Chapter 37 :

<37>

This thug, unlike the others, must have trained a bit, because even in that instant he raised his arm and blocked Se-gun’s kick.

Crack!

“Argh!”

But futilely, the man who blocked Se-gun’s kick screamed and collapsed forward. He had tried to stop a steel-reinforced hiking boot with his arm—there was no way his bones could remain intact. Se-gun straightened his posture, grabbed the man by the hair, and struck his cervical spine once more.

Thud!

The thug fell and did not get back up. The gangsters who had been lined up along the corridor stared at Se-gun with expressions of utter disbelief. Of course, Se-gun still stood there wearing his helmet, not wanting to reveal his face.

“Jesus, you fucking bastards. What are you doing right now? Is this a joke?”

At that moment, a man pushed through the gangsters and stepped forward. With a horrific vertical scar running down his face—an archetypal thug’s face—he pulled out knives from inside his jacket.

“Brother Jun-yeong!”

“Shut up! Shut your mouths, you bastards!”

The thug called Jun-yeong spat out his words as if chewing them and gripped the knives in reverse. He looked like the type who used throwing knives. The thing about throwing knives was that, aside from how hard it was to control the extent of the damage, they were truly excellent weapons. A thrown knife wouldn’t fly beyond 10 meters anyway, and within 10 meters, even with minimal training, it was easy to hit a person.

Dodging such a weapon was nearly impossible, and blocking it was difficult as well—so it was exactly the kind of weapon gangsters favored.

“……”

Se-gun knew that well. And in such a narrow corridor, evading throwing knives was even harder. He held a tonfa, but if this thug specialized in throwing knives, his skill would be formidable. In fact, Kim Jun-yeong of the Sang-dong faction was a former special forces soldier and was infamous within the organization for his knife skills.

Deng…… Deng……

In contrast to what one would expect from a gangster office, an antique grandfather clock in the corridor chimed the hour. And at that moment, mixed with the sound of the bell, the knives flew in.

Whoosh!

The first attack targeted his thigh. His head was protected by a motorcycle helmet, and his torso by the tonfa, so the legs were the obvious target. But Se-gun rotated the tonfa downward and blocked it.

Clang!

The tonfa deflected the knife. To knock aside a thrown blade in a dimly lit corridor—Se-gun hadn’t even properly trained for something like that. It was sheer luck, like a cow’s hind kick catching a rat. But in that very instant, another knife embedded itself in Se-gun’s right arm.

“Ghk!”

He had deliberately aimed low to disperse Se-gun’s defense, then attacked the exposed torso. Thankfully, Se-gun’s reflexes were sharp; otherwise, that knife would have pierced his heart and sent him to the afterlife. Realizing he had no advantage in the corridor, Se-gun swiftly hurled himself into the adjacent room.

“Kah!”

Perhaps to ensure lethal force when thrown, the knives were sharp and heavy. Moving with a blade nearly piercing through his arm only intensified the pain. Se-gun pulled the knife out with his other hand, threw it to the floor, and gripped his tonfa tightly.

“That son of a bitch! Kill him!”

The gangsters surged forward, spewing curses. Clearly, Se-gun’s injury was severe enough that continuing the fight was nearly impossible. The bone wasn’t damaged, but the muscle had been pierced; even if a skilled surgeon operated, it was doubtful his arm would move again.

“Did I underestimate them.”

Se-gun muttered as he took out a compression bandage—only to drop it on the floor. No matter that he had undergone over 3,000 hours of brutal anti-vampire training over the past year—how could he have underestimated the Sang-dong faction, a full-fledged gang? If the thugs outside heard him say that, they’d be boiling with rage.

“You bastard! I’ll kill you! Bring the chainsaw!”

“……”

Of course, their blood was already boiling. If things went wrong, he might end up chopped into pieces—not by vampires, but by gangsters. The thought snapped Se-gun back to his senses.

Standing at the doorway, Se-gun raised his tonfa. As the next thug entered, he mercilessly brought it down on the man’s head. The first one who rushed in must not have seen enough movies; he charged in without any plan and was struck by Se-gun, flying backward like a frog hit by a stone.

Swish!

But then he heard the sound of air being sliced. Se-gun instinctively spun his tonfa to block, but the impact made his arm go numb. The man behind had swung down a steel pipe. Judging by his stance, he had practiced kendo, and he now lunged forward with a thrust using the pipe.

An attack impossible to simply block with a tonfa! But just then, Se-gun tripped over the sofa behind him, and the steel pipe stabbed only the unfortunate couch.

“Ugh!”

Falling over the sofa, Se-gun cried out. Blood was pouring from the arm that had been stabbed. He shoved his hand into his pocket and immediately pulled out Psychedelic Moon. Normally he would inhale it through his nasal membrane, but given the situation, there was no time for that.

“Damn it! The helmet!”

The moment he removed his helmet, Se-gun shoved Psychedelic Moon into his mouth and chewed, tearing the capsule open.

“You bastard! I’ll slice you up with a chainsaw and scatter you everywhere!”

Even while making threats, the thug with the steel pipe swung it sharply. Lying on the floor, Se-gun kicked the sofa to block the thug’s footing and barely managed to get up.

“You little—!”

The thug leapt over the sofa and attacked swiftly. But Se-gun, holding the tonfa in one hand, deflected left and right, slipping past the thrust with a head slip.

“!”

Se-gun had already broken through the kendo maai and closed the distance until their foreheads nearly touched. This thug was third-dan in kendo; there was no need to say more about how the one wielding the longer weapon held the advantage. Yet Se-gun had penetrated that distance with astonishing footwork. It was unfortunate for the thug that Psychedelic Moon had begun to take effect.

Crack!

The tonfa spun through the air and came down onto the thug’s shoulder. With the sickening sound of a collarbone breaking, he collapsed to the floor.

“Graaah!”

“What the hell! You got beaten by a one-armed cripple?”

At that moment, Jun-yeong kicked open the door and rushed in. Se-gun hurled his tonfa at him and charged forward.

Thud!

But unlike the others, Kim Jun-yeong didn’t even try to dodge the tonfa. With a dull sound, his forehead split and blood splattered, yet he didn’t blink—he simply raised his knives.

“This is bad!”

Se-gun screamed inwardly. This man didn’t care about taking hits—he intended to absorb the tonfa strike and throw his knives anyway.

In desperation, Se-gun grabbed the motorcycle helmet from the floor.

“You bastard!”

With Kim Jun-yeong’s curse, two knives flew toward him. It was hard to believe they had been thrown with both hands—the two blades streaked horizontally through the air with unnerving precision. But Se-gun raised the helmet and lightly knocked both knives aside.

“What the hell?!”

To block knives thrown from less than a meter away! Even Jun-yeong, who had been through countless battles, had never seen someone like this. Flustered, he lashed out with a kick.

“Hmph.”

Instead of dodging the kick—which, at least to him, seemed unbearably slow—Se-gun struck Jun-yeong’s supporting leg with a low kick. Countering a kick by attacking the supporting leg was extremely dangerous; a miscalculation could easily result in a shattered knee. Yet Jun-yeong endured Se-gun’s low kick.

“Fuck!”

Jun-yeong pulled out another knife and thrust again, but Se-gun evaded the attack as lightly as if he were a phantom. For Jun-yeong, who prided himself on his knife fighting, to have his attacks avoided so easily—it was maddening. Of course, it was the power of Psychedelic Moon, but Jun-yeong had no way of knowing that.

Crack!

Se-gun’s palm strike snapped up into Jun-yeong’s chin. The fluorescent lights flickered as Jun-yeong’s vision momentarily went black. With a single clean blow, he had caused a concussion. And Se-gun’s assault did not stop there—his arm twisted outward, wrenching Jun-yeong’s arm, disarming him of the knife, then lifting him in one motion and slamming him down onto the floor.

Boom!

Yet despite being thrown onto the bare floor, Jun-yeong sprang back up. The floor was finished with fairly hard interior material, and though he had clearly taken damage, he still rose.

“Tch!”

Se-gun felt his head grow dizzy from excessive blood loss. A move like a throw, which consumed great stamina, had tremendous backlash—even with Psychedelic Moon.

‘Is it because I didn’t mix in cocaine?’

Thinking that, Se-gun leapt out the window. Jumping from the second floor with an injured arm was dangerous, but under the effects of Psychedelic Moon, it felt effortless. Like a black cat, he landed lightly and immediately ran toward his motorcycle.

“Stop! Hey, you bastard, stop!”

Of course, Se-gun had no reason to listen. He managed to turn the motorcycle around with one arm and sped off.

The accelerator was meant to be twisted with the right hand… yet Se-gun gripped the throttle with his left, compensating for his injured right arm as he rode. Compared to other motorcycle stunts, it might seem unimpressive—but handling a bike skillfully with one arm was proof enough of his ability.

Vroooom!

The gangsters hurled curses at his retreating figure.

“You son of a bitch!”

“Fuck! Let’s chase him!”

A few of the uninjured thugs ground their teeth in rage. But at that moment, the office door opened, and the boss who had appeared late—Jeong Sang-dong—stepped out. Holding a golf club, he surveyed his subordinates with a grim expression.

“Uh, boss!”

“Everyone shut up! The boss is here and you’re making a racket—are you punks?”

Covered in blood, Kim Jun-yeong first restored discipline among his men. Truthfully, he wanted to grind that brat to dust himself—but acting out in anger would only increase their losses. He retrieved the bloodstained knife from the floor and let out a low sigh.

“That kid is truly something. Even with his forearm pierced, he was flying around like that.”

At this point, it was almost worthy of admiration. Kim Jun-yeong thought so as he wiped the knife clean with a cloth.

* * *

“He won’t come out of this unscathed either.”

The lights of civilization illuminate the city, leaving little space for darkness. Yet the Tower of Babel built by humans—though God is already dead and not even worth mocking—still casts its shadow.

Atop a crane in a construction site, facing the cold night wind, stood a man known by the baptismal name Sylvester, clad in black.

At the very top of the steel-reinforced crane… the priest in black slowly surveyed the city. The massive structure occupied four corners of the skyline, and strong winds constantly swept through, making the crane groan as it swayed.

“Ah…”

Sylvester closed his eyes and took one step, then another. Walking unhesitatingly across the sparsely connected steel beams of the crane… he raised his right hand. A hand little different from a human’s—yet at that moment, his fingers touched his face. The delicate fingertips traced his flawless skin more slowly than any caress.

Ssshhk.

Though the gloved fingers did not even reveal nails… his skin split, and a small wound appeared. A sharp cut, like one made by a razor blade. But from the wound, only a slight bead of blood formed—it did not flow. The blood that gathered there formed a triangular shape centered around his eye.

“My eyes grow dim, and I wander in the darkness.”

He murmured softly and gazed ahead. Streetlights, neon signs, and a darkness deeper still blanketed the city. No human eye could truly pierce through it—but the priest in black slowly turned atop the crane, surveying the entire city.

“Is that so?”

He murmured quietly and withdrew his hand. The sharp blood mark on his face healed at a speed rivaling a vampire’s regenerative ability, soon vanishing without a trace.

In his blue-gray eyes, as they slowly opened, floated a deep self-mockery. Eyes that looked upon the world yet accepted nothing. They were so decadent and beautiful that even a priest’s robe could not conceal the sinister aura beneath.

“Ha…”

A white breath drifted into the night sky.

At an hour so late that even the last bus had stopped running, in a corner of a park where the sound of a vehicle’s engine faded away, a black silhouette stood.

“Hah… hah…”

A young man in a black racing suit leaned against a streetlamp, his arm bound tightly with a tourniquet. From beneath it, dark bluish blood, bleached by the mercury lamp’s light, continued to seep out. He drew rough breaths and took a heavy step forward. With each slow step on the asphalt, a faint metallic sound echoed. Staggering like this, someone might have come to check on him… but at this late hour, the streets were nearly empty.

“What kind of bullshit is this?”

The young man muttered as he removed his motorcycle helmet and threw it onto the pavement. Green-parted hair was revealed. Despite the cold winter weather, he had sweated profusely—no sooner had he removed the helmet than sweat ran down along his hair.