Free City (2)
PAAAK!
His opponent burst through the curtain of cigarette smoke.
Oscar's eyes narrowed as his mind broke the man's movements down muscle by muscle.
A mage. One built on a rigorously refined martial art, and—
Impossibly fast.
Fwooom!
In the blink of an eye, the man's incoming sole filled Oscar's entire field of vision.
"Move."
At Oscar's bored murmur, a Wind Shield materialized before his eyes—woven with Shock Absorption and Durability Enhancement, no less.
PAAANG!
When his signature kick was swatted aside so effortlessly, the man's brow twitched.
"...You blocked it?"
"Well, I'd rather block than get hit, wouldn't you?"
Oscar said it as if it were nothing, but inwardly he was reeling. Even a Wind Shield stronger than his usual had just shattered from a single kick.
This guy is genuinely absurd.
Worse, that kick hadn't been reinforced with mana at all. It meant pure physical strength alone had generated that level of destructive power.
What in the world is this body made of?
The man looked scrawny, yet the force packed inside him could only be called divine strength. Alarm bells ringing, Oscar flicked a glance at the grimy alley floor.
First, take the initiative.
Decision made, Oscar charged first.
KAANG!
He sent an empty can rolling across the ground flying with a kick.
"..."
The moment the man merely tilted his head at the can arcing toward his skull, the can—already passing him by—swelled up as if about to burst.
"...!"
Then came the explosion.
PUWAAAAAANG!
The mana he'd hidden inside the can detonated the instant Oscar kicked it, and the unexpected ambush staggered the man sideways.
"Ghk!"
Having seized the initiative in a heartbeat, Oscar dove straight into his guard and rained down fists.
PAK! Pabak!
Even mid-stagger, the man blocked half the blows—reflexes like a monster's.
But.
This body isn't the frail thing that used to hole up in its room doing research and drowning in liquor anymore.
He'd built up the stamina and strength to deploy basic martial arts. Sure, my power and speed fall miles short of his—but a gap like that can be closed with experience and technique.
KWAAK! Gripping the man by the collar, Oscar stamped down hard. At the same moment, mana geysered up from the ground and lifted the man's body skyward.
"...!"
Airborne. The instant the man's pupils dilated at a form of combat he'd never once experienced, a picture-perfect shoulder throw connected.
KWAAANG!
"KEUK!"
Slammed into the hard concrete, the man warped his face in pain for the first time since the fight began.
Finish it now.
Reinforcing his legs with mana, Oscar drove a kick straight down at the man's skull.
KWANG!
But it was shallow. He hardened his skin with mana at the last instant to bleed off the impact.
True to that read, the man rolled across the ground several times, then rose to his feet in far better shape than he looked.
He brushed the dust from his clothes with a tap-tap and spoke.
"Impressive. I'll have to fight in earnest as well."
"Bluff all you want—"
Oscar's words died in his throat. The man was sprinting at him at a speed incomparable to before.
Acceleration? No—faster than that. A jet booster. But when did he—?
The spell had completed in a literal instant. Judged on speed alone, it surpassed even Veronica's High-Speed Chanting.
But at this speed...
he could still respond.
The moment Oscar cast Acceleration to keep from losing the initiative, the man's frame exploded forward once more.
"...!"
A double-stacked jet booster. And the man was controlling that speed with total precision.
Here it comes!
A flash. Sudden bursts of light are often called flashes of lightning. And in that moment, the man became, quite literally, a silver blur.
KWADEUK!
A kick dropped like a thunderbolt struck the nape of Oscar's neck. Then, spinning through the air, the man's opposite leg hammered down into his face.
"KEUK!"
Flying backward and rolling across the ground several times, Oscar breathed a small sigh of relief. Just as the man had done, he had barely managed to throw up a Wind Shield in time to absorb the blow.
This time he'd deployed two shields, both reinforced with Shock Absorption and Durability Enhancement. If he'd tried to block it with a single shield like before, the kick would have punched straight through and knocked him out cold.
"...You blocked even that?"
In the alley now swallowed in total darkness, only a pair of crimson eyes glowed like a beast's. An enemy—and one who had completely broken free of his common sense. The mana he sensed was Level 4, but judged on skill alone, the man ranked among the upper echelon of Level 5 mages.
"I'll end this with the next strike."
A warning delivered like a death sentence. Reading the sincerity in that voice, Oscar steeled himself.
If this becomes a speed contest, I'm dead no matter how many times I get back up.
This body wasn't ready to endure even a double-stacked Acceleration, let alone a double-stacked jet booster. Which meant, in the end, all he could rely on was technique and experience.
"Come at me."
KWAAANG!
Oscar, settling into his throwing stance, stamped down hard. And in the next instant, the man's frame sank deep into the ground—moving at a speed even his eyes couldn't follow.
Even if my eyes can't track him,
once he'd sensed mana, he never lost it. Gauging the man's position, Oscar drew up every scrap of mana he possessed. The mana coursing through all three of his circuits surged like a flood rushing through the opened gates of a dam.
Gguk.
At the same time, every current of wind in the vicinity began gathering into his lightly clenched right fist.
Open me.
The moment Oscar, eyes half-lidded, became one with the world through that channel called wind—
Oscar-Style Martial Arts, Secret Art, Chapter One.
Sound of the Wave.
He swung his fist.
"...?"
The man, mid-charge toward his opponent, was struck by sudden confusion. Oscar Crucian had just thrown a punch at empty air, out of nowhere.
But he soon thought he understood why. He's lost me. Because Oscar was too slow to track his movements, he was simply flailing blind punches—hoping to get lucky and clip him. It was almost impressive that he'd matched the direction and position so precisely.
But this is the end.
The instant the man extended his knife-hand to knock Oscar unconscious—
Shaaaaaa. A sound like an onrushing wave washed over his ears.
...Sound of the wave?
There was no sea here. This back alley didn't have so much as a puddle of standing water.
The moment he frowned at the inexplicable wrongness, heat suddenly bloomed in his abdomen. The warmth grew sharper and sharper, until it became a searing, burning agony.
"...!"
Then came the sensation of every internal organ in his body wringing itself into knots—and KWAAAAANG! his frame was hurled backward, in the direction opposite to the one he'd been running.
"Keh—kgh! Kgh!"
Crashed into the alley's massive garbage bin, the man vomited up blood. He looked up at Oscar, who was approaching slowly, with a look of sheer disbelief.
"...What principle does that technique run on?"
"Resonance."
A great wave of wind generates a frequency that resonates with the vibration of the target's body. Just as two objects vibrating at the same frequency amplify each other's force, the moment the wave seeps into its target's interior, it inflicts catastrophic destruction. Borrowing the phrasing of Yeon Country, one might call it the hidden principle of the Gyeoksantawoo—the strike that fells the ox across the mountain.
"Ha." The man murmured with an expression of utter absurdity. "That's hard to wrap my head around. When did you become this strong?"
"Anyone listening would think we'd fought before."
"We have. Several times."
"...?"
Don't tell me he'd known the little Oscar? Brow furrowed, Oscar asked, "Where did we fight, exactly?"
"Mostly in sparring matches at the White Tower's training grounds."
"?"
A question mark floated up above Oscar's head. Why was the White Tower suddenly coming up here?
Wait. Then don't tell me—
A dark premonition stirring, Oscar asked, "This is a long shot, but the person who's supposedly looking for me—what's their name?"
"Hamel Grimwiz. Vice Tower Master of the White Tower."
"...Unbelievable. Hey, you should have led with that!"
"I did say it."
Faced with a man wearing the proud expression of a returning war hero, Oscar sifted back through everything he'd said.
'I have been waiting. Oscar Crucian.'
'Yes—there is someone looking for you.'
Good grief. Pressing a hand hard against his forehead, Oscar pressed further. "...And when I refuse, he'll drag me there by force?"
"The Vice Tower Master left word that if words fail, force is permitted."
Seriously, what is wrong with this guy? His communication skills were below basic. Below rudimentary, even.
But what is this? Déjà vu.
Why did that infuriating communication style and way of speaking feel so familiar? Frowning, Oscar dug frantically through his memories—then his expression froze solid.
"Hey... what's your name?"
"My name is Kilian Lockwood. A proud warrior of the forest."
Kilian Lockwood.
The name was written in the little Oscar's journal too—a genuine troublemaker. And he was the White Tower's 'Rising Star,' the one Veronica felt a monstrous competitive rivalry toward.
Hold on. But the surname is Lockwood?
It couldn't be—surely not. Trembling slightly, Oscar asked, "Do you... happen to know someone named Radan Lockwood?"
"Mm! He is my proud father! A comrade of none other than Lord Oscar Sage himself!"
"..."
Radan Lockwood. The Forest Tribe martial monster, an 8th-level mage of the White Tower. Known as the White Lion, he had stood alongside Maziro as one of Oscar's own confidants and comrades. When he'd first arrived at the White Tower, his communication skills had been almost exactly like this kid's.
Which meant, to sum up the current situation...
I just beat the living daylights out of my best friend's son.
Head spinning, Oscar hung it low. He honestly felt like just passing out on the spot.
"We have a problem."
"...I know. A big one."
Oscar, crouched beside the garbage bin, looked utterly miserable. Watching him, Kilian tilted his head.
"My internal organs ruptured. Why are you making that face?"
"...I have my reasons."
Oscar heaved a long sigh. He had no idea how he was supposed to face Radan after he died. Though knowing the man, he'd probably just throw his head back and laugh, telling him not to worry about it.
Come to think of it—if he's a warrior of the forest, then this guy...
Oscar stole a glance at Kilian. His clothes covered most of his body, and with gloves on, hardly any skin showed.
A tattoo mage.
Forest Tribe warriors were born with a slightly deficient capacity for magical computation. To put it bluntly, they were generally not bright.
But they had fierce loyalty, and their will to learn magic was rock-solid.
And so the 5th Tower Master of the White Tower had personally devised Tattoo Magic and taught it to them: engrave the spell into the skin in advance, and the moment mana is pumped in, the magic activates.
Thanks to that, they can spam spells at speeds rivaling High-Speed Chanting.
Of course, it came with a fatal flaw—each tattoo had a limited number of uses, and once spent, the warrior couldn't cast at all until they were recharged. Generations of forest warriors had papered over that gap with their exceptional physical abilities.
He's probably carrying dozens of tattoos himself.
Radan's body had been exactly the same.
Oscar asked, "So what's the problem? Are you in a lot of pain?"
"I am in pain. But pain is nothing to a warrior of the forest. The real problem is that I accepted a commission in Baran, and in this condition I cannot carry it out."
"...I— I'm sorry."
"I was not seeking an apology."
Kilian shook his head and continued, his face blank. "You will settle the commission in my place."
"Weren't you supposed to be sending me back to Shilin?"
"But the penalty on this commission is steep. Cancel it now, and I go bankrupt."
"..."
Oscar bowed his head and covered his face with both hands. I don't know whether he's doing this on purpose, knowing exactly what he's doing... but he keeps pouring fuel on the fire named guilt.
"Phew. Fine. I can't turn you into a credit delinquent. What's the commission?"
"...Ah—there she is now."
Kilian gazed at a woman singing on the screen mounted on the far side of a building's outer wall.
"A voice from the heavens. The commission I accepted is her protection."