"Where mist conceals, the blade reveals. Where nations converge, the truth cuts deeper than steel."
Busan International Airship Port
The airship descended gracefully, resembling a silver leviathan, its hull shimmering with the reflections of city lights. Busan's airship port was bustling with activity: tourists disembarking from gangways, business professionals hurrying through neon-lit terminals, and banners of the Haechi Protocol fluttering proudly in the breeze. Every screen proclaimed Korea's vigilance against relic trafficking.
Amidst the throng, Marian moved with purpose, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She was not clad in the uniform of the Sandata Unit; tonight, she was merely another traveler. Yet she was acutely aware that every step was under scrutiny, every breath subject to examination.
At the immigration desk, her passport was scanned, triggering a soft alarm that blinked red. The officer's gaze narrowed.
Immigration Officer (Korean):
"여권을 다시 확인하겠습니다. 어디에서 오셨습니까?"
(I need to check your passport again. Where are you coming from?)
Marian (Korean, steady):
"필리핀에서 왔습니다. 연구 교류 때문에 체류 허가를 받았습니다."
(I came from the Philippines. I have permission to stay for cultural research exchange.)
The officer held her gaze intently. Behind him, another officer murmured into an earpiece.
The Sundang at Marian's side remained silent, its power concealed by careful wards, yet tension enveloped her like a second skin.
After a lengthy pause, the officer finally stamped her passport.
Immigration Officer (Korean):
"조심히 다니십시오."
(Be careful during your stay.)
Marian (Korean, bowing slightly):
"감사합니다."
(Thank you.)
Stepping into the Busan night, she was greeted by air thick with sea salt and the promise of an approaching storm.
Rather than heading directly to her safehouse, Marian chose to explore the city's edges, following the enticing scent of salt and steel. The harbor came into view—cranes loomed like skeletal giants, containers stacked in intricate mazes, freighters pulsating with cargo lights.
Throughout the day, she observed from rooftops and alleys. From the window of a café, she tracked men who lingered too long at restricted gates, noting the subtle glyphs stitched into their jackets. In the shadows near a warehouse, she spotted containers adorned with falsified seals—sloppy but effective enough for smugglers.
As dusk approached, she whispered into her comm-bead.
Marian:
"Target confirmed. Codex fragments are hidden in Busan Harbor. Preparing for infiltration at nightfall."
The Sundang hummed faintly at her side. The mountain remembered.
When the fog rolled in from the Yellow Sea, Marian made her move.
The mist enveloped her like a cloak, every step transforming her form into vapor.
Guards patrolled in pairs, radios crackling, yet their eyes failed to register her presence. Cameras blinked red, but the fog masked her heat signature.
She arrived at the designated container. The glyph-seal on its lock appeared crude—an imitation scrawl of symbols devoid of meaning. Pressing the Sundang against it, the metal corroded instantly, collapsing into dust.
Inside, she discovered them: fractured pages of the Makiling Codex. Bark-paper bound with vine-glyphs that glowed faintly, as if alive. Her heart raced. Each glyph curled like roots seeking nourishment.
She reached forward.
The mist shifted—not of her doing.
A blade sliced through the fog.
Yoo Min-jun emerged from the shadows, calm and unyielding, his gaze unwavering. In his hands gleamed the Bonguk Geom, Korea's legendary relic sword. Its edge effortlessly cleaved through the mist, carving corridors of clarity through her concealment.
Yoo Min-jun (Korean):
"이건 한국의 영토다. 너는 누구지?"
(This is Korean soil. Who are you?)
Marian's mist coalesced, revealing her form before him. She responded without hesitation.
Marian (Korean, cold):
"여행자로 보일 뿐이죠. 하지만 그 칼이 말해주네요… 당신도 산다타 같은 존재군요."
(To most, I'm just a traveler. But that sword suggests otherwise… You're like us, a wielder.)
They circled each other, steel humming amid the fog.
Yoo Min-jun (Korean):
"그 문서는 밀수꾼들의 손에 있다. 네가 빼앗으려는 건가?"
(Those manuscripts are in the hands of smugglers. Are you here to steal them?)
Marian (Korean, firm):
"그건 내 조국의 유산이다. 되찾으러 왔다."
(That is my country's heritage. I came to reclaim it.)
The sword glinted. The mist surged.
Their blades clashed.
From a crane platform, Kim Dae-ho, a dockworker finishing a late shift, froze as the fog thickened unnaturally. Initially, he thought it was merely the sea's breath. However, the air cracked with the sound of steel, sharper than thunder.
Peering down, he witnessed two figures engaged in a shadowy duel—one dissolving into mist, the other slicing through it with blinding arcs of steel. Sparks rained down across the containers like meteors.
Dae-ho whispered, gripping the railing tightly:
"귀신인가…? 아니면 신들의 싸움인가?"
(Are they ghosts… or gods at war?)
As security sirens blared, he descended, his legs trembling. Yet even as he fled, he understood that no ordinary man could unsee what he had witnessed: forces older than nations clashing upon his pier.
Marian dissolved, striking from the fog's embrace. Each thrust was swift, unseen—a whisper of death. The Sundang curved through the air like a branch caught in a storm.
Yet the Bonguk Geom sang louder. Each swing exposed her concealment, revealing her strikes before they landed. Min-jun's movements were disciplined, steeped in the legacy of dynasties. Where she sought to hide, he sought to unveil.
She lunged low, mist swirling around her as the Sundang sliced upward in a crescent aimed to breach his guard. Min-jun pivoted, his blade intercepting hers with a sharp ring. Sparks flared, illuminating their faces in the fog.
Marian twisted, dissolving into vapor to slip behind him. The Sundang aimed for his ribs—but the Bonguk Geom whirled, cutting through the fog like sunlight breaking through clouds, intercepting her once more. The clash reverberated against the container beside them, causing the metal to groan.
For a fleeting moment, Min-jun's focus wavered.
Her movements… like water flowing over stone, yet her strikes fell with the certainty of mountains. Such grace, such precision… it was almost beautiful.
He forced the thought aside, tightening his grip on the Bonguk Geom. I cannot be swayed. Beauty must not dull the edge of duty.
Yet Marian's instincts stirred. The mist curled tighter around her, almost protectively, sensing the unspoken admiration lingering in her opponent's heart. She chose not to voice it, but deep within her soldier's intuition, she understood—he fought not only with his blade but also with restraint.
Marian (Korean, sharp):
"왜 한국이 우리 유물을 간섭하지?"
(Why is Korea interfering with our relics?)
Yoo Min-jun (Korean):
"나는 빼앗으러 온 게 아니다. 밀수꾼들을 잡아 이 문서를 필리핀에 돌려주려 한다."
(I did not come to take them. I came to capture the smugglers and return these manuscripts to the Philippines.)
Marian vanished into vapor and reformed above him, descending with a mist-born feint. The Sundang split into three images, each striking from a different angle.
But Min-jun planted his feet, the Bonguk Geom sweeping in a wide arc. Its blade hummed, cutting through all three illusions and striking the true Sundang with a resounding crack. The pier shuddered.
Marian staggered, her mist faltering for the briefest moment.
Marian (Korean, hesitant):
"…정말인가요?"
(…Is that true?)
Yoo Min-jun (Korean):
"나는 봉국검의 수호자다. 정의와 신뢰를 저버릴 수 없다."
(I am the guardian of the Bonguk Geom. I cannot betray justice or trust.)
His words resonated with the authority of steel.
Sirens wailed in the distance; Korean port security was en route. Both relic wielders understood they had little time.
Marian stepped back, dissolving once more into mist. Her eyes met Min-jun's one final time before her form faded.
Marian (Korean, low):
"그럼 오늘은 여기까지."
(Then tonight ends here.)
She vanished, carried away by the fog.
Min-jun sheathed the Bonguk Geom and reached down, lifting a Codex fragment with reverent care. His voice echoed across the empty pier, though he knew she still listened.
Yoo Min-jun (Korean):
"너희 공화국에 전해라. 한국은 적이 아니다. 하지만 세계는 지켜보고 있다."
(Tell your Republic this: Korea is not your enemy. But the world is watching.)
Temple of Lakapati, Davao
In Lakapati's temple, glyph-maps ignited. A crimson marker pulsed over Busan.
Joaquin Santillan examined the report. "Marian confirmed the Codex fragments. However, the Bonguk Geom stood guard."
Ricardo Magno's expression tightened. "Other nations are stepping forward. They are not passive in this Convergence."
Gregorio leaned against the war table, the Kamay ni Bathala glowing faintly across his knuckles. His voice was low and resolute.
"The Convergence encompasses more than just saints and cults. It involves nations unsheathing their relics."
Sybill's candle flickered, her voice a whisper. "And sovereignty cuts sharper than any blade."
The table pulsed brighter. Outside, the storm gathered.
Road to the Safehouse, Busan
Marian strolled away from the harbor, weaving through quiet streets. The mist receded, leaving only the heavy night air and the pounding of her heart. Her stomach growled; she had not eaten since dawn.
The neon glow of a small restaurant caught her attention—steam rising from a pot of bubbling kimchi jjigae in the window. The aroma of spicy broth, tofu, and pork drew her inside. She slid into a corner booth, dropping her duffel bag at her feet.
When the bowl was placed before her, she clasped her hands briefly, almost in prayer, before lifting her spoon. The heat caressed her face. She inhaled deeply, her body recalling the sensation of hunger.
Just as she brought the spoon to her lips, a shadow fell across her table.
Yoo Min-jun stood before her, calm and composed, his eyes inscrutable. The din of the restaurant faded as his voice, low and deliberate, broke the silence.
Yoo Min-jun (Korean, quiet but firm):
"검은 다시 칼집에 들어갔지만, 싸움은 끝나지 않았다."
(The sword is back in its sheath, but the fight is not over.)
Marian lowered her spoon carefully, her expression unreadable.
Marian (Korean, even tone):
"전쟁터가 아니라 식당을 고른 건 흥미롭군요."
(Interesting choice, to pick a restaurant instead of a battlefield.)
Yoo Min-jun (Korean):
"칼끝보다 말이 더 날카로울 때가 있다."
(Sometimes words cut sharper than blades.)
The waiter placed banchan on their table and retreated. A silence thickened between them.
Marian (Korean):
"당신은 분명 내 적이 아니라 했죠. 하지만 내 임무와 당신의 임무가 겹친다면… 그건 무엇입니까?"
(You claimed you were not my enemy. But if my mission and yours overlap… then what does that make you?)
Yoo Min-jun (Korean):
"그건 우리 둘이 증명해야 할 문제지."
(That is something we will both have to prove.)
Finally, Marian tasted the stew; its spice burned hot, grounding her. She set her spoon down, her eyes locked on him.
Marian (Korean):
"그럼, 내 조국을 위해 나는 싸운다. 당신은?"
(Then, I fight for my Republic. And you?)
Yoo Min-jun (Korean):
"나는 검을 쥔 민족을 위해 선다."
(I stand for the nation that wields the sword.)
Their gazes held—fire against steel, neither yielding. Around them, the restaurant continued, oblivious. Yet between Marian and Yoo Min-jun, the battlefield had merely shifted.