Sever the Wolf's Tail (3)

Rood didn't doubt for a second that what he'd suffered in the dream was some kind of attack. The sensation of his limbs twisting, the slow constriction of his windpipe, and the final snap of his cervical vertebrae remained vividly etched in his mind.

Rood gasped for breath, his sharp green eyes scanning every corner of the empty room that should have been devoid of anyone else.

'Magic? No, this isn't the kind of illusion magic that simply shows visions.'

In war, mages were just as significant a variable as knights, so Rood had experienced quite a few of their tricks. Even on battlefields where allies turned on each other under magical influence, he had kept his wits about him and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wiped out the enemy mages positioned in the rear.

But this was the first time he'd encountered interference that struck while he was asleep.

'If it's not magic, then shamanic power is the most likely culprit. A curse-type technique?'

Though magic and shamanic arts might seem similar at first glance, their principles and characteristics were distinctly different. To summarize, magic was the power to create something from nothing, while shamanic power was the ability to utilize what already existed.

Magic could manifest in countless ways depending on the mana in the atmosphere, the proper combination of the seven elements, the caster's understanding, and the number of circles they possessed. Shamanic power, on the other hand, drew out the primal source residing in objects and manipulated the target's connections—their karmic bonds.

Typical examples included forcing two people to fall in love or helping someone overcome a deep-seated fear. Among these, the techniques that struck at the target's mind or layered misfortune upon them through their connections were known as curse shamanism.

Most shamans considered curses a taboo act and rarely used them, but there were always those whose ugliness crossed every line.

"This feels like absolute shit," Rood muttered.

He began thinking of ways to counter it, drawing inferences from the facts he'd gleaned in the nightmare.

'I must have gotten close enough to the truth of the case to warrant a threat.'

He doubted the culprit would have targeted him without reason. From the perpetrator's perspective, staying quiet would have been the smartest and easiest course. The fact that they had gone so far as to use a curse to drive him away suggested there was something more at stake.

"As expected, this won't be easy."

Rood had already examined every inch of the room earlier, but he let out a sigh when he sensed no presence or gaze anywhere.

'They're definitely watching my every move.'

He didn't know the limits of their surveillance, but he was certain this bedroom had fallen into the shaman's grasp long ago. They wouldn't have cast a curse simply because he'd discovered the marks on the fence. That information alone—merely that he'd jumped the barrier—didn't provide enough to form any meaningful conjecture.

It was far more reasonable to assume the curse had been triggered because he'd posed a greater threat than simply finding the fence.

'They must have learned that I'm communicating with Isabelle through the messenger hawk. Or perhaps something in the note matched their expectations exactly. Maybe both.'

Finally, Rood easily realized that whoever had cast the curse harbored deep hostility and hatred toward Isabelle.

'Calling her a murderer... does that mean they have some grudge against her?'

Rood wondered whether Isabelle had truly killed anyone.

'Anyway, it's clear they'll keep attacking me every time I fall asleep.'

Rood closed his eyes. When a way to resolve the situation occurred to him, his eyes opened slightly.

'I just won't sleep.'

The curse hadn't descended until ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he'd fallen asleep. He reasoned that delivering warnings through dreams meant it lacked significant power in reality. If revealing itself to affect him was necessary, that would actually be something to be grateful for.

Staying awake wouldn't be easy, but Rood had confidence. He'd once gone an entire week without sleep while running multiple operations.

"I need to get out of here quickly. I don't particularly want to die."

With those words, Rood began gathering his belongings in the room. He wasn't actually fleeing the village out of fear of death.

'You want to watch me? Then I'll make use of your eyes.'

If this bedroom was indeed under surveillance, Rood would have to put on a flawless performance from now on. That way, he could lure his opponent into a false sense of security and land a solid blow.

'I need to rush to the office.'

Rood had to consider the worst-case scenario. If he'd been under constant watch all day, the culprit might very well be in the process of destroying the documents being copied at the office right now.

'Isabelle should be able to decipher them.'

Rood stretched his stiff neck from side to side.

'Right. Time to get to work.'

Rood left the room and headed to the stable, where he loaded his belongings onto a horse. In the darkness where no one could see, he crouched low. He moved silently, then leaped cleanly over the stable fence.

The moment his feet touched the ground, he shot forward like an arrow, racing through the empty square where no one walked.

'Please.'

He glanced around to roughly memorize the location of the sheriff's office. Rood didn't stop running even as he darted through the twisting alleys.

His footsteps pounded against the ground.

When Rood burst through the office door, he saw a Müject diligently copying documents.

'Thank goodness. This should be enough.'

It wasn't completely finished, but the scene sketches drawn by the Müject had been perfectly reproduced. Rood moved to stuff them into the messenger hawk's pouch.

Crash!

The sound of shattering windows rang out as something smashed to pieces on the floor. The noise repeated several times. Realizing it was an enemy attack, Rood pressed his back against the innermost wall—the one without windows.

He had barely avoided the assault, but soon realized his choice had been a mistake.

'This smell... kerosene?'

Whoosh!

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

As flames engulfed the office, Rood quickly tried to head for the front door, which hadn't yet caught fire.

'Wait. This trap is too obvious.'

They had thrown glass bottles filled with kerosene through both windows, yet left the front door—the most critical escape route—unburned. It was suspicious. But if he tried to escape through the windows, there was a high chance the reports would catch fire while he fought through the flames and never reach Isabelle.

"You didn't know there were other ways out? Pathetic fool."

Rood stepped back from the wooden wall he'd been leaning against and drew his sword.

"I can just cut straight through the wall."

He swung his blade several times. Then, with one powerful kick, a hole large enough for a person to pass through appeared in the wall that had seemed impenetrable.

Rood ducked and slipped out of the office through the gap.

Boom!

A powerful explosion erupted from the front entrance of the office moments later.

'Good thing I didn't head for the front door. That would've been dangerous.'

Rood wanted nothing more than to find the shaman lurking nearby and slit their throat right then. But he still had no idea where the bastard was, and he didn't want to reveal his own position.

He had a rough idea now of what the shaman feared.

'This bastard... is afraid of Isabelle?'

It seemed the very act of information reaching Isabelle was being treated as a crisis. Therefore, Rood's only task was to find the messenger hawk and deliver these documents.

Piiiieeeeee!

Rood put his fingers to his lips and blew a sharp whistle. The messenger hawk descended lightly and landed on his running shoulder.

"Good. Fly back quickly."

Rood stopped, crumpled the copied documents into the hawk's pouch, and sent it soaring back into the sky. Only then did the extreme tension in his body begin to ease slightly.

"You watching, you stupid prick? You're already a rat trapped in a cage."

Rood stared into empty air and let out a low, mocking laugh.

Isabelle had just changed into her favorite rabbit pajamas and was about to climb into bed.

Flap!

At the sound of wings hitting the window, she looked up to see the messenger hawk she'd sent to Rood perched on the windowsill, catching its breath.

"Already at this hour?"

Isabelle opened the window and pulled the heavy pouch from the hawk's leg. She took out the documents and scanned them carefully.

'The marks on the fence are deep. Not steel—animal claws or bones... but far too deep.'

She quickly inferred the situation from the copied office materials.

'Wolf. Sound of clashing steel. The child who was lured is dead. Missing body parts.'

Isabelle read the last sentence Rood had scribbled in haste.

"A shaman? Wait a moment."

A possibility suddenly occurred to her. She examined the materials Rood had sent with meticulous care, then closed her eyes to organize her thoughts.

Strength that couldn't belong to a wolf. The sound of steel, yet the remaining traces were clearly bone. The bizarre focus on targeting only children. Luring the child, taking a specific part of the body as its goal, then fleeing.

All the evidence pointed to a single possibility.

'It's Yukryeong.'

Yukryeong was the name of the Empire's exclusive corpse necromancy. It was a method the Empire used to exploit even those who had died in war, gathering muscle and bone to create legions of corpses that knew only how to charge at the enemy.

However, since they used the bodies of the dead, they naturally couldn't exert greater power than living humans. To compensate, the Empire added one more technique: Uiche reinforcement.

The mechanical sounds heard near the crime scenes were, Isabelle suspected, produced by imperial-style prosthetic bodies. They were combat weapons designed to compensate for the slow speed and weak strength of corpses.

And to maximize that power, they required not the bones of fully grown adults, but the smaller frames and bodies of children.

"Rood is in danger..."

She needed to send troops to Boeub Village immediately. The Yukryeong created using children were terrifying entities capable of exerting power equivalent to a Pseudo-Knight.

Isabelle hurriedly called for Pete and scribbled a hasty note in hurried handwriting.

"Lady Isabelle, you called?"

"I'm sorry, but deliver this to Moneck at once! Tell him to head to Boeub Village immediately! Not only Rood, but the entire village of Boeub will be massacred if we delay!"