An old Pro-10 speaker crackled as a radio broadcast spilled out.
In twenty-first-century Seoul, long after even the day of ruin foretold by Nostradamus had passed, inside an old-fashioned teahouse, a bartender was carefully wiping down worn vinyl records with a rag.
The speaker raspily played the voice of an aging Sinatra. Outside the window, rain fell, and the dim lighting was just weak enough to allow the sodium streetlights to seep into the shop. If business were good, it would be a strangely unusual bar. But in its own way, it had a quaint, old-fashioned charm.
Deng ... deng.
The pendulum clock hanging on the wall began to strike a dull chime to announce eight o'clock. At the same time, the door opened and a man walked in.
The clothes faintly visible beneath his black coat were unmistakably those of a Catholic priest. Although drinking itself was not forbidden, it was still rare for a devout Catholic priest to come to a bar in person. All the more so when he was a young, silver-haired foreigner.
"Quite a heavy rain for spring."
He said this as he walked in without even taking off his coat. His Korean was astonishingly fluent and precise for a foreigner.
He glanced once at the bartender, then looked toward a secluded corner. On a sofa hidden behind an out-of-place potted palm, a middle-aged man wearing a round beret pulled low over his face was sleeping.
The priest strode over and sat down across from the man. His behavior, closer to that of an outlaw than a clergyman, was enough to draw attention even aside from his unusual appearance. But fortunately—or unfortunately—the only people around were the old bartender and the sleeping man.
"Night is coming. This isn't the time to be asleep, is it?"
As he said that, the priest grabbed the table in front of the sleeping man and shook it.
The middle-aged man took off his beret, stood up, and then sat back down again.
"Well, well. This really is surprising. I thought you were Korean because your Korean was so fluent. You really can't tell what a person is like over the phone."
"I didn't come here to make small talk about you or my nationality. If I wanted to do that, I'd go to a phone booth. More importantly, hurry up and tell me where that bastard is. If you went so far as to call me out here, he must be nearby, right?"
He said that and looked out the window. The early spring rain was pounding against the glass like a summer monsoon.
The man took off his hat and replied.
"He was nearby, but I don't know where he went after that. He only left an egg behind."
"You don't know where he is?"
"Yes. But the sponsor ..."
The man spoke with a servile grin.
But the silver-haired priest cut him off coldly.
"I'm not interested in people like that. If you don't know where he is, then our deal is over. I'll be going."
He said that, stood up, and strode out.
The man in the beret jumped to his feet in surprise.
"But they should know where he is! After all, he's their son!"
The priest, who had been walking away, stopped in his tracks.
At the same time, as if the needle had reached the end of an old LP, an unpleasant noise burst from the speaker.
"You sly bastard."
A jet-black Corvette coupe slid out onto a two-lane road that was practically a parking lot.
The silver-haired priest, sitting in the driver's seat, drove quickly down the road, twisting the steering wheel like a race car driver.
"That's a bold choice. A car like this is bound to attract attention ..."
"How many times do I have to tell you that's none of your concern? If you really feel the need to open your mouth, why don't you talk about the place we're heading to instead?"
He said as he drove.
The middle-aged man gave an awkward smile and began to explain.
"It's an illegal club made by remodeling a warehouse at the coastal pier. It belongs to a club under the Sangdong faction. It used to be more like a room salon that mainly sold drugs at retail, but at some point it became a Spawning Sanctuary..."
"A Spawning Sanctuary? Then there must be a lot of vampires. Did you just leave it alone? That must be a pretty good source of income."
"The Sangdong faction is an organization founded in the early nineties by its boss, Jeong Sang-dong. It's not big, but it's dangerous. We're not the police. There's no need to mess with them unnecessarily, is there?"
"That's funny. You're not afraid of vampires, but you're afraid of gangsters?"
Kiiiiik!
Before he even finished speaking, the Corvette screeched to a stop in front of the warehouse.
Two burly men were standing at the entrance, which was blocked by black glass. The parking lot was outside the building, and they even offered a service to cover up license plates.
"There should be a case behind your seat."
The priest said that, opened the door, and strode straight out into the pouring rain.
"This one?"
The middle-aged man lifted a long bag that filled the back seat.
It was a black case, wide enough that a child could fit inside if it were just a little wider, and it was so heavy it really did feel like there was a person inside.
Clicking his tongue inwardly, the middle-aged man pulled it out.
"I wish it were a guitar case, but it's hard to find a guitar that big. A cello or a bass would be too large."
The priest said that and strode toward the entrance.
Two men who were clearly security guards blocked his way.
"Excuse me, but may I see your invitation?"
"What the hell?"
The priest immediately put on an act.
The guards were instantly flustered.
If members of the Sangdong faction were capable of conversing with foreigners, they would be tour guides, not gangsters.
They couldn't hide their confusion and looked at each other.
"Ah, shit. This isn't Itaewon, and it's a real yank. We're screwed. Hey, do you know English?"
"I break out in hives when it comes to English. Call Gyeong-hyeon. They said he went to college..."
But before they could even move, the priest moved first.
Thud!
In the instant they looked away, he drove his fist into the man standing in front of him, and with a precise back kick smashed the other guard's jaw.
"Ugh..."
With a clean cracking sound, both men collapsed.
A tooth broke, and blood gushed out, staining the floor.
The way he cleanly took down seasoned gangsters was anything but ordinary.
"Well, shall we go inside?"
He said that and took the case.
The middle-aged man stared in shock at the fallen guards.
"They just passed out after taking a few hits. Nothing worth looking at."
He said that and went inside.
The illegal club, made by remodeling a warehouse, had a long hallway packed with rooms on both sides.
At the entrance stood waiters wearing businesslike smiles, who approached them as if they would give them their own livers.
"Welcome. Two people?"
The priest abruptly scanned the waiters' outfits and looked around. The waiters flinched and stepped back at his attitude.
"Hm ~. Not these either."
At that moment, one of the waiters spotted the two guards collapsed beyond the translucent glass.
"Ah! Chang-su hyung!"
"W-what is it?"
The waiters wiped the smiles from their faces in an instant. It was a rapid change of expression, as if removing a mask.
"You bastard!"
Crack!
But the priest's jab had already smashed into the waiter's face.
His hand was so fast that even after he completely crushed the man's nasal bone and pulled his fist back, the victim was still standing there blankly.
"Aaaagh!"
Only then did the waiter with the shattered nose clutch his face and scream.
The other waiters tried to surround him in surprise, but in the narrow hallway even that was difficult.
Without the priest needing to do much more, the waiters were neatly laid out along the corridor.
"Incredible."
"The truly incredible part comes later. If this turns out to be a wild goose chase, I'll be happy to show you just how incredible it can be. Everyone here is human!"
He shouted that and kicked the door open. It was a slightly larger room than the standard one.
Inside was a large table, and the glasses on it were filled with dark red blood.
Gang members whose intimate banquet had been interrupted, and several VIP guests, glared at the sudden intruder.
"What are you, you bastards!"
"Bingo."
The priest said so the moment he saw them.
The middle-aged man flinched and pulled a handgun from inside his coat.
The gun he drew was a Colt Government .45 ACP, one of the most common pistols in the world, but in Korea, where guns themselves were rare, it was not something you often saw.
"You bastards!"
Bang.
One of the gang members who had been sitting down started to rise, but at that instant a bullet slammed into his shoulder.
For a middle-aged man who usually looked so feeble, his aim was surprisingly sharp, and he struck the flustered opponent cleanly.
The .45 ACP round, famous for its stopping power, sent an enormous spray of blood splashing behind the table.
But the man still stood up as if nothing were wrong.
No human could have endured that, and the fact that he rose proved that he was not human.
"Kyaa!"
All of the vampires, revealing their true forms, rose from their seats at once.
At that moment, the priest opened the case.
"I don't care what kind of party you're throwing here, but the heretic who sold you a fake immortality..."
As he said that, he pulled a gigantic rifle from the case and fired at the vampire who charged straight at him.
Kwaaang!
With a thunderous blast, not only was the vampire's torso blown apart, but several other unlucky vampires standing behind him met the same fate.
The bullet's power did not seem to diminish even after piercing through seven heads, and it smashed into the wall on the far side.
"Looks like I'm lucky today."
The priest said so and properly shouldered the Beretta M82A1.
The moment he took that heavy rifle out of the case, he had already fired it like a handgun and blown the vampires apart.
And he had done it accurately.
Gripping the massive rifle, he immediately opened fire on the remaining vampires.
"Kweeeeeek!"
"You bastard! I'll make you puke blood sausage!"
The vampires rushed in, burning with fighting spirit, but the priest calmly focused only on his shooting.
Kwaaang!
With the detached composure of someone at an amusement-park shooting range, the priest unleashed deafening blasts.
Each time a flash burst from his muzzle, countless vampires collapsed one after another.
It was an unbelievable result, considering he was using a rifle longer than most children were tall in such a narrow space.
"Kyaaaaaaak!"
"W-what are you doing!"
The only surviving vampire, a young man, staggered backward in terror.
The priest advanced toward him with the barrel still aimed at him and spoke.
"Come to think of it, I only need one person alive to get my answers. So, how about telling me? Where is the heretic who sold you that fake immortality?"
As he said that, the priest stepped closer.
The vampire retreated, waving his hands.
"W-wait! I don't know anything! I only took some kind of drug that came down from above! I thought it was just Bacchus at first!"
At that moment, the priest lowered the rifle.
The vampire's relief lasted only an instant. With a thunderous blast, his arm was blown clean off.
"Kraaaaaaak!"
Holding a Desert Eagle in his left hand, the priest tossed the rifle back to the middle-aged man behind him.
"Put it back in the case."
"Um… what about these vampire corpses...?"
"Do whatever you want. Wasn't that the deal from the start, you damn rat?"
"Yes."
Even though the priest openly insulted him, the middle-aged man seemed oddly pleased as he pulled a metal device from his pocket.
It was connected to a thick vinyl bag, and when he stuck the device into the vampires' bodies, blood began to collect inside the bag.
"Kuuuuuugh!"
The vampire who had lost his arm had collapsed onto the floor and was screaming.
In his current state of mind, he almost wished the police would come running in, but strangely, even though gunshots were echoing through the building, there was no sign of the police moving at all.
"You don't need an arm to talk, right? Right? Next will probably be your left leg. If you don't start talking, the Action Express is going to depart. A perfect chance to test your patience. Don't you think?"
As he said that, he aimed his Desert Eagle .50 Action Express at the vampire's left thigh.
A look of pure horror spread across the vampire's face.
"You crazy bastard!"
Of course, the price of that curse came immediately. With a deafening blast, his left leg was shredded and blown apart.
In the priest's words, the so-called Action Express was a special .50-caliber magnum round whose killing power was on par with rifle ammunition.
"If you won't answer my question, then draining you dry like this is fine too. Vampire. Once you start losing blood to humans, you might feel like talking a little about that so-called immortality of yours. Right?"
The priest said that and glanced sideways.
There, the middle-aged man was gleefully sticking blood-extraction needles into the fallen vampires and draining their blood.
In truth, the pain itself was probably minimal, but there was no better threat than imagination.
This vampire was already struggling just to endure the pain from the gunshots, and even when he had been human, he had never been particularly patient.
Showing off his bravery in front of a mad priest, only to have his body carved into pieces instead, went against his beliefs.
"I'll talk! I'll tell you everything I know! Please, stop!"
"Good. Where is he?"
"He said he was going down to Chuncheon two weeks ago. But I don't know if that was true. He had no reason to trust us!"