Fragrance of Rebellion (10)
The riverside park I'd designated as our rally point was a lush green space like the front lawns of the opulent villas lining it. Beyond the manicured flower beds and trees, the villa complex with its Mediterranean red-tiled roofs lay shrouded in pitch-black darkness, as if under blackout orders—no lights anywhere. The wealthy owners of those expensive homes had long since fled the revolution of the dispossessed.
The surrounding districts were just as desolate. The entire island of Hajungdo—packed with high-rise apartments, spacious tennis courts, government offices, pristine single-family homes, comprehensive hospitals, and massive shopping malls—had been all but abandoned. Yet there were still signs of life, mostly survivors from the traffic police brigade that had defended the area. With just three bridges and one sandbar to block, they must have figured their numbers were enough to hold the line. But waves of corpse puppets that wouldn't drop even after fatal wounds? That would have overwhelmed even a full army unit.
The surviving officers had been drawn to the helicopters circling overhead, gathering in small groups along the riverbank. I was tending to the wounds of Kyung-tae and the others I'd evacuated first when I sensed their approach early on. Irritated, I shrank my mana field radius.
More than half the cautiously closing officers were primitive magic users.
'Meaning even regular folks had a hard time just escaping.'
Back on the patrol ship's bridge, enduring that barrage of anti-ship missiles, I hadn't had time to mask my presence. So these ability-user cops had likely picked up on me indirectly by now. But linking that presence to me personally? That was another matter entirely.
"Halt! One more move and we shoot!"
My men, alerted and on guard, barked the warning. The first three refugees to reach the bank slowly raised their hands. One of them, his face a mix of fear and relief, called out, "Don't shoot! We're friendlies!"
Their uniforms were caked in dirt, soot, and bloodstains. Only one had a weapon. They'd barely escaped with their lives.
Kyung-tae glanced at me for orders, and I signaled to let them through. My men lowered their guns slightly and jerked their heads. The three cops, faces lighting up like they'd been spared, crouched low and approached. One was wounded, supported by the other two.
The senior among them—a second-grade sergeant—eyed me and my crew in our martial police combat gear and asked, "Excuse me, but who's in charge here?"
"Me."
I answered, and he bowed politely. "May I ask where you're from? We haven't heard of any unit in the area made up solely of ability users—especially ones with power like yours..."
Our outfits bore no insignia, no name tags—nothing to identify us.
"We're a mobile strike team from the Guangzhou Public Security Bureau."
"Guangzhou Public Security? Oh!"
Their faces brightened instantly. Our reputation was paying off. The wounded one sank to his knees in deepening relief, flushing as he struggled to stand, but his exhausted body wouldn't cooperate.
The sergeant jumped to conclusions, beaming. "So word got through about our emergency! Thank God! We were starting to doubt if our reports even made it up the chain..."
And there was the reason I'd kept them alive this long. I asked flatly, "Reports? What reports?"
"Uh, first off, the enemies that won't die even after taking bullets, and that massive ability wave that spread from here..."
In China, they called a mana field an "ability wave." No hard data, but based on ability users' accounts, they figured it was some kind of wavelength phenomenon.
"Didn't you sense that wave? The wavefront was kilometers wide—an enormous presence. It felt like one of those giant ability creatures patrolling the distant sea had swum upriver inland."
"No idea. Anyway, how far up the chain did those reports go? You doubted they'd get through for a reason."
I played dumb, and his face darkened.
"We reported to battalion HQ before company HQ collapsed and requested support. But contact with battalion cut out soon after. Another company got overrun first. Once word spread that the rear had fallen, our company panicked... By the time we snapped out of it, enemies were closing from all sides."
"I see."
The corpse puppet reports? Whatever they said, none of my business. But the presence these traffic cops sensed—that was different.
'If only they'd mistake me for one of those awakened massive sea creatures.'
Whales aren't affected by osmosis. And since they breathe air like us, they can operate in freshwater no problem. Theoretically, they could swim up a big river inland. But that's just theory—no whale's actually doing it. Why would they? Narrow, filthy, dangerous, food-scarce hellhole. At best, small dolphin pods pass through occasionally.
So if the reports went through properly, Chinese authorities would suspect intervention by some transcendent power—or equivalent anomaly. Black Sea Party attackers with insane regeneration popping up out of nowhere, right when police ability users detect a massive ability wave.
Of course, slim chance that puts me on their suspect list. They'd assume some Black Sea Party backer with transcendent power or anomaly behind it.
But if—even by a one-in-a-million chance—that intel leaked to Britain, the Round Table of Light and Truth would guess one of their hunted prey was here. The one who killed a colleague, stole the Golden Age's Eye, and fled—former Round Table seat-holder Lord Crowhurst. Or perhaps the Heptagonal Knights' witch, Grace.
'Should I draw some reverse blood pentagram somewhere in the city with human blood?'
Obsessed as prey, I briefly considered planting devil-worshiper traces to throw off tails—shifting pursuit toward Grace. But nah, too shallow. The imperialist Round Table wouldn't fall for a few blood-and-guts ritual sites. Might backfire. Sloppy traces from Grace's direct cult? Unconvincing.
Problem was exposing a grand magus's presence here too. Maybe all this worry was for nothing. The Round Table wouldn't want corpse puppet leaks either—probably cut off reports from Chinese forces here somehow. Severing frontline comms to higher-ups.
My prolonged silence made the three cops fidget uneasily. I broke it with another question. "Anything else I should know?"
The sergeant rolled his eyes. "Uh, nothing comes to mind."
"Really? Every scrap matters now. Detailed traits of the Black Thieves you saw, their initial approach direction, main paths, oddities in combat. Think—you've got more to share."
If I could pinpoint where the corpse puppets first poured out, scouting it wasn't optional. Low odds the maker was still there—storage and distribution viable post-production—but piercing that low probability to catch Grand Magus Shevington in range? Not impossible. Opportunities to assassinate a Round Table seat outside London were precious.
The sergeant and the other two dredged up raw details. Some useful bits, but not enough for the full picture. I wasn't rushing. More survivor groups were approaching.
"You remember your company and battalion frequencies, right?"
The sergeant nodded. "Of course."
"Good. You've come far—rest inside our perimeter now. Call in survivors on those channels. We'll gather testimonies, reorganize, then move."
"Thank you! Er, yes, sir!"
The sergeant, relief slipping out before he caught himself, fumbled. Then he hesitated, pointing at the river. "Do you know what happened to the 587? We blocked land routes; navy was handling the water..."
"The 587 sank a bit ago."
"What?! How?"
"Don't know details. Just saw it fire missiles at itself and scuttle. No crew escaped."
"Ah... those missiles..."
My measured answer—one that wouldn't raise flags—left the three somber. "Scuttle" conjured the obvious: deck overrun, intruders aboard, captain and crew's grim last stand. Propaganda gold for the Central Political Department's Propaganda Department.
I sent them back and kept interrogating incoming stragglers. Occasional corpse puppet chases, but light skirmishes. Main force had swept past Hajungdo; stragglers just wandered the quiet streets, harboring kill-lust for cops.
Steady gunfire drew in more wandering undead and hesitant survivors alike. Among them, a stroke of minor luck: a third-grade inspector from traffic police battalion HQ.
"A school?"
"Yes."
The inspector—equivalent to a Korean inspector—clutched his broken ribs, breathing raggedly. "The ones who first warned about... bulletproof enemies... were a special forces unit there... As far as I know."
"Special forces from Beijing HQ?"
"No... From Guangdong Military District. Ugh, the 'Sword of South China' company."
I'd heard of the Sword of South China. China's spec-ops like Eastern Divine Sword or Kunlun Sharp Blade weren't world-top but could crush most nations' spec-ops. Eastern Sea Flying Dragon, search specialists, famously packed multipurpose drones per man.
I unfolded the map Suyeon gave me and showed the staffer. "Can you mark it?"
Her notes proved useful here too—other units' positions jogged memories.
'Such a meticulous one.'
Tactical maps usually use alcohol- or water-based pens for easy erase. But Suyeon used oil-based. Back then, no big deal; now I saw she'd anticipated water exposure. Otherwise, it'd be a smeared mess.
The staffer's eyes slid over the map, pointing. "Here. Guanhua School... Sword of South China held this, fortified..."
Location confirmed, I got why special forces. Solid strongpoints block bypasses—ignore them, and they threaten your rear anytime. Attackers forced to choose: overrun or divert heavy forces.
Perfect for spec-ops.
"Thanks for the cooperation."
No more survivors inbound on Hajungdo. I turned to the traffic cops gathered on the park embankment. They thought they were under our protection—but really, surrounded by me and my men.
To Kyung-tae: "Do it."
A volley tore into the resting cops. Helicopter door guns strafed too. Mass execution over in seconds: thirty-nine ability users, seven normals dead.
Teeth chattering. The last one alive—my front-row traffic police staffer.
"Why... why...?"
He collapsed, looking up. I answered with my pistol to his forehead.
Bang!
Large-caliber round punched through front to back. Head snapped back; vacant eyes stared skyward. A dull thud as the body hit. Bullet severed her ponytail; hair spilled, matted in flowing blood.
We dumped all the corpses in the river. Didn't forget to strip their shoes first.