Monster, Hero
Drag drag drag.
The sound of a massive object scraping across the dirt road shattered the silence at the village outskirts.
I readjusted the arrowroot vine slung over my shoulder. My back felt chilly as the sweat cooled, but my footsteps were light as feathers. It was all thanks to the overwhelming presence radiating from the 300kg yellowish lump dangling behind me—my calling card, my seed capital, and the ironclad guarantee that I'd survive on this Joseon turf.
The women weeding the fields looked up, then screamed at the sight of the shadow trailing me.
"Oh my god! W-what is that?!"
"A t-tiger! The mountain lord's come down!"
The women dropped their hoes and fled, skirts flapping. The men working the paddies and the kids playing by the roadside scattered in panic.
"Help! The tiger's coming down from the mountains!"
The village turned into pandemonium in an instant. From afar, it must've looked like some hulking bandit fused with a tiger charging in. No wonder they freaked. I chuckled and waved.
"Don't run! I caught it!"
My voice boomed across the chaos.
The fleeing villagers froze. Only then did they notice: the tiger wasn't bounding alive—it was limp, bound to the vine on my shoulder, being dragged like dead weight.
An old man peeking from behind a fence stammered, "I-is that... Deok-ryeong?"
"No way—did Deok-ryeong really catch a tiger?!"
People crept back, curiosity overtaking fear in a heartbeat, morphing into outright shock. They gaped at the enormous golden-furred beast sprawled at my feet, jaws slack.
"House-sized" wasn't hyperbole. To folks who'd only seen mangy village dogs, the majesty of a true mountain lord was a gut punch.
"Hey, did you really take this down solo? No spear, no bow?"
"Mountain spirit came to me in a dream last night, told me to smack it with a honeycomb. Knocked it right out."
I tossed out the joke without breaking stride.
"Make way, folks. This thing's heavy."
The crowd parted like the Red Sea. Their eyes had changed. No longer the casual glance at the "big strong kid from down the road."
Awe. A mix of fear and reverence—the look reserved for heroes.
"A peerless warrior! Damyang's got itself a legend!"
Someone shouted, and cheers erupted. In 1591, with no entertainment in this backwater Joseon village, nothing beat this spectacle. Word spread like wildfire—nay, on wings.
Savoring the stares, I headed for the market.
Destination: Damyang Inn, where Seo Baek-seol waited. I'd proven my worth; time to crunch the numbers.
The inn's front yard buzzed unexpectedly.
The debt collectors I'd chased off yesterday—and Choi Ga's gang from the night before—were there, bowing and pleading before Seo Baek-seol on the porch.
"Boss! Please, we're begging!"
"Heard you're partnering with that big shot! Tell him to take us in!"
"Saw his strength last night—couldn't sleep! We'll work like dogs!"
Pathetic. Choi Ga was even grabbing at her skirt hem.
They'd sniffed it out instinctively: Deok-ryeong's raw power had upended the local order. Time to pick sides—and fast. With me absent, they were lobbying my partner instead.
Seo Baek-seol eyed them coolly, arms crossed.
"You're so damn loud, I can't do business. Tell him yourselves when he shows."
"He's too scary! Just put in a good word, wrap it up nice..."
"Wrap it? Why should I?"
Her icy retort shut them up. She knew the game: never mediate cheap. Keep yourself above the fray.
Partner material, through and through.
Grinning, I strode toward the gate.
"Outta the way. Cargo coming through."
They whipped around at my voice—and froze solid.
A mountain loomed behind me. A yellow mountain.
"Eek! T-tiger!"
"B-boss!"
They toppled backward, quaking. The tiger's sheer size, even unconscious; my steel-hard muscles peeking through torn clothes; the feral blood-scent wafting off me.
I unslung the vine and dumped it on the ground.
Thud!
The yard shook. Dust billowed.
Choi Ga gawked, breathless. Hunters knew tigers' terror from boars alone. Dragging one down alive (well, knocked out)? Beyond human.
Seo Baek-seol rose slowly. Her gaze locked on the beast.
No shock. But I caught her eyes flashing coin-shaped for a split second.
She glided over, stroking the fur gracefully.
"My god... you actually did it."
"Told you. Said I'd bring seed money."
"Wounds? Told you a scarred hide cuts the price."
"Flip it. Not a mark. Fur's intact."
She inspected the belly, teeth, claws—like an appraiser eyeing a luxury bag's stitching.
"Perfect. This size, this condition... Ship to Kim the minister in Hanyang, we could fetch 60 seok of rice. Hell, 70."
She beamed—not her usual calculating smirk, but genuine partner joy.
"You pass. You've got the goods."
"Contract sealed?"
"Obviously. We're in the same boat now."
I clasped her outstretched hand with my callused paw. A spark like electricity. The starting gun of business.
Then Choi Ga, groveling on the dirt, piped up.
"Uh, boss..."
"What? Still here?"
I scowled; he slammed his forehead down.
"Bro! Er, boss! Take us in!"
"We'll serve you forever! Shit duty? Done. Die? We'll fake it good!"
The debt goons kowtowed too.
"Us too! We were blind yesterday!"
I crossed my arms, looking down. Pitiful. Classic bullies: weak to the strong, cruel to the weak.
Ready to boot them—dead weight, obvious.
But Seo Baek-seol nudged my arm.
"Need hands?"
"Hands?"
"Who's butchering that beast? You? Me?"
Right. Slaughter.
Catching was work; carving was worse. Skinning, filleting, boning. Needed pros.
She nodded at them.
"Those mutts? Ex-butcher thugs. Knives are their thing. Perfect free labor crawling in."
Her eyes gleamed—shrewd boss spotting a bargain.
I smirked. This woman's gold.
"You lot."
Heads snapped up.
"Wanna live, huh?"
"Yes! Loyalty forever!"
"Fine. Earn your keep."
I toed the tiger.
"Butcher it now. Skin, sort meat. Mess one hair..."
I snatched a log, crushed it one-handed.
Crack.
"Your bones snap like that. Got it?"
"Y-yes! Leave it to us!"
They whipped out blades, swarming the carcass. Instinct screamed: my fist trumped tigers.
Choi Ga's knife danced—skin peeled clean from flesh. Butcher skills shone.
Villagers, drawn by rumors, gawked over fences.
"Whoa, look at that meat."
"Tiger stew builds strength, right?"
G greed and envy burned in their eyes.
I lounged on the porch, chugging cool sikhye she poured.
"Seed money's set. Next phase."
"Next?"
She paused her ledger.
"Cash alone won't stop war. Need people."
I glanced outside.
Beyond Choi Ga's crew carving away, locals trickled in—rumor-chasers. Haulers, idlers, even lads from neighboring villages.
Their eyes blazed. Chaos craves heroes. Under the tiger-slayer monster? No starving, no dying easy.
"Pulling followers like clouds."
She giggled.
"Gonna feed 'em all? Food bill's no joke."
"Don't sweat. They'll earn it."
I set down the empty bowl, stood.
Stepped out. Murmurs hushed.
"Quit gawking—come in!"
Hesitant men poured into the yard. Packed tight—thirty-plus easy.
Some solid; most rabble. Potbellies, scarecrows, peepers.
No matter. Bad ingredients? Fix with recipe. I've got 21st-century ROK Army legacy.
One stepped up bold.
"Bro! Take me as disciple! Teach me tiger-killing martial arts!"
"Disciple?"
I snorted.
"Making wuxia crap? No pets for me."
Disappointment rippled.
"But."
I scanned them slow.
"I'll build an army."
"A-an army?"
"Yeah. Turn you into human weapons."
Murmurs rose. Private army? Borderline treason. But my dead-serious eyes silenced doubts.
"One year, Japs invade. Then your families, kin—all dead. Officials? Fleeing rats."
I raised a fist.
"Wanna live? Join me. I'll forge you strong. Smash tigers, lop Jap heads."
Silence. Not rejection—embers igniting in hot-blooded chests.
"And."
Killer blow.
"Tonight: tiger stew, all you can eat."
"Woooah!"
Roars exploded. Ideology? Pfft—meat now rules.
Choi Ga leaped up, bloody knife high.
"Boss! Yours forever! Loyalty!"
Clumsy salute—others aped. Total mess.
Seo Baek-seol tsked beside me.
"Charisma king's got. But that food tab—you really covering?"
"Investment. They'll pay dividends later."
I grinned at the packed yard.
This was it. Dawn of the private force rewriting Joseon history: Wing-Tiger Corps (Ikho Army—winged tigers).