There Is No World For ■■

One of the most dreadful attempts to bring heaven into this world was the exploration of the realm of souls and spirits.

Excerpt from "Asha’s Magic Studies – Necromancer Edition"

****

Motorcycles fell over with a loud crash, kicking up dust.

The seasoned ones managed to break their fall or tilt sideways to minimize damage, but most screamed in panic as they helplessly tumbled to the ground.

The sound of brakes, the crash, and the groans filled the air.

As dust and confusion clouded the scene, a few of the bandits managed to get up.

Were they planning to fight back? No, they dropped their motorcycles and comrades and fled.

But before they could get far, Yeomyeong's words stopped them in their tracks.

“If you run, you die. If you surrender, you live.”

The bandits' reactions split into two groups: those who snorted and continued running, and those who, realizing the situation, quickly knelt down.

Yeomyeong didn’t say anything more. With a simple flick of his hand, he used telekinesis to hold the necks of the fleeing bandits.

Gasping for air, their limbs flailed.

Soon, as Yeomyeong clenched his fist, the bodies of the running bandits slackened.

Whether the kneeling ones were terrified or not, Yeomyeong closed the distance and read the bandits’ thoughts.

Did they think they were unlucky? Or were they wondering how to escape?

But no matter what they thought, regret or repentance wasn’t part of it.

If it were, they wouldn’t have said something like this.

“You, the ones guarding the upper floors, you bastard magicians... How dare you think you know who we are...?”

Yeomyeong turned his head in the direction of the voice.

The one babbling was a young man pinned beneath his motorcycle, wearing more elaborate armor than the others, suggesting he held a higher position.

“You’re asking about affiliation? Who the hell do you think you belong to?”

Yeomyeong approached him, casting a shadow over the motorcycle, and asked.

“We... are part of the Cohen family, under La Cosa Nostra.”

“Cohen family...”

“So you’re starting to feel it now, huh? But it’s too late. You and that upper floor are already dead.”

The young man spoke confidently despite being pinned under the motorcycle.

Yeomyeong tilted his head, looking down at him.

The Cohen family. It was a name Yeomyeong had never heard before, but just hearing "La Cosa Nostra" and the word "family" gave him a pretty good idea of who these people were.

‘Mafia.’

He had planned to meet these guys because of the Awakening Elixir, but he never expected to form such a connection like this.

It wasn’t coincidence—it was too awkward to be one, yet too chaotic to be fate.

‘I wonder if there’s a way to use this connection...?’

Yeomyeong was lost in thought for a moment, watching the bandits.

Then, the young man pinned under the motorcycle seemed to misunderstand, exposing his teeth in a mocking grin.

“So, do you realize how screwed you are now? Heh, it’s too late to turn back. Now that you’ve touched the ‘family,’ there’s no room for negotiation or forgiveness.”

He emphasized the word ‘family’ in a strange, almost mocking accent.

Yeomyeong narrowed his eyes and stared at him. The young man, encouraged by his reaction, kept speaking louder.

“La Cosa Nostra never leaves the blood of their kin unavenged. You’ll be hunted down on Earth and everywhere. Let’s see how long your weak magical skills can protect you!”

Kin, blood relatives. Yeomyeong ignored the young man’s rant.

The young man rambled on about ‘family’ and ‘blood kin’ for a while, threatening to put him through "Earth-style torture" as some kind of ultimatum.

“You, and your upper floor! You’ll all be tortured to death, crying blood!”

“...Earth-style torture?”

Yeomyeong chuckled at the ridiculous choice of words, and the young man’s face twisted in anger.

“Laughing? You crazy bastard—”

“Enough with the nonsense. Who are the blood kin of the ‘family’?”

“What?”

“The one you’ve been talking about.”

Only then did the young man seem to realize that he had said too much and shut his mouth.

An awkward silence filled the air.

As sweat poured down the foreheads of the kneeling bandits, the young man spoke again.

“I am Carlo Persico, the son of Andrew Persico. If you think you’re going to use me as a hostage... you’re wasting your time.”

The young man, revealing his name as Carlo, had a mix of shame and anticipation on his face.

Shame from foolishly speaking while pinned under a motorcycle, and the anticipation of fear when mentioning his father’s name.

Of course, Yeomyeong’s reaction was far from what the young man expected.

“Who’s Andrew Persico?”

“...What?”

Carlo glared at Yeomyeong, clearly confused by his response, but that was the end of it.

The next moment, an invisible telekinetic force tightened around his neck.

“...I’ll hear the explanation later. We’ve got plenty of time until we reach the destination.”

With Yeomyeong’s last words, Carlo’s vision faded to black.

****

As a result, additional bandits bound in the upper-floor procession were added.

With the mercenaries already captured, the total number exceeded fifty.

The workers from the upper floor looked a bit shaken by the number, but Tindamel, the merchant, looked unnerved for another reason.

“You captured the son of Andrew Persico... Is that what you’re telling me?”

Tindamel swallowed hard while standing on the driver’s seat where Seti had been sitting moments ago.

Yeomyeong didn’t answer but instead looked at the rear of the carriage.

There, an unconscious Carlo, along with the badly injured bandits, were loaded onto a cart. Tindamel, turning his head to follow Yeomyeong’s gaze, said,

“No way, is one of them...?”

“The one with the broken leg and curly hair.”

Tindamel’s eyes widened in shock as he recognized Carlo lying on the cart. He quickly called for the workers.

“Get the wounded bandits on the cart treated. If possible, heal them.”

Though the order was somewhat confusing, the workers followed without hesitation.

Perhaps they thought that, since the Saint was with them, it was just a part of their good deed to the bandits.

Watching the workers leave, Yeomyeong turned to Tindamel and asked,

“So Andrew Persico isn’t just some thug, is he?”

“Thug... No, he’s more than just that. If we were to classify him exactly, he’s a sottocapo.”

“Sottocapo?”

Yeomyeong, who knew a bit about the underworld, frowned slightly.

Sottocapo used to refer to a mafia underboss in Italian, but in modern times, it was used differently.

A sottocapo is a...

“...Superhuman.”

“To be precise, he’s a magician. Rumor has it that he awakened magic on his own.”

He awakened magic by himself? It was an impressive feat, but Yeomyeong thought of something entirely different.

The Awakening Elixir.

The Saint, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation from inside the carriage, opened the window beside the driver’s seat and leaned out.

“I bet he’s one of those necromancer types. What do you think, Yeomyeong?”

“...”

Yeomyeong glanced at Seti, then took out his purse filled with gold coins.

“Was that a joke?”

The Saint looked at the heavy purse with a slightly startled expression.

Yeomyeong took out some jerky from the bottom of the pouch and offered it to ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) her, saying,

“There’s no such thing as a joke when it comes to paying.”

“...”

The Saint chewed the jerky in silence, thinking to herself.

Yeomyeong really wasn’t the type to lose.

****

After heading north for about two days across the plains, the caravan finally arrived at its first destination: the railway station.

Its official name was Kennedy Station.

It sat at the southernmost edge of the territory known as the Gemini Autonomous Zone, roughly the “shinbone” of the continent-spanning railway line.

The station’s exterior looked more modern than expected, and the interior was even more crowded than imagined.

But it wasn’t just people—it was the overwhelming amount of cargo.

If you broke it down visually, humans made up about thirty percent of what you saw. The rest—seventy percent—was carts and freight.

According to Tindamel, it normally wasn’t this bad.

But with the Dreiteriel Line out of commission recently, merchants from all over had swarmed this place instead.

As a result, unloading the Tindamel caravan’s goods and transferring them to a freight train took nearly half a day. Still, no one in the group really complained.

Part of it was that, true to their Earth-born patience, they were used to waiting. But more importantly, Tindamel had gone out of his way to secure first-class seats on the train.

He’d opened his wallet for the group, weary after two nights of camping under the stars.

But their reaction wasn’t quite what he expected.

“Two cabins, two people per cabin...?”

Seti narrowed her eyes as she read through the first-class brochure, then glanced at Yeomyeong.

“...There’s five of us. Why only two cabins?”

It was a fair question. Corvus, the Saint, Seti, Neti, and Yeomyeong.

One guy, four women. There wasn’t a simple way to divide them into two or three.

In other words, someone would have to share a cabin with Yeomyeong... but he answered without much concern.

“Apparently someone bought out most of the first-class cabins. Only two were left.”

“...”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take a regular seat.”

Just as Seti opened her mouth to protest, the Saint stepped in between the two.

“W-Wait, why don’t you share a cabin with me?”

“...What?”

“Me, you, and Corvus—what do you think? Corvus can stay in raven form, so she won’t even need a bed.”

As she spoke, the Saint casually brushed her hair over her ear to hide the flush creeping up her earlobes.

Yeomyeong looked at her for a moment, then flicked her forehead.

“...You really said that like it’s no big deal—stealing your teacher’s bed.”

“B-But Corvus would be fine with it! Right? Corvus?”

The Saint clutched her forehead and snapped her head around. Corvus clicked her beak in response.

“Well, yes... I’m fine with it.”

There was a small sigh in her voice.

Yeomyeong gave her a long look, as if to ask Are you sure? and Corvus answered with her eyes.

Don’t ask me. You deal with it.

Unaware of this silent exchange, the Saint clapped her hands in delight.

“See? She’s fine with it! It’s not every day we get to ride first-class—don’t make this a thing, let’s just share a cabin!”

While Yeomyeong debated what to do with this airheaded Saint, Neti suddenly cut in.

“Brother-in-law, just share the cabin. Wouldn’t it be rude to reject Tindamel’s generosity?”

Even Neti had sided with her.

With that, neither Seti nor Yeomyeong had any more room to object. They raised their hands in surrender.

A first-class train bound for the LA dimensional gate has arrived. Passengers with reservations, please proceed to Gate 11. I repeat...

Soon, an announcement rang out—just in time.

The train had arrived. The group gathered their belongings and headed toward the first-class platform.

Even from a distance, it was obvious the train was luxurious.

Unlike the other rust-covered locomotives, this one had been freshly painted. It even featured LED lights—a rare sight for anything coming through a dimensional gate.

If there was a downside, it was that, by Earth standards, it was too lit.

So many LEDs that—

“Ugh, my eyes. What is all that?”

A familiar voice rang out from behind the gate.

“Aw, you just don’t get trends, Chief. That’s the hottest design right now. Around here, nobles go crazy for LED.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Deputy Chief.”

“I’m serious! I asked them myself—”

Yeomyeong turned his head toward the gate and locked eyes with the source of the loud chatter.

A gaze forged by battles, unshaken by storm or fire.

So familiar. So unmistakable.

Yeomyeong turned toward them and bowed politely.

“It’s been a while, Deputy Chief Kim Mansoo. And you too, Team Leader Tian Lin.”

The Seonjook Mercenary Corps—the very mercs he’d once worked with in Manchuria—were gathered at the gate.