[EN] Episode 0 - Life-or-death interview

As dusk fell and darkness slowly descended in the evening hours.
A man walked briskly toward a restaurant on Pinkersome Street.


He glanced up briefly at the shop sign bearing the peculiar name Crimson Floor, then cleared his throat with a cough before cautiously opening the door and stepping inside.


Located just two blocks from the Mercenary Guild, this place also served as a tavern frequented by mercenaries. It was normally a noisy, rowdy spot where brawls broke out constantly.


But the scene the man witnessed inside was clearly different from the usual.


“Indeed...”


Most seated were burly mercenaries, weapons strapped to their waists and backs.
Yet none of them were shouting at each other or trying to grab each other by the collar.


They were simply staring at their own plates, engrossed in their meals.
Had they been wearing more expensive suits, one might have believed this was a high-end restaurant.


And if you quietly lowered your eyes to look at the floor, the deep crimson wooden floor, true to the signboard, was striking.


This place, originally an ordinary restaurant, had become such a peculiar spot about ten years ago.
It was because a man's legend began in this restaurant.


After the floor, walls, and ceiling were splattered with blood, flesh, and fragments of entrails, the manager, wanting to spare himself the trouble of cleaning up the blood, simply painted the floor a deep crimson to resemble blood.


The man in question, who liked the restaurant's food, continued to visit occasionally.


And whenever the mercenaries caused a disturbance, he would fly into a rage, claiming it disrupted his meal, and just like the day he first visited, he would tear everyone apart alive.


After such incidents occurred not just a few times, but nearly hundreds of times, it was said the mercenaries learned to focus quietly on their meals here, at least.


Though the legendary figure himself is now dead, the mercenaries likely still sense his shadow lingering here.


The man nodded, then began searching for the person he sought.


After some time, he spotted someone sitting in a secluded corner near the restaurant kitchen, waving a hand lightly. He approached and sat across from them.


“Hello.”
“...Hey.”


The man, who looked like he was just past his thirties and seemed out of place sitting in a place like this, even if it was just a formality, immediately opened the menu as soon as he arrived, pointed to what he wanted to eat, and demanded his order.


He was a beggar, wandering the nearby streets, dressed exactly like one.
Of course, knowing his career before he became a beggar, that was why he had come looking for him.


“Understood. Then...”


He raised his hand to call the waiter, placed the order, and handed him the first glass of liquor that arrived.
He downed it in one gulp, let out a grunt, his face flushed slightly, and smiled as if pleased.


“Heh heh heh... So, what exactly did you come to hear from a beggar like me? Just so you know, I don't have any interesting stories.”
“No. You must have something. Definitely...”
“Tsk. If you want neighborhood backstreet gossip, there's nothing special. You know that, right? This place, Pinkssum Street, isn't what it used to be.”


Waving his hand dismissively, he urged the waiter to refill his drink and turned his gaze toward the kitchen.
His attention seemed entirely focused on his meal.
If that was the case, the man who had come to interview him needed to shift his focus.


“...What I want to interview you about isn't who you are now, but who you were back then...”


Clunk.


The beggar's expression twisted as he slammed his glass down.
He scanned the area hastily, then lowered his voice cautiously,


“You crazy bastard…! Do you even know what you're getting yourself into?!”
“Of course I do. That's why….”
“Damn it! Forget it! I refuse to talk about that. No fee, no food! I'm out of here!”


He tried to leave, even flinging down his freshly refilled glass. Desperately, I grabbed him and pulled him back down.
Right now, he was one of the few places I could dig up information about that legendary man.


If he carelessly mentioned that name, within two days, the journalist would be swallowed up by a pack of black-hearted hounds or a swarm of sewer rats, his very existence erased.


“I beg you. Money? I'll pay whatever you ask...”
“You fucking bastard! Ten years! A ten years! You get that?! I've been living like a beggar, watched by that damn organization for...!”


As the beggar's voice rose, the surrounding area grew tense. Mercenaries who had been focused on their meals now watched the two men with uneasy eyes.


The waiter approached cautiously, apologetic in tone,


“S-sir... I'm terribly sorry, but if you're having an argument, I earnestly request you settle it outside and return... Well, this restaurant has always had issues with disturbances inside...”
“...My apologies. This man here was asking me about ‘Kaftin,’ that's all.”


The beggar spoke boldly, uttering a name that should never be spoken aloud, and the mercenaries' expressions froze instantly.


Even the waiter, lips trembling, stared at the man sitting across from the beggar with fearful eyes.


“No, that's...”
“Now that you mention it... this spot, right? This is definitely where his legend began... isn't it? Waiter, sir.”


The moment the beggar's final, decisive words ended, the sound of chairs scraping across the floor echoed in rapid succession.
The mercenaries who had been eating began fleeing the restaurant one after another, each trying to be as discreet as possible.


“Huh... Looks like there's nowhere left to run now.”
“Ugh...”


The man, who hadn't expected things to escalate this far, began to panic, looking around in fear.


But the beggar—the man who had once been Kaftin's subordinate—seemed to have given up on everything. He downed his refilled drink in one gulp, slammed the glass down roughly, and smiled coolly.


“Right, Mr. Reporter. You're prepared to risk your life, I suppose?”
“Wh-What?! You mean I have to risk my life just for some reporting?!”
“You stupid fool. Most of the rumors about him are true! That bastard and his organization never let anyone get away who tries to dig into him.”


Shaking his head as if urging surrender, the beggar chuckled and began to recite, as if prophesying the journalist's impending fate.


“If you're lucky, you'll end up as neatly trimmed meat displayed in some butcher shop... If you're unlucky... well, it's obvious what happens then—you'll be dragged through the sewers, torn apart alive by sewer rats.”
“……!”
“It's too late to run now. Once I've spoken his name... you can't escape. And me, of course... I'll die soon enough.”


Suddenly realizing something, the reporter cautiously forced open his trembling lips to ask.


“Wait, just a moment... An organization that's that sensitive about information leaks... Why didn't they dispose of you when you defected? Why did they let you live?!”
“Kch...! That day, the day I quit... I'll repeat exactly what I heard from that boss... Kaftin. Listen carefully, you rotten reporter who doesn't know the value of his own life.”


Placing a hand over his chest as if to hide his pounding heart, the reporter stood before him.
The beggar, seemingly trying to recreate the expression and tone he'd heard that day, suddenly twisted his expressionless face, narrowing only his eyes into an unnatural smile.


“...‘You’re bait. If you live and walk around exposing anything about me... I’ll have justification to wipe out everyone who heard it, their families, their relatives—every last one. You’re my fishing bait for that. So go. Go live happily.”
“......!”


The bastard who finished the reenactment quickly lost his energy, reverting to his original expression as if disgusted, and shook his head.


"Yeah. For the next ten years… I was under his surveillance. He was really waiting for me to spill the beans about him to someone… Even after the boss died, these bastards didn't stop watching me. “
”……!!“
”And today, at this very place where his legend began... where it all started... after ten long years... only after he was dead did I finally speak."


The outside began to grow noisy.
The faint sounds of dogs barking and birds chirping could be heard.


It was them.
Kaftin's henchmen were swarming in.
And that meant... it also signaled the deaths of two people.


“Fast. So you were watching after all.”
“Already?! Ah, I haven't heard anything... almost nothing except his name?!”
“None of that matters. You've been hooked. Like a fool.”


Amidst the growing turmoil, the waiter hurriedly brought the meal and then dashed back into the kitchen as if fleeing.


Now, inside the restaurant, only the beggar who was once Kaftin's subordinate and the pitiful man, Moglos, who as a journalist had sought to uncover Kaftin's truth, sat facing each other, trembling with fear before their meals.


No, only Moglos was trembling.
The beggar, with an expression of having let go of everything, silently began to eat the meal placed before him, picking at it.
As if it were his last supper.


“Are you eating now!?”
“...You should eat too. Consider it your last meal. Among Kaftin's organization's ironclad rules is that no one touches anyone else during meals, and no one causes a disturbance... At least during the meal, you won't be attacked.”
"......!"


Only then did Moglos grasp the beggar's intent and hastily begin eating as well.


Hearing the sound of tapping on the window, he glanced sideways.
Wherever he looked, flocks of pigeons and sparrows had gathered unnaturally, huddled outside the window, clinging to the frame and tapping their beaks against the glass.


As if urging him to come out and face judgment, in a rhythm that seemed to demand it.


“Hey. Don't make eye contact. They'll just go even crazier.”
“…Ah, yeees!”


Immediately heeding the beggar's scolding, his gaze fixed solely on the food as he concentrated on eating.
Now the sound of dogs barking and birds chirping echoed right beyond the restaurant walls.


Outside, it was likely swarming with a dark, hungry pack of wild dogs and birds.
Just waiting to tear into the two the moment they finished eating and stepped out.


Suddenly, the sound of the restaurant door opening reached him, and someone entered.


The reporter, turning his head absentmindedly at the sound, found himself face to face with a towering white tiger shuriken, dressed in a dobok, who must have been at least two meters tall.


“Hmph…!”
“You idiot! Just shove your head in and eat!”


거지는 황급히 수리검의 머리카락을 움켜잡아 접시에 내리쳤지만, 이미 늦은 듯했다. 수리검은 이미 천천히 그들을 향해 걸어오고 있었다. 


백호 남자는 옆자리에서 의자를 천천히 빼내어 자리에 앉았다. 그리고는 두 남자를 흘끗 쳐다보았다. 


바로 옆에서 으르렁거리는 숨소리가 들리자, 완전히 긴장한 모글로들과는 달리 거지는 식사를 멈추고 지루한 표정으로 백호 남자를 올려다보았다. 


"이봐... 맹설. 식사 중에는 방해하거나 괴롭히면 안 된다는 철칙이 있어. 두목이 죽었다고 갑자기 사라진 건 아니겠지?" 
"......!" 


바로 그거였다. 
그들의 전설적인 지도자 카프틴은 몇 년 전에 죽었다. 
그의 죽음 이후 규칙을 바꿀 수 없다는 법은 없었다. 


"...당연히 규칙은 그대로야. 우리에게 그는 신과 같은 존재니까." 
“다행이군. 우리가 식사 중이니, 밖에 있는 녀석들에게 조용히 하라고 전해 주면 좋겠네.” 


그가 아무렇지 않게 수인에게 자기 거라고 말하는 걸 보니, 과거에는 그들 중 하나였음이 분명했다. 


“죄송합니다. 10년이나 기다린 끝에 드디어 당신 고기를 맛보게 되어서 친구들이 정말 기뻐하고 있습니다.” 
“…음, 음. 꽤 간절히 먹고 싶었나 보군.” 
“그래. 좀 더 살찌워 줬어야 했나 보군. 새들이 먹을 게 없다고 칭얼거리더라.” 
“......” 


입을 꽉 다문 거지를 노려본 수인은 맞은편에 앉아 떨면서 먹고 있는 모글로스에게 시선을 옮겼다. 


“그래서, 이 불쌍한 녀석은 어떻게 당신에게 넘어온 겁니까? 10년 동안 이를 악물고 보스에게 지지 않겠다는 걸 증명하려고 애썼던 거 아닙니까? 이제 와서 왜 이런 일을 하려는 건지 궁금하군.” 
"그래. 내가 이렇게 거지 신세로 살아온 건, 너희 카프틴 일당에 대해선 차마 입에 담을 수도 없었기 때문이야. 하지만 이제 지긋지긋해. 보스도 죽었고, 나도 오래 살았잖아. 솔직히 몇 년 더 살고 싶었는데... 저 앞에 있는 기자 녀석이 캐묻길래 그냥 다 털어놓았어." 백호수인의 


눈빛에 위험한 기운이 스쳤다. 


"그래서... 보스가 죽으니 이제 그 얼간이들이 다시 고개를 드는군, 그렇지?" " 
그럴 만도 하지. 이 거리 범죄율도 올라가는 것 같은데. 너희들이 제대로 관리하고 있는 거 아니겠어?" 
"네가 상관할 바 아니다." 


백호수인이 으르렁거리며 주먹을 꽉 쥐자, 거지는 재빨리 포크를 들어 아직 먹고 있다는 신호를 보내고는 슬그머니 자리를 떠났다. 


"좋아. 어쨌든, 그게 네 마지막 식사가 될 거야. 그때까지 네 이야기를 들어주지." 
"오, 세상에서 가장 무자비한 사람이 자비를 베푼다고? 나이 들어서 마음이 약해졌나 보군."
"크르르...!"
“Ah. Ah. Ah. Just a light joke. Don't get angry.”


He lifted his fork again to leave, but his fist was poised to strike at any moment.


“Consider it your luck the boss is dead. The new one isn't nearly as serious about this business.”
“Indeed. Who's the new boss?”
“None of your damn business.”
“Hmm...”


Mangseol turned his head slightly, looking down at Moglos, who had identified himself as a reporter.


“By the way, what kind of state of mind were you in, trying to dig up information about our founding boss? A sane person wouldn't do something like that under normal circumstances.”


Moglos forced the now tasteless food into his mouth, chewed it reluctantly, swallowed, and managed to reply.


“After his death, stories from the perspective of those he harmed, or from outsiders, have been overflowing to the point of nausea.”
“That's right. Annoyingly so.”
“But... the story of the man who held this street... no, this era in his grasp, the story from the most important perspective of the man himself, was strangely absent.”
"......"


The beggar's expression twisted.
How far does that bastard intend to push this?


Maengseol surely knew it ended the moment the beggar himself spoke his name.
The animals monitoring him would have reported his every move in detail.


Ultimately, the only one certain to die here was the beggar himself.
This Moglos fellow, the reporter he'd hooked, might survive under surveillance if he had luck and a silver tongue.


“So, you were willing to risk your life to get his... our founding boss's perspective?”
“Yes. Well... it seems like a foolish choice after all.”


Mangseol watched him lower his head and wore a mischievous smile.
Disposing of him here would pose no problem.


But perhaps sparing him and watching him struggle... might amuse the spirit of the founding boss.


“Moglos... was it?”
“Ah. Yes!”
“Why is there no account from his perspective... It's because the world rejected it.”
“......?!”
"In other words, even if you risk your life, painstakingly, painfully gathering records and publishing them, they won't appear in the magazine. At worst, your magazine would be shut down. If you compile it into a book, publication will be banned and it will be burned... If you go around talking about it, I guarantee you an assassin sent by some country's government will slit your throat.“
”......!!"


Maengseol shook his head.
He hadn't been one to avoid such thoughts either.


Was their first boss, Kaftin, truly the ultimate villain they said he was—the sort who made even demons wet their pants and run?
If asked that question, those who served him would snort derisively and shake their heads.


He was certainly a madman.
But did that make him the epitome of evil? Watching him, Maengseol learned to his bones that evil and madness were distinctly different things.


“If you insist, I'll tell you what I know.”
“Maengseol...? You...?!”
”Heh. As a bonus, I'll handle the matter concerning you too. Remilton.“
”...Why?"


Damn it, Remilton genuinely felt his hair stand on end.
This organization... The Brash Brigade really was that easy to deal with?
He'd only been part of it for a year and a half, but having experienced it, he knew all too well.


They weren't an organization overly concerned with whether they had a boss or not.
Even without one, aside from a few ironclad rules handed down, they could always run wild as they pleased.


“Why? Because... the boss who toyed with you is already gone.”
“But you said the rules haven't changed? What the hell are you playing at?”
“I'm thinking of offering you a job.”
“...! I refuse!”
“Hoo. Are you really sure about that? You know what refusing this offer means, don't you?”
“Guh...!”


Death didn't scare him.
No, it would be more accurate to say he was waiting for death.
But suddenly being given a chance to live did make him feel strangely restless.


“What exactly do you want me to do?”
“What else? You're a merchant caravan laborer. You'll be hauling cargo all day long.”
“Wh-...?!
”We'll talk about that later. For now..."


Mangseol rose briefly from his seat, flicked his finger, summoned a pigeon glaring at them from the window, and whispered something to it.


Then, as if on cue, the pigeon let out a piercing, screeching cry, sending a signal.
The horde of beasts that had swarmed in like a lie began to slowly retreat.


Resuming his seat, he cleared his throat twice to draw attention before beginning his tale.


The story of that day, ten years ago, when the legend began.


-Prologue END-