Rust - Chapter 55



Only Krnovel

RUST -55

Kwajik- Ting!

I said the blade was shaking, and as expected, it broke while cutting.

Pak-

He threw away the broken sword and took out his treasured Bowie knife, which had guided a person who had been tired of life to eternal rest.

A thick blade with a heavy feel. It felt like it could be used to roughly chop firewood. It felt different from a Japanese sword, a rose knife, or sashimi? Something about it made me want to try cutting and striking with the knife. Should I say that I felt a sense of pride just by holding it? Maru swallowed. For some reason, he swallowed a lot of saliva. Was it because he was wearing a bulletproof mask covering his face?

Ha- It felt exciting. Back when I was working at the shop, I used to feel good when I sharpened my knife. Even without sharpening the knife, just looking at it made me feel a little better. Above all, it was my first time using a Bowie knife. It felt different from a military bayonet.

Yeah. What should I call this?

It felt like when a hunter in the Rockies, after a day’s hunting, peacefully butchers a deer, takes out his well-worn Bowie knife, slashes the flesh away, then carelessly splits the remaining meat and bones into pieces and places them in a rough pot, then uses the knife to chop a branch to make firewood, then lights a fire and roughly wipes the blade with a rag.

You feel peaceful, fulfilled, your worries disappear, and you, who see my sword, fall into eternal sleep-

While Maru was briefly letting his imagination run wild in the smoke with the title ‘The Sword and I’, the sound of a helicopter came closer and closer. Doo doo doo doo! It seemed like it would be cool if you added the word ‘dung’ to the end of the sound.

The smoke grenade did not leave the ground, as if it was stuck here and there even in the wind from the helicopter propeller. A rope came down from the helicopter and the rappel descent began.

After exclaiming “Oh-”, Maru turned his attention away from the Bowie knife and focused on it. He swung the knife around in different ways to check how the center of gravity changed depending on the grip and the amount of force applied.

Hmm- As expected, it feels good in my hand. It’s a bit short, but it definitely holds power well and feels heavy. I’m waiting for the World members to come out and help me with the durability test, so…

Maru was calmly thinking that if Ki-soon found out, he would get slapped in the ear for nagging her.

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The empty lot where the corpses were piled up in a circle felt strange. Executive Director Choi descended as if to shake off that strange feeling. The smoke from the smoke grenade was sticky. The smoke didn’t completely disappear even with the wind from the helicopter and seemed to cling to the surroundings. It was a terrible smoke grenade.

And the scene that caught Executive Director Choi’s eye. Cut and cut, cut marks. What should we call this? Can we call it war? Can we call it a fight? In Executive Director Choi’s view, these marks were just an open field of a slaughterhouse.

“It’s dirty.”

There is no aesthetics, no worries. There is no technique, no beliefs. Is there even joy in that? That wasn’t it. What on earth is this punk thinking as he cuts with his knife?

Executive Director Choi himself began killing people out of a desire to perfect the path of the sword. The sword is a weapon, and swordsmanship is inevitably a technique for killing people. If you forget its essence, what meaning would swordsmanship have?

So that’s how it started. After getting blood on the sword, I was able to improve my swordsmanship, I was able to feel the pleasure of swordsmanship, and I was able to put a little bit of my heart into the sword, and I was proud of that. But what about this kid who left traces everywhere?

Concerns about the sword? The thrill of killing? Or professional swordsmanship?

“What a fool. He’s just a loser.”

‘I have to get this guy’s blood on my sword. What a pitiful person I am.’ As he thought this, Executive Director Choi’s brow furrowed.

It was because of the sense of discomfort. At first glance, it was nothing more than a bad guy wielding a knife. But the appearance of the corpse. That was strange.

The corpse that had its arm cut off while trying to change the magazine had no head. So, in one place, there was an arm, a headless torso, and a head. Cut off the arm and then the head. It’s easy to say, but is it easy? It was practically impossible. People who eat with a knife would nod their heads.

Then why is it impossible? What is the problem? A person with an amputated arm feels pain, trembles in fear, and moves. Reflexively. Isn’t that natural? Who would stay still if their arm was cut off?

When the arm is cut off naturally, the victim has to move at least a few steps, and the head has to be cut off after following that. In this way, the body usually falls in the direction of movement, and the severed head usually rolls in the direction the person was moving.

‘But this.’

The arm was cut off and almost at the same time the neck was cut off. The severed head floated up and fell back to its place.

‘What is this?’

The sense of discomfort grew. It was normal for the muscles to tense and move in pain and fear, such as the cut section of the neck, that is, the cut arm, and so the knife would not be able to go in properly. But this cut section, between the cervical vertebrae, cut precisely and passed through. It was as if the neck had been cut with a razor.

Brrrr, the hand holding the knife started shaking without me knowing it.

What should I call this? Could I learn this kind of knife skills? No. This was the realm of instinct. No matter how hard I tried, the realm of talent was always difficult to reach. And it was a kind of art.

If swordsmanship is an art that is perfected with the body, then the traces that are spread here now are traces of something that has yet to bloom, using the sword as a brush to draw a picture.

The serious face of Executive Director Choi was distorted into a frightening one. So, before it gets any bigger, I’ll kill it. Whoever it is, which side it is, whatever the circumstances are… I didn’t want to put another one on top of its head.

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The information team leader, or the information officer, raised his hand at the sound of the helicopter. If the helicopter had openly penetrated the area controlled by Hotel Charlotte, it was definitely a support unit. Wherever it came from, what did it matter? The support unit somehow knew and rappelled to the key point.

The enemies also knew that we were reinforcements and focused their fire on us, but even with such concentrated fire from meager .38 caliber revolvers, there wasn’t much damage done.

There were 18 people wearing ice hockey protective gear, and the one wearing a coat over a suit… Oh my, it was Executive Director Choi. He was one of the top three swordsmen in the company, both officially and unofficially. He was the only one among the executives who was evaluated as being able to catch a professional swordsman on the field.

Of course, there are rumors that the back is a bit messy, but there is no talk of it being like that in the front, so in the current situation, it is the best support team.

The enemy’s strategy was simple. They would set off smoke bombs to distract the machine gun fire. They would throw Molotov cocktails where the gunfire was weak or where there was intense gunfire, causing the formation to break down with flames and fire. They would then use the thick smoke as a shield to approach and burn the enemy to death with Molotov cocktails.

In a situation where there are no drones, Apache helicopters, or armored vehicles like the US military, it is hard to find a combination as crazy as smoke bombs and Molotov cocktails. And even radio jamming with Hwa-ryong-jeom-jeong.

But the support unit attacked the enemies as if they didn’t need any of that. They even used cold weapons, like, ‘Are they going to put away their guns and make soup?’ At first, I was skeptical, but the result was different. It’s not that they didn’t use guns, but they didn’t use them.

The effect of 18+1 was amazing. The .38 caliber bullets that the Charlotte kids were shooting were ignored by the thick special armor. No matter how many times the enemies were swinging iron pipes or rebar, they would just push through and break pots, cut off balls, or simply crush them.

The enemies, who could not stand it, retreated and pushed in the pillheads. Whether they took the medicine or not, they would die the same way if the potion broke and their necks were cut off. As a last card, the enemies threw Molotov cocktails at the pillheads when they were attached to the reinforcements. They burned them together.

That method worked only a few times, but after that, it never worked again. It was because of the sniper shots flying from somewhere. The moment you light a Molotov cocktail, 3~4 sniper shots will be fired in the direction of the flame. Even if 1~2 shots miss, 1~2 will definitely hit the person holding the Molotov cocktail. If a 12.7mm sniper shot hits the arm, the arm will be torn off or cut off. If you are unlucky enough to hit the head, the skull will explode.

With the rush of the firebombs and the firebombs blocked, the enemy began to break the siege and retreat, leaving behind only thick smoke. The information team leader put the pistol he had taken out into his holster. He took off his glasses and wiped the sweat, and his handkerchief became damp.

“Send a signal with the flare, there is a critical patient here.”

It was a great relief that the 119 helicopter arrived. If Director Kim was put on a helicopter and sent to Seoul, the issue of responsibility could definitely be avoided. What if Director Kim survived? It would be a public enemy. When I think of public enemies, I think of the youngest.

The information team leader and Director Kim took the youngest child onto the helicopter.

“You – you punk – many people have survived because of you. The company doesn’t forget its enemies, but it also doesn’t forget to reward its employees who have made achievements. You, you bastard. From now on, you’re a saint. Whether it’s a position or a bonus, you can look forward to it.”

The youngest one slightly bowed his head at the information team leader’s words.

If it were like before, I would have been happy. If it were like before, I would have been hopeful. If it were like before, I would have gone home and bragged to my parents and younger siblings. I got promoted and got a bonus. But now, it was not like before. There was no youngest sibling like before.

The youngest had a strange look in his eyes, unlike his innocent and young face. That was it.

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Whoosh- The large claymore was swung around with a bang, splitting the skull of the drugged-out guy in half. The simple, nonchalant action of striking down like chopping firewood was repeated.

“Tch. Hey- I’m pregnant. This side is open. Let’s go inside.”

“You fucking punk, how many times do I have to tell you I changed my name?”

The giant with the war hammer roared. It was a loud noise befitting his size.

“Why did you change the name that your ancestors gave you? I feel so sorry for you. It’s a great name that you can’t forget once you hear it. It’s a pregnancy.”

“Yeah. It’s been ten years. The communication must have been cut off. The live feed must have been cut off. Let’s count one of the two as being killed by a drug dealer today. Okay?”

The employee who split the skull of the drug dealer who was swinging the Cremoa laughed heartily. He walked to a place where the smoke was lighter. Did the Charlotte kids in Busan run a smoke bomb factory or something? How many smoke bombs did they put out?

“Why are you so upset again? Is it because you have a child?”

“You fucking bitch- hey- over there- the f*ck. Stand right there!”

As the Claymore staff snickered and ran inside, a large, hulking man with a war hammer chased after them. How far did he run?

The guy with the claymore didn’t run away, but just stood there blankly, looking at something. Whether he saw it or not, four weeks of pre-treatment is too weak, let’s blow it up with eight weeks. The moment he was about to swing his war hammer hard, the claymore guy said.

“Hey- over there, do you see that?”

I looked where he was going, as if I was swinging my battle hammer. It was a sight of swindlers literally becoming swindlers. There was a man who was freely using a Bowie knife and a rose-emblazoned sword.

“Isn’t that on our side?”

“Why are you picking a fight again?”

“What are you talking about? I just wanted to see how it tastes. The real thing was right here.”

“Okay, what if that kid is a mercenary we hired or something?”

“What the heck? It helped improve the company’s profitability.”

“Hey, you crazy bastard.”

“Think about it, that kid caught a lot of sins and we just sucked his thumb. How many did you catch? Three?”

“Ah- Okay, let’s just go.”

The giant with the battle hammer objected stubbornly, as if he was reluctant.

“Why not? You get to experience the taste of cooking, it brings profit to the company, and it’s easier to collect performance bonuses later on. Are you really not going to do it?”

“If you say you won’t do it, you’re an idiot.”

“Huh- Well then, you can just go there and look around… Hey, you look like you have a good taste in cooking.”

Claymore slowly approached the man who was producing a knife/sword/tooth with a Bowie knife.

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Hotel World Convention Hall. Meeting Room.

Director Yoo was spinning a Colt Python. The pistol, which was spinning round and round, went into the holster on his waist and then came out freely and spun around.

Whoosh— whirriririk—

Okay-

The Colt Python was pulled out at incredible speed. Director Yu was barely able to calm his nerves.

‘Lee Ki-young, don’t do that.’

If you want to be well-made, don’t cross the last line. Lee Ki-young. Director Yoo thought of Lee Ki-young, whose eyes never died even when he was lynched in a dirty alley. The image of Lee Ki-young, who was lynched by a group of seven people but eventually defeated them with his two fists, flashed through his mind.

[Director Eun-gyu Shim, CEO of Charlotte Group, has arrived. Would you like me to guide you?]

“Let me in.”

The door opened gently, and a middle-aged man with neatly slicked-back hair walked in leisurely and sat down on the sofa.

“Sim Eun-gyu. He’s grown a lot. He’s even become CEO.”

“It feels strange when Director Yoo says something like that.”

“So what do you have to say? You better answer well. I’m barely holding back from wanting to throw all of Charlotte’s heads away right now.”

At Director Yoo’s words, Director Charlotte Sim shrugged her shoulders, took a small case out of her bosom, and placed it on the table. It was about the size of a pack of cigarettes and was made of a sturdy-looking material.

“Director Kim, who went down to Busan this time, said that Director Kim Soo-hyun’s life is in danger.”

“Yeah. Some half-assed bastards somewhere are fighting a civil war, and they’re using the world to their advantage, and they’re even feeding it water.”

Director Yoo’s eyes opened wide. The murderous intent slowly blossomed, and even the cheerful and brave Sim Eun-gyu thought this was not good. He got straight to the point.

“I can save Director Kim Soo-hyun’s life.”

When Director Shim touched the case on the table, it opened with a click! Inside were three ampoules that were strangely transparent but had a reddish tint.