Chapter 9: Punk City And The Human Boy (4)

Jimmy's possession incident passed,

and daily life returned to the Orphanage.

Amon and Sonia acted as the older brother and sister, taking care of the younger children as they all waited for Christmas.

They had already forgotten about receiving gifts for Black Friday, and now anticipated what presents would be placed at their bedsides.

Except for Jimmy, who for some reason now had seizures whenever he saw a Bible, it was a truly peaceful scene at the Orphanage.

Amidst this peaceful daily life, Amon and Sonia headed to the now-familiar Swordsmanship Dojo.

Half a month had passed since they started lessons at the Instructor's suggestion.

They were already fully recognized as students of the Dojo.

Of course, it wasn't without its bumps.

Some students were jealous that the orphans received lessons for free, directly from the Instructor.

But as with any duel-based martial arts Dojo, complaints were mostly resolved in the ring.

After being beaten to a pulp by Amon and Sonia, they had no choice but to acknowledge them.

Before they knew it, they had become the Dojo's talented and adorable youngest members.

It took the youngest members an hour to reach the Dojo from the Orphanage.

““Hello.””

“Oh? You’re here. Go change your clothes.”

That day, Swordsmanship class began as usual.

According to the Instructor on the first day, the training Amon and Sonia needed was different.

The Instructor's analysis showed that Sonia relied too much on instinct and Agility.

This was a common phenomenon seen in instinctual geniuses, and it could be supplemented with Psychological Warfare and foundational training.

Compared to that, Amon was clearly strange, even in the Instructor's eyes.

“How come your techniques are so… patchy?”

He had some techniques, but lacked the foundational skills for them, and suddenly, completely unrelated styles would pop out.

To describe Amon’s Swordsmanship, it was like he had ripped out the best-looking parts from each style and stitched them together without any harmony.

In other words, he had learned various Swordsmanship techniques from SNS and books, and he was perfectly executing them.

On top of that, he had partially internalized counter-strategies for each style, so it was hard to say what to do with him.

To put it another way, his techniques were patched together like a rag.

Ordinary instructors would call these bad habits and erase them all, instilling their own style of swordsmanship.

But this Instructor was different.

He saw this as Amon's individuality and strength, and didn't bother correcting it.

“The reason you’re a patchwork is because you haven’t learned swordsmanship systematically. If I teach you systematically, wouldn’t that make you an all-rounder?”

Accordingly, Amon’s training consisted of him demonstrating a Swordsmanship style, and then the Instructor would teach him all the forms of that style systematically, memorizing them.

He also taught Amon variations of basic techniques through sparring to increase his ability to improvise.

The Instructor's method was quite satisfactory to Amon.

‘I thought he’d force a specific style on me.’

The Instructor had studied various styles while studying abroad in Japan and had even won competitions in China.

So, Amon naturally thought he would be forced to learn a specific style, but that wasn't the case at all.

Rather, when Amon brought up the topic of styles, the Instructor reacted with disgust, saying,

“What? Styles? That kills your individuality. I’ll never teach that.”

He didn't teach styles; he discouraged them.

Saying that styles that didn't suit a genius were poison, the Instructor didn’t teach them standardized Swordsmanship.

This was because of his educational philosophy.

- [Flaws should be fixed. Weaknesses are things you inevitably have to carry.]

According to his philosophy, weaknesses were unavoidable side effects that came with strengths.

It was best if they could be supplemented, but one shouldn't try to forcibly fix them and ruin the strengths in the process.

‘You can’t do everything alone in this world anyway. A swordsman should be content with their own capacity and entrust their weaknesses to their comrades. If you try to cover all your weaknesses, you’ll become a jack of all trades, master of none.’

He preferred maximizing strengths overwhelmingly rather than compensating for weaknesses.

His educational philosophy meshed perfectly with Amon’s playstyle.

As a result, Amon truly trusted and followed the Instructor.

The Instructor also gave everything he had, seeing Amon grow day by day.

One who wanted to nurture, and one who wanted to grow.

The synergy between these two was tremendous.

“Winner! Amon!”

Amon’s sword stopped in front of the Assistant Instructor’s vital point.

This was an achievement made just one month after picking up a sword.

It was a purely technical sparring match where high-lethality techniques and physical enhancements were prohibited.

He still couldn't win against many opponents in unregulated Swordsmanship sparring that included enhancement Procedures and physical abilities, but when it came to pure technique, the only one Amon couldn't beat in this Dojo was the Instructor.

This remarkable achievement was made in just one month.

At this point, even Amon had to admit it.

He had a Talent for Swordsmanship.

Only then did he add a checkmark to the Swordsmanship section of his Talent list and checked his Skill Tree once again.

Sword and Disguise.

It was clearly a Skill Tree specialized for assassination.

While he was nodding his head, solidifying his career path, someone approached him from behind.

“Congratulations!”

Sonia hugged him from behind.

Amon almost stumbled forward, but managed to catch himself with his reflexes and supported her weight.

He tapped twice on the arm wrapped around his neck, and Sonia’s arm slid off.

Amon spoke with a wry smile.

“I’m really sweaty.”

“It’s okay. I’m sweaty too.”

Wasn't that hardly an answer?

Amon almost retorted, but as the more mature one, he accepted her nonsense without complaint.

Eventually, the two washed off their sweat in the Dojo's Shower Room and left.

On their way back to the Orphanage, as always.

The city was bustling with the approaching Christmas.

It was a situation where they could easily get swept away by the crowd and separated.

Since they were teenagers, they could find their way back to the Orphanage, but it was safer for them to stay together to prevent any unfortunate accidents.

Amon and Sonia’s hands intertwined naturally.

Looking at the crowd, Sonia exclaimed in admiration.

“There are so many people.”

“Don’t let go of my hand and stay close.”

“Okay...”

At Amon’s words, Sonia became slightly shy and clung to him.

They made their way through the crowd, heading towards the bus stop.

The way to the bus stop was so familiar that they didn't get lost, even amidst the large crowd.

But when they were only one corner away from the bus stop, something unexpected happened.

“Linia!!! Liniaaa!!!! Daddy’s sorry!”

A loud man’s voice came from the bus stop, around the corner.

Most people looked towards the source of the voice with puzzled expressions.

But not Amon.

From his multiple playthroughs of Punk City, he knew that a person shouting in the middle of the street always triggered a random event.

Ninety-nine percent of those random events weren’t very good.

‘Uh oh!’

Feeling a chill, Amon pulled Sonia into the corner and took cover.

Sure enough, gunfire erupted from around the corner where the shouting had come from.

Rat-a-tat-tat!

Screams!

A chaotic scene unfolded, filled with a mix of people’s screams, cries, and death throes.

Amon grasped the situation with almost reflexive speed.

‘Crazy.’

The word carried multiple meanings.

The gunman, this situation, and this world.

Everything was crazy.

Amon knew the word that defined such a madman and the cause, but this wasn't the time to think about that.

While the people around them hadn't yet grasped the situation on the other side of the corner, Amon grabbed Sonia's hand and pulled her along.

‘I remember them saying it would be a White Christmas this year.’

From Amon’s perspective, at least this street corner would be a Red Christmas.

He didn't go far, but immediately ran into a clothing store next to them.

Sonia was pulled along by Amon's hand and dragged into the store.

“Excuse me, sir!”

An elderly gentleman greeted them.

Judging by his facial features, he seemed to be of East Asian descent.

If the situation had been different, Amon would have asked, “Do you know kimchi?” but he had no time.

The old man seemed unaware of the situation, perhaps due to poor hearing or his age.

Amon quickly explained the situation to the old man and took refuge inside the store with him.

To avoid the possibility of being hit by stray bullets or ricochets, instead of staying in the store, they headed to the attic, located further inside the building.

While heading inside with the store owner, Amon asked the old man,

“Is there a back door or something?”

“I’m sorry. The landlord made an extension with a container at the back door.”

“Seriously?”

Amon couldn’t help but click his tongue at the landlord's disregard for building codes.

Going back outside now, when the shooting spree was in full swing, was insane.

The three of them had no choice but to hide in the attic, which served as a fabric storage room.

Surrounded by countless fabrics and clothes, Sonia voiced her question to Amon.

“Wouldn’t it be better to run away?”

“No. This is the best option right now.”

Running away in that crowd was a huge gamble.

There was a significant chance of being trampled to death, and their movement speed wouldn't be that fast.

And the crazed gunman wouldn't discriminate.

He would probably wipe out everyone near the bus stop and then start mowing down the people a corner away.

And Amon and Sonia would likely be among the victims.

Amon didn't bother explaining this in detail to Sonia.

He simply wrapped his arms around her head, pulled her into a hug, and reassured her.

The store owner, watching the two, cleared his throat awkwardly and averted his gaze.

And he muttered in a barely audible voice,

“Young love…”

***

Meanwhile, a few seconds after Amon escaped into the store.

People started running away frantically.

The chaotic escape of so many people inevitably led to accidents.

A hellish scene unfolded.

Corpses were strewn everywhere.

It was impossible to tell whether the deaths were caused by trampling, gunshots, or traffic accidents.

As Amon had predicted, most of the people who ran openly were killed.

Most of the people within a block of the bus stop when the shooting began were dead, and half of those who were about a corner away were also dead.

Even those who were far enough away to be out of reach of the madman’s gun died for various reasons.

But that didn't mean Amon's method was the correct answer.

Even if they took refuge in a nearby building, those who were late to act or chose a poor hiding spot became silent corpses.

Amon's method was simply the option with a higher survival rate, not the definite answer.

The correct answer in this situation was one:

Not encountering such a madman in the first place.

“Linia... why did you buy pizza but won’t eat it!!”

The culprit who created this carnage wailed mournfully.

He was an impressive man with shaggy fur reminiscent of a Gorilla and a hulking physique.

It was unclear whether he was a Beastkin or had undergone Gorilla-related Procedures.

However, at least one thing was certain: he had undergone a lot of Cyberware and Magecraft Procedures.

The mechanical parts and Magic Tattoos, which seemed more numerous than his flesh, testified to this.

The crazed Gorilla fired the Machine Gun connected to his right hand, shedding artificial vitreous humor that resembled tears of blood.

A baby doll was strapped to his back, swaying limply.

The Gorilla would cry madly, and when a “Papa~” sound came from the doll, he would suddenly calm down and start stroking it.

Then he would try to feed the doll pizza, which, of course, the doll wouldn't accept.

And then the rampage would begin again.

The Gorilla's cycle of rage-depression-calm repeated approximately every five minutes.

Meanwhile, the Police, already on high alert due to the Christmas season, arrived at the scene.

They immediately surrounded the Gorilla with police cars and returned fire.

However, true to its appearance, the Gorilla's skin didn't even flinch at the bullets.

With a clear, ringing ting! sound that shouldn’t come from human skin, the bullets bounced off.

The problem was that those bullets were enough to stimulate the Gorilla’s nerves.

“You came to kill Linia! You pig cops!”

The Gorilla exploded in rage, his speech slurred and saliva spraying.

His target shifted from innocent civilians to the Police.

Rat-a-tat-tat!

A Machine Gun, not available in the regular civilian market, spewed fire.

Several police cars were torn apart like paper, and the officers taking cover were struck by bullets and collapsed.

The officers lucky enough to benefit from the combined synergy of police cars and bulletproof vests got up.

But those directly hit by bullets without cover, those hit in areas not protected by vests, or those whose vital points were hit by ricocheting bullets never got up again.

“Damn it! That’s a military-grade Machine Gun! Where did he get that!!”

One officer shouted.

But no one there could answer.

The Police’s meager Pistols and rifles couldn’t even scratch the Gorilla’s skin, and the officers were helplessly swept away like extras in a movie.

“Fuck! Special Forces, when are they arriving?!”

“They’re on their wa-”

Splat!

The head of the officer who was answering exploded.

“Fuck!”

There was nothing else the fellow officer could say.

He wanted to run.

But this world wasn't kind to cops who ran away.

Dishonorable discharge was the minimum, and he and his family would be ridiculed on SNS for the rest of their lives.

It was better to die honorably here, as his family would receive national veteran benefits and exemptions.

The young officer, who had only worn his police badge for a month, cursed as he fired his gun from cover.

Since it was meaningless whether it hit or not, he just held out his gun without aiming.

However, that choice wasn't very wise.

Indiscriminate firing in a situation where they were forming a perimeter could lead to friendly fire and could also hit unintended targets.

Yes.

For example, the head of the doll strapped to the Gorilla’s back.

Splat!

The doll shattered into pieces.

At the same time, the Gorilla’s rampage stopped.

Sudden silence fell upon the scene.

A police officer muttered,

“Is it over?”

Whether it was because of those words or whether it was fate, one thing was certain: the Gorilla’s state was strange.

He started bleeding tears of blood.

The red liquid flowing from his eyes was no longer artificial vitreous humor, but real blood.

And as the baby, which should have been strapped to his back, disappeared, his back opened, revealing launchers, a Plasma Cutter, and other weapons.

Waving the three pairs of arms that sprouted from his back, the Gorilla beat his chest.

“$#^&%@#!!!!”

Watching the scene, a police officer muttered softly,

“Fuuuuuuck.”

Phase 2 had begun.