Garak's Crisis
Seorung stared at the direction where Yeon-hoo and Ilho had vanished, then turned her gaze to Garak. Her fine, pale brow arched faintly, disappointment mingling with irritation in her eyes.
‘I thought there might be something to him since he was putting on such airs even after knowing who that man was...’
Far from it—watching Garak writhe in agony, blood pouring from his wounds, only fueled her annoyance.
‘Useless fool.’
Her hand drifted to her sword hilt. But she shook her head and lowered it.
‘No. The more enemies he has gunning for him, the better. Might as well let this one live for now.’
Seorung shifted her gaze back to where Yeon-hoo had disappeared. A flicker of doubt rose in her wide, doe-like eyes.
‘Why didn’t he use it? If he’d wielded that instead of that pathetic iron sword from the start, that bastard’s head would’ve been rolling by now... Was he trying to capture him?’
As she mulled over the question inwardly, Garak struggled to his feet and began staggering northward. Seorung let out a soft breath and followed at a discreet distance.
“Urgh...”
Garak groaned incessantly with pain as he moved. The agony must have been excruciating. Seorung trailed him stealthily, her thoughts turning to Jeokhon, the head of the Blood Clan.
‘He won’t be able to sit still without making a move himself, not with the Blood Clan’s interests at stake. Guess I’ll have to pin my hopes on him.’
The corner of Seorung’s mouth curled upward slightly—a habit when she anticipated something.
How much time passed? A gust of wind sounded from behind, and Ilho—who had chased after Yeon-hoo—brushed past her without a glance. Even at such close range, he hadn’t sensed her presence.
Moments later, Ilho landed beside Garak.
“...Did you lose him?”
“He was too fast.”
Ilho gave a curt reply and moved ahead, past Garak. Garak grabbed his arm.
Snap!
“Carry me.”
“No.”
“You dare... defy my order?”
“The only one who can command me is my lord. And as I said before, this mess is your own doing. Endure it yourself.”
“I may have started it, but you’re the one who didn’t cover our tracks.”
“I told you we had to get out fast because it felt like someone was watching.”
“You still should’ve covered them!”
Garak bellowed. But Ilho didn’t even glance back, picking up speed.
“W-Wait!”
At Garak’s desperate shout, Ilho halted and turned.
“I’ll take full responsibility... so carry me. We need to get to the lord as fast as possible, don’t we?”
“If it’s a request, I’ll consider it.”
Whoosh.
Garak’s face twisted in utter humiliation at Ilho’s words. His features were already slick with cold sweat from the intense pain, his exposed chest and robes drenched.
He ground his teeth.
“...Please.”
“Get on.”
In the end, Garak clung to Ilho’s back as they headed toward the Iron Blood Clan. Normally, even if his legs were severed, he’d never stoop to this. But as Yeon-hoo had warned, the unbearable pain—beyond human endurance—crushed even Garak’s sky-high pride.
Acupoint strikes were useless, and the opium-laced poppy extract he always carried only dulled his senses slightly without touching the torment.
Biting his lips until they bled, Garak fought the pain atop Ilho’s back.
Grip!
‘Only my lord can rid me of this pain. Once it’s gone, these wounds on my chest and side are nothing.’
Even amid the blurring agony threatening his consciousness, what fueled Garak’s will was Jeokhon’s unique acupoint technique. He’d witnessed it once: Jeokhon calming a subordinate writhing in torment with mere gestures.
‘Hold on just a bit longer, Garak.’
* * *
Yeon-hoo eyed Jo Yeong. Thanks to some breathing exercises, his complexion and gaze had somewhat recovered.
“What happened?”
“Well...”
Jo Yeong explained in detail what hadn’t fit in his report scroll.
Once finished, Yeon-hoo let out an incredulous chuckle.
‘An assassin sent to kill me not only rapes and murders a woman right under the family’s nose but leaves the evidence intact...’
Unless there was some intent behind it, it was beyond comprehension.
Yeon-hoo recalled Garak and smirked.
Seowi-ryang asked, “What about the bastard?”
“Another one interfered, so I failed to capture him.”
“So there were more. But you tried to take him alive?”
Seobaek’s eyes widened. Jo Yeong’s jaw dropped.
“Whoa! He didn’t seem like someone you could just capture...”
Having felt Garak’s power firsthand more than anyone, Jo Yeong felt awe at Yeon-hoo’s words.
“Wiryang.”
“Yes.”
“Go to the city and fetch the herbs Jo Yeong left behind.”
“Understood.”
As Seowi-ryang leaped away, Yeon-hoo turned north. Seobaek supported Jo Yeong and followed.
Yeon-hoo stared toward the Iron Blood Clan, his eyes cooling.
‘Why is the Blood Clan suddenly targeting me?’
It was a puzzle. Given their past grudges, an attempt anytime wasn’t surprising. But parts of it didn’t add up.
Another question lingered.
‘That look—like he knew about Moon Fang.’
Garak’s eerie gaze at Moon Fang wouldn’t fade from memory.
And one more: the mysterious figure hidden in the forest behind Garak. Why hadn’t he intervened while Yeon-hoo fought Garak? If he was Blood Clan, he should have.
“My lord, what’re you thinking so deeply about?”
Seobaek’s voice snapped Yeon-hoo from his reverie. He scanned ahead briefly.
‘If Jeokhon’s lurking somewhere, better take the detour.’
Alone, no need. But with Seobaek and the injured Jo Yeong, no point risking it.
Yeon-hoo veered onto the bypass route.
Seobaek asked, puzzled, “Aren’t we heading straight to the main house?”
“To the Blood King Army.”
“Why there...?”
“Time to flush some rabbits.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll explain on the way. Hurry up.”
“Ah... yes.”
Then Jo Yeong asked, “My lord, what about the sword?”
“Broke.”
“Again?”
Poke!
Seobaek jabbed Jo Yeong’s side mercilessly—right near the wound. Jo Yeong yelped.
“Gah!”
“Oops! S-Sorry.”
* * *
In the Iron Blood Clan’s northwestern mountains, shaped like a massive reclining tiger as if carved by the gods themselves, Jeokhon surrendered to the fierce winds, gazing down at the fortress with sunken eyes.
‘The new buildings blend seamlessly with the old, forming a perfect defensive formation.’
He’d visited years ago. The Iron Blood Clan then and now felt worlds apart, even from a distance.
“What catches your eye so intently, my lord?”
A Black Cloak beside him asked cautiously.
Jeokhon countered, “What do you sense?”
“The Iron Blood Clan?”
Jeokhon nodded silently, and the Black Cloak continued. “Years ago, when we came with you, it seemed laughable and insignificant. Now, it feels like an oppressive fortress you’d never escape once inside—nothing short of astonishing.”
“You see it well. The current Iron Blood Clan has gates of death but none of life; without wings like a bird, no one escapes. A true death trap.”
“Hearing you say it, waiting for him to come out seems our only option.”
Jeokhon nodded silently and glanced aside. Hwangtae leaned against a rock, utterly still.
Jeokhon eyed him briefly, then turned south. Garak, who should’ve arrived by now, was nowhere in sight.
“He’ll come soon. Just wait a bit longer.”
No sooner had the Black Cloak spoken than one of the Yellow Cloaks behind called softly.
“Elder Garak approaches. But...”
The Yellow Cloak trailed off, prompting the Black Cloak to snap, “What is it?!”
“He seems badly hurt.”
“What?”
The Black Cloak looked to Jeokhon in shock. Jeokhon stared impassively toward his subordinates.
Ilho approached, but no Garak. Then he spotted Garak on Ilho’s back, narrowing his brow.
At that moment, the isolated Hwangtae approached Jeokhon.
“What happened?”
“He was fine when I left.”
“Before that.”
“Ask him yourself.”
Hwangtae’s arrogance drew a chill from the Black Cloak’s eyes. Hwangtae glanced at him dismissively and turned to Garak.
Ilho reached the base where Jeokhon stood. Jeokhon watched Garak dismount with effort, asking indifferently, “What happened?”
“On the way, we ran into Yi Yeon-hoo. My apologies—I let my guard down and got ambushed...”
Twitch.
Beneath his curving brow, Jeokhon’s impassive eyes gleamed coldly.
“You two couldn’t handle one man?”
“...”
As Garak faltered, Ilho interjected.
“I had to chase the others.”
“Others?”
Ilho glanced at Garak instead of answering—a silent push to confess.
Drip, drip!
Cold sweat from Garak’s chin hit the ground. He dropped to his knees, head bowed.
“Forgive me. In a moment of greed, I erred.”
“Error?”
Garak endured the pain to recount events, downplaying his fault as much as possible. Still, a chill ran down his spine.
At the end, murderous intent flickered deep in Jeokhon’s pupils.
Whoosh!
Jeokhon’s robes flapped wildly in the gale. To Garak, the sound was more terrifying than any enemy blade laced with killing intent.
“Even a hundred—thousand—precautions fall short, yet an elder lets base lust ruin this critical moment, spooking the snake and leaving witnesses...”
“...”
Garak couldn’t lift his head. In this instant, Jeokhon’s next words gripped him more than the pain.
Silence stretched—an eternity to Garak.
“You’re hurt?”
“Yes. But with your aid, my lord... I can recover. Once I do, I’ll make up for my mistake.”
“That pain means his qi burrowed into you. I can heal the wounds, but the agony won’t fade.”
“Your acupoint technique...”
“Useless. Even my peerless method can’t expel qi left by an Absolute Realm master intent on lingering.”
“...!”
Despair hit Garak. Jeokhon’s eyes confirmed it.
‘He’s... abandoning me.’
“Rise, Garak.”
Garak stood shakily, legs trembling from wounds and pain, but he clenched his teeth.
“Considering your past devotion to the family, I’ll grant you a chance at honorable suicide.”
“...!”
“End it yourself. Preserve your dignity.”
Thud!
Garak’s mind went blank.
‘Discarding me over this...? After I gave everything in loyalty...’
Betrayal shook him. But survival came first. His final card: Hwangtae.
Garak sent a transmission: [Say you’ll kill me! Then I’ll tell you why your brother had to die!]
He saw it—Hwangtae’s cold eyes shake violently.
‘Step up, Hwangtae!’