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Park Jinseong sent Anastasia back and returned to the building.

In the process, Anastasia mentioned, “Now that I think about it, Jinseong’s building feels similar to the endless abandoned buildings I dreamed about before. It gives me this strange urge to explore, like jumping into a salad made with a chocolate bar that swirls together. Can I explore that building just once, like a sweet chocolate bar-salad?” Despite her long and incomprehensible words that seemed to hypnotize him, Park Jinseong naturally thwarted Anastasia’s attempt to go inside and called a taxi to send her away, telling her to go home quietly.

“No—! My back room—!”

Anastasia let out a desperate cry as if she had some regrets, and she vanished, leaving Park Jinseong to slowly ponder in the now silent building.

“Fire line, flame, ribbon….”

Words spoken by Ashtosh Singh just moments ago. When negotiations fell apart and Jinseong showed his intent to go to China, those words emerged from Ashtosh Singh.

The list of metaphoric words poured out.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t guess. Considering that Ashtosh Singh explored human unconsciousness and was a Fire Sorcerer who mainly used magic related to flames, he could roughly imagine what kind of tricks would unfold.

But narrowing it down was another issue.

“Hmm. What happened in India….”

Before the rewind, Park Jinseong had no ties with Ashtosh Singh. He regretted not having the chance to meet him. Furthermore, if he was to think of the methods he would use, he’d have to recall the early days of World War III, back when Park Jinseong was a mercenary…Unfortunately, even back then, he had little connection to India.

Indian mercenaries were predominantly Gurkhas and British mercenaries. Through history and connections, they had firmly established themselves in India, securing the largest piece of the pie. If someone managed to squeeze in, they would next see local mercenaries, but the enormous barrier named religion and status kept outsiders from entering.

“If you’re not of our religion, you’re out.”

“Even if you’re of the same religion, if your race is different, you’re out.”

“Foreigner? Well, the caste is Sudra, so how dare a Sudra attempt to work with us?”

The enormous wall of discrimination. While seemingly infinitely embracing the external, that dreadful, intangible veil was mercilessly tailored to ensure foreign mercenaries did not dare to intrude into India unless it was truly dangerous or filthy. Of course, that exclusive barrier diminished as the flames of war grew stronger, leading to its eventual disappearance.

“Even with such openness, they couldn’t fill all the gaps.”

Once they’d been so exclusive toward foreign mercenaries, could they operate freely in India after they were all dead?

No.

Karma. The karma they often talked about struck back at them.

Those who had somehow made it into India and engaged in mercenary work faced terrible ostracism, blatant discrimination, and unfair judgments to the point of trembling at the mere mention of India.

For instance, some mercenary that Park Jinseong knew would shout repeatedly while drinking, “That damn curry officer bastard came with soldiers and stole all my equipment! What a damn country! Even if I report it, they won’t listen! Later, I learned that bastard was some Brahmin or whatever!” Whenever he had a chance, he always dreamed of smashing that bastard’s skull.

And he wasn’t the only one with experiences like that.

It might seem obvious. Most issues were resolved by those from India or those who had built connections with Indian history…so calling foreign mercenaries to handle tasks implied that nobody wanted to take on that work.

Work that nobody wanted to undertake. But someone had to do it. Hence, it necessitated bringing in outsiders.

Such work could not possibly be error-free.

The subjects of the tasks often carried risks too hefty for those with dreadful credit or who might need to remain in India, low success rates of requests, survival concerns, ghastly aftereffects, or tasks that were so revolting that they could not be psychologically accepted.

Foreign mercenaries were always presented with such tasks.

But couldn’t one manage with decent rewards?

Sure. What mercenary picks and chooses their mission just because it’s a hot meal or a cold meal? They’d jump in if the money was good.

But what did the locals think of those doing dirty, grueling work?

What thoughts crossed their minds when they watched mercenaries trying desperately to take on jobs that nobody else would?

Especially if those mercenaries were foreigners, treated like Sudras in the caste system?

Of course, the inevitable result was contempt and discrimination.

“If you have lots of money, power, or even if you’re foreign but of high status, you’re treated like a Kshatriya…”

Were there any mercenaries among them with such status? They were ones who had nothing and chose to sell their own bodies to make money.

They possessed only their bodies, and their only skill was fighting.

What money or power could such individuals possess?

There wouldn’t be a chance for them to be treated as Kshatriyas.

And thus, the people of India began to discriminate against foreign mercenaries.

This discrimination not only stemmed from filthy thoughts but also from seeing mercenaries endure while being paid, eventually creating a consensus that “Those bastards can be treated however we like!” leading to escalating issues.

It quickly progressed from discrimination to harassment, becoming accepted societal norms.

In no time, that learned discrimination established itself as common sense, crossing the point of no return.

Discrimination.

Hatred.

A continuous series of distasteful experiences even for those who had seen their share of life and death during mercenary work.

Finally, foreign mercenaries who entered India returned with an abundance of hatred toward the country.

Sharpening their bitterness and resentment, they waited for a chance to stab those damn bastards in the belly.

Thus came the day of retribution.

When foreign mercenaries were genuinely needed in India, most staged a boycott. No, some even sided with the opposing side.

Vowing revenge against those damn bastards.

And so, karma returned.

China occupied part of India’s territory and harshly categorized the local populace, then began shifting large numbers of Chinese immigrants there, initiating work to enhance the Han lineage.

The locals?

Most had died, and those who survived were forced into servitude or drafted for genetic enhancement efforts.

According to China’s caste classification, yellow is the highest, black is in the middle, and white resides at the bottom.

Indians weren’t even classified within these categories—they were, in terms of India’s caste system, the untouchables.

Isn’t that truly ironic?

Those who discriminated through class and caste received the same discrimination in return.

And the colossal role that karma played in this outcome was unmistakable.

“And that’s not where it ends….”

Bad things never come one at a time.

The karma they had built wasn’t merely one or two. There were many who ferociously ground their teeth, intent on giving them a taste of their own medicine.

As India began to tremble, Pakistan—a country famously at odds with India—launched nuclear bombs, bombing various regions across India. Meanwhile, in Myanmar, they claimed, “India prepares to invade using the Rohingya refugees who fled there as justification,” moving their army to trespass the India-Myanmar border wall.

Turkey, which was usually uncomfortable with India’s close relations with Armenia, seized this opportunity and sent troops in the guise of “rescuers for oppressed Muslims inside India,” invading under the pretext of wanting to help.

As Turkey advanced, the Islamic world rejoiced at the opportunity to strike at India, shouting about their “sacred duty to rescue oppressed Muslims,” wreaking havoc inside India.

As external invasions continued, those sensing an opportunity began to rise as well.

With nationalism and the call to establish an independent state formed by a unified religion, internal unrest similarly broke out.

Amid this terrifying chaos of external and internal upheaval, Ashtosh Singh rescued civilians, actively protecting children, and gained fame worldwide….

“How did he manage to save them again?”

He recalled the actions credited to those inspired by Ashtosh Singh.

The courageous actions of Sikhs who fought passionately, embracing grenades or bombs, bravely confronting tanks and death in the midst of that horrific chaos….

Ah.

Park Jinseong realized the meaning of the “firewood” that Ashtosh Singh mentioned and couldn’t help but chuckle.

 

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