure their USB Killer while we're at it."
A USB suspected to be the root cause of this incident was plugged into the Jieyang's bridge console. USB Killers originally just overloaded systems with excess voltage to destroy or crash them, but more advanced versions could infiltrate with viruses or seize control—software sabotage. Some even manipulated intranet comms to create external connection points.
Valuable as merchandise or evidence.
As I lowered the helicopter, Kyung-tae pressed further.
"Any chance that Round Table Master is nearby?"
"Not in my line of sight, at least."
Thinking of the witch Grace I'd encountered without warning in Utah left a sliver of unease. But even she, wielding incantations absent from my mentor's memories, couldn't hide her very existence from the Golden Age's Eye. A thorough scan should suffice.
No need to land. Handing the controls to the pilot, I positioned the chopper parallel to the patrol ship, hovering just above the deck railing, and leaped across. Kyung-tae and the entry team followed, boots thudding on the steel deck one by one. I ordered the three emptied helicopters to loiter low and watch our surroundings.
"Follow me."
Opening the watertight door led to a barrage from ambushing corpses.
"Long live the revolution!"
Kakakakakang!
Deafening gunfire echoed through the narrow passageway. But like the skirmish on the Becklux, ordinary bullets couldn't pierce the bulletproof barrier of telekinetic force.
Hearts pounding, several corpses charged with bulging eyes and Anti-Japanese Great Swords gleaming in their grips.
"Long live the revolution! Long live the revolution! Death to the enemies of the people!"
Kyung-tae's team's counterfire punched through the brows, hearts, and lungs of the oncoming corpses. Only those with headshots stopped; the rest thrashed, howling, then staggered back to their feet. Gushing wounds visibly knit closed before our eyes.
Reanimated, they roared with blood-flecked madness.
"Long live the revolution!"
"What the hell?!"
Startled, Kyung-tae and the team unleashed another volley—all headshots this time, as befitted quick learners. Precise marksmanship downed one per bullet, but the narrow corridor let the rear ranks close in fast.
Meanwhile, I simply cut the emergency power to the closed circuit.
"Hyungnim—!"
Kyung-tae's urgent hiss. Seeing me stand idle, he surged forward to fulfill his duty as security chief. But in the next instant, the encroaching corpses collapsed like marionettes with cut strings.
"......?"
Kyung-tae gawked, dumbfounded, as the bodies twitched in death throes. I explained.
"I broke the spell. Interfered with the mana flow."
"Ah, got it."
I'd let the armed corpses charge to analyze the incantation's mechanics and flaws. I'd felt a pang of regret over this spell back in Mexico, and it was knowledge my mentor had neglected.
Back when that bastard was still with the Round Table, their "Resuscitation" could barely twitch a dead bug—a parlor trick amid mana-depleted wisdoms that had lost utility. No wonder he'd obsessed over the spiritual realm.
Spiritual incantations built on "Baptism" boasted superior efficiency over others. They also promised spiritual immortality.
Not fully grasping Resuscitation's principles left me conflicted.
They're advancing in their own way.
Development within dogmatic confines, but deep enough not to shame a Master. The framework lingered vaguely in my mentor's memories from the original texts—I could've grasped it at a glance then. But this version bore refined applications and improvements.
An unwelcome reality, as expected. Pondering how much more wisdom the Round Table of Light and Truth might accrue only deepened my irritation. Easier to hunt loose nukes? Slap one on a North Korean Scud and call it a day.
Idle fancy. Even North Korea wouldn't sell ballistic missiles to just anyone—only nations hefty enough to possess them outright. Handing them to madmen itching to launch was national suicide. And adapting non-standard warheads? Good luck finding technicians.
Flap flap!
Under the dim red emergency lights, the fallen corpses convulsed in a grotesque orgy. Widening blood pools amplified the horror.
Kyung-tae asked uneasily,
"Hyungnim...... these things are really dead now, right? Talking, shooting, swinging swords...... And their mana fields are still active."
"Focus. Sense the mana field's source."
"......"
Staring at the writhing corpses, Kyung-tae drew his greatsword.
"Mind if I dissect one? No booby traps or contagion, right?"
"Won't happen."
Kyung-tae approached the tangled pile, ripped open the top one's clothes, and plunged in his blade. Expert at human butchery, he dismantled swiftly. What he unearthed: two clumps of mana tumors like root bulbs—Immortal Cancer masses.
Removing them extinguished the lingering mana fields. Kyung-tae, grimacing in mild disgust, asked,
"Does the spell use these cancer cell clumps as the power source?"
"More like turbochargers or boosters. The incantation works without them."
The Round Table's Grand Magus Sir Westburton specialized in Resuscitation. He claimed life was merely a machine ensouled. Enamored with Descartes' mechanist view, this imperialist believed only the enlightened escaped inferior flesh-machines for superior forms. True free will belonged solely to the awakened.
So no guilt killing the unenlightened—they're just biochemical automata, worthless machines driven by survival and reproduction.
His Resuscitation manifested that creed. Brains mere parts: with enough mana, Golden Age wisdom could reboot dead ones.
"Let's go."
I led onward. Another mass assault on the steep stairs to the bridge, but the team's headshots swiftly annihilated the chanting corpses. After the second engagement under my deliberate inaction, Kyung-tae assessed:
"Lucky they're not all there. Simple moves, overly aggressive...... Can't even aim properly. Like fighting junkies."
The brain was too complex for perfect reboot, so they'd reinforced differently. Linking self-mana-absorbing Immortal Cancer as boosters was ingenious. Though proliferating cells shortened the corpse puppets' lifespan.
Inner cabins held half-eaten real corpses: desiccated remains likely original crew; fresher, intact ones from the advance recon team.
The third and final ambush hit on the bridge.
"Long live the revolution!"
These corpses were better made—superior source material? Even drooling, they took sloppy cover and fired. Enemy handiwork, but impressive.
Post-fight, I mulled the magical observations.
I could mimic it crudely soon enough.
Though a vast gap from Sir Westburton's version. With my need for focus, closing it was doubtful.
The bridge windows were cracked from the crew's desperate defense against the animated dead—and our recent clash.
Done ruminating, I yanked the USB Killer from the console.
That instant—Kwaaaaa—!
A roar erupted from the bridge rear.
"......?!"
Whirling, I saw anti-ship missiles launching skyward from the platform between the radar mast and boiler stack. Four streaked into distant specks on turbojet thrust, then arced wide over the city before diving back at us.
Disconnecting the USB was the evidence purge trigger!
"Crazy bastards......!"
Four streams of death from all bearings, microseconds apart. Mach 0.9 speed, 0.7-ton warheads. Seconds to react.
Better late than never? No—too late was worse. Grimacing, I expanded my mana field, draping a thin, rigid telekinetic dome over the patrol ship.
"Everyone down!"
My shout coincided with the first missile's impact. A deafening blast shattered the dark bridge into blinding light and shadow.