Foxglove. The name had teeth. She tasted it sometimes, the way certain herbs taste bitter and bright across the tongue. She had earned it by grafting old rites to new tricks: sigils inked with iron and sap, magic stones bathed in distillations of nightbloom and hemal root, the particular hush of breath that made spells take hold. Magic was an old thing —dying, whispered about like a ghost story in the sprawl— and she was a last bright, dangerous flame.
The night air was sharp with the scent of smoke and metal. Choi Byeong-hwa's boots cut through the underbrush as she tore through the forest, her long coat snapping at her heels. The faint hum of the rune stone in her palm vibrated through her bones, each pulse answering to the sigil she had etched into its surface. Her lips moved quickly, whispering the last syllables of the incantation. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled the stone into the ground, and a pale light flashed across the bark of the nearest trees before spilling outward in tendrils.
The effect came quickly. Fog bled into existence in thick, coiling plumes. At first it crept low, seeping around her boots, curling along the moss, before rising in twisting veils that climbed higher and higher into the canopy. The world was swallowed in gray. Sound dulled, as if muffled beneath a heavy blanket. Shapes softened into ghostly blurs, and the once-familiar silhouettes of trees melted into shifting figures that could just as easily be man as branch. The woods became a labyrinth of shadows and whispers—her labyrinth. The perfect hunting ground. The fog was not a wall, not a cage, but a field of her making—an arena in which her prey would stumble and she would not. She slowed her pace, each step deliberate, listening beyond the fog's dampened hush. She could feel it in the marrow of her bones, the prickle at the base of her skull, the way her skin seemed to vibrate as if tasting static in the air.
Kang Taemin was near—she could feel it, the way one senses lightning before a storm breaks.
He had just fled the wreckage of the Northern Legion's industrial factory, its wirings severed, its systems in shambles, alarms still howling faintly behind them. He'd sabotaged half a year's worth of production in a single night. Her quarry was no soldier obeying orders, no figurehead standing behind a banner—he was a saboteur who slipped into their strongholds like a ghost, tearing them down piece by piece. For months, he had been the thorn in their side. Tonight, he would be hers to pluck.
Behind them, the faint alarms of the Northern Legion's industrial factory wailed like wounded animals. The glow of distant fire trembled against the fog's edge, bleeding red through gray. She didn't have to look back to know what he had done—wirings severed, systems reduced to useless metal husks, the work of hundreds undone in one night. Half a year's worth of production, stolen from them in a single act of sabotage. That was his way. Kang Taemin was no soldier marching beneath a banner, no officer chained by rank or creed. He was a shadow with a knife in hand, a saboteur who slipped into strongholds with surgical precision, gutting them from within before vanishing like smoke. For months, his trail of destruction had cut deep into their side, a thorn too elusive to pluck. But not tonight.
And somewhere in the blurred thicket, where the world had been reduced to suggestion and pulse, another pair of eyes —sharp, weary, alive— turned.
"Foxglove," Taemin drawled, his tone infuriatingly light, "you really don't let a man breathe, do you?"
She darted between trunks, the stone warm in her hand, her fan ready to snap open with its bladed edge. She could hear him, somewhere ahead: the faint scrape of boots against bark, the quick inhale of someone landing softly on leaves. He was close.
"Run, rat," she murmured into the mist, her lips curling in a sneer. "There's nowhere left to go."
A rustle above—her head snapped up too late.
From the trees, Kang Taemin dropped like a hawk swooping down on its prey, his weight slamming her to the ground. Her fan scraped across the earth as she caught herself on her elbow, teeth gritted. His laugh, low and mocking, ghosted across her ear.
"You really do like chasing me, don't you?" he drawled, rising smoothly to his feet. "Can't get enough?"
Byeong-hwa hissed through her teeth, magic sparking faintly along her fan's edge. Her lip curled, her eyes sparking with venom. "Rest will come when your blood runs cold beneath my hands." She surged forward, steel fanning through the fog in precise arcs. Taemin parried with ease, catching her strikes on his forearm guard before slipping past her defenses and forcing her to retreat with a kick to her side. The breath whooshed from her chest, but she refused to fall back.
"Cold blood?" he tilted his head, eyes gleaming even in the fog. "That's harsh. Especially when you've been working so hard just for me."
Their words clashed as sharply as their weapons when Taemin surged forward, blade flashing. Byeong-hwa darted back, quick on her feet, her fan slicing in quick arcs that forced him to duck and weave. She was fast, her movements almost serpentine, and her attacks relentless. But he was stronger. His sword met her strikes with brutal precision, each blow driving her further off balance, each feint too clever, too calculated. Every time she thought she'd slipped away, he was already there, cutting off her escape. Every time she closed in, he caught her arm, twisted her wrist, shoved her into the ground. She fought like a predator, but he countered like a man who had been hunted his whole life. His laughter only stoked her rage.
Her fan whirled, enchanted edge scraping against steel, sparks leaping into the mist. She struck low, then high, using the fog to veil her movements, but Taemin was unshaken. His laughter followed each parry. "You're not bad, Foxglove. But defense?" He drove his shoulder into her midsection, forcing the breath from her lungs. "That's not your strength."
She staggered, fury burning hotter than pain. He was right—her training favored the offensive, and he was overwhelming her. Every strike of his sword felt like a storm battering down the fragile walls she'd built. Still, she was not one to surrender. With a hiss, she whispered another rune into being, sigils flashing briefly before the fog thickened, swirling like a living thing. Shapes danced in the mist, illusions meant to distract, to confuse, to buy her time.
But Kang Taemin was not so easily fooled. He lunged through her tricks, sword slicing the shadows apart, until his free hand caught her wrist and twisted. She snarled, trying to wrench free, but he was stronger, his blade at her throat before she could draw breath. His weight bore her down, pressing her into the leaf-strewn earth.
"Got you," he murmured, voice low and mocking. "All that magic, all those tricks… and you still can't beat me."
Byeong-hwa's chest heaved, her lips curling into a sharp smile despite her position. "You talk too much."
Her free hand lifted, palm open, and with a sudden breath she exhaled a burst of fog directly into his eyes. Taemin cursed, momentarily blinded, and she twisted like a snake beneath him. In the same motion, her fan slashed upward, the enchanted steel cutting a shallow line across his arm. Before he could recover, she pressed a gleaming magic stone into the wound, her power crackling through it. The poison laced into the cut instantly, sinking into his blood like ink into water.
His eyes widened, realization dawning, but already the fog was curling tighter, swallowing her shape whole.
"Foxglove—" he growled, swiping at the mist, but she was gone, her presence dissolved into the shadows of her own making.
And somewhere deeper in the forest, Byeong-hwa's voice echoed faintly, carried by the wind. "You'll learn soon enough, Kang Taemin. You were never meant to escape me."
The fog thickened, leaving him alone with the sting in his arm and the slow, creeping fire of her poison beneath his skin.
Her breath came in quiet, measured pulls as she slipped deeper into the woods, the rune stone warm in her hand. She had done it. The curse was inside him now, slow and invisible, gnawing at his strength. This time, Kang Taemin would not escape her—not truly.
Bora could feel the adrenaline still burning in her veins as she slipped out of the forest, her steps light, her chest rising with quiet satisfaction. At last. After months of pursuit, of watching Kang Taemin slip through her traps and vanish into shadows with his infuriating grin, she had finally marked him with her poison. There was no antidote, no cure—he wouldn't last long. Her mission, the one that had consumed every waking thought for months, was finally complete.
Her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she tucked her bladed fan back into its sheath, fingers brushing the faint residue of the poison stone. The memory of Kang Taemin's startled eyes, the way he had faltered as her spell sank into his blood, replayed like a sweet melody in her mind. Finally. After years of chasing him across battlefields, through ruins and ambushes, after watching him unravel operation after operation with his clever sabotage, she had caught him alone and brought him down.
The night air seemed sweeter as she made her way back to the city, her cloak fluttering behind her like a banner of triumph. Chasing Taemin had been hellish; he was never alone, always buried within squads of the Southern Order's soldiers, using numbers and coordination to keep her at bay. It had been like trying to pluck a single thread from a spider's web without getting caught. But tonight had been different. Foolish. Reckless. He had gone alone to sabotage one of the Northern Legion's industrial factories—slipping past wires, tearing through systems, and leaving chaos in his wake. Alone. It had been his mistake, and her opportunity. And she had not wasted it.
Her penthouse—spacious, luxurious, and perched high above the city's chaos—was one of the many benefits of being what so few others were: a true sorceress in a world where magic had all but vanished. The Northern Legion prized her talents, guarded her like a treasure, because sorcery was a dying art and Foxglove was one of its last practitioners. She had her own private rooms, artifacts and stones provided for her work, and stipends generous enough to make even generals envious. It wasn't a bad life—so long as she kept succeeding. To be Foxglove was to be untouchable.
Or so she thought.
She dropped her cloak onto the arm of the sofa and poured herself a drink, ready to contact her superiors with the triumphant words: mission accomplished. The thought of finally filing the report and earning a well-deserved reprieve made her shoulders loosen, her tension bleeding out like ink in water. She placed her fan, still faintly glowing with the last traces of the poison sigil, onto her table with a delicate clink.
But instead of the praise she expected, silence pressed heavy for a beat before her superior's voice cut through—cold, unyielding. "Your mission is nullified, Foxglove. Effective immediately."
Bora froze. "What?"
"There's been a development. While you were off the grid, the Legion and the Southern Order came to terms. The war is over. As of this morning, our factions are unified."
The words struck her like a physical blow. Byeong-hwa sat back slowly, the glass in her hand tightening until the stem threatened to snap. "Unified," she repeated flatly. "You mean to tell me that after years of blood, sabotage, and death, the two sides just… signed a treaty?"
"An alliance. A merger, if you will. Which means," the voice pressed on without sympathy, "your current mission is now reversed. Kang Taemin is no longer a target. He is an asset. A key operative of the Southern Order's special units. Your new task is to find him. And heal him."
The glass finally broke in her grip, shards glittering across the floor. "Heal him?" she hissed, voice dripping with venom. "Do you realize what you're asking? I made that curse. It wasn't designed to be healed. It was designed to eat him alive."
"All the more reason you are the only one who can undo it. "Nevertheless, it must be undone. If he dies, the Southerners will see it as a betrayal, and the truce will collapse before it even takes root. The Legion cannot afford that risk. This is no longer optional, Foxglove."
Her blood ran cold, her fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. "You can't be serious," she hissed. "I've spent months chasing him—"
"And now you will spend months saving him," the voice interrupted, sharp. "Kang Taemin is no longer your target. He is a vital asset to our new allies. If he dies by your hand, this alliance will unravel before it has even begun."
The connection cut, leaving her penthouse heavy with silence. Byeong-hwa sat rigid in her chair, fury pulsing through her veins. All the satisfaction she had felt mere minutes ago curdled into ash.
Find him. Heal him. As if it were that simple. Kang Taemin had always been difficult to track, and now, with his blood poisoned and his body weakened, who knew where he had disappeared to? Worse, her most reliable method—her location-finding runes—was exhausted. She had used the last of her prepared stones to corner him in the forest. Crafting another would take days of energy-draining work, days she might not have if the poison took hold too quickly.
She leaned back, pinching the bridge of her nose, sulking like a cat denied its prey. If he died before she reached him, her career—her home, her privileges, her life—would crumble. The Northern Legion might not execute her outright, but firing her, discarding her, making her a scapegoat? Entirely possible. They loved her power, but they loved their politics more.
With a low growl, she sank onto the edge of her velvet sofa, burying her face in her hands for a moment. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Spend years hunting him down, and the moment I succeed, they want me to save him."
The poison was already working its way into his veins. It wouldn't kill him immediately—that had never been the point—but it would whittle him down, hour by hour, until he could barely stand, until the Southern Order lost their clever shadow who had ruined one Northern plan after another.
She leaned back, staring at the ceiling, sulking like a cornered cat. The thought of scouring the world for Taemin again, not to kill him this time but to mend what she had inflicted, was infuriating. Not to mention humiliating. She hated the idea of her poison turning against her—her flawless work suddenly branded a mistake.
She let out another groan, burying her face in her sleeve. "Kang Taemin, if you die before I find you, I'll strangle your corpse myself."
Foxglove, the Northern Legion's deadliest sorceress, now found herself tasked with the one job she had never prepared for: saving the man she had spent years trying to kill.
Kang Taemin staggered through the woods, one hand pressed hard against the gash on his arm, the other gripping the trunk of a tree to keep himself upright. The cut itself was shallow, nothing that should have slowed him down—he'd suffered worse plenty of times—but whatever she had pressed into it burned like fire. It spread beneath his skin in hot, crawling waves, searing through his muscles until every breath came ragged.
The sting of the fan's blade was nothing compared to what followed. At first, it was just a sharp, biting heat, like fire laced into his veins. But within moments, Kang Taemin's entire arm pulsed with agony, the cut burning deeper than flesh. His vision blurred, the forest tilting around him as the fog dispersed into the night. He cursed under his breath, pressing a hand against the gash, but the wound wasn't the problem. No, it was the stone she'd pressed against it. He could feel the curse worming through him like living fire, crawling toward his chest.
"Damn sorceress," he muttered, forcing himself forward. Every step was a battle, his muscles screaming in rebellion. His lungs burned, sweat running cold down his spine. He staggered through the trees, stumbling toward the hidden rendezvous point where his squad would be waiting.
Five figures rose from the shadows at once, weapons half-drawn, before recognition softened their stances. Relief washed over their faces, until the sight of him made their relief curdle into alarm. His squad—five men who had fought beside him through years of missions—were gathered near the outpost gates. Lim Junwon, their captain, was the first to break from the group, his sharp eyes narrowing the moment they landed on the blood running down Taemin's sleeve.
"What the hell happened?" Junwon's voice was equal parts steel and fury. He caught Taemin by the shoulder before he could collapse outright, hauling him upright. "That cut—damn it, Taemin." Junwon's eyes narrowed. "You went alone. No backup, no consultation. You went solo into a Legion factory, Taemin. Do you have a death wish?"
Taemin winced as Junwon's grip tightened. "I got it done," he rasped, forcing out the words even as his stomach churned. "Factory's down. Systems fried. Mission accomplished."
Junwon's expression hardened, his anger barely contained. "Mission accomplished? Did you even think to check with us before running off? That factory means nothing now. Nothing, Taemin. Because while you were out playing hero, the Northern Legion and the Southern Order signed a damn treaty."
The words hit like a second blow. Taemin blinked, dazed, his mind sluggish from both shock and poison. "A… treaty?"
Junwon's glare was unrelenting. "We're united now. The war's over. That infiltration you just pulled? All for nothing. Worse than nothing—it could have jeopardized the truce if you'd been caught."
A groan escaped Taemin as he leaned heavily against him, his legs trembling. The pain in his arm pulsed with every beat of his heart, relentless. He pressed his lips into a thin line, muttering under his breath, "If that's true, then… Foxglove just poisoned me for nothing too."
The name hit his squad like a blade. The air went taut, every man stiffening at once.
Nam Mu-hyeok, tall and perpetually loud, broke it first. "Wait, Foxglove? As in Foxglove—the hot sorceress who's been trying to kill us every other mission?" His eyebrows shot up. "She's the one who did this?"
Despite the searing pain, Taemin managed a strangled laugh. "Glad to know that's what you remember about her."
"Let me see it," Hwang Taek said, stepping forward with the measured calm that made him the squad's medic of sorts. He knelt beside Taemin, gently pulling his hand away from the wound. The moment Taek peeled back the fabric of his sleeve, a low whistle escaped his lips.
The cut had spread, veins darkening around it, twisting upward in unnatural patterns. And at the center of the wound, as if stamped into his flesh by some cruel hand, was a blooming sigil: the delicate shape of a foxglove flower, inked in purple light against his skin.
"She marked you," Taek said grimly, his eyes sharp. "She personalized the spell. It's not just poison, it's a curse. See the way it shapes itself? That's not something you can scrub out with medicine."
"Of course she left a signature," Hong Seungmin muttered, his voice low with exasperation. "Foxglove always has to leave her little stamp, doesn't she? Over the top, theatrical woman. Like she's signing her art."
Taemin barked a laugh, though it came out more like a wince. "Says the man who nearly burned down an entire town square because you wanted your distraction to have fireworks. Pot, meet kettle."
"It was strategic flair!" Seungmin scowled.
"Flair, my ass," Taemin groaned, leaning back as the fire spread further up his arm. "Foxglove's insane, but at least she's consistent. You just like showing off."
The fire crackled low, throwing uneven light across the camp. The shadows of Taemin's squad bent and shifted with the flames, their faces grave as they studied the mark spreading across his arm. The flower-like pattern was more distinct now, the edges glowing faintly violet as though pulsing with its own heartbeat. Each throb sent a lance of pain crawling through his veins, leaving him gritting his teeth to keep from groaning.
It was Hwang Taek who finally broke the quiet. He sat back on his heels after inspecting the wound again, his expression thoughtful but grim. "This isn't something I can patch up. Ordinary medicine won't touch it. You know that, Taemin."
Taemin huffed through his teeth, refusing to meet his eyes. "I noticed."
Taek didn't rise to the sarcasm. He kept his gaze steady, voice calm but deliberate. "Which leaves us with one option. We have to find Foxglove. She's the one who did this. She's the one who can undo it."
The words landed like a spark on dry brush.
The reaction was instant. Hong Seungmin pushed off from his tree and threw up his hands. "Absolutely not." His tone was sharp, his pride bristling. "You're suggesting we go crawling to her? The same woman who's been hunting Taemin like a wolf hunts deer for months? Have you lost your mind?"
Taek didn't flinch. "You're not wrong. She has been our enemy. She's cut down plenty of our operatives without hesitation. But circumstances have changed." He straightened, gesturing broadly at the group. "The North and South are allied now. Whether we like it or not, Foxglove is no longer just their weapon—she's ours too. If she cursed Taemin, she can unweave it. And given the new truce, she'd be compelled to do it."
Seungmin scoffed, shaking his head. "Compelled? Do you honestly think she'll willingly fix the man she's spent months chasing through forests and factories? I wouldn't trust her to pour water on a fire if she swore she would."
Taek leaned back on his heels, his hand still hovering just short of the wound. "This isn't something an ordinary healer can handle. The curse is too complex, too… specific." His eyes lifted toward Junwon, the squad leader. "The only real option is to find her again. Have Foxglove undo what she did."
"That makes her the last person we should trust," Seungmin snapped. "Even if the two factions are supposedly allies now, it doesn't erase the fact that she's tried to kill him half a dozen times. What's to stop her from finishing the job once we put Taemin right in her hands?"
Taek met his glare without flinching. "I'm not saying I trust her. But things have changed. You heard the orders the same as I did, the North and South are no longer enemies. She isn't supposed to be our executioner anymore. She's supposed to be our ally."
Junwon raised a hand, his voice calm but carrying authority enough to quiet them both. "Enough. Taek's right. If there's even a chance she can reverse this, we need to consider it. Taemin isn't just another soldier. Our squad has been vital to the Southern Order's operations for years. Now that we're allied, the North won't want to lose someone as effective as him. Neither will our own." He cast a look at Taemin, his eyes firm. "Keeping you alive is in everyone's best interest."
Seungmin scoffed, throwing his arms up, but even he couldn't entirely argue with that logic. He muttered something under his breath about "trusting a snake not to bite" and stepped back, glaring into the fire as if it had offended him personally.
The squad fell quiet again, though the fire popped and hissed between them. Nam Mu-hyeok, sitting with his knees pulled up and his arms draped loosely over them, finally tilted his head toward Taemin. His tone was lighter than the others, but his eyes carried the weight of genuine concern. "So what do you think? You're the one wearing her pretty little flower. If you're not up for chasing her down, we won't force it."
Taemin's jaw tightened as he studied the flickering flame. The pain was worsening—hot, relentless, burrowing deeper by the minute. He hated the thought of turning to Foxglove, hated the idea of being at her mercy. But as much as pride clawed at him, he knew the truth. This curse wasn't one he could outlast. And no healer alive would know its design the way its creator did.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, a grimace tugging at his lips. "People should learn to clean up their own messes." His voice was low, roughened by both pain and bitterness. "And in this case, Foxglove's the only one who can do it."
The words hung in the air, heavy but decisive. Mu-hyeok let out a slow breath, nodding. Junwon straightened, already considering next steps. Even Seungmin, though visibly bristling, said nothing more, his silence a reluctant acceptance.
"If she wants to play games," he rasped, leaning forward, "then she doesn't get to leave me half-dead in the dirt. If the alliance means anything, she's going to fix what she started."
The fire cracked again, sparks floating upward like fleeting stars. And in the stillness, Taemin flexed his hand, feeling the burn of the curse lace deeper through his veins. Somewhere out there, the sorceress who had hunted him for months was celebrating her victory. Soon enough, she would have to face him again—not as prey, not as a target, but as the only person who could keep him alive.
The next morning, Task Force Delta was already moving northward. Their steps were steady, purposeful, but anyone watching them would see only a group of Southern soldiers taking advantage of the freshly inked truce to wander into new territory. The excuse was airtight—sightseeing, camaraderie, learning about their new allies. But beneath the casual smiles and offhand chatter, each of them kept their eyes sharp, scanning for any trace of the woman who had nearly claimed Taemin's life.
The problem was, Foxglove was like a ghost.
They knew her codename. They knew her face—but only framed by the battlefield: the swirl of enchanted fog, the shimmer of runes glowing against her skin, the flowing, otherworldly garb she wore when she descended upon them like something not entirely human. That ethereal operative's uniform was likely long gone in the new world of peace. In modern clothes, she could walk past them on the street and they might not notice her at all. For all her dramatics, she was careful. Too careful.
"Even if she was right in front of us, we wouldn't recognize her," Seungmin muttered one evening as they loitered in the northern capital's plaza, where traders shouted from stalls and nobles strolled in carriages. He looked disgruntled, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "She's not going to just wander into a teahouse and announce, 'Hi, I'm the sorceress who tried to kill your friend.'"
Mu-hyeok smirked, adjusting his pack. "If she did, it'd save us the trouble."
Taek's gaze flicked toward Taemin, who had gone quieter than usual, the faint strain around his eyes betraying the slow burn in his veins. None of them said it aloud, but the curse was advancing, and time was not their ally.
The conversation cut off when a voice called out.
"Captain Lim Junwon?"
The squad turned in unison. A man in the navy and silver of Northern diplomatic robes approached with an easy smile. He was well-kept, polished in the way only career politicians managed to be, his hair bound neatly, a silver clasp marking him as part of the Legion's diplomatic corps.
"You are Lim Junwon, yes?" the man asked, his voice smooth and carrying easily over the din. "Leader of the Southern Order's Task Force Delta?"
Junwon stiffened, but only faintly, offering a short nod. "I am." His hand hovered subtly near his belt, ready for anything, though his face betrayed nothing.
"I thought so," the man said warmly, extending a hand. "I am Cho Daeryeong, envoy of the Northern Legion. I've read your record, Captain—you lead Task Force Delta of the Southern Order, do you not? It's an honor to meet one of your caliber now that our nations are bound in unity."
Junwon accepted the handshake firmly, though he could feel the rest of his squad stiffen behind him. "The honor is mine, Envoy Cho. We've been… adjusting to the new arrangement. Sightseeing, as you can see. It's a strange thing, stepping foot in the North without a blade raised."
Cho Daeryeong chuckled. "Strange, perhaps, but promising. Many of our people look forward to this truce lasting." His gaze swept across the squad, lingering briefly on Taemin before flicking back. "You'll find we are more alike than different."
Behind Junwon, Seungmin leaned toward Mu-hyeok, muttering under his breath. "Perfect. A smiling politician. Just what we need." Mu-hyeok elbowed him to shut up.
Junwon kept his composure, seeing the diplomat's approach for what it was: an opportunity. Someone in Cho's position would know names, faces, allegiances. If anyone could give them a lead on Foxglove, it would be a northern envoy eager to impress their new allies.
"Well," Junwon said smoothly, "since you seem well-versed in the Legion's operatives… perhaps you could help us settle a curiosity. There's someone we've crossed paths with during the war. A woman, a sorceress. Codename: Foxglove."
At the name, Cho's brows lifted slightly, though his smile didn't falter. "Ah. Her! Yes, I know of Foxglove. Not many forget her, magic is rare enough these days, but she wields it with flair." He tilted his head, studying Junwon with polite interest. "Why do you ask?"
Junwon kept his voice steady, nonchalant. "She made quite the impression during our time in the field. Now that we're allies, I thought it might be useful to know whether we'll be seeing her again."
Taemin shifted at that, his arm throbbing, the purple flower mark burning faintly beneath his sleeve. He said nothing, but his jaw tightened. If Cho Daeryeong had any sense at all, he would notice the weight of that silence, the way the squad leaned ever so slightly forward as though hungry for information.
Here it was: their first real chance at a lead.
Cho Daeryeong smiled, the kind of slow, polished smile diplomats perfected over decades, as he leaned slightly on his cane for effect. "You know," he began, voice smooth and deliberate, "Foxglove is… remarkable. Not just a sorceress, but a true asset to the Northern Legion. She's often assigned to missions that aid the North in ways few can claim to understand."
The squad straightened as he continued, clearly savoring the story he was about to tell. "She's efficient. When droughts strike, she's sent to reverse the effects, channeling her magic through the land itself. Crops that would have withered flourish under her influence. And as for pests, those harmful insects that destroy harvests? They simply vanish. Mosquitoes, locusts, whatever would eat at the food supply? Gone. Her presence alone has practically eliminated them, which explains why the North's agriculture is consistently thriving. Some even whisper that her magic reaches further than the fields, warding off maladies before they take hold."
Taemin's squad shifted subtly, eyebrows raising, eyes narrowing. Seungmin scoffed lightly, but even he looked a little impressed. Taek's jaw slackened for just a second before he muttered, "That's… actually kind of amazing."
Mu-hyeok's eyes nearly popped. "So… no mosquitoes? No locusts? That's… insane." He leaned forward like a boy hearing a fairy tale.
The diplomat continued, warmth in his tone. "And occasionally, when foreign envoys travel north, she's deployed alongside the protection units. Her magic ensures no harm comes to them, and she's remarkably discreet while doing it. Most people know her only through reports, and while her identity remains… mysterious… she is very well protected. No one dares dig into who she really is, and those who do usually regret it. But the respect for her—well, it's genuine. People admire her, not just for skill, but for what she's done for the country."
Mu-hyeok let out a low whistle. "Well… if she's half as capable as that, I can see why she's feared. And… beautiful, from what little we've seen." He shifted his gaze subtly to Taemin, giving a small smirk. "I'd admit, even I can admire that."
Junwon's lips curved into a small, conspiratorial smile. He leaned slightly toward Daeryeong Cho, lowering his voice. "You know," he murmured, "one of my squad members admires her greatly. Now that our nations are aligned… we'd like to help out our friend. You see, it's complicated—he's a bit… smitten, and the timing is right for assistance."
Junwon's eyes flicked over to Taemin, who had been leaning back slightly, grimacing at the very mention of Foxglove's name. Taemin's discomfort was obvious, he didn't look impressed; he looked ready to vanish entirely. Junwon subtly gestured toward him, intending to imply that the youngest squad member was the one who admired Foxglove greatly.
Cho Daeryeong's head tilted in puzzlement. "Pardon me, Captain Junwon," he said slowly, his smile faltering for just a moment. "Are you… pointing at him?" He gestured toward Taemin. "Because… from what I can see, that young man back there," he gestured to Mu-hyeok, who looked awestruck. "Seems to be the one most obviously captivated."
Before he could elaborate, Taek spoke up from behind the group, leaning casually but with a precise confidence that cut through the awkwardness. "Both of them like her," he said with certainty, nodding slightly at Taemin. "Taemin's just… shy. He doesn't show it."
Cho Daeryeong's eyes lit up, the usual polish in his demeanor giving way to something more giddy, almost unprofessional. "Oh? I see. That's… delightful," he said, a barely contained sparkle in his voice. "Perhaps I can be of assistance. I have access to some… sensitive information, of course, but if it encourages a young man to pursue a… proper courtship…" His gaze swept toward Taemin, who felt his stomach tighten, a mix of embarrassment and irritation bubbling up.
Cho Daeryeong continued to speak rapidly, clearly thrilled to have stumbled into what he considered a romantic intrigue. "You see, Foxglove is… selective. She only entertains those who are sincere, and even then, she tests them. But imagine! Two young admirers from a now-unified South Order, eager to demonstrate their loyalty and… affection. This is… most excellent." He dug into the pocket of his robe and produced a small, polished card, handing it over to Junwon with a flourish. "Here. My contact. If you are serious about arranging a meeting—or need assistance locating her—you'll want this. Discretion guaranteed, of course."
Cho Daeryeong, oblivious to Taemin's internal groaning, leaned closer to Junwon, lowering his voice with a conspiratorial gleam. "If you'd like, I can give you more details about her routines, where she might appear, even which missions she favors. All very discreet, of course. But, you understand—if we are to assist young hearts in pursuit of… admiration, we must be thorough." His excitement bubbled over as he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You see, Agent Foxglove is selective, but she is responsive to sincerity. If your young admirers are earnest, I can provide details—times, locations, even some of her non-classified routines. Naturally, it must be handled delicately, but there is much I can share to ensure a… successful encounter."
Seungmin muttered something under his breath about diplomacy turning into matchmaking, but even he smirked, shaking his head. Taemin groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead as the burning mark throbbed beneath his sleeve. Mu-hyeok nudged him teasingly, whispering, "Come on, man… think of the possibilities."
The squad exchanged glances, half amused, half wary, as they continued northward under the guise of sightseeing. But beneath the casual exterior, plans were already forming. They now had a contact, a lead, and perhaps—if fortune favored them—the one person capable of undoing the curse that Foxglove had left on Taemin. And Cho Daeryeong, giddy and eager, seemed intent on making the journey as entertaining as it was perilous.
This mission was supposed to be about survival. Now it was about diplomacy, magic, and a very giddy diplomat with a flair for romance. And Taemin's gut told him that surviving Foxglove might be the least of his worries.