Deeper within Mt. Suksu's golden woods, where the sun filtered through pine and cedar like strands of silk, a young soldier fought for his life.
Jidal, barely past twenty, hurled his spear with desperate strength at the creature before him—a grotesque beast shaped like a shark, with glistening, eel-like skin and a harpoon fused to its limb. The spear struck, but it might as well have touched stone. A jolt of searing pain surged through Jidal's hands, forcing him to release his grip. The weapon clattered uselessly to the forest floor.
The monster turned.
Jidal stumbled backward, his legs faltering beneath the weight of fear. He watched, horrified, as the creature swung its harpoon like a scythe, felling two of his comrades in a single blow. It then began to advance on him—slowly, deliberately—its flat, cold eyes fixed on his face.
Terror overtook him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the damp undergrowth. As instinct took over, he began to crawl—dirt streaking his arms, leaves clinging to his uniform—searching for the only person he knew to follow: the sheriff of Huaham.
But salvation was nowhere in sight.
All around him, chaos reigned. Four more of the shark-like monsters had broken through the defensive line, tearing through the ranks of soldiers like paper. Arrows flew—sharp and swift—loosed by the sheriff and his remaining men, but none found their mark. There she stood—not floating, but grounded, solid, and utterly unnatural. Her skin bore the hue of something drained, as though life itself had recoiled from her. Every breath she took spilled hatred into the air, warping the light around her. Arrows bent mid-flight, veering off course as if swallowed by a silent wind.
Jidal's breath hitched. Now he understood.
The true master of these abominations is not the beasts themselves. No weapon touches them.
She raises a hand—and everything obeys.
Those monsters—snarling and enormous—move like hounds on a leash.
It's her. She is their master.
A pulse of dread surged through him. His eyes flicked back.
The monster towered above him, casting no shadow even in the blazing sun. Its maw opened, rows of jagged teeth glinting.
He shut his eyes, bracing for pain.
But instead—warm blood splashed across his face.
No pain at all.
Jidal opened his eyes slowly, cautiously wiping the warm liquid from his lashes.
Before him stood a lone figure—cloaked in sunlight and silence—steel blade in hand. At his feet lay the bisected remains of the shark-beast, still twitching in the throes of death.
The man exhaled and shook the blood from his blade.
"I've heard shark cartilage soup is good for the joints," he said dryly, "but this seems a bit excessive."
The monstrous woman turned—her hollow eyes fixing on the man who now stood, unshaken, his steel blade dripping with blood.
At the sight of him, standing so boldly amid the carnage, Yuhua felt something stir within her—not rage, but longing.
Dalsana... my gentle fool.
He had never been decorated for any great merit, yet his body bore more wounds than any officer in Huaham. Always at the front, always shielding others. She used to scold him, dabbing salve onto bruises and gashes.
"If someone saw your scars, they'd think you were King Suro reborn, come to unite the Gayas with your own flesh."
"Stop risking your life in front of your men," she would plead. "What am I supposed to do if you don't come back?"
It wasn't even war. Just a hunt. A routine expedition. And yet he would lead from the front, as though slaying a wild beast required martyrdom.
Dalsana had only ever replied, It's nothing. I'm sorry. I love you.
That same, stubborn man—her man—had crumbled when a sybil told him that the reason they were childless was not misfortune, but a curse. The vengeful spirits of the beasts he had killed, she said, had clung to him. Possessed his fate.
Yuhua had argued. She had screamed that it was absurd. But ten days later, Dalsana came home saying he had volunteered for a rear post. A desk job. The pay was halved, but he would make up the difference. Somehow.
He had hated it. Yet he stayed. Because he wanted to make her happy to have any child.
Then came the invitation. A direct order from Princess Aikjin, the prime advisor for Gahn Shindo. A delivery of salted game to Biyou Land in Gosa Gaya, under the command of Sheriff Roka. Dalsana said they could turn it into a holiday. Biyou Land had cool streams that iced even in summer.
She had hesitated, but he told her Roka himself had approved. It would be safe. It would be their first trip together.
It became their last.
Dalsana died. She drowned.
And in death, she met her master. Was remade. And returned—no longer a woman, but a Living Wrath given form.
Her master had tasked her with aiding a powerful ally: to remove an obstacle.
When she discovered who that obstacle was—when she realized it was the very man who had shattered her life—there was no hesitation.
No sorrow. Only a quiet, burning joy.
Was Dalsana always that bold on the hunt? Did he stand like this stranger—calm and fearless, shielding another from death?
Foolish man.
Foolish man, again.
Even yesterday, I bent the spirit of Mt. Suksu—a sacred wolf—into submission. Turned a guardian into a dog.
And you, human... a flick of my finger, a whisper of my prayer, and your soul will kneel too. You'll become mine.
Yuhua raised her hand, already weaving the incantation.
But the bronze bells at Goi's waist rang sharply—once, like a cry of shielding. Then the bronze mirror at his chest flashed with sunlight.
Mid-chant, she blinked—only to find the man already in front of her. His sword sliced down in a single, merciless arc.
Startled, Yuhua staggered back—five full steps, her curse disrupted, the breath of her spell severed like a snapped thread.
But as she steadied herself—Goi was gone. Vanished into the haze like a ripple swallowed by a still pond.
From somewhere ahead, his voice echoed. Calm. Curious.
"Ah... so that's how her curse can be broken. Fascinating."
The bronze bells chimed in gentle amusement, as if to reply to him.