GB 113

Yoon Moo-hwa gathered people who were former military personnel but had been discharged and now worked primarily as mercenaries.

Neutral countries, large fishing boat owners, and medium to short-distance merchant vessels often hired mercenaries. Since mobilizing the military for personal reasons was unthinkable, Yoon Moo-hwa had submitted his “resignation letter” and hired mercenaries with his own money.

Yoon Moo-hwa frowned at the clothes handed to him by the mercenary Hozerdog, with whom he’d worked on operations before, and remarked, “These are recently updated specifications. How did you get them?”

They were nearly identical to Special Task Force uniforms, with subtly changed pocket positions and standard equipment—all the latest models.

Hozerdog pretended not to know. “I’m not a soldier anymore. Don’t interrogate me. And aren’t we the kind of people obsessed with the latest gear?”

“Did you get them from the black market?”

“Before questioning that, shouldn’t we first figure out how they already got released to the black market?”

But Yoon Moo-hwa was, in some ways, still a civil servant. “Auditing isn’t my job.”

“You crazy bastard, I knew you’d say that.” Hozerdog snorted, checking each personal item as he asked, “But shouldn’t you not be engaging in personal activities like this?”

“I applied for discharge. I’m not a soldier anymore either.” 

There was the prerequisite of “if the procedure is being properly processed,” but Yoon Moo-hwa kept that to himself. The other party probably knew roughly anyway.

“Will that be approved?”

Yoon Moo-hwa replied while loading each personal weapon and adjusting the sights, “If not. What are they going to do about it?”

The weapons were all new and unfamiliar to his hands, but that wasn’t important. One should know how to use even a wooden stick as a weapon if suddenly handed one.

Yoon Moo-hwa wrapped a bandage across his face to cover his left eye and placed an eye patch over it. Despite loading up on painkillers, the headache persisted. Having gouged out his own eyeball, it was uncertain whether re-surgery would be possible later, but he didn’t care at all.

“I won’t ask who sent you since we don’t have time.”

He’d been acutely aware of the presence pursuing him. Even with his severe headache and excessive sensory input, he could still distinguish movements that threatened his life.

And from the beginning, he was certain that if they were bold enough to provoke him by disguising themselves as a street vendor, they would have planted several more people. While this was a base, the overlap of public authority created delays in the joint operations command—the perfect opportunity for them.

Yoon Moo-hwa was straddling the one who appeared to be the leader—the most agile and experienced-looking among them—having subdued him while leaving two others collapsed and foaming at the mouth.

“Were you ordered to kill me and bring me back?”

“Urgh…!”

Even though he didn’t give time to answer, Yoon Moo-hwa pulled the leader’s arm, applying force until the shoulder was about to dislocate. This was just venting his anger.

No, it was definitely venting his anger.

He was so furious that he needed to take it out somewhere. One person wasn’t enough.

“Dead or alive?”

“A-alive! Preferably alive!”

“That’s the same as ‘dead or alive.’ Why are you being so verbose?”

“Aaaagh!”

Finally, with a chilling scream, the shoulder bone cleanly dislocated. He planned to reset it himself later. After all, he needed to use this man as his carrier pigeon.

Now Yoon Moo-hwa targeted the fingers.

“I haven’t touched one arm yet, and just here, how many more joints can I dislocate? Count them.”

The leader panicked and shouted frantically in a language Yoon Moo-hwa couldn’t understand.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, but I guess you’re cursing at me?”

Calmly, he pulled out the hood string from the jacket he was wearing. Then he tied the leader’s thumbs together, followed by binding his elbows for secondary restraint.

“Be careful. Apply force carelessly and the bones will dislocate.”

After this brief warning, Yoon Moo-hwa searched the assailant’s waist. Predictably, there was a weapon inside his top. And in his pocket was a palm-sized miniature version of strong alcohol that was practically pure ethanol unless mixed with something. Good fortune. How convenient that everything was exactly as he needed. 

‘Lucky indeed. Fuck, luck only works for such useless things.’

Cursing inwardly, he twirled the knife in his hand, then opened the bottle cap with his teeth and poured the alcohol over the blade. Then he rummaged through the pockets, chewed a strong painkiller, and attached a fast-acting anesthetic patch near his eye.

“If you go back empty-handed, you’ll die. I’m neither kind nor a civilian, but how can I kill someone outside of combat?” Yoon Moo-hwa was being hypocritical, “So take this and report that you severely injured Yoon Moo-hwa while confronting him. Don’t add anything about whether I’m alive or dead, just say you’re bringing me to the base soon.”

“As if they’ll believe that!” The leader shouted in a somewhat clumsy common language. 

Yoon Moo-hwa slowly cut the leader’s cheek and neck with the back of the knife. 

Realizing this was a lethal combat technique taught in special forces, the leader froze stiff. His body was covered in goosebumps.

Very slowly he traced his own body, but every place his hand touched was a vital point. Just as one needs to know all the right answers to get a zero, knowing vital points means knowing how to torment someone for life without killing them.

“I could make you beg on your knees within a day, pleading to be ordered around, promising to do anything commanded.”

The most terrifying part was that Yoon Moo-hwa performed all these words and actions as if thoroughly bored.

While pinning down the leader’s body with his knee, he lifted his eye patch upward.

It feels like it’s been so long that he almost forgot how to remove his own eye patch. Until now, Haero had removed it for him. Though it was only a short period of about three months, it had become so natural and normal that he felt Haero’s absence even more keenly.

Rather than loneliness, he felt anger. That’s why Yoon Moo-hwa’s actions were all the more uninhibited. He grabbed his eyelid, twirled the knife again, and brought its tip toward his eye.

The leader of the assailants, having no idea what was happening behind him, was trembling and just about to wet himself. With his eyes closed, unable to even scream, he was groaning when suddenly a liquid that felt both lukewarm and hot splattered onto the nape of his neck.

“Ah, ah, ah! Aaaagh! Ugh, huh!”

As he tried to scream, his mouth was covered. The hand covering his mouth was extremely wet. And it was trembling slightly.

It was the involuntary trembling of a hand in unavoidable pain. Yet Yoon Moo-hwa himself was so composed it was hard to believe he had willingly committed such a horrific act.

He rummaged through his pocket, took out a handkerchief, held it with his teeth and tore it lengthwise. He wrapped it tightly around his eye, then lowered the eye patch to cover it again.

“Take this.”

He showed his artificial eyeball clearly to the assailant. At first, the man grimaced, thinking it was a real eyeball, then felt even more disgusted by its unnatural gleam.

He had seen plenty of instances where others’ bodies were mutilated, but only truly insane people would damage their own bodies so ruthlessly. The assailant was utterly appalled. The rumors about Yoon Moo-hwa being the epitome of rationality must have been navy propaganda. A fabricated facade.

“I’ll put it in your pocket.” Yoon Moo-hwa placed his eyeball in the assailant’s pants pocket. The action was excessively polite, making it all the more eerie.

Yoon Moo-hwa, of course, knew how this eyeball would be used.

That leader was ex-military. Given the nature of such organizations, he would certainly be filled with pride, yet he had been crushed twice. Moreover, the second time was like being blindsided by a child, so he would likely go berserk without even considering his own mistakes.

There was no way he would treat Haero as a prisoner in accordance with international treaties while using him as bait. The man would try to exact revenge on Haero somehow. He would definitely use this artificial eyeball to corner Haero psychologically.

But Yoon Moo-hwa believed Haero wouldn’t fall for it. Because Haero was very clever, a smart kid who would figure out the hidden meaning. More than just not falling for the opponent’s lies and believing in his survival.

Yoon Moo-hwa untied the sailor’s knot-style restraint from the man’s hands and grasped his elbow and shoulder front to set the dislocated bone. With a cracking sound, the man stiffened with pain and then curled up.

“Get up.” Yoon Moo-hwa didn’t wait and forced the assailant to stand.

He also forcibly woke up the men who were foaming at the mouth. They hadn’t regained enough consciousness to think clearly, which was perfect. Yoon Moo-hwa went with them because he didn’t trust them. The group of assailants thought they would have to fight their contacts if this man came along, and wondered what kind of courage he had with only a stolen knife as a weapon. Quickly forgetting their recent humiliation, they exchanged glances and silent communication.

Regardless of what they were doing, Yoon Moo-hwa collected a hat, coat, and blanket from people sleeping rough as he passed by. He slipped them some bills in exchange, so it wasn’t theft.

Wrapped in clothes that reeked of money and filth, he arrived at the rendezvous point, picked up a cigarette from the ground, put it in his mouth, and nodded. It meant “hurry up and go.”

It was absurd, but they had no choice but to comply. Even dressed in a beggar’s clothes with a hat pulled low, they now knew who Yoon Moo-hwa was. Especially the leader, for whom Yoon Moo-hwa’s actions remained a vivid nightmare. The pocket containing the artificial eyeball felt unbearably heavy.

Yoon Moo-hwa wore a resentful expression before finally assuming the face of a defeated man, watching them approach the contact and exchange words. Crouched next to a street lamp with a nearly finished cigarette in his mouth, he attracted no suspicion whatsoever.

Shortly after, he confirmed several speedboats and yachts departing. After calculating the maximum number of people each vessel could carry, he shed the stolen clothes, dropped them on the ground, and contacted the police.

The suspicious intruders were caught by police cars that had been standing by, and Yoon Moo-hwa, who claimed to be an anonymous tipster, returned to his hotel room. He thoroughly washed his body, which reeked so badly his nose nearly fell off. Afterward, he disinfected the eye he had gouged out with his own hands, applied temporary sutures, and made sure it was completely waterproofed before leaving the hotel.

All of these events happened in just one night before he said at the harbor, “These are recently updated specifications. How did you get them.”

He boarded the mercenary’s ship. 

At the tail end of boarding preparations, Hozerdog asked, “So where are we headed?”

His voice was gruff, as if questioning whether Yoon Moo-hwa actually knew the location and had called them out.

Looking at his wristwatch without responding, Yoon Moo-hwa remained silent until the other pressed him, then suddenly raised his head and entered coordinates.

“Here.”

The GPS location began to appear on his watch. As expected, it was a location marked as empty sea on nautical charts updated after the Great Flood.