The L-3 Soviet submarine was officially teeming with people.
Christa, Emily, Leo, Albert, and Damon stood in awe of the vessel’s interior, joined by Anna, Dito, and Huey Long.
For some reason, the crew seemed to be multiplying on its own.
Vladimir Konovalov appeared bewildered by the situation, not to mention the presence of Uotu and his two Semke tribesmen, Agmar and Emna—the three bodyguards assigned to Huey Long.
Even so, only Uotu placed any real faith in Huey; Agmar and Emna remained enigmatic, keeping their distance, as is typical of the mysterious Otherworlder race.
Uotu couldn’t help but feel he had much to learn from Vladimir, a thought that occupied his mind until something intriguing happened during a sparring session.
“Why on earth do I have to spar with Vladimir?” Dito muttered, unable to believe it.
He had assumed Huey could handle the old captain using his [Copy File] ability.
Turns out, that was a misconception.
“[Copy File] only works against enemies, not during sparring,” Huey had explained shortly before they boarded the submarine.
“I only just realized that myself.”
That’s got to be a lie!
Dito thought.
Besides, Anna and I didn’t even see him checking his status.
Despite his doubts, Dito had no choice but to accept the challenge.
Besides, he figured this was the perfect opportunity to see just how strong Vladimir actually was.
He certainly didn’t underestimate the old man’s mastery of the M1907 Carbine, watching closely as Vladimir expertly reloaded the weapon and sheathed his combat knife.
Meanwhile, Uotu whispered to Anna, his curiosity piqued while the two other bodyguards observed Vladimir with intense focus.
“Do you think the young man named Dito can actually defeat the captain?”
Anna’s only response was a sharp side-glance, offering no comment on Dito’s abilities.
She traced her right palm through the air, reading the status window hovering before her—a feat only possible for Otherworlders.
The display read:
Name: Dito Permana
Age: 16
Race: Otherworlder
Level: 6
Job: Crew of L-3 Soviet Submarine
Ability: [Agility Maximum]
Skills: [Accuracy Point], [Speed Boost], [Evasion]
Weapon: Revolver
Dito gripped his revolver, loading six small rounds into the cylinder.
From the shadows, Huey watched with a thin, smug smile, his eyes tracking every move.
He walked toward the duo, holding a Soviet flag.
Anna and Dito both frowned.
“Could it be… no.
I know Vladimir is from the Soviet Union, but why would Huey be carrying that flag?” Anna murmured.
“What’s wrong with the flag Master Huey is holding?” Emna asked her.
Anna spun around, facing the three guards with a stern expression.
“That man is from the United States—the Soviet Union’s direct rival.
It’s strange for him to be siding with Vladimir.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Uotu countered.
“You call that ‘good’?” Dito asked, his eyebrows arched in skepticism.
Anna lowered her head, struggling to explain her reasoning to Huey’s bodyguards, whom she suspected were more fanatical about Huey than the mission itself.
It was just a wild assumption, though.
Seeing Dito’s frustrated expression, she realized he was finding it difficult to mingle with them, but he decided against bringing it up.
She turned her attention back to the fight.
Sparring seems unavoidable now, she mused.
Huey raised his right arm, signaling the start.
This was the first true test of the Otherworlders.
“The sparring match between Dito Permana and Vladimir Konovalov… begins!” Huey shouted.
Both fighters exploded into motion, charging at full speed.
Vladimir took the initiative, unleashing a hail of fire with his M1907 Carbine.
Shell casings clattered against the steel deck.
Dito moved purely on reflex.
As Vladimir worked the bolt-action rifle, Dito ducked and fired his revolver three times, aiming straight for Vladimir’s torso.
Neither man was willing to yield.
Anna could feel the raw, lethal intent behind their movements.
Dito was constantly forced onto the defensive by Vladimir’s sniper fire, his retreat hampered by bullets that seemed to curve unpredictably.
He desperately scanned for an opening, finally deciding that his best bet was to flank from the left.
The moment Vladimir went to reload, Dito saw his chance.
He pointed his revolver at the old man’s forehead and pulled the trigger three times.
When that failed, he moved in for a brutal right hook to Vladimir’s jaw.
But the old man had anticipated the move.
Vladimir caught Dito’s fist mid-air and countered with a devastating punch to the face.
The fight was over; Vladimir had won.
But strangely, Huey didn’t signal the end.
Vladimir had sensed something was off during the fight.
Suddenly, Anna smirked, arms folded across her chest.
That was when Vladimir felt a kick from behind, catching him off guard.
I forgot to tell him Dito’s skill just activated, Anna thought.
Now, Vladimir finally felt the true strength of the young man.
Dito’s left hand manifested a shield adorned with an eagle ornament—a thick blade protruding from the front.
The crest pulsed with energy, firing blasts at Vladimir, who dodged with remarkable agility.
Dito sprinted diagonally, revolver aimed, while the old man clicked his tongue, ducking low.
The spectators, even Huey, were stunned by Vladimir’s defensive prowess.
It was clear the old soldier could not be underestimated.
Dito knew it, too.
Uotu and his companions watched, jaws dropped.
For the first time, they were witnessing the true power of an Otherworlder, causing them to question the nature of Anna herself.
“Surprising, isn’t it?” Anna said, cutting through their troubled thoughts.
The three guards jolted at her voice.
She had to admit, Vladimir’s skills were extraordinary, though they paled in comparison to her own.
Uotu understood then that the girl was cut from the same cloth as him and his comrades.
“Even so, I have to admit, if I had to face that old man, I’d lose decisively.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Simple.
If you boil down the current situation, do you think we could win?”
Emna and Agmar exchanged looks.
It was the first time they’d seen someone so methodically calculating how to defeat Vladimir.
Uotu studied Anna’s body language.
Exactly as Master Huey predicted, he thought.
Dito and Vladimir still refused to quit.
The youth sprinted sideways, leaping and moving with lightning speed, his boots clinging to the submarine’s bulkhead for a few seconds.
His left hand leveled the revolver.
“Wh—!”
A shot grazed Vladimir’s ribs, nearly hitting a lung.
Dito had intentionally used rubber bullets to avoid causing lethal damage—a double-edged sword that might come back to haunt him.
Without warning, Vladimir pulled out a new weapon.
Dito scrambled to defend himself with both arms.
“Honestly, I hate using this,” Vladimir muttered, hefting a PIAT (Projector, Infantry, Anti-Tank).
“But you’ve given me a new reason to bring it out.”
The PIAT, a British-developed spigot mortar system, was a relic effective in stationary positions, capable of launching a 2.5-pound (1.1 kg) high-explosive anti-tank bomb.
Though powerful and lacking the revealing backblast of other anti-tank rifles, it was notoriously heavy-recoiling and difficult to reload.
A massive projectile flew toward Dito.
The youth’s eyes widened, and an explosion was inevitable.
Gray smoke billowed, obscuring the interior of the submarine.
Anna and the guards covered their ears, shocked by Vladimir’s sudden escalation.
“Finally over—”
As the smoke cleared, Dito stood tall, holding his revolver while his left palm glowed with a ball of fire, surrounded by twin arcs of light.
Anna smiled broadly.
“Took you long enough to activate that.”
“Shut it… what matters is that it worked, right?”
“What… is happening?” Agmar gasped, staring in disbelief.
Uotu blinked repeatedly, trying to make sense of the scene.
Dito’s revolver had evolved—the nameless weapon now bore the inscription Ultimate 500.
Vladimir grinned, his skin trembling with excitement.
The old Soviet soldier closed the distance, but his movements were easy to read.
They locked wrists, straining against one another.
Dito tried a low kick, but Vladimir twisted his body, yanking Dito’s arm to throw him off balance.
They traded strikes—pushing, pulling, and grunting with sweat-drenched faces—until Dito landed a heavy shoulder check.
Vladimir stumbled, only to retaliate with an upward-lunging kick.
Deep down, Vladimir knew his pride would be shattered if he lost to a boy like Dito.
He tossed the PIAT aside and aimed his pistol at it—the resulting explosion caught them both in the blast.
Dito fell, defeated.
Anna sighed, running to his side with a first-aid kit.
Huey announced Vladimir as the winner.
The bodyguards applauded the old man’s fighting spirit.
Suddenly, Vladimir collapsed, unconscious.
Uotu rushed to his side, checking his pulse.
To everyone’s shock, the old man’s wounds were already knitting themselves back together, his magical energy fully restored.
“This is…”
“What is it?” Dito asked.
“His wounds… they’ve completely healed.”
“Wh—!”
Anna’s realization rippled through the room.
Even Huey’s face tightened; he struggled to reconcile his logic with this world of magic and fantasy, a reality that continued to exceed his wildest expectations.
Vladimir’s Memories
The Order of Lenin, established in 1930, was the highest civilian honor in the Soviet Union, awarded for extraordinary service to the state, military, or the advancement of human cooperation.
Vladimir had received it three times, the first in 1945.
While it motivated him, he had never enjoyed the limelight.
He despised the applause and the fanfare.
He remembered the 1945 Baltic Sea patrol.
His mission was to lay mines—a tedious task involving seven units, each weighing up to 1,400 kilograms.
Vladimir was meticulous, ordering his crew to stay inside the L-3 unless necessary to minimize the risk of accidental detonation.
Navigating the Baltic was no small feat, requiring either a long, treacherous surface journey from the Black Sea—through the Bosphorus, the Mediterranean, and the Atlantic—or a grueling schedule of fuel and ration management.
Suddenly, a dot blinked on the radar.
“Commander!
At 700 meters, a ship marked Goya is moving toward us!”
Vladimir watched from the conning tower.
A missile arched toward the L-3.
“Hard to port!
Maneuver east!
Watch for our own mines!”
The crew scrambled.
A private named Gribanov Kvetoslav reported, “Commander, a message from the L-2 Submarine.”
Vladimir froze.
“L-2?
That ship doesn’t exist anymore.
How is that possible?”
The L-2 had been lost with fifty hands on November 14, 1941, off the coast of Estonia.
Stalin had forbidden any mention of it.
Yet, here it was, closing in at 600 meters.
Vladimir drew a breath, his voice steel.
“Battle stations!
Target that ship.
If they come to negotiate, ignore them—the L-2 is a graveyard.
Remember that!”
The L-2 sped forward, launching a missile that barely missed them.
Vladimir felt a flash of respect for their maneuverability, but that vanished under the pressure of survival.
An explosion tore through the nearby coral reefs, sending debris crashing into the L-3 and causing critical leaks.
Vladimir scrambled to counter-attack, but suddenly, the L-2 began to emit a blinding, otherworldly light.
Everything went black.
When Vladimir awoke days later, the memory was a hazy blur.
He survived, but the truth remained buried—until he reincarnated as an Otherworlder.
Only then did he realize the L-2 had been real, and its crew had never been Soviet at all.