Arknights. It was the game I used to love. Its precise dystopian narrative, ingenious mechanics, and compelling characters held me captive.
Honk! Honk!
"Huh??!!!"
You shouldn't walk while staring at your phone. Otherwise you might end up like me, struck and killed by a passing vehicle.
"What..? I'm not actually dead..?"
The world I woke up in was called [Terra]. It wasn't a bad place—if you ignore the 100 percent fatal [Oripathy], the ancient gods, the monsters called [Haesa] swarming the seas, and the [Demons] prowling the north.
The country I found myself in was [Danguk]—a nation that had existed only in my daydreams until now.
"Hey, runt! You got nothing on you?"
"Nothing... I swear, I don't have anything..."
I was in a back alley beyond the reach of the law, stranded there as a child.
This was a world where power and connections were everything. If you lacked both, you'd be picked apart without a second thought. And if you had even a shred of strength, you'd prey on someone weaker to curry favor with a gang or blow your gains on women to escape reality.
"So today you resist?"
"Y-You fucking bastards!!"
"Huh? What the..? You crazy kid?!!"
I was around seven years old. I committed my first killing—an impulsive one. I drove my blade through the heads of the two thugs who'd been tormenting me.
"That brat put a hole in my son's head?"
"Y-yes, that's right, boss."
"Damnit, do I have to get involved over a puny kid?"
In these back alleys, scum who can't defend themselves latch onto stronger scum. I guess these two were exactly that.
"Ugh? Look at this little fucker over here!"
Whether it was unlucky or lucky, it turned out I had a knack for fighting. Especially with a blade in my hand.
And moments ago, I'd lost to that man. My condition wasn't perfect, but even at my best I would have lost. The gulf in skill was so stark I felt it sear my skin.
"Ugh... my head..."
"You're awake. Good. If you'd died, we'd have to dig a grave down to the bedrock—quite a hassle, so I'm relieved."
That man was—yes, the dark-haired one who killed the tattooed thug. A fellow [Liberi], perhaps? He wasn't the one wearing the conical hat earlier.
"If you intend to fight, I won't stop you—but I would advise against it."
"...Where am I? And who are you people?"
Who on earth were they? Tattooed thugs I'd never seen around here… [Black Cloud Society], they called themselves. And these guys here—what were they?
"Neglecting to introduce ourselves might be considered a serious affront. Allow me: I am Lee Sang of the [Sword Sect]. That is my name."
"…Is that all?"
"Hrm. That's all."
These guys were definitely unhinged.
"And we are the [Sword Sect]. We're currently in opposition to the [Black Cloud Society] you saw earlier."
"[Black Cloud Society]… the guys from the Far East?"
"Indeed. Further details you can get from the boss. Now, get up. The sun is high in the sky."
By my bedside lay garments dyed in deep blue, white, and red—finished with colorwork matching Lee Sang's own attire.
"What are you doing? Do you not know how to put on clothes?"
"Isn't it just a matter of slipping it on?"
I've never actually worn hanbok before. I saw how to wear it once in a middle school home economics class, but I sure as hell couldn't remember every step. Hell, I've been fending for myself in these alleys for six years. I remember how to survive—nothing more.
"Hmm… very well. First, put on the white layer underneath, then on top—"
"It's supposed to flap like this, right?"
"It seems this one's a bit too large for your frame. We don't have a smaller one at the moment, so bear with it. You're still growing, after all."
Huh… if this drags on the ground, it'll be hard to run and I'd only alert enemies with all the noise.
Rustle
"Enough. Let's go."
"One does not simply cut garments like that."
"But it's uncomfortable. Didn't we need to get moving sooner?"
"Quite right. Let us depart. It would be rude to keep the boss waiting too long."
We entered an annex of a Korean-style house. In a room resembling a reception hall, a man wearing a gat instead of a straw hat sat alone, playing go. His body was marred with blade scars—some layered so thickly over old wounds it was impossible to count how many fights he'd survived.
"You're here."
The [Ursus] native slid the go board aside, having apparently finished his game, and met my gaze.
"So… boss? Captain? What should I call you?"
"Meursault. That will suffice."
"Got it, Meujang."
"Didn't I tell you to call me Meursault?"
"Meursault plus 'captain.' So, Meujang."
"…All right. So what is your name?"
Name? I don't really have one…
"You don't have one? Because you're an orphan and nobody named you?"
"Hmm…"
From behind the door came a rattling sound, and then—
Crash!
"…Faust has nothing to do with this."
"How pitiful to have no name!! I shall bestow upon you a splendid one! Let's see… how about… Chosami!"
"That's an insult, [Don Sahaeng]…"
What are those three idiots…
"Enough, all of you. A name, huh. White and black… then Baekhyun. I shall call you Baekhyun."
"Fine. But where is this? The [Sword Sect]? What's that about?"
This wasn't the back alley I'd known. The area was open: a wide river stretched before us, high mountains ringed behind. I'm no expert in feng shui, but I could tell this was a geomantically prime spot.
"This is the [Sword Sect]'s temporary base—and where you will stay from now on."
"Me? Why?"
Why the hell was I conscripted into a bunch of sword-wielders where normal people don't even show up?
"Before that, Lee Sang, do you see any signs of Oripathy on Baekhyun?"
"I saw no external traces of [Originium] infection."
"Infection? If you mean Oripathy, I wasn't infected. Consider myself lucky."
I knew just how perilous Originium could be and was careful, sure. But most kids my age got infected on the job—delivering Originium—ending up as walking patient zeros.
Adults fared worse: turning up literally as meat shields at the bottom of the hierarchy, dragged into shady alley experiments, or subjected to every imaginable indignity and assault.
"I see. In any case, this used to be our [Sword Sect]'s territory."
"I'm guessing it's not anymore?"
"The [Black Cloud Society]—a group headquartered in the Far East—has been showing up in Danguk bit by bit, and recently they've been gearing up for full-scale operations."
So those bastards have been swarming around lately.
"That I understand. But why bring me here?"
"Naturally, to prevent a budding prodigy like you from falling into the [Black Cloud Society]'s hands."
"At the same time… you intend to use me as a blade of yours?"
"Smart for a child. Yes. We intend to recruit you into the [Sword Sect]."
"And if I refuse?"
"You will not be allowed to leave."
Damn. There really is only one choice.
"It's the first time I've lost a blade fight in these alleys. Listen, Meujang: if I'm under you, will I get better with a sword?"
"I cannot promise that. It depends on your own potential."
"…Fine. I'll do it—this Sword Sect thing."
Survival of the fittest. The strong decide whether the weak live or die. I'm the weak, and these people are the strong. If they offer me a chance to live—and to grow stronger—I'll take it.
"Good. You will learn the blade under Lee Sang."
"Again me? Somehow we cross paths quite often."
"Then what should I call you now?"
"Call me Lee Sang. It doesn't suit your personality to elevate someone with an honorific."
"Woo-hoo!! With the family growing, how about a feast for old times' sake? Ah, Sinclair! You greet him too! Haven't you made a friend now?"
"Huh?! Ah! That's?! Um…my name is [Sinclair]… yes. Pleased to meet you…?"
"Mm… yes. Baekhyun—he's, as you can see, [Liberi]."
"We can't afford a feast with our current finances, Don Quixote. Still, we can try."
"Quiet, you brats. Training starts tomorrow. Don't expect any slack."
"It's getting noisy. Everyone, disperse. Baekhyun, follow Lee Sang."
"Yeah. Bye, Meujang."
"Right. You leave first, Meujang."
"It's Meursault."
"Meujang, you say?! Have you grown close enough to already use a nickname?!! I'm envious, Lord Meursault!!!"
Seems this place is even more hectic than I thought.