Halochassis

One week later…

Only a handful of people came to Emmanuel’s wake. The chapel felt too large for such a small crowd, its wooden pews stretching out in quiet emptiness. Outside, the sky hung low and gray, and a steady rain fell without pause, tapping softly against umbrellas and the polished lid of the casket. The damp air carried the faint scent of wet earth and candle wax, clinging to everyone’s clothes. When the time came, only a few umbrellas dotted the burial site, their muted colors blending into the gloomy afternoon as Emmanuel’s casket was slowly lowered six feet into the ground.

There was only one voice that broke the silence—Emmanuel’s mother. Her sobs were raw and uneven, cutting through the sound of falling rain like a blade. She clutched a handkerchief tightly, her shoulders trembling with each breath. Beside her stood Emmanuel’s father and younger brother, both stiff and unmoving, their faces pale and unreadable. Grief weighed on them just as heavily, but it showed only in the tightness of their jaws and the way their eyes refused to leave the grave. Even Emmanuel’s coworkers from the laboratory stood quietly nearby, their usual confidence gone, replaced by uneasy silence and downcast gazes.

Shin stood a short distance away, gripping the handle of his umbrella as raindrops drummed steadily above him. Cold wind brushed against his face, carrying with it the chill of the moment. He watched the casket descend, his chest tightening with every inch it sank. He knew, more than anyone, that Emmanuel never had many friends. 

Emmanuel had always been serious, introverted, and painfully frank—someone who spoke the truth without softening it. Most people kept their distance because of it. Yet with Shin, he was different. Shin could still remember the rare moments when Emmanuel would crack a dry joke, his lips twitching into the faintest smile, as if humor was a language he only spoke with one person.

As the priest murmured the final rites, his voice low and steady beneath the rain, the ceremony came to an end. One by one, the umbrellas began to move. People turned away from the grave, their footsteps soft against the muddy ground as they returned to their lives, their conversations hushed and brief. The crowd thinned quickly, leaving behind only the quiet rustle of rain and the freshly turned soil. Shin did not move. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his nails pressing into his palms as he stared at the grave.

The Empyrean government had buried more than just Emmanuel that day—they had buried the truth. Shin could still picture the headlines printed in bold ink, the newspapers claiming that Emmanuel had died during a demon’s rampage. The words felt hollow, almost insulting. Not a single line mentioned Qinglong’s negligence. Not a single word acknowledged that it was one of the Celestial Wardens—the so-called heroes—who had taken Emmanuel’s life. Shin’s jaw tightened as the memory replayed in his mind: how casually it had happened, how Emmanuel had been treated like nothing more than a disposable life.

Shin had done nothing when the false story spread. He had watched it happen, powerless, as the lie became accepted as truth. What could he even do? The Celestial Wardens were revered across the world, the ones who had once saved humanity from destruction. People worshiped them, trusted them without question. 

If Shin stood in the middle of the street and shouted the truth until his voice broke, who would believe him? If he covered the walls with posters accusing Qinglong, they would only be torn down, dismissed as madness.

And beneath his anger, there was fear—cold and persistent. Shin was just an ordinary man, with no power, no influence, nothing that could protect him. Some adventurers even mocked people like him, calling them NPCs, as if they were background characters in someone else’s story. The thought lingered bitterly in his mind. He had no strength to challenge the system, no way to fight back against those who stood above everyone else. Standing there in the rain, staring at his best friend’s grave, Shin felt the crushing weight of that truth settle deep in his chest.

“If only I had the power… I could have at least brought him some justice,” Shin muttered under his breath, his voice barely louder than the rain falling around him. The words felt heavy on his tongue, bitter and useless, as if the world itself refused to hear them.

He let out a slow breath, then turned away from the grave. Each step he took felt reluctant, as though something inside him was still anchored to the freshly turned soil behind him. He couldn’t bear to look any longer—not at the mound of earth, not at the grieving family. The image of Emmanuel’s mother crying, her voice breaking with every sob, had already carved itself into his mind. Staying any longer would only make it worse. It would break him completely.

And yet, what weighed on him even more was the truth he carried. It pressed against his chest like a secret too heavy to hold. He couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t walk up to Emmanuel’s parents and reveal that their son hadn’t died at the hands of some rampaging demon, but because of a Celestial Warden’s negligence. He didn’t know how they would react—whether it would shatter them further or drive them to do something reckless. Either way, Shin knew it would only bring more pain. So he kept walking, swallowing the truth along with the lump in his throat.

The rain softened into a steady drizzle as Shin approached the graveyard’s exit. The iron gates stood slightly ajar, creaking faintly whenever the wind pushed against them. The muddy path squelched beneath his shoes, and the air felt colder now, clinging to his damp clothes. He lowered his gaze, lost in thought, barely noticing the world around him.

At first, it was just a faint feeling—like a presence lingering at the edge of his awareness. The soft, almost inaudible sound of footsteps behind him, blending with the patter of rain. Shin frowned slightly, his grip tightening on the umbrella handle. He slowed his pace, his heart beginning to beat a little faster.

It took him a full minute to realize he wasn’t alone.

By the time he did, it was already too late.

The figure was right behind him.

“You are the Professor’s friend, right?”

The voice came as a cold whisper, so close it brushed against Shin’s ear like a breath of winter. It sent a sharp chill down his spine. Instinctively, Shin started to turn, his body reacting before his mind could catch up—

—but a hand suddenly gripped his shoulder.

It was firm. Unyielding.

“Don’t turn around,” the voice murmured, quieter this time, but far more dangerous. “Or I’ll slit your throat. Okay?”

Shin froze.

A wave of goosebumps spread across his skin, his body going rigid as fear settled deep into his bones. He could feel the stranger’s presence behind him, close enough that he could almost sense their breathing. His throat went dry, and for a moment, he couldn’t even find the strength to speak. Slowly, stiffly, he nodded, the motion barely visible.

The hand on his shoulder tightened slightly, as if to remind him of the threat.

“I’ll ask again,” the voice continued, calm and chillingly patient. “You are Professor Emmanuel Gagarin’s friend… correct?”

Shin swallowed hard, his pulse pounding loudly in his ears, drowning out even the sound of the rain.

Shin nodded, the motion small and stiff, his neck tense as if even the slightest movement might provoke something worse. Rain continued to patter softly around him, but the cold whisper behind him cut through it like a blade.

“Good,” the voice said, low and satisfied. “Do as you’re told, and you will live to see another day.”

Before Shin could react, rough fabric was suddenly pulled over his head. The world vanished in an instant. Darkness swallowed everything, and the damp, musty smell of the sack filled his nose, making it harder to breathe. His vision gone, his other senses sharpened—he could hear footsteps shifting around him, at least two, maybe three people closing in. Firm hands grabbed his arms, not enough to hurt, but strong enough to make resistance pointless.

“Move,” one of them muttered.

Shin stumbled forward as they guided him, his shoes dragging against the muddy ground. Without sight, every step felt uncertain. The squelch of wet soil, the rustle of clothing, and the faint jingle of metal filled his ears. His heart pounded louder with every second, his mind racing with possibilities he didn’t want to imagine.

After a short walk, the ground beneath his feet changed—firmer now, wooden. He was pushed forward, then forced to sit. The surface beneath him creaked under his weight, followed by the sound of a door shutting and something locking into place.

A carriage.

The realization settled in as the vehicle lurched forward. The wheels rattled against uneven roads, each bump jolting through Shin’s body. Time stretched painfully. With nothing to see, every second felt longer than it should. The air inside grew stuffy, carrying the faint smell of old wood and worn leather. Shin tried to keep track of the turns, the speed, anything that might give him a clue—but it quickly became meaningless. All he could do was sit there, listening to the endless rhythm of wheels rolling and rain tapping against the roof.

It felt like an hour before the carriage finally slowed.

The wheels ground to a halt, and the door creaked open. Fresh air rushed in, cooler this time, carrying a sharp, salty scent. The unmistakable smell of the sea.

Shin’s stomach tightened.

Hands grabbed him again, pulling him out of the carriage. His boots hit solid ground, then uneven planks. The hollow sound of wood beneath his feet echoed faintly, accompanied by the distant cry of seabirds and the rhythmic crashing of waves. The wind was stronger here, brushing against his face and slipping through his damp clothes.

A port.

He didn’t need to see it to know.

“Keep moving,” one of the cloaked figures said, shoving him forward.

Shin staggered but kept walking. The wooden planks beneath him creaked loudly now, each step producing a hollow thud that echoed into open space. The smell of saltwater grew stronger, mixed with tar, rope, and wet timber. Somewhere nearby, something heavy shifted with a dull groan—perhaps a ship rocking gently against the dock.

They led him up a slight incline—likely a gangplank—before the sound beneath his feet changed again. The creaking became deeper, more hollow. The subtle sway told him everything.

He was on a ship.

“Sit.”

A sharp push forced him down onto a hard wooden seat. The surface was rough beneath his hands, splinters brushing against his skin. Before he could react, ropes were pulled tight around his wrists and torso, binding him firmly to the chair. The coarse fibers bit into his skin as they were secured, leaving no room to struggle.

Then, without warning, the sack was yanked off his head.

Light flooded his vision.

Shin blinked rapidly, his eyes stinging as they adjusted. The world came back in fragments—the gray sky overhead, the dark wooden deck beneath him, and the figures surrounding him. Several cloaked individuals stood nearby, their faces hidden, but their posture relaxed now. Some of them were grinning, their eyes glinting with amusement as they watched him.

And then, directly in front of him, stood a man.

He was tall and muscular, his presence commanding even without movement. He wore a blue jacket that stood out against the dull tones of the ship, and a red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, fluttering slightly in the sea breeze. A jagged scar ran across his left cheek, stark against his skin, giving his face a hardened, dangerous edge. His gaze was sharp, confident—someone clearly used to being in control.

Shin’s breath caught.

The jacket. The armband.

There was no mistaking it.

The Iron Bandits.

A notorious group of criminals—petty robbers, kidnappers, and worse—known throughout Luminous City. They operated in the shadows, causing just enough chaos to stay under the radar, but never truly disappearing. And now, Shin was surrounded by them.

A few of the bandits chuckled under their breath, their grins widening as they watched his realization sink in. The air felt heavier, thicker, as if escape itself had become impossible.

The muscular man stepped forward, his boots thudding softly against the deck. A faint smile tugged at his lips, though there was no warmth in it.

“Welcome to our humble abode, mister,” he said, his voice calm, almost welcoming—yet laced with something far more dangerous beneath the surface. ”Tell me your name, friend of Professor Gagarin.”

Shin pressed his lips together, his heart still pounding against his ribs. He had no intention of giving them his name—not here, not like this. These people were criminals, unpredictable and dangerous. Instead, he swallowed his pride and spoke, his voice shaky and tight with fear.

“A-Are you here to rob me?” he asked, forcing the words out as the salty wind brushed against his face. “Please… have mercy. Just take my wallet. I don’t have much, but you can have it.”

A few of the bandits exchanged amused glances, their grins widening. The man in the blue jacket didn’t move, but there was a faint shift in his expression—something between confusion and mild disappointment.

“We’re not here to rob you,” the bandit leader said flatly.

Shin blinked, thrown off. His mind, already spiraling from fear and exhaustion, grasped at another possibility—one that made his stomach twist even more.

“…Are you going to—” he hesitated, then blurted it out anyway, “—are you going to fuck me?”

The leader frowned. “What?”

“Is this some kind of… homosexual slavery thing?” Shin said, his voice rising slightly despite himself. “Because I’m telling you right now, I—”

“No!” the leader snapped, recoiling slightly, genuine disbelief flashing across his face.

For a brief moment, silence hung in the air—then it shattered.

Several bandits burst into laughter. Some doubled over, clutching their sides, while others wiped tears from their eyes. Even the wind seemed to carry their laughter across the deck, mixing with the creaking of the ship.

The leader dragged a hand down his face, clearly cringing. “What is wrong with you?” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “I am not here for ransom. I am not here for money. And definitely not… whatever that was.”

Shin shrank slightly in his seat, his face flushing with embarrassment, though the tension in his chest didn’t ease.

The leader exhaled, regaining his composure. Then his expression shifted, becoming serious again—focused.

“I am here for the Professor’s Legacy.”

The words cut through the lingering laughter like a knife.

Without another word, the man stepped aside and reached for a large, tarp-covered object behind him. With a firm pull, he yanked the cover away.

A massive crate stood revealed.

It was reinforced with thick metal edges, its surface worn and scratched as if it had been dragged across rough terrain. The dull thud of wood echoed faintly as the ship swayed. At a signal from the leader, two bandits stepped forward, gripping crowbars. The sharp metallic clang rang out as they wedged them into the crate and pried it open.

The lid gave way with a loud crack.

Inside—resting in the dim light of the overcast sky—was a suit of armor.

Shin’s breath caught in his throat.

It wasn’t just any armor. It was sleek yet imposing, its surface lined with golden patterns that seemed almost alive. Faint etchings ran along its black frame, and even without movement, it radiated a quiet, unnatural presence. The metal reflected the gray light in dull, shifting tones, as if it carried something far heavier than its physical weight.

The Halochassis.

The very same power armor Emmanuel had asked him to investigate.

“You…” Shin whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. His eyes widened as realization struck him fully. “You were the ones who infiltrated Empyrean’s Laboratory.”

The bandit leader’s lips curled into a satisfied smile.

“That’s right.” He stepped forward, boots thudding softly against the deck, and extended his hand out of habit. “Name’s Adzeel Schwarzer,” he said casually. “Leader of the Iron Bandits here in Luminous City.”

He paused, glancing down at Shin’s bound hands. “Ah.”

With a small gesture, he signaled one of his men. A blade flashed briefly, and the rope binding Shin’s wrists was cut. The coarse fibers loosened and fell away, leaving behind faint red marks on his skin.

Shin rubbed his wrists instinctively, wincing slightly at the sting as blood flow returned. His eyes never left Adzeel.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice steadier now, though suspicion lingered beneath it.

Adzeel’s smile widened—but this time, it carried weight. Purpose.

“Same as you,” he said.

The wind picked up, tugging at his red scarf as the ship creaked beneath them. Around them, the bandits had gone quiet, their earlier amusement replaced by anticipation.

Adzeel’s gaze sharpened. “We want to claim vengeance against the Celestial Wardens.”