Chapter 188
Chapter 188
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 188
Chapter Title: Refined Lady, Old Acquaintance, American, Long-Held Grudge
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…Of the countless attempts to bring heaven down to this world, the most horrific was the exploration of the realms of spirit and soul.
*Excerpt from Asha Mage Studies – Necromancer Edition*
***
Motorcycles crashed in a roar, kicking up clouds of dust.
The more seasoned ones managed tumbling rolls or slid to the side even amid the chaos to minimize damage, but most screamed as they rolled helplessly across the ground.
The screech of braking tires, the sounds of impacts and groans.
In the midst of the swirling dust and confusion, a few of the bandits sprang to their feet.
To counterattack Yeomyeong? No, they abandoned their comrades and bikes and started fleeing outright.
But before they could take more than a few steps, Yeomyeong's single command seized their ankles.
"Flee and die. Surrender and live."
The bandits' reactions split in two. Some snorted and kept running, while the quick-witted ones dropped to their knees.
Yeomyeong wasted no more words on persuasion. He simply reached out lightly with telekinesis, clamping down on the necks of the fleeing ones.
Gasping coughs and flailing limbs.
Moments later, as he clenched his fist, the bodies of the runners went limp.
Whether the kneelers panicked or not, Yeomyeong closed the distance while probing the bandits' thoughts.
Did they think they'd just been unlucky? Or were they pondering how to escape?
Whatever they thought, regret or remorse was surely absent.
Otherwise, they wouldn't spout such nonsense.
"Some shitty mage who just guards merchant caravans... You dare, not knowing who we belong to..."
Yeomyeong turned toward the source of the voice.
The speaker was a young man pinned under a motorcycle by his lower body, clad in flashier armor than the other bandits—clearly someone of rank.
"Affiliation? And who might that be?"
Yeomyeong approached, casting his shadow over the man and the bike as he asked.
"We're... under the Cohen Family, which is under La Cosa Nostra."
"Cohen Family..."
"Feeling fucked now, huh? Too late, though. You and that caravan are as good as dead."
For someone pinned under a bike, he sounded awfully confident.
Yeomyeong tilted his head as he looked down at him.
Cohen Family—a new name to him, but La Cosa Nostra and "family" painted a clear picture.
'Mafia.'
He'd been planning to cross paths with them anyway because of the Awakening Potions, but to forge this bad blood right on cue.
Too coincidental to be chance, too messy to be fate.
'Wonder if I can make use of this connection...'
As Yeomyeong pondered while eyeing the bandits,
The man under the bike seemed to misread it and bared his teeth in a grin.
"...Finally sinking in how fucked you are? Heh, too late to turn back now. You've crossed the real 'family'—no negotiations, no mercy for you."
The odd emphasis on "family" felt peculiar.
As Yeomyeong narrowed his eyes at him, the man grew even more excited and rambled on.
"La Cosa Nostra never lets the blood feud slide. You'll be hunted across the Earth and every inch of this land. Let's see how long that puny magic keeps you safe!"
Blood feud, blood feud. Yeomyeong let him prattle.
Thanks to that, the man went on for a while about family and blood ties, even spewing threats like this:
"You, your whole caravan! You'll all die weeping blood tears under Earth-style torture!"
"...Earth-style torture?"
Yeomyeong let out a baffled chuckle at the ridiculous phrasing, and the man's face twisted.
" Laughing? You crazy bas—"
"Enough bullshit. Who's the family blood you're talking about?"
"What?"
"The people you've been yapping about."
Only then did the man seem to realize he'd said too much and shut his mouth.
An awkward silence.
It wasn't until sweat trickled down the foreheads of the kneeling bandits that he finally spoke again.
"...I'm Carlo Persico, son of Andrew Persico. If you think taking me hostage will help... it's pointless, I'll tell you that much."
Shame and anticipation mingled equally on the face of the one who named himself Carlo.
Shame at having blabbered like an idiot while pinned under the bike.
Anticipation that his father's name would naturally terrify them.
Of course, Yeomyeong's reaction fell far short of his expectations.
"Who's Andrew Persico?"
"...What?"
He glared at Yeomyeong with a look that said what kind of punk is this Carlo whatever, but that was it.
The next instant, invisible telekinesis clamped his throat.
"...Well, explanations can wait. Plenty of time till our destination."
With those final words from Yeomyeong, Carlo's vision went black.
***
In the end, the captured bandits were added to the caravan procession, bound.
Combined with the mercenaries already taken, they numbered well over fifty.
The caravan workers looked a bit daunted by the count, but merchant Tindamel was daunted for a different reason.
"You've captured the son of Andrew Persico... is that right?"
From the carriage driver's seat where Seti had sat moments before, Tindamel swallowed hard.
Instead of answering, Yeomyeong glanced toward the rear of the carriage.
There sat a cart loaded with the bandits in rough shape. Tindamel followed his gaze and said,
"Surely one of them in there...?"
"That one, curly hair with the broken leg."
Spotting the unconscious Carlo along Yeomyeong's pointing finger, Tindamel looked shocked before urgently calling a worker.
"...Give emergency treatment to the bandits on that cart. Treat them if possible."
It was an incomprehensible order, but the worker obeyed without question.
Probably assuming it was charity extended to the bandits because the Saintess was with them.
Anyway, once the worker walked off, Yeomyeong turned to Tindamel.
"Andrew Persico isn't just some thug, I take it?"
"Thug... yes, far beyond a mere thug. To classify precisely, he's a sottocapo."
"Sottocapo?"
Yeomyeong, familiar with back-alley hierarchies, frowned slightly.
Sottocapo—once Italian for a mafia underboss, but in modern times, it carried another meaning.
The thugs called sottocapo were, in other words...
"...A superhuman."
"More precisely, a mage. Rumor has it he awakened his magic on his own."
A self-made mage? Impressive, if true—but Yeomyeong thought of something else entirely.
Awakening Potion.
The Saintess eavesdropping from inside the carriage must have thought the same, as she cracked open the driver's side window and peeked out.
"I'll bet a million won he's a necromancer's lackey. Yeomyeong?"
"..."
Yeomyeong glanced silently at Seti before pulling an entire pouch of gold coins from his bosom.
"...I was kidding?"
The Saintess looked a bit daunted at the hefty pouch.
Yeomyeong then pulled out some jerky that had been under it and stuffed it into her mouth as he replied.
"Since when do bets involve kidding?"
"..."
The Saintess chewed the jerky wordlessly, thinking to herself.
Yeomyeong's surprisingly competitive about winning.
***
After two days of heading north across the grasslands, the caravan reached their first destination: the rail station.
Its proper name was Kennedy Station.
It lay at the southernmost tip of the Gemini Autonomous Territory, where the continental express train effectively ended.
The station's exterior was more modern than expected, and the interior bustled far beyond imagination.
Not just with people—cargo clogged everything.
Of what was visible, maybe 30% people, 70% wagons and goods?
According to Tindamel, it wasn't usually this bad.
Lately, the Dreytelial line had broken down, drawing merchants here in droves.
Thanks to that, unloading the Tindamel caravan's cargo and loading it onto a freight train took over half a day, but the group didn't mind much.
Partly because they were Earthlings used to waiting, but mostly because Tindamel had secured first-class seats on the train.
He'd dipped into his own pocket for the weary group after two nights camping, but their reaction differed from his expectations.
"Two per cabin, two cabins...?"
Seti narrowed her eyes at the first-class guidebook before turning to Yeomyeong.
"...We've got five people. Why only two cabins?"
A valid point. Corbus and the Saintess, Seti and Neti, plus Yeomyeong.
One man and four women—hard to split into threes and twos.
Meaning someone had to share with Yeomyeong... He shrugged it off.
"Someone bought up most of the first-class, leaving just two."
"..."
"Don't sweat it. I'll take regular class."
As Seti opened her mouth to protest, the Saintess wedged in slightly between them.
"How about sharing a cabin with me instead?"
"...What?"
"Me and Corbus, you and her. Sound good? Corbus doesn't need the bed if he's in crow form."
As she said it, the Saintess tugged her side hair to hide her reddened ears.
Yeomyeong stared at her a moment before flicking her forehead.
"...You say it like it's no big deal to steal your master's bed."
"B-but Corbus would be fine with it, right? Right, Corbus?"
The Saintess clutched her forehead and whipped her head around. Corbus clacked his beak.
"Yes, well... I'm fine with it."
A faint sigh laced her voice.
Yeomyeong fixed Corbus with a stare that asked if she was really okay. She replied with her eyes.
'None of my business. Do what you want.'
Oblivious, the Saintess clapped in delight.
"See? He's fine with it. First-class isn't an everyday thing—let's share!"
As Yeomyeong pondered what to do with this airheaded Saintess, Neti chimed in.
"Brother-in-law, just share a cabin. Turning down Tindamel's kindness would be rude, no?"
With even Neti saying that, Seti and Yeomyeong threw up their hands in surrender.
*—The first-class train to the LA Dimensional Gate has arrived. Passengers with reservations, please proceed to Gate 11. Repeat...*
Moments later, the announcement came that the train had pulled in. The group grabbed their bags and headed for the first-class train.
Beyond Gate 11, the train screamed luxury at first glance.
Unlike the rusty others, it was freshly painted, fitted with LED lights rare beyond the dimensional gates.
If there was a flaw, the LEDs seemed excessive even to Earthling eyes...
"Ow, my eyes hurt. Those all LEDs?"
Then, a familiar voice rang out from behind the gate.
"Ah, our team leader's out of touch with trends. Dude, that's the hottest design here lately. The nobles here go nuts for LEDs."
"Cut the crap, Vice Captain."
"No, really? I asked the nobles myself..."
Yeomyeong turned toward the gate and locked eyes with the animated speaker.
Eyes hardened by rough storms—eyes all too familiar.
Yeomyeong turned fully toward them and bowed politely.
"Long time no see. Vice Captain Kim Mansu, Team Leader Tianlin."
The Seonjuk Mercenary Corps—the mercenaries he'd fought alongside in Manchuria—stood gathered at the gate.
* * *