Chapter 111

You Don't Die Riding a Tiger

Tap, tap...

Three sets of footsteps overlapped as we descended the stairs.

To prevent an accidental discharge, we kept our rifles pointed upward while moving quickly.

At the same time, none of us relaxed.

These were exterior villa stairs. Any movement was easily exposed.

Naturally, I took the rear position as we descended.

Halfway down, I stopped and pressed myself against the concrete railing for cover.

With a click, I checked my remaining ammunition.

How many rounds?

Roughly half a magazine left, maybe...

Feeling cold sweat trickling down my forehead, I reinserted the magazine with trembling hands.

My palms were shaking.

The magazine didn't seat properly at first, forcing me to smack it several times before it locked into place.

Even my fingers lacked the strength to pull the charging handle properly.

They kept slipping.

I knew why.

And I couldn't help feeling ashamed.

This was a different kind of fear than fighting monsters.

Death.

The aftereffects of [Cognitive Dissonance], combined with pain and exhaustion, brought tears to my eyes and blurred my vision.

It didn't matter what meaning my life held.

It didn't matter what grand dreams Baek Jemin had.

Even with a [Bulletproof] enchantment on my poncho, a bullet through the center of my gas mask meant instant death.

One stray round through the head and everything I'd accomplished would end immediately.

The moment I realized that everything depended entirely on probability and luck, I understood how insignificant human will truly was.

But then I saw the dried blood on the back of my right hand.

I saw the checkered scars left by [Mutation Immunity].

And mage pride surged up inside me.

I wasn't like the non-mages who could only die helplessly.

I could interfere with probability.

Rather than being dragged around by fate until destruction, I would become the master of fate itself.

I am Baek Jemin.

A great mage.

Death terrifies me.

Eternity terrifies me.

Pain terrifies me.

But if it meant drawing closer to the mysteries of magic...

Then even while crying, drooling, bleeding, and pissing myself—

I would still move forward.

I rolled my tongue around inside my mouth.

Evade. Critical injury. Five minutes. Route. Me.

A rough sensation spread through my eyes, as if my eyelids and eyeballs were sheets of dried plastic scraping against one another.

My tongue was nearly numb.

All I could feel was something dripping from it.

Since I was outside the fog and the doping had ended, I'd expected penalties like this.

Suddenly, strength surged into the fingers that had been slipping moments before.

The rifle felt weightless.

I immediately rested the barrel atop the railing and peeked out.

Clack.

Sunlight vanished behind clouds.

For a moment, everything fell under shadow.

Then the clouds split apart, and shafts of sunlight pierced through.

No sounds reached my ears.

Most people would have seen nothing meaningful in such ordinary weather.

But to me, aiming over the railing, each beam of sunlight looked like a flashing traffic signal.

The rays bounced off mirrors.

Slid behind buildings.

Reflected from abandoned vehicle windows and pristine car hoods.

Only from this precise angle and this precise location could one realize they formed a system of guidance, warning, and signals.

Near a streetlamp.

Near shattered glass doors.

Glass fragments glittered.

Warning.

I immediately ducked.

Gunfire erupted a split second later.

A storm of shots tore through the brief silence like a thousand beans popping at once.

Concrete dust rained down onto my shoulders and hood.

My heart hammered.

But I was alive.

Keeping my head low, I stared through my gas-mask lenses at the stairs covered in concrete fragments and paint chips.

Then the sunlight returned.

The moment I saw the long shadows stretching out, I understood.

Safe.

I rolled my tongue again.

This time, the tongue alone wouldn't be enough to pay the cost.

For the first time in a while, I used my left-hand staff as well.

After resting the rifle, I clenched my left fist and slammed it into the bullet-scarred concrete railing.

Target. Hostile mage. Five minutes. Route. Me.

Bang!

My left arm constantly felt as though blood vessels were boiling beneath the skin.

Adding physical impact turned the sensation into an electric agony.

Like a pressure cooker ready to burst.

But the results were undeniable.

Clack.

The moment I raised the rifle again, the scattered sunlight reflections began disappearing behind the clouds.

Reflections from windows.

Car hoods.

Puddles near broken fire hydrants.

One by one they vanished.

Eventually only one remained.

Two blocks away.

Fourth floor villa.

Balcony window beside a shattered flowerpot.

I pulled the trigger.

The spent casing flew out and rolled down the stairs.

The recoil shook my body.

I didn't even check whether I'd hit.

Only one thought mattered.

Shoot. Move immediately.

Tap-tap-tap!

The hem of my poncho fluttered.

I hurried down the stairs in a crouch, cloth scraping against concrete.

By the time I reached the first floor, Shin Nain and the Pastor had already taken cover behind a trash bin and a discarded door.

I hid behind the stairwell and immediately changed magazines.

A few seconds from removal to reinsertion.

Click.

Only after hearing the metal lock into place did Shin Nain speak.

"Mr. Jemin, when we destroyed demonic remains and gathered information, there was discussion regarding holy-war rituals and the Lord's arrangements. Information regarding demonic rituals that corrupted sacred rites."

"Get to the point. Skip the religious decorations."

Was this bastard seriously about to start speaking church language in the middle of a firefight?

After my criticism, Shin Nain adjusted his rifle and spoke rapidly.

Apparently he'd reached a conclusion of his own.

"All transformational holy-war rituals, excluding doctrinal types, require a price. Even inverted demonic versions. There is always a penalty. They either possess a method of offsetting it or they're focusing entirely on short-term combat."

"Okay. Got it."

"Baek Jemin, are you sure? How did you understand any of that?"

The Pastor's suspicious look made me laugh.

"The Seoul Mages lack supplies. Their frontline fighters and heart mages handle direct combat while everyone else specializes in stealth, ambushes, scouting, and surprise attacks. That's been true of every Seoul Mage we've encountered."

Even an idiot like me could figure that out.

Tapping the center of my gas mask, I smiled brightly at the realization there were people even dumber than me.

"Yellow Bandage definitely doesn't have an instant-healing ability. Doesn't seem ritual-based either. Even if he has some sort of curse technique, if healing curses were that amazing every doctor would've gone bankrupt. The bastard's bleeding out. He won't last long."

"Mr. Jemin, that's not what I'm talking about."

"What?"

That wasn't the important part?

When I stared at him, Shin Nain touched his headset.

"They likely possess Tongue Stage 1 demonic magic. If Yellow Bandage gets close to dying from blood loss, Sergeant Squeaky might simply devour him first. We can use that possibility as bait."

"...Motherfucker."

I hadn't considered the twenty-first century Seoul Mage version of scorched-earth tactics.

If they couldn't keep him, they'd eat him.

Shin Nain tucked his rifle beneath his arm and rapidly continued.

"We need to kill Yellow Bandage first. Communication frequency has dropped. Thanks to your shameless ambush, it seems his left arm suffered arterial damage. They're administering emergency treatment and pumping him full of drugs just to keep him alive. His ability to interfere has decreased dramatically. That's why Squeaky is avoiding exposure to suppressive fire."

"Sounds like praise for my tactics."

"...As before, we'll split into two groups. They'll focus on you, Mr. Jemin. Draw their attention. While we advance and distract them, allied special-forces snipers will provide support. Then we push into the villa where Yellow Bandage is hiding."

Shin Nain's hearing magic had clearly grown stronger.

Which meant he was hearing even more insane voices than before.

By comparison, ordinary religious fanaticism was downright mild.

The three Supreme Mages looked at one another.

No further words were necessary.

I tucked my rifle beneath my right arm and rolled my tongue again.

Evade. Critical injury. Five minutes. Route. Me.

My tongue, already soaked in metallic blood flavor, split open further.

Blood dripped freely.

Accuracy didn't matter now.

Avoiding stray bullets did.

I sprinted out of the alley and crouched behind an abandoned vehicle.

Just as I began standing—

The windows of a nearby storefront reflected sunlight.

Flash.

I immediately flattened myself.

Bullets slammed into the vehicle frame.

A tire burst with a loud hiss.

The car sank lower.

Its value as cover disappeared instantly.

For a moment I considered trusting the [Bulletproof] poncho and running.

Then I stopped.

The effects of Hand Stage 2 [Enchant] had probably been amplified while I was doped.

Trusting that enhancement blindly and getting riddled with holes would be entirely my fault.

People who said, "Just do it, it'll be fine," never accepted responsibility afterward.

Death always collected the debt.

As someone who loved his body more than anyone else, I made the correct choice.

And it was proven moments later.

When dozens of bullets flew around, eventually one struck the poncho.

A ricochet from the asphalt hit the fabric wrapped around my calf.

The sensation came first.

Like an ice pick stabbing directly into my leg.

For a moment I was certain I'd been shot.

Cold sweat poured down my body.

Pain exploded through my nerves.

Countless memories flashed before my eyes.

One in particular stood out.

The most unfair memory of all.

The time my father beat me with a baseball bat because I'd stolen 600,000 won in academy tuition money to spend a month attending a pro-gamer training center and PC café.

I hated him.

Hated him for crushing Pro Gamer Baek Jemin's dream.

Then lightning struck inside my head.

My fading consciousness snapped back.

"Haaah! Hah! Haaah!"

Barely breathing, I checked my calf.

Not penetrated.

The bullet was rolling harmlessly away.

But even lightly touching my left calf sent pain shooting up my spine and nearly forced me upright.

And if I stood—

My head would get blown off.

Flop!

I threw myself down like a frog.

Reducing my exposed surface area.

Then I concentrated.

What the hell was Shin Nain doing?

"Mr. Jemin! We're suppressing them! Move!"

Rat-tat-tat!

Gunfire echoed nearby.

I forced myself upright.

My left calf trembled violently, nearly buckling.

But I gritted my teeth.

Soon adrenaline and dopamine numbed the pain.

Standing revealed my surroundings.

Crashed drones.

Deserted storefronts.

Broken windows moaning in the wind.

Clouds drifting lazily overhead.

Puddles gathered beside damaged fire hydrants and storm drains.

Then artillery boomed again from Sanseong-daero.

The vibrations awakened my heart and organs.

I had to move.

At first I limped.

Only someone shot in the calf had the right to criticize.

I shuffled like a wounded grub.

Drool hanging from my mouth.

The second artillery blast changed things.

The pain rapidly diminished.

My body had decided.

If we wanted to survive, it couldn't waste time complaining.

Soon I was walking faster.

Then countless gunshots began echoing again.

At that moment, Shin Nain's telepathy returned.

"Friendly sniper engaged!"

Amid the screams, artillery, and chaos, a single rifle shot echoed.

I couldn't tell where it came from.

Unlike other gunfire, it felt as though it had fallen directly from the sky.

Something swelled inside me.

I, Baek Jemin.

In my entire life, I'd never truly earned recognition from anyone.

Yet here I was.

Standing among people giving everything they had.

These enemies harmed innocents in pursuit of survival.

Good and evil no longer mattered.

But who could mock the desire to live?

Even if I went to hell, I would never regret fighting to survive.

Magic was survival.

Salvation.

Hope.

Reward.

I squeezed my rifle grip.

Finally, I could run.

Fear of death.

Pain.

The despair of facing the end.

There was only one thing powerful enough to overcome them all.

My longing for magic.

The desire for omnipotence.

My legs began moving again.

Altruism didn't make hearts beat.

If someone truly embodied self-sacrifice, they'd throw themselves away the moment they realized their survival consumed resources needed by others.

I wanted to live.

To enjoy life.

To be acknowledged.

To become special.

To be unique.

Absolute.

To be applauded.

Only this selfish, filthy greed numbed my pain.

The weak crybaby I had been moments earlier vanished.

Maintaining distance through telepathy with Shin Nain, alternating distractions, tracking enemy positions, and moving between cover, I advanced steadily.

Eventually I crouched behind a small sign that read:

Sincere Pocha.

"Mr. Jemin, we need to reload!"

Okay.

I immediately found my next piece of cover.

Congratulatory flower wreaths.

Terrible durability.

But things changed when a mage touched them.

I tucked the AR-15 beneath my arm and drew my bayonet.

Whoosh.

A quick spin.

Right hand functioning perfectly.

I caught the handle and immediately sliced open my left palm.

Slash!

Using my blood, I wrote on the ribbon reading Congratulations on Your Grand Opening.

Hand Stage 2 [Enchant].

The blood inscription became:

[Shade].

I embedded my intention into the enchantment.

Visible only from my side.

Invisible from outside.

After finishing, I pressed myself flat against the wreath and a fallen signboard.

Almost simultaneously, bullets rained down.

Whether Squeaky or Yellow Bandage was firing, their injuries were obvious.

Rounds scattered wildly.

Asphalt exploded nearby.

My breath caught.

Occasionally, bullets even grazed the edge of my [Bulletproof] poncho.

Thankfully my tightly curled posture prevented direct hits.

Judging their accuracy, I realized Eye Stage 1 was still functioning.

Time to counterattack.

I pushed the rifle barrel through a gap in the wreath.

The enchanted flowers acted like translucent jelly.

I could see everything.

Across the street, above a pork-belly restaurant, gun smoke drifted in the wind.

Supporting the rifle with my blood-soaked left hand, I shouldered it properly and aimed.

My finger brushed the trigger.

Cold metal greeted me pleasantly.

RATATATATAT!

Recoil hammered my shoulder repeatedly.

Shell casings bounced onto the broken asphalt.

Windows shattered.

Concrete erupted with bullet impacts.

Curtains covering a nearby window thrashed wildly.

The gas mask and distance limited my accuracy.

But suppression was enough.

"Mr. Jemin! One more traffic light! Yellow Bandage's villa is right ahead!"

Shin Nain's telepathy made sustained fire easier.

I switched to controlled bursts.

Bang-bang.

Bang.

Of course, I wasn't wasting an entire magazine.

The target was probably Sergeant Squeaky.

And if he realized Shin Nain and the Pastor were approaching Yellow Bandage, he'd move.

I needed to pressure him while advancing.

Keeping my rifle tucked beneath my arm to minimize exposure, I crouch-ran forward.

The building I'd just been shooting at now displayed nothing but fluttering curtains.

Gone.

Squeaky had repositioned.

Still, I held the advantage.

Eye Stage 1.

Five minutes hadn't passed yet.

It continued warning me.

The moment sunlight disappeared behind a cloud—

A reflection flashed from a vehicle mirror.

Warning.

I ducked instantly.

Gunfire erupted.

Bullets punched through thin metal with horrifying cracks.

At the same time, I desperately watched impact marks and flying fragments.

I knew nothing about ballistics.

Precise calculations were impossible.

And using hearing magic here was out of the question.

The battlefield was too loud.

Should I change the target of Eye Stage 1's guidance?

Just as I considered it—

"Friendly sniper engaged!"

BAAAANG—

The mysterious sniper fired again.

This time, the scattered sunlight reflections around me calmed.

He hadn't killed the target.

But he'd suppressed him.

"Sergeant Squeaky is retreating, Mr. Jemin! Run!"

Scrrrrch!

My boots scraped broken asphalt.

I exploded forward.

My poncho billowed behind me.

Heart Stage 1 [Enhanced Endurance] proved its worth.

Despite everything, I wasn't out of breath.

The distance closed rapidly.

Then I saw them.

On a rooftop.

Behind a low railing.

Sergeant Squeaky crouched like a frog while carrying Yellow Bandage on his back.

Preparing to leap away.

At that exact moment, a familiar bird-like voice emerged from the walkie-talkie hanging from Squeaky's vest.

[Listen, listen.]

Without hesitation, I dropped to one knee and aimed.

My finger settled on the trigger.

[You should check the chamber before firing.]

Right.

The Gangnam Clairvoyant.

I immediately removed the magazine and pulled back the charging handle.

The bolt locked open.

A single round dropped from the chamber.

Holy shit.

If I'd fired, it would've jammed or exploded—

RATATATAT!

Gunfire erupted.

Instinctively, I looked up.

Blood sprayed through the air like rain.

Even from fifty meters away, the amount of blood was obvious.

Yellow Bandage.

Still draped across Sergeant Squeaky's back.

Bleeding heavily.

Hanging limply like a rag doll.

Only then did I realize it.

I'd been hit by a suggestion spell.

In a hurry, I slammed the magazine back in, chambered a round, and charged up to the rooftop of the villa where the Seoul Mages had been hiding.

Even as my boots hammered the stairs, the gunfire never stopped.

When I reached the rooftop, I found Shin Nain and the Pastor crouched behind the railing on the green urethane floor.

The Pastor had his rifle resting on the railing, firing steadily.

Shin Nain sat with his back against the wall, one leg stretched out.

I rushed over and lowered myself beside them.

A groan reached my ears.

Blood was leaking from Shin Nain's thigh.

Looking closer, I saw a long claw embedded through his combat pants like a harpoon.

Sergeant Squeaky's work.

"Why haven't you pulled it out?"

"I can't stop the bleeding if I do."

Even through the gas-mask lenses, Shin Nain looked pale.

Without taking his eyes off the sights, the Pastor shouted:

"Baek Jemin! Nain can't move. I'll stay with him and provide cover—"

"You need to move too, Pastor."

"What if the claw pierced his femoral artery, you idiot?!"

Hooo—

Shin Nain adjusted his rifle and spoke through the characteristic hiss of the gas mask.

"I can't move properly, but my arms still work. I can shoot. We're overwhelming them with suppressive fire. Mr. Jemin and I have telepathy. We have a sniper supporting us. Chasing them before they escape comes first."

"...Christ, protect the lives of the righteous. Let's go, Baek Jemin!"

"Uh... right..."

As I followed the Pastor, a memory suddenly surfaced.

A thought I'd heard from Shin Nain during those original magic experiments.

A future thought.

Before my faith breaks, it will all be over. Lord, thank You.

...

"Baek Jemin! Can you track Squeaky with your eye magic?"

I felt strangely calm.

The greed that had been boiling inside me moments ago seemed more refined.

I rolled my tongue around my mouth.

Target. Kill. Sergeant Squeaky. Five minutes. Route. Me.

Only the Pastor's footsteps and mine echoed as we descended.

The moment we exited the building, Shin Nain's telepathy arrived.

"Yellow Bandage's injuries are severe. He couldn't go far. They're in the building next door. They're afraid of the allied sniper and can't move properly. I'll fire and mark the location. Head there."

The shafts of sunlight intertwined.

Pointing toward a single location.

A newly built four-story villa.

At the same time, gunfire erupted from the rooftop where Shin Nain remained.

Windows along the stairwell exploded outward.

Shattered glass scattered through the air, glittering.

Without another word, the Pastor and I ran.

Running side-by-side would get us both killed instantly.

So we spread out.

That's when Sergeant Squeaky made his move.

A rifle barrel suddenly protruded from a tiny ventilation window.

The moment we saw it, both of us instinctively lowered our bodies and dove for cover.

RATATATATAT!

I ended up inside a convenience store.

Broken shelves.

Refrigerator doors hanging loose.

Dark brown bloodstains everywhere.

His accuracy was awful.

He wasn't even aiming properly.

Still, a single stray bullet could kill us.

The Pastor and I exchanged glances and waited.

Of course, neither of us was naïve enough to believe the shooting stopping meant he was actually out of ammo.

Anyone stupid enough not to use that trick would've died long ago.

The only way to break through a deception like that was with an even crazier move.

Since I had the [Bulletproof] poncho, I had to lead.

The answer to absurdity was greater absurdity.

Hoooo...

Hoooo...

I calmed the emotions I couldn't quite put into words.

Then I raised my left arm.

Curled my body up.

And sprinted out of the convenience store.

Bang! Bang-bang!

Just as expected.

Bullets exploded around me.

Chunks of asphalt struck my boots.

Then a round hit my left forearm through the poncho.

It hit.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

"Haaaaaah..."

When real pain arrives, you can't even scream.

My knees buckled instantly.

It felt like the bone had shattered.

The kind of pain that wrung tears from your soul.

Of course I dropped to one knee.

Humans could never overcome pain.

Anyone preaching about conquering suffering through willpower would change their tune the moment torture began.

Tears poured from my eyes.

I worried the fracture might leave permanent damage.

Swearing wasn't enough.

Every vulgar word I knew ran wild through my head.

I probably pissed myself again.

The inside of the gas mask had become a humid sauna.

The rubber clung to my face.

The smell of raw rubber mixed with sweat.

Disgusting.

Every awful sensation told me the same thing.

Hoooooo—

Baek Jemin, you idiot.

Hooo.

Hooo.

Hooo.

You're still alive.

Clack.

This time, I rested the rifle across my knees and injured forearm.

Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.

The repeated gunfire blended into ringing tinnitus.

Eventually, even the enemy stopped shooting.

The Pastor used the opportunity to close the distance and reach the villa entrance.

"Baek Jemin! Run!"

Sheltered beside the entrance, he leaned out and fired at the outer windows.

Chunks of wall burst apart.

I corrected my posture and sprinted.

Once I joined him safely, there was no reason to hesitate.

When running away, aphorisms.

When advancing?

Supreme Mages.

The Pastor and I naturally formed a two-man team and climbed the stairs.

Instructor Song Smith's lessons truly excelled in close-quarters combat.

Holding the rifle tight against my chest, elbow slightly back, I pushed the shortened AR-15 barrel around every corner.

The Pastor followed half a step behind.

I noticed him fiddling with a grenade hanging from his belt.

Above us, clouds drifted before the sun.

Light streamed through the gaps.

Sunbeams entered through broken windows.

Even dust motes became visible as the light illuminated us.

That clarity became especially pronounced at the fourth-floor door.

The moment I saw sunlight bathing the entire doorway, I raised my blood-covered left hand.

There wasn't only one beam.

Like water splitting around a rock, the light divided at the window frame.

One path illuminated the door.

The other illuminated the stairs leading to the rooftop.

Choose one and the other would become an ambush.

Given Sergeant Squeaky's mobility and talent for hiding, getting isolated was dangerous.

And if we focused too much on Yellow Bandage...

A hand settled on my shoulder.

Obviously, only the Pastor would do that here.

Through the gas-mask lenses, I could clearly see the wrinkles around his narrowed eyes.

He whispered quietly:

"Baek Jemin. You chase Sergeant Squeaky. I'll stay here. If Yellow Bandage tries helping him, I'll charge in. You think this is a trap, right?"

"Yeah."

"They opened the door to lure us inside. If we both chase one target, they'll go after Nain. A righteous man can't act thoughtlessly. You have to be smart if you want to save lives. Understand?"

"Good."

The Pastor patted my shoulder several times and stepped backward.

For a moment I wondered what he was doing.

Then I realized.

He was making noise.

Creating footsteps.

Yellow Bandage was barely conscious.

The Pastor wanted him to think both of us were moving together.

Understanding immediately, I turned and headed for the rooftop stairs.

Two sets of footsteps overlapped.

Mine and the Pastor's.

Different staircases.

Yet sounding like we were still together.

The rooftop door stood slightly open.

I pushed it wider.

Creeeeeak...

Under a sky where clouds drifted overhead, the rooftop was filled with laundry lines.

Dirty clothes clipped in place swayed in the wind.

No telepathy from Shin Nain.

Instead, I saw a vague human shape moving among the sheets.

Beyond a hanging blanket.

Beyond fluttering shirts.

A single combat boot.

Clack.

I tightened my grip on the rifle.

Step.

Footsteps overlapped through the hanging laundry.

I couldn't assume a normal human silhouette.

The target was an inverted Heart Mage.

If he had evolved into something bizarre like the Dubai Sticky Witch, then aiming at a conventional torso would be a mistake.

[Listen... listen...]

One thing was certain.

His legs.

He still walked on two feet.

His lower body was probably normal.

Step.

I circled around the rooftop.

Sidestepping between the laundry.

Pushing clothes aside with my body.

Lowering my stance.

Fixing the rifle in place.

The wind made it difficult to distinguish movement.

[When it's hard to find them... just look at the feet...]

Aim for the lower body.

Shoot the legs.

Then he couldn't move.

Step.

The laundry shifted.

Then, just as I concentrated, a voice entered my mind.

"Mr. Jemin! He's doing a handstand!"

At the exact same moment, a gunshot rang out.

A sharp cry.

Blood sprayed.

Among the yellowed shirts, red splashes appeared.

The combat boots beneath the laundry vanished as they slipped away.

I aimed at the bloodstains and pulled the trigger.

Recoil hammered my body.

Shell casings bounced off the laundry and rolled away.

Then something struck my rifle.

CLANG! CLANG!

The impact felt enormous.

Like being hit with a sledgehammer.

I lost control of the recoil.

The muzzle pointed skyward.

I didn't drop the weapon.

But that wasn't enough.

Laundry lines snapped.

Sheets tore apart.

At that moment, I grabbed the sling and shoved the rifle forward.

KRAAAANG!

The barrel bent.

Even inverted, he was still a Heart Mage.

His strength was absurd.

Sergeant Squeaky held an empty rifle in his left hand.

Upside down.

Using it like a club.

That was when he tore off his gas mask.

RIIIP!

The straps snapped apart.

And suddenly I understood why he'd barely spoken throughout the fight.

Eyes.

His mouth was surrounded by eyes.

Dozens of them.

Rolling in every direction.

Sticking out from the flesh.

He stuck out his tongue and lifted his right arm toward his mouth.

At first, I wondered what he was doing.

Then—

CRUNCH.

He bit into one of the slime-filled pustules on his own arm.

Like biting into a Shine Muscat grape.

Like swallowing a raw egg whole.

His tongue swam through the mass as he greedily devoured the human-slime growths.

One eyeball remained stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Countless lidless eyes rolled around overhead.

A horrifying sight.

Yet I forced my trembling body to move.

CLANG!

Rifle met rifle.

Sergeant Squeaky swung his weapon like a bat while eating his own arm.

I desperately used my almost-worthless rifle-bayonet techniques to redirect impacts and sidestep.

Every time he consumed another human-slime growth, bullets embedded in his flesh were pushed out by fresh tissue.

Whenever I tried creating distance, he slid forward.

Chewing.

Advancing.

His boots scraping against the rooftop.

"Mr. Jemin! Create some distance! The allied sniper can't engage!"

Fuck you.

You try it.

Clang.

Clang.

My Eye Stage 1 kept showing warning flashes.

But my body couldn't keep up.

I saw the future.

Yet when I moved ten seconds early, Sergeant Squeaky simply tanked everything.

The bastard was willing to take rifle-stock hits to the face.

Eventually I noticed him stagger slightly.

I immediately pushed the muzzle forward and fired.

RATATAT!

I definitely hit him.

His answer was another rifle strike.

Through the holes in his uniform, smooth nail-like layers of keratin shattered and crumbled away with traces of blood.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Sergeant Squeaky kept hammering my rifle aside.

Meanwhile, the claws on his right hand continued growing.

Opening and closing like scissors.

The sight filled me with both dread and rage.

Sergeant Squeaky.

He knew how to fight enemies with guns.

No.

He knew how to fight mages.

He understood something fundamental.

Humans could never defeat pain.

Eventually, senses, nerves, and intellect all grew exhausted.

He was dragging me into a battle of attrition.

Tap.

My sidestepping foot touched the rooftop railing.

Cold fear shot down my spine.

At that exact moment, Sergeant Squeaky finally lowered the arm he'd been chewing.

SKRRAAAK!

His claws scraped loudly across my rifle.

The gathered claws knocked my weapon aside.

Defenseless.

Only that word remained.

I couldn't dodge the kick.

BOOM!

I flew backward.

The railing reached my waist, so I wasn't launched completely over.

But I lost my rifle.

And suddenly I was weightless.

I hated that floating sensation.

Even at swimming pools I'd never dared dive because of it.

Now...

The real thing arrived.

I didn't even have time to feel pain.

Dizzy.

Terrified.

My heart stopped.

My blood turned cold.

My brain raced.

My vision faded.

I'm going to die?

Here?

After learning five schools of magic?

Falling?

Then I lost my grip.

And truly began falling headfirst from the fourth floor.

I felt like I was about to cry, drool, piss, and shit myself all at once.

Only one thought remained.

I want to live.

How do I survive?

It was pure instinct.

Holding onto the rifle wouldn't save me.

I knew that subconsciously.

So I did the only thing possible.

Like a man falling from a cliff grabbing at grass.

I stretched out my right hand and struck the wall.

No thought.

Pure instinct.

Then my palm took the full weight of my falling body.

Pain exploded.

My hand scraped along the concrete.

Fire raced through my body.

I don't even know if I screamed.

Humans could never overcome pain.

Not even in the face of death.

I felt my skin peeling away.

Baek Jemin's palm.

Being ground to pieces.

Blood and flesh expressing the desire to survive as a trail across the wall.

And amid that agony, I shouted.

Because only I was absolutely precious.

Only my pain was absolute.

Only my suffering stretched endlessly.

Eye Stage 2, [Perceptual Distortion] 100%.

Time slowed.

The fall continued.

But so did my thoughts.

The moment I gained time, I paid the price.

Eye Stage 3, [Cognitive Dissonance] 100%.

I altered gravity.

One eye went completely dark.

Praying it wasn't permanent blindness, I slammed myself against the building wall.

Only then could I breathe.

Hoo.

Hoo.

Hoo.

My breath echoed inside the gas mask.

Looking up, I saw an absurd sight.

Sergeant Squeaky wasn't satisfied with throwing me off.

The moment he saw the handprints I'd left three stories down the wall, he jumped after me.

Planning to crush me completely.

Persistent bastard.

I crawled along the wall like a soldier in individual combat.

Using [Perceptual Distortion] and [Cognitive Dissonance] simultaneously was suicidal.

I'd go into shock.

There was only one solution.

Low-level mage doping to reduce the penalties.

Since tongue magic defined the distinction between inverted and standard forms, Sergeant Squeaky probably had at least Inverted Tongue Stage 1.

By the time I reached him, his eyes hadn't fully tracked me.

A testament to how much pain I was currently enduring.

I didn't even have enough strength left to reach for my floating rifle.

I panted.

Blood poured from my tongue.

Then I smiled.

Thankfully, I still had enough strength to rip out his tongue.

His mouth was filthy with human slimes.

But I possessed my greatest weapon.

My right hand.

The one soaked in [Right Hand's Blood].

Press.

God, what a disgusting texture.

The moment [Right Hand's Blood] touched his tongue, the eyeballs embedded within began slowly rolling toward me.

Only Sergeant Squeaky's actual eyes hadn't noticed me yet.

So I grabbed his tongue.

Pulled.

Harder.

Harder.

And tore.

RIP!

The instant his tongue came free, I prepared.

My left hand seized the back of his head.

Pressing firmly.

Forcing his face against the building wall.

His tongue would replace the skin stripped from my right palm.

SLAP!

A wet sensation spread across my flayed hand.

His tongue beneath my right palm.

His face pinned beneath my left.

Ready to grind against the concrete.

"Heh... hehehe..."

I laughed.

Once again, my theory had been right.

Pain was my salvation.

My survival.

My wish.

My hope.

For magic.

For the sake of the most precious Great Mage Baek Jemin.

I would offer only my pain.

I climbed onto Sergeant Squeaky's body.

Preparing to cancel [Cognitive Dissonance] and [Perceptual Distortion] simultaneously.

Hanging upside down.

Limp.

Making sure his body would serve as a cushion.

Everything was ready.

Slowly, I closed my eyes.

Through narrowing vision, I watched Sergeant Squeaky.

His face pinned to the wall beneath my hand.

Practically kissing the concrete.

And I smiled.

Baek Jemin.

A real man.

After enduring all this pain, he only blinked once.

This time...

Human sledding.

KRRRRRRRRRAAAAAASH!