Chapter 168
Chapter 168
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 168
Chapter Title: Ghosts of the Past, Ties of the Present (7)
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Between the heart of Dreytarial and the underground armory, a concrete-covered underground bunker.
A thick iron door slid open, and a Ratkin dressed in a Stalin uniform—commonly known as Soviet people's clothing—entered the bunker.
"Excellency First Secretary, the battle is over."
The Ratkin saluted and spoke. Unlike typical Ratkin, its tone was remarkably smooth.
"Already? Who won?"
The one who responded was an elderly man seated at a large desk in the center of the bunker. To the city's citizens, he was known as the East Palace Lord.
"The red dragon."
"...The skull lost? Everything's different from our predictions."
As the old man slightly furrowed his brow, the Ratkin hurriedly continued.
"Intervention by outsiders was decisive."
"...Outsiders."
"The dragon's liberator, Cheon Yeomyeong, severed the skull dragon's heart. From our estimates, the red dragon seems to be Orse Tabul... the one Yeomyeong spared in Manchuria."
"Hmm... Anything else?"
"We confirmed a priest armed with an anti-materiel sniper rifle and a crow beastkin, but their identities remain unknown."
The East Palace Lord fell silent for a moment.
As he clenched and unclenched his fist in contemplation, the Ratkin glanced at him nervously and spoke.
"We're retrieving man-portable air-defense missiles from the armory to intercept the dragon. Within the next thirty minutes..."
"Strela."
"Pardon?"
"That weapon's name isn't 'anti-aircraft missile.' It's Strela. It means 'arrow' in Russian."
"..."
"Soviet weapons should be called by their Soviet names, shouldn't they?"
Only then did the Ratkin seem to realize its mistake, bowing hastily.
"...My apologies. I misspoke."
The East Palace Lord nodded lightly toward the Ratkin.
He hadn't expected much to begin with. No matter how meticulously crafted, fakes could never replace the true people's army.
In the end, only superhuman leadership was reliable. The East Palace Lord rose from his seat.
"I'll forgive the slip. But postpone deploying the Strela."
"However, Excellency. If we cede air superiority over the city to the dragon like this..."
"What does air superiority matter now?"
"..."
"The important thing isn't above, but below. If we secure the control room down here, the dragon means nothing."
The Ratkin didn't argue. It was the truth. As the East Palace Lord prepared to descend further underground, he said,
"Summon all forces to the armory. I'm heading to the control room."
***
Even as the magic circle blotting out the sky faded and the streets filled with corpses collapsed in heaps, the city did not regain its peace.
Was it because of the massive red dragon casting its shadow over the city?
No, it was because the Ratkin legions that had seized the city were still there.
[Those things are no different from corpses. Fakes made with Earth's technology and magitech.]
Orse Tabul narrowed his eyes at the Ratkin watching him from all corners of the city.
Though their numbers had dwindled in the fight against the undead, they still numbered in the thousands.
[Kahal Magdu and the Ratkin... I see why the Saintess asked me to help.]
As the dragon said that, Yeomyeong, riding on his shoulder, gave a wry smile.
It was unexpected to receive aid like this, even if a bit late.
Should he offer thanks now?
While he pondered overlooking the city, the red dragon spoke first.
[No need for thanks. To a dragon, a favor is worth a fortune, Yeomyeong. I haven't forgotten what you granted me.]
"..."
[Of course... I didn't expect the Saintess to track me all the way to the Dragonscale Mountains to call in that debt.]
With those words, Orse Tabul unleashed fire magic toward the clustered Ratkin.
The spells crashed down like massive artillery barrages, turning the Ratkin aiming at him into charred roasts.
Frightened, they scampered in panic, fleeing into the sewers or racing toward areas crowded with civilians.
'...Using civilians as shields?'
Disgustingly cunning bastards. Yeomyeong frowned.
Of course, he could sweep them away without regard for the civilians, but he wasn't shameless enough to ask the dragon to massacre innocents.
And above all, the Ratkin legions weren't the immediate priority...
"Orse, over there. Found her."
Yeomyeong's gaze turned to the ground.
At the edge of his vision, atop ruins of a building, sat Seti, slumped as if dead.
She looked like a drained battery—likely exhausted from fighting solo battles nonstop.
[Shall we descend here?]
Yeomyeong shook his head at the dragon's suggestion, having spotted Seti as well.
"No need. I can go down alone."
With that, Yeomyeong wove an ice spike spell. Realizing his intent, the dragon slowed instead of landing.
[Call if you need help. I'll handle the remaining fake beastkin and corpses.]
The next moment, Yeomyeong leaped from the dragon's shoulder.
He shifted the scattered ice spikes beneath his feet and gripped them firmly with telekinesis, turning them into platforms.
Tap, tap, tap.
Mana manipulation that would horrify other mages. Yeomyeong descended by chaining dozens of ice spikes.
Soon, Seti's back filled his palm-sized view.
Yeomyeong leaped lightly, landing beside her. At the soft footfall, Seti turned her head.
"...No way. Did you jump off the dragon?"
She glanced alternately between the departing Orse Tabul and Yeomyeong.
Instead of answering, Yeomyeong floated an ice spike, mounted it, and shrugged.
"Damn, how long have you been studying magic...?"
An odd silence followed, then both burst into snickers almost simultaneously.
"So, that dragon's the one you met in Manchuria? The guardian of the Dragonscale Mountains, friend to the Dwarf King?"
"Yeah. That's him. Orse Tabul."
"Wow... How'd he end up here? And at such perfect timing? You didn't summon him... Was he nearby? Like fate?"
"Ah, that was..."
As Yeomyeong started to reply, a shrill voice echoed from afar.
"Setiii!!!"
The most definitive answer. Seti's delicate brow crumpled.
She turned to see the Saintess and Neti approaching with an anti-materiel sniper rifle, then rubbed her eyes.
"Saintess? Why is she... Oh, right. Foresight."
Having answered herself, Seti sighed deeply and pinched her forehead. Yeomyeong sat beside her, watching the Saintess approach.
Moments later, the Saintess climbed the ruins, tossed the sniper rifle aside, and threw herself at the pair.
Hugging them both tightly without a word, she squeezed with all her might.
An embrace more eloquent than any greeting.
Seti hugged back silently, while Yeomyeong, sandwiched between them, raised both arms.
"...What the hell?"
It was heartwarming, but to Neti—who arrived last, lugging the Saintess's gear bag—it was baffling.
She scowled, scanning the three.
"Brother-in-law... What am I looking at right now?"
"..."
Too overt for a friends' reunion. Yeomyeong averted his eyes, at a loss for words.
Seti's reaction was similar, but the Saintess whipped her head around.
"...Brother-in-law? Why is Yeomyeong your brother-in-law?"
"...What else do you call a brother-in-law?"
Neti's brazen retort. The Saintess's arms trembled around the pair.
She alternated glances between Seti and Yeomyeong.
"W-Wait... D-Did you two... get m-married while I was gone?"
"..."
"N-No, right? You're joking, yeah? Haha, our Neti's such a joker now?"
Her reaction was more intense than seeing the dragon.
Yeomyeong suppressed laughter and tried to slip away, but...
The Saintess wouldn't let him.
"Hey, Yeomyeong! Why are you running!?"
***
After a brief rest and explanations.
The group headed to the underground armory—or precisely, the entrance to the South Palace Lord's underground warehouse, their original destination.
They encountered Ratkin along the way, but no fights broke out. The Ratkin fled at the sight of Yeomyeong.
"...A big fight might be coming. Anyone low on stamina should head back to base camp."
Amid crumpled containers, before the stairs leading underground, Yeomyeong spoke.
Naturally, no one turned back.
The four descended. Cold, stale air and darkness swallowed the stairs.
Neti pulled a flare from her gear bag, lit it, and handed it to Yeomyeong up front. Her preparedness was unmatched.
At last, they reached a small underground room.
Walls lined with electronics, scattered military radios, severed cables, small monitors.
Likely a comms room. The South Palace Lord's warehouse probably had an emergency escape for comms personnel.
The group left without comment and soon reached a familiar corridor.
Neti popped another flare and scanned it.
"Seems like a bunker side path beyond the armory and alchemy lab we saw before."
As she said, Ratkin bustled beyond. Instead of engaging, Yeomyeong turned the opposite way.
Toward the bunker's deepest room.
Amid cautious footsteps, Neti ventured,
"Brother-in-law, what's exactly down here?"
Ignoring the Saintess's glare at "brother-in-law," Yeomyeong answered calmly.
It was time to tell them.
"Soviet nuclear weapons."
"...Pardon?"
"Nuclear warheads loaded on ICBMs—at least a dozen. With MIRVs, over fifty."
Too shocking? Neti fell silent.
Seti, seemingly anticipating it, continued quietly.
"So... the launch codes the South Palace Lord mentioned are for nukes. You know them, right, Yeomyeong?"
"Yeah."
"..."
Unhesitating reply. Heavy silence.
As the corridor sloped deeper underground.
Seti asked again—a question none expected.
"Yeomyeong, those nukes... You planning to fire them at Korea?"
Hic! Neti's startled hiccup.
What the hell? Cold sweat beaded on Neti's forehead, clueless about Yeomyeong and Seti's revenge plans.
The instant her sweat dripped from chin to floor.
Yeomyeong replied calmly.
"No. If possible, I don't want to use them."
If possible...? The Saintess and Seti interpreted differently.
Don't want to use them, or will if I can.
As their thoughts tangled and Neti's hiccups persisted.
A massive iron door appeared ahead.
Designed to open only from inside, no keyhole or handle.
Touching it revealed missile-proof thickness against frontal assault.
Only frontal, though.
"Everyone, step back."
Yeomyeong set down the flare and drew a golden seal from his pocket.
A short breath, then mana into the seal. Golden magic circle enveloped the door in response.
Flash!
A split second later, grinding locks disengaged beyond.
The door opened, puffing dust. Yeomyeong led into the haze.
An expansive space rivaled the prior tank depot—dozens of pyeong. But not a missile silo.
No missiles; a massive monitor dominated the sturdy central wall.
Dozens of computers and desks lined before it, resembling...
"Control room...?"
Yeomyeong recalled spaceship or airport control rooms from documentaries.
'...Missile launch control.'
Judgment swift, action immediate.
He headed straight for the sole lit monitor at center.
Or tried to.
As he stepped forward, someone bolted up beside it.
"That makes three times now. Good to see you again, Yeomyeong."
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