Chapter 19 - The Companion II

4

GR҉U҉GU҈҈҈҉I҉R҉҈҈҈GO҉O҉!

Tenlegs came charging toward us. Every time its feet, formed from countless tentacles, struck the ground, a great boom shook everything around us. Old Man Scho’s shoulders and mine kept bouncing up and down.

Strictly speaking, Tenlegs wasn’t planting its feet. With enhanced vision, a closer look revealed that it walked on countless hands.

Things resembling human hands and arms.

Every time those thousands upon tens of thousands of arms struck the ground, red flesh and blood splattered with a wet thud. Joints crunched and broke, bones grinding away.

But none of that mattered to it. New arms endlessly regenerated wherever a forearm had been torn off.

A long trail of blood stretched behind the approaching Tenlegs like a red carpet. Blood flowed through thousands of palm prints.

That enormous red carpet was Tenlegs’ trademark. Overseas, some even called it Red Carpet.

I muttered, “Well, look who’s here. The big star himself.”

“Ready?”

Old Man Scho asked in halting Korean. Everyone in the vanguard, myself included, already had their weapons drawn.

I glanced back at my adjutant, Yu Jiwon. With a map spread across the table, she nodded: everything was ready.

I nodded in turn.

“Yes. Let’s get this over with and go eat.”

I took the first step.

Six hundred members of the death squad followed me.

Though nothing compared to Tenlegs, those six hundred footfalls, carrying the weight of life and death, produced a tremor that made this feel like a fight worth taking.

At the same moment:

“Aaah...”

A song rang out behind us.

Dang Seorin, guild leader of Three Thousand, head of Korea’s guild alliance—the woman also known as the Witch of the Train Station for her peculiar habit of always seeking out train stations.

But as an awakened on the battlefield, rather than someone’s leader, her true nature lay elsewhere.

“Aaah... aah...”

A witch who brought great magic into being through songs and poetry.

The founder and sole practitioner of Spell-Song Chanting, the art of invoking spells through song.

A figure who had become a legend to those who awakened magical abilities. That was Dang Seorin on the battlefield.

She modestly insisted she was no founder, merely an imitator.

The power itself was anything but modest.

“Aah... aah... aah.”

Her voice began as a single strand, then split into two, three, four melodies that embroidered the skies over devastated Seoul.

An a cappella performance made up of her voice alone.

The principle behind the Spell-Song Chanting magic she had developed was simple.

First, she used song to invoke “repetition magic.” Repetition magic was a kind of recorder. All it did was endlessly repeat and replay the sounds a mage uttered, so there was nothing special about it on its own.

Dang Seorin saw potential in this insignificant spell.

First, let repetition magic keep ringing through the air. Then, in its midst, chant an entirely new spell over it. The repetition magic would soon replay the newly added section as well.

First Melody: Repetition.

Second Melody: Amplification.

Third Melody: Enhanced Reflexes.

Six minutes into the battle, the third melody finally began enveloping the hundreds of combatants.

Death-squad members who had been in immediate danger of having their torsos cleaved apart and their heads sent flying by the monster’s tentacles now blocked Tenlegs’ attacks once, then twice.

“Aah... aah...”

“Aah... aah... aah.”

“Aaah...”

Dang Seorin’s melodies had no intention of stopping there.

Just as the fourth melody was added and about to blossom, Tenlegs sensed the change in the air and turned around.

Realizing we had deliberately lured it here, it tried to flee without hesitation. As its body, larger than a building, twisted in an instant, nearby awakened were hurled in every direction.

“Emit!”

“Yeah!”

Old Man Scho, who had learned to say “Yeah” before any other Korean word, drew his sword and charged. The sight of that dependable back almost put me at ease—but it didn’t.

The retreat was a feint. That damned clever monster had planted six tentacles underground beforehand.

The instant Old Man Scho charged, spikes erupted from the ground and punched pretty little holes through his body. Blood gushed up against the gray storm clouds. Instant death.

“Fuck!”

Dang Seorin’s magical chant ended before she could even reach the fifth melody. The death squad was breached, the defensive line collapsed, and Dang Seorin, the linchpin of our operation, fell to her knees with countless holes through her body.

The last thing I saw was Tenlegs opening a grilled-skewer omakase restaurant on the plain. The red carpet was merely decoration ushering us into its establishment.

Run six ended.

Run seven began. Again.

“Emit!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah” was a truly mysterious Korean expression. It could mean “Yes,” “I know, you son of a bitch,” or “Stop nagging me.” Layering all those meanings together, the Swordmaster swept the ground with sword energy.

KR҉R҈҉U҉RA҉PA҉H҈҉KA҉O҉!

The spikes lurking underground were severed in one stroke.

Its false retreat had been exposed. Furious, Tenlegs harvested human lives with its tentacles, those things resembling human hands and arms.

It could not harvest the song in the air.

“Aah... aah... aah... aaah.”

The melodies continued. Accumulated. Reverberated.

Each time her a cappella tried to embrace another tone, we had to sacrifice another life.

Run seven ended. Run eight began. Run eight ended. Run nine began.

Within the endlessly repeating da capo, Old Man Scho and I raced forward. Charged. Tenlegs fought back against our sword strikes.

Its enormous body suddenly swelled like a balloon. As though the tentacles it had shown us so far were merely a taste, thousands of spikes shot out of the monster’s body at once.

Run nine ended.

“Aaah...”

Run ten began.

Within the endlessly repeating da capo, Old Man Scho and I raced forward. Charged. Tenlegs fought back against our sword strikes. And before it could inflate its body, we slipped in close against it.

GR҉R҉O҈҈҈҉KU҉PA҈҉HA҈҈҉K҉!

Old Man Scho from the left. Me from the right.

In that repeating spiral dance, I learned swordsmanship from Old Man Scho. I lived not as Three Thousand’s Deputy Guild Leader, but as his direct disciple.

It might have been the same repetition for that monster, but not for me. For every handspan our time advanced, Dang Seorin’s song continued another measure.

First Melody: Repetition.

Second Melody: Amplification.

Third Melody: Enhanced Reflexes.

Fourth Melody: Enhanced Weapon Strength.

Fifth Melody: Stamina Recovery.

Sixth Melody: Mental Awakening.

An aria for the repose of souls was chanted into the gray sky.

Death Squad One traded places with Death Squad Two, and the wounded kept retreating to the rear. Still, Old Man Scho and I did not take a single step back from the front line.

Neither did Dang Seorin.

We were all offering our lives.

At last, as the sixth melody began to repeat, her song transformed. The melodies that had embraced us suddenly bared their nails and lunged at Tenlegs.

Like red thorns.

Seventh Melody: Curse of Weakness.

Eighth Melody: Curse of Darkness.

Ninth Melody: Curse of Sensory Impairment.

Tenlegs’ enormous body grew sluggish. When the monster swung its arms, abandoned buildings came crashing down. Perhaps that was merely its flinch.

“Old geezer!”

“I know, you brat!”

We clung to it relentlessly.

What I called Old Man Scho had changed, as had the manner of his Korean replies. Now, without even discussing a plan, we cut down Tenlegs’ tentacles in perfect synchronization.

Tenlegs fought back against our sword strikes. But it was useless. More and more, our blades severed its arms faster than new tentacles could sprout.

It might walk on thousands of arms, but that amounted to only a single step. We walked on the legs each of us had been given, yet always raced forward two steps at a time.

And so.

“Aah... aah... aah.”

“Aah... aah... aah... aaah.”

“Aah... aah...”

“Aaah...”

Tenth Melody: Curse of Petrification.

A curse almost meaningless against Tenlegs’ endlessly regenerating tentacles. But now, with so few spikes remaining, it was a lethal blow.

The dozens of spikes rushing at Old Man Scho and me all turned to stone. Of course, it was only the briefest hesitation. Given five seconds—no, even three—tentacles would sprout again and try to impale us.

Dang Seorin had been singing to give us those three seconds.

We swung our swords.

Where all the tentacles had vanished, Tenlegs’ two eyeballs lay hidden. They were eyes and hearts at once. Even if one heart was destroyed, the other would immediately regenerate it: mana organs that effectively granted Tenlegs eternal life.

“Aaaaaagh!”

Old Man Scho and I charged, shouting.

Our cries were not strange like Tenlegs’ roars. Nor were they beautiful like Dang Seorin’s chant. The two regressors’ duet was a complete mess. As songs went, it was the very worst of tone-deafness.

Yet somehow—perhaps it was only my imagination—I felt our crude shouts align with Dang Seorin’s aria, if only for an instant.

A harmony that happened to intersect by chance.

K҉PU҉҉RA҉K҉KA҉҉H҉TA҉!

And the only dissonance left in this world.

Toward that noise, the monster’s heartbeat, the source of the tremors, we both thrust our swords at the same time.

Blood splattered.

Old Man Scho’s sword tip pierced the left eyeball—the left heart—while my blade split the right eyeball—the right heart.

――――――!!

A scream erupted.

Even as it spewed blood, countless tentacles were shooting from Tenlegs’ body. A tentacle tip rushed right up to my nose. But instead of fearing being punctured, I simply drove the sword tip buried in its eye-heart harder and deeper.

It froze.

The tentacle right before my eyes stopped. Resembling a human arm, it had five fingers. As though seized by convulsions, all five stretched open as far as they could.

One second passed. Then two.

As the music subsided, as though the final drifting moments were being postponed forever, we too watched the monster in silence, our swords still buried in its hearts.

Then I suddenly felt an urge so irresistible that I simply had to say it.

“Did we get it?”

Old Man Scho recoiled in horror.

“You idiot! If you say that...!”

Tenlegs’ five fingers burst. Flesh tore apart. As they burst, red blood poured out.

Fingers, arms, countless tentacles burst one after another and sloughed away.

There was no twist.

The enormous monster that had spent so long roaming this world, leaving red roads in its wake, sank into a red pool of its own making and drowned.

“...”

Suddenly drenched in blood, Old Man Scho stared blankly downward. Then he looked at me.

Finally, he looked behind us.

The moment we turned our backs, a cheer greater than the earthquakes Tenlegs had caused shook the sky.

Hundreds had died, but thousands still survived. They raised clenched fists toward us, embraced each other, and jumped like mad. They rushed over, grabbed my head, and tore my shirt to shreds. Laughter and sobbing mingled.

“We did it! We really did it!”

Even Old Man Scho threw his arms around me and howled.

“Oh, Doctor! Thank you! It’s all thanks to you! I’d never have made it this far alone!”

They were words the usual Old Man Scho would never have uttered.

I got choked up too and babbled something similar, but I won’t bother describing exactly what I said.

Documenting my own embarrassing moments wasn’t a hobby of mine.

[The ‘Saintess of National Salvation’ blesses your victory.]

[The ‘Lord of the Red Horse’ shows interest in your martial prowess.]

[The ‘Conqueror of the Alps’ marvels at your great feat.]

The constellations sent messages as though they had been waiting. This was still a run in which I hadn’t discovered the Saintess’s identity. Like the other awakened, I could accept the constellations’ congratulations in all innocence.

A wave of jubilation passed.

Only then did Dang Seorin, the operation’s commander, slowly approach me.

“To think you managed to draw out the Tenth Melody.”

Perhaps she had sung too fervently. Her voice was hoarse.

She smiled, looking happy yet somehow troubled.

“Impressive. I didn’t think we’d actually win.”

“How many minutes did we hold out?”

“Forty-one.”

Dang Seorin’s forehead was wet with sweat. Her hair was disheveled, strands sticking to her face. Even so, she looked quite presentable compared to the state I was in.

All the more so compared to the ends she had met in runs four through nine.

“We finally took Seoul back.”

“South of the Han River, to be precise.”

“Wasn’t that where housing was most expensive anyway? Perfect. We’re land-rich now.”

Even right after accomplishing something monumental, Dang Seorin sounded as casual as someone out for a stroll. Her shamelessness made me chuckle.

“Though it’s now the shittiest land in all Korea.”

“Hmm. Hungry? You’re not hurt anywhere? Let’s go eat.”

Then Old Man Scho interjected.

“What’s on the menu? Boiled octopus? I can’t eat that.”

The old geezer who had been spouting embarrassing lines earlier had vanished. In his place stood the usual German curmudgeon who grumbled about everything.

“Bah. I’ll never understand why you people boil and eat those disgusting-looking Cthulhu krakens.”

“That’s all right. I may as well admit it now: I don’t like boiled octopus that much either.”

I was startled.

“What? Really?”

“Yep.”

Dang Seorin smiled brightly.

“Actually, I prefer octopus with wasabi and a highball.”

Aliases: Red Carpet. Red Gourmet.

A mobile monster based south of the Han River. Solitary. Amorphous.

Estimated civilian and military fatalities: approximately 436,000. Estimated awakened fatalities: approximately 950. Injured and missing: impossible to estimate.

Official designation: Tenlegs.

Extermination complete.

5

For the record, our celebratory dinner that day was pork belly and soju.

There weren’t any Japanese restaurants nearby.