Chapter 19
Chapter 19
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: The Inevitable Fate Awaiting the Mob (6)
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Amid the currents of his unconscious mind, the Iron Dung Beetle stared at the approaching waves.
A torrent of mingled emotions crashed against his body.
Soaked through by the heavy, sorrowful, aching waves, a single phrase surfaced in his mind.
Heart in Oblivion.
Distance yourself from what your ears hear, forget what your heart hears, and feel the world with an empty mind—this is Heart in Oblivion.
Sit in stillness, cast aside stray thoughts. Forget reality, forget yourself—this is Sitting in Oblivion.
‘….’
Another wave surged in, crashing over the Iron Dung Beetle’s body once more.
In its wake, his name was swept away.
The name the Cleanup Guild had slapped on him, implying he was good for nothing but scrubbing filth… Iron Dung Beetle. He forgot it.
The next wave stripped away his memories. The Angel, Mignium, his comrades, his revenge—all vanished beyond the waves.
With his memories gone, his emotions followed.
Sorrow, rage, joy, regret… Once they were all swept away, his mind lay truly empty.
Splash!
Into the void of his mind, the waves flooded.
Once, twice, three times…
Countless waves crashed and piled up within him, continuing until every current surrounding him had vanished.
At some point, he could no longer distinguish himself from the waves. The waves were him, and he was the waves.
‘…!’
Yes, this was the true essence of the Wave Yang Art.
To grasp Heart in Oblivion and absorb the waves within one’s mind, becoming the wave itself.
No further explanation was needed. Forms and formulas were mere ornamentation.
Having become the wave himself, infusing his fist with intent produced a Panyang Fist brimming with light wave power, and moving his legs yielded the Panyang Step.
Realizing this, the Iron Dung Beetle shuddered at the profundity of the Wave Yang Art. He could now understand why Seti had seen him as an ignorant fool. Had he known of such a martial art, he would have thought the same.
He sealed away his enlightenment. Tamping down joy and ecstasy, he tried to open his eyes to reality.
But in that moment, a familiar voice echoed from the depths of his mind.
『You’ve learned something intriguing.』
The unwelcome guest sealed within his mind.
The benefactor who had revived him and bestowed talent upon him… and a colossal evil.
“…Mignium.”
From between the rippling waves of his mind emerged a shadow in a fluttering black dress.
『My chosen one. It took you so long to even reach the entry level with your own talent. You’ve acquired a proper martial art. It must be one crafted with the lifeblood of a grandmaster of an era.』
“…Martial art?”
『Ah, perhaps your world calls it something else.』
Mignium chuckled enigmatically. A long fissure appeared across her shadowy face—a smile, in her own way.
『In any case, chosen one. I never expected to face you so soon. To think you’d already enter a trance… Is this why lesser gods refrain from granting talent to humans?』
“If you’re just here to spout nonsense, I’m leaving.”
The Iron Dung Beetle rose and dusted himself off. Mignium’s head tilted crookedly.
『Already? You must have so many questions for me.』
“Would you even answer if I asked?”
『No, the pleasure of questions can wait. This isn’t my dream—it’s your mind.』
“…Figured as much.”
If she’d intended to tell him anything, she wouldn’t have silenced him last time.
『Until next time, in your dreams, my chosen one.』
Ignoring Mignium’s farewell, the Iron Dung Beetle closed his eyes.
His turbulent mind settled, and his heavy consciousness rose back to reality.
***
Opening his eyes to reality, he was greeted by an unfamiliar sight.
The clearing where he had observed Seti’s martial arts was gone, replaced by a rough sackcloth blocking his view.
Lifting his head slightly, he realized it wasn’t sackcloth—it was a camping tent.
‘What the hell?’
The Iron Dung Beetle dusted himself off and stepped out of the tent. Outside was the very clearing where Seti had demonstrated her arts.
‘Did she pitch this tent for me while I was lost in trance…?’
The answer came easily. At the tent’s entrance lay three notes, written in delicate handwriting.
The Iron Dung Beetle read them slowly. As expected, they were from Seti.
The first, written with firm presses of the pen, explained that he’d been out for a full day, so she’d set up the tent.
The second said she wanted to wait longer but had to rush off first to deliver the unicorn horn to her sister in dire need.
The last promised she’d secure a new identity within a week at latest and meet him at Elder Jang’s tavern, along with her phone number.
Having read them all, the Iron Dung Beetle stuffed the notes into his pocket and plopped down on the tent floor.
‘…A whole day passed?’
No, factoring in when she wrote them and left, it had to be at least two days.
‘Was the time I spent in my mind that long?’
The Iron Dung Beetle tried to gauge it, then shook his head.
Pondering how long those waves had accumulated in his body was pointless. Pleasant times fly by, painful ones drag on—that was just how it worked.
What mattered now was… how deeply had he mastered the Wave Yang Art in his trance?
With that thought, the Iron Dung Beetle stood and moved to the center of the clearing. Recalling Seti’s final punch, he assumed the stance.
The punch he’d unconsciously named the Panyang Fist in his trance.
Seti had made her mana flow like water, generating waves from her fist. But the Iron Dung Beetle needed no such preparation.
The moment he clenched his fist, mana surged through it like a wave. That was the difference between one who comprehended the truth and one who didn’t.
But…
‘Have I not fully integrated my realization into my body?’
He frowned down at his fist. He could feel the discrepancy between the wave of mana in his fist and the one in his mind.
If he had to quantify the completion, it was three-tenths… or less.
To test it, he thrust his fist into the empty air.
!!!
The mana struck the atmosphere, unleashing a shockwave that toppled the tent and showered leaves down.
An astonishing result, yet the Iron Dung Beetle sighed and flexed his fist.
Still not enough.
To manifest in reality the exact waves he’d seen in his mind, it seemed he’d need considerable practice and real combat.
Was it fortunate, then, that he had plenty of chances left to swing his fists? Especially in Incheon.
‘Before Seti returns… I’ll tie up all loose ends in Incheon.’
His cold gaze turned toward Incheon’s skyline beyond the hills.
***
Inside a heavy van parked on an outer road of Incheon, a man pulled a cigarette from his mouth.
Click, click.
Whether from anxiety or low gas, his lighter wouldn’t spark.
After five or six tries, he gave up and tossed the cigarette and lighter to the floor.
“Fuck, how did I end up like this….”
He sighed and opened the van door. A suited Pig Head waiting outside approached and bowed.
“Branch Chief, what’s wrong?”
“Fuck, I told you not to call me Branch Chief. Call me Agent. Agent.”
His public title was Branch Chief of the Incheon Cleanup Guild, but he’d never once thought of himself that way.
There were puppet bosses, and then there were puppet bosses. Cleanup Guild, of all places?
It was just a front he’d been forced into to hide his true identity as a government secret agent.
“Hey, Shepherd.”
“Yes, Agent.”
“You know what? I fucking hate this city. For real.”
“So I’ve heard.”
The Pig Head Shepherd received the Branch Chief’s griping in a soulless tone. The Chief hadn’t always been such an asshole. The recent string of incidents would turn anyone into one.
“Streets named MacArthur, mountains named MacArthur, even the mayor’s named MacArthur… Street shamans worship MacArthur as a deity. Fuck, is this America or Korea?”
“…”
“Patriot hero Ahn Jung-geun doesn’t even have a statue, but they’ve got a whole MacArthur Hill? Is his trusteeship here something to brag about?”
“…I wouldn’t know.”
“Of course you wouldn’t, fuck. If you did, you’d be a sociologist, not a Shepherd.”
Ptooey. He spat on the ground, then racked his brain for how things had gone so wrong.
It started with the workshop director’s disappearance. Truth be told, he’d been a decent subordinate.
He’d kept annoying reports out of the fake Branch Chief’s ears just enough, and handled orders flawlessly.
But when he vanished, and the government corpse warehouse he managed burned down, everything unraveled.
First, the deal with the necromancer fell through.
He didn’t know the details, but the outcome was disastrous. The Grade 4 official sent to negotiate died, and they couldn’t recover the Awakening Potion.
By the time the Superhuman Division dispatched agents in desperation, it was all over.
All that remained were shattered potion vials and traces of an unidentified Korean agent battling the necromancer.
That alone was headache-inducing, but then another problem erupted.
The agents investigating the scene were wiped out—every last one.
This wasn’t something they could brush off. Three Shepherds had been slaughtered. Including a Cow Head-level operative, butchered mercilessly.
They couldn’t match real Superhumans or mages, but two Pig Heads and a Cow Head could escape even against a real Superhuman with at least one survivor.
Yet all three dead? Simple: the enemy was a top-tier Superhuman who left no room for escape.
At that point, the government played it safe, suspecting intervention by another superpower or unknown Superhuman group.
But they couldn’t fully withdraw from the scene. Face-saving and morale were at stake.
In the end, they left a token relief pitcher… or rather, a scarecrow, and washed their hands of it.
And the scarecrow picked this time? The Branch Chief himself.
No grand reason. Just that he was the highest-ranking agent sent to the scene.
Even knowing the full context, no one would be thrilled to be the fall guy.
Especially not him, who until a week ago had been managing superhuman kids’ enrollments. His sudden fall felt all the more wretched.
“Fuck, why isn’t anyone else showing up?”
The agent grumbled again, and the Pig Head beside the van slyly pulled out his phone.
“Fifteen minutes until the appointed time. They’ll arrive if you wait a bit.”
“Fuck, these field grunts nowadays are all slackers. Who shows up on time when the boss is waiting?”
“…”
“Back in my day, we arrived ten minutes early and waited… Hoo, call them.”
“But security protocols mean no calls…”
“If I say call, fucking call!”
“…Yes, sir.”
The Pig Head reluctantly dialed. Ring, ring, ring. The basic tone played, then the other side picked up.
[Wh-who is this?]
Poor reception crackled through the line.
[Cuckoo 11 here. Calling to check your progress.]
[It’s… hard to hear. Cuckoo 11…?]
[Cuckoo 11. I’ll ask again. Where are you? We’re waiting at the rendezvous.]
[Location… sorry… lost… right now…]
The moment “lost” came through, the Chief snatched the phone.
“Hey, you crazy fuck, MacArthur Road 3 to Route 6 bridge! Where the hell do you get lost around here?”
[…]
“Cut the bullshit and haul ass here in fifteen. Got it?”
[MacArthur… 3… Route 6… bridge. On my way…]
Something felt off as the guy replied, but the Chief shook it off.
What was it? The cigarette?
He shoved the unease aside and harangued his other subordinates to hurry.
After about five minutes of that, a sedan approached the van from afar.
“Finally, one shows up.”
Familiar car—one they’d rented for this op.
But as it neared, the Chief’s brows furrowed.
Something was wrong with the sedan. Blood smeared the windshield, the body was dented and rattling. And above all…
It wasn’t slowing down.
“Fuck, dodge!”
The Chief leaped from the van first. The Pig Head who’d endured his bitching couldn’t react and got smashed straight between the sedan and van.
Boom! The vehicles launched into the air and tumbled off the bridge.
The barely surviving Chief steadied his shaking legs, drew his pistol from his waist.
“Fuck… what the hell….”
He peeked over the edge. The crushed van lay like a踩ed egg below.
Fortunately, not everyone inside was dead—several Shepherds poked their heads from the wreckage.
But the sedan right beside it… no bodies, no sign of anyone.
There’d clearly been someone driving right before impact.
As doubt gripped him, a chill gaze prickled his nape. Gripping his pistol tighter, he slowly turned.
There stood a young man in a worn jacket, hat pulled low, staring at him.
“Who the fuck are you.”
The guy tipped his hat, eyed the Chief’s face, and spoke lightly.
“Long time no see, Branch Chief.”
“Fuck… that Branch Chief shit.”
The Chief fired without thinking.
Bang! Bang! Bullets flew, but the guy dodged with a mere twist of his torso.
Superhuman reflexes and movement. A real Superhuman, no doubt.
“We’re fucked.”
The Chief glanced between the approaching youth and the drop below.
About five meters. He decided instantly. Better a broken leg than getting caught by a Superhuman.
He swallowed hard and yelled down.
“Jump! Catch me!”
One Shepherd looked up, and the Chief leaped after.
Thud!
Luckily, a Pig Head caught him. But no time to relax—the Superhuman followed, jumping down.
“Kill him! That’s the perp behind all this!”
The Chief bellowed, evidence be damned. The Pig Heads from the van charged at the words.
Crack!
Three relatively intact ones lunged together. The lead Pig Head leaped, the other two gaping their maws behind.
Kyaaak! Cursed mana poured from the Pig Heads’ roars.
Into the curse’s path plummeted the leaping fist. Perfect combo attack.
“Tch.”
The mystery Superhuman didn’t dodge. He clicked his tongue and punched out.
Countering head-on? But between a diving overhead smash and a just-extended fist, the power difference was clear.
Yet…
The moment the Superhuman thrust, something shifted.
The Chief, mana-blind, didn’t notice. But the Shepherds, who sensed it faintly, freaked.
They saw the mana rippling from his fist. Too late to pull back.
Fist met fist. Crunch! One shattered.
“Gaaah!”
The Pig Head Shepherd’s hand. He flailed away, but the Superhuman gave no quarter.
He swung his left fist, smashing the Pig Head’s skull. Something cracked, blood gushing from eyes, nose, mouth.
Instant death.
* * *