The Price Of Re-infiltration

July 1, around 1:20 a.m.

It was late—most people would have been asleep. Even the moonlight was smothered by clouds, deepening the darkness. Yet figures moved within that dark.

Given the current state of affairs—with soldiers patrolling and conducting checkpoints—it was unusual for a group of fifty to be on the move. Their destination was an old temple in the city.

It was old enough to be considered a cultural monument, and the temple complex was sizable. But maintenance had been lax, there was no one guarding the entrance, and the group slipped inside with ease.

There were signs that locals came and went from time to time. Soon they reached an elongated sanctuary, and at the far end they found a statue presumed to represent a deity. They took hold of the statue and began to turn it.

It took three men straining together to budge it. As it inched around, a grinding noise rose, and the short flight of steps in front of the statue sank downward. A passage into the underground revealed itself.

They exchanged nods and immediately descended. Once all had gone in, someone inside did something, and the statue returned to its original position, sealing the passage completely.

They proceeded along a narrow corridor, just wide enough to square their shoulders. Because it was pitch-dark, they had no choice but to use the lanterns they’d brought.

Underground, there was no risk of being seen, so they used them freely. The corridor filled with the sound of their marching feet. Fifty men left no quiet behind.

No one knew who had built this secret tunnel. But given how old the temple was, some king long ago had surely commissioned it.

They marched for roughly thirty minutes. The distance between temple and palace was considerable, so even at a brisk pace, it took time. They finally reached a chamber with a bit of space.

Even so, it was only about five pyeong. A fireplace came into view—just as they had been told in advance. They nodded. One man stepped forward and spoke.

“The palace will be on higher alert than before. None of that matters. We head straight to the vault in the basement. We retrieve the item and exfil immediately. Understood?”

It was a simple plan. But there were no alternatives in a situation like this. The man lowered his voice and spoke to the others massed around him.

“Begin.”

At that, they took something from their coats and swallowed it down. Pills, by the look of them. Moments later came stifled groans. Even trained to endure pain, they suffered.

Then their presence changed. Veins writhed under their skin; their bodies seemed to swell as muscles stood out in sharper relief. They had used a drug that enhanced the body.

“Move.”

At his word, he and several others approached the fireplace. One of them grasped an iron bar on the grate and worked a hidden catch. The fireplace—and the floor around it—began to rotate. They crossed over into a silent room.

Realizing the site hadn’t been discovered yet, they signaled the rest to cycle through. After several repetitions, the room filled with all fifty men.

“There’s no one outside—”

He broke off and cocked his head to listen. Footsteps were approaching. All held their breath. Had they been discovered? Even if so—what of it?

They could barely contain the power surging through them. The only reason they didn’t burst out immediately was that their commander hadn’t given the order. Even with their amplified strength, the man who led them—strong and terrifying even without stimulants—held them in check.

Footsteps drew near. Steel rasped; the swordsman drew his blade and murmured.

“So—they’ve already found us.”

“Sir?”

“More than a few are coming.”

He read the presences with his senses. The number converging on their location was increasing. He considered briefly, then decided it didn’t matter.

“We cut through.”

Eyes gleamed all around. Being found so early was unsettling, but they had expected as much. They raised their weapons.

Their guns were neither rifles nor pistols. They carried submachine guns—technology still in development in many nations, proof that their backers were advanced.

With enhanced bodies, their marksmanship had improved as well. They kicked the door open and surged out. With a crash, the door flew inward; in the twin corridors beyond, figures were advancing.

They wore gray coats. Tall, bald, massively muscled—what were those things? The infiltrators leveled their weapons and pulled their triggers.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Muzzle flashes strobed. Bullets stitched the corridor toward the gray coats. Contrary to expectation, they did not fall. They pounded forward, heavy footfalls thundering. Their bulk seemed to fill the corridor by itself.

“Th—the bullets…?”

“What are they?”

They could only stare. The gray coats took the rounds, yet did not bleed. Holes riddled the coats, but no blood seeped through. And they were fast—too fast.

In the next instant one was upon them, a metal-gauntleted fist flashing.

Thud!

The blow caved in a man’s face. Enhanced physique meant nothing if the enemy’s strength surpassed it. The punch came too fast to dodge.

From the opposite corridor another gray coat lunged, kicking.

Crack!

With a brutal impact, a man was flung down the hall and crumpled, twitching once before going still. Someone tried to hose a target with a submachine gun; the gray coat darted aside, seized the shooter by the face, and slammed his head into the floor.

He died instantly.

As panic spread, the swordsman stepped forward. Shraaa— He closed in a blur; a blade wreathed in blue light slashed diagonally. Blood spurted from the gray coat’s body.

A skin that had turned aside bullets had been cut. The swordsman frowned.

‘My aura blade didn’t bite cleanly?’

The enemy had twisted away at the last instant, reducing the cut. Its resistance was formidable. A fist snapped toward him—very fast—yet not beyond his ability to evade.

He twisted and avoided it. Whoosh— The gray coat launched a flurry of punches. The swordsman kept slipping them, counter-slashing, but the foe now anticipated the blade and ducked away. What kind of monster was this?

The reaction speed and movement rivaled an Expert’s.

No wonder the first team died.

With creatures like this infesting the palace, failure had been inevitable. Worse—there were two of them. That alone made victory unlikely.

‘And… they’re not using mana at all?’

He had sensed no strength earlier because there was no mana to sense. These were enhanced humans made by some other method. A bad sign.

Hm?

More gray coats appeared at the far end of the corridor. Damn it—how many? He counted three more there—and that was only on one side.

Behind them, palace guards were also pouring in. With three gray coats charging, this would not be easy. Behind him, his men were being shredded by another of the things.

Even bursts from submachine guns were dodged—or simply didn’t work. When some tried to stab with daggers, the gray coats slipped aside and snapped necks or pulped skulls with their fists.

‘All I can do is go all out.’

Retreat was no longer an option. He drew a deep breath and roused his mana from the mana hall. Power flooded his body, strengthening it further.

‘Trust my mana.’

He shot forward; the aura-wreathed blade carved into his current opponent’s arm.

Slash— Blood sprayed. Half the forearm flew off.

He grinned—only to see the gray coat rush him as if unfazed. Pain seemed meaningless. As he tried to slip aside, three more gray coats closed in, metal-gauntleted fists raining down.

Bam-bam-bam! Papapap!

They tangled, trading blows in a blur. Even so, the swordsman’s aura blade wove through every strike. At that inhuman speed, all of them were beyond ordinary men.

‘Damn it—more coming?’

Out of the corner of his eye he saw identical gray coats approaching from the other side. How many were there? The palace was proving far more dangerous than he had imagined.

‘Cold truth: I can’t win against this many.’

Two or three—given time—he could defeat. Beyond that, even with aura, it was grim. The cut he had landed had burned a great deal of mana; the bone had felt harder than steel.

If he tried to cut them all down, his mana hall would run dry.

And who knew how many more there were? This place warranted a special-threat designation; even imperial palaces might not be worse than this.

‘Maybe it’s worse. I have to get word out. If not, the organization will just bleed out men here.’

Coming in blind had cost them dearly. He had to escape. The vault was out of the question. If the enemy knew the secret passages, exfiltration through them would be impossible.

‘Then the front gate it is.’

He decided in an instant. Any longer and escape would be impossible. He hurled himself toward a side window.

Crash! Glass shattered as he dove through. This was the third floor—a fair drop in a palace with high ceilings.

Even so, he landed lightly and broke into a run. He glanced back at the broken window. They were merely watching—not pursuing.

Giving up?

The thought felt ominous. Would they give up so easily? Or was there some reason he couldn’t leave the palace grounds?

Soldiers stood at the main gate—heavily armed. Four armored vehicles—tanks, by the look of them—were posted there as well.

Keep low and move fast.

He sprinted. A low rumble rolled across the sky. The clouds had grown much darker.

A blinding flash—and lightning slammed into the ground.

It struck him.

The bolt fell too fast to react to, drilling straight through his body.

“Graaah—!”

Arcs spat from him; his hair stood on end and his clothes caught fire. His mask burned away. Miraculously, he didn’t die—he had shielded his body with mana.

Thump.

Even so, enduring a lightning strike was beyond flesh and blood. He collapsed. Above, the thunderheads slowly thinned and drifted apart. Moonlight returned, bathing the palace in cold silver.