The Small Ball Shot Up by Moonlight - 4
A joint conscience declaration was made by me, Jo Wi-cheo, and Ji Wi-pyeong—the three of us.
"We went all the way down to Yunnam to find a poison that would satisfy Nang-jung Wang, and once we learned there was a man-faced giant pig nearby, we pushed ahead with its capture. It seems the man-faced giant pig that Nang-jung Wang is now tending was the king ruling over this area."
Of course, we'd plugged Nang-jung Wang's name as hard as we could, so it was practically a joint declaration from all four of us. When else would we get a chance to name-drop a king like that? Besides, we wouldn't have caught the man-faced giant pig without Nang-jung Wang, so honestly, he had some stake in it too.
"I-is that so?"
Ji-hyeon's eyes twitched at the corners during my confession. The beast rampage that had rattled her nerves in real time all this while? It turned out the culprits were the Left Vice Inspector General right in front of her and that Nang-jung Wang up north. From Ji-hyeon's perspective, it wouldn't be strange if she clutched the back of her neck and collapsed.
"Sorry. I had no idea the man-faced giant pig's influence was this strong."
So instead of excuses or roundabout regrets, I offered her a straightforward apology. Among the three of us making this confession, I was the one in charge. Without my decision, would Jo Wi-cheo or Ji Wi-pyeong have captured the man-faced giant pig? This was on me. Sure, I wouldn't have done it without Nang-jung Wang either, but he wasn't here. I could emphasize that it was unavoidable due to the king's request, but I couldn't very well say, "Blame Nang-jung Wang if you want to complain." That would just spike Ji-hyeon's blood pressure.
"N-no, sir. You couldn't have known it would turn out like this either, Left Vice Inspector General."
True to form, Ji-hyeon just looked conflicted at my apology—no sign of anger. It was the natural reaction, really. What could she do when a vastly superior—a crown prince, no less—was apologizing to her? She'd have to swallow her frustration and take some comfort in the fact that I'd owned up to it. If I hadn't apologized, she wouldn't even have that much solace.
"I know better than anyone the hard work you and Sunghyeon-hyeon have put in. I can't properly commend or console you right now, but if I make it to Gyeirim or Kaepyeong, I'll tell everyone everything I've seen and heard."
But brushing off my one-sided trolling with just an apology wouldn't sit right with my conscience. As direct as the apology, I made a direct promise of compensation. Gyeirim, where the prefectural governor of Guangxi resides; Kaepyeong, where the Emperor and high officials gather. If I reached either, I'd vouch for how desperately Ji-hyeon of Sunghyeon-hyeon had toiled for the happiness of Daesong's people, the realm's peace, and the border's stability. I'd ensure he got the rewards he deserved for his efforts.
"As a Daesong official and the prefectural governor, I was merely doing my duty. How could I expect rewards for simply fulfilling my obligations?"
He said the right words, but Ji-hyeon's expression brightened compared to before. Suffering without compensation is hellish, but suffering with the promise of payoff turns it into a fair trade. Especially if that payoff comes from a prefectural governor—or someone even higher up. It'd likely exceed fair and veer into overly generous territory.
'Sorry.'
I apologized to him inwardly once more. Luckily, Ji-hyeon had some ambition, so he liked the sound of it. If he'd been the type to value peace over ambition, even this promise wouldn't have landed. For him, skipping the work would bring more joy than any reward.
I knew the type well. What good is compensation after you've already taken a punch to the solar plexus? Mine was already bruised black and blue.
'Sorry...'
Sorry for being the thug who punches first and pays up after...
With the conscience declaration and post-facto compensation promised, the most pressing issue remained unsolved.
"So how do we fill the vacuum left by the man-faced giant pig?"
As Ak I-yeon pointed out, the power vacuum was still there. Unless we reinstated a king to hold the beasts in check, no one could predict when this rampage would end.
"It's been several months since the man-faced giant pig vanished. Given the chaos dragging on that whole time, the odds of a new king emerging naturally are extremely low."
I nodded matter-of-factly at Ji Wi-pyeong's expert assessment. If a successor had appeared organically, we wouldn't be dealing with this mess. But with the beasts still running wild months later? Anyone could see the throne was empty.
'No beast is going to step up in the man-faced giant pig's place.'
Barring another spirit beast—and not just any, but a massive omnivore like that one—filling the gap was impossible.
"The border between Daesong and Wolnam is blanketed in denser jungle than anywhere else. The very existence of a king there was the oddity."
"The man-faced giant pig's position was the anomaly, and the current situation is normal?"
"That's the natural order of things, yes."
I nodded again at Ji Wi-pyeong's follow-up. One beast ruling a small territory is easy; one beast ruling a vast domain alone is bizarre. It lined up perfectly with what I'd thought earlier. When Ji-hyeon first explained it to me, hadn't I wondered if the suppressor was the real abnormality? That this unchecked frenzy was the norm—the backlash from years of suppression finally bursting out, destined to calm with time.
'If only we knew how long that would take.'
In the end, it all circled back to time. If the chaos dragged on, Sunghyeon-hyeon's officials and soldiers wouldn't hold out.
"The surest fix would be a large-scale hunt, like Wolnam does..."
Ji Wi-pyeong, who'd been racking his brains, continued with a somewhat reluctant expression. I got it. As the poster boy for beast lovers, suggesting a mass hunt must feel weird.
"That's not feasible. Wolnam's grand hunts are a century-old tradition, but we have no such custom. Trying to start one now would spark backlash, not to mention trial-and-error mishaps."
And even that idea got shot down by Ji-hyeon. I'd only learned recently, but Wolnam's hunts started after the Mongol invasions—a military drill that evolved into a tradition over a hundred years. Daesong lacked any such pretext or benefit. At best, we wouldn't get flak for "weird government antics."
"So we just wait it out until things settle?"
The office grew heavier at Ji-hyeon's frustrated mutter. A clear problem with a known cause, but no solution. Entrusting it all to time meant brutal manpower drain. Tricky business. Part of me wanted to demand Nang-jung Wang return the man-faced giant pig.
"If we could just get a ten-day breather..."
Ji-hyeon's lament weighed even heavier on my heart. He'd been grinding nonstop for months without even that.
... 'Ah.'
A good idea hit me. It wouldn't solve the problem entirely, but it could buy the time Ji-hyeon wanted.
When Samshik, with the Baekryeon Cult Leader's permission, inhaled all those toxic herbs, he'd digested them into a concentrated poison blob and spat it out. The essence of every poison plant the Baekryeon Cult had scraped together—a top-shelf toxin that even drove detoxified Kkieak into a frenzy. I'd kept it figuring it'd come in handy someday.
"Take this and make a few laps."
- Kkieak?
But I hadn't expected it'd be this soon. A sinister black orb that looked deadly just to behold. Touching it wouldn't poison you, but inhaling even a whiff seemed like instant death. I handed two to Kkieak—one per foot ought to do.
"Fly over the jungle and smash them with your talons. Like they're coming from your body. Got it?"
- Kkieak.
Kkieak nodded, tapping the black orb with its claws at my explanation.
'Perfect.'
I stroked it, pleased it understood. The relay hawk had bolted at the sight of poison-free Kkieak. If a hawk fled a mere chicken, vicious beasts would panic at Kkieak soaring overhead. Poison dust raining from the sky on top of that? Beasts crossing into Daesong would reverse course straight back to Wolnam. They might fight hunters, but a poison bird? Certain doom.
"Come back and I'll hook you up with tangerines."
- Kkiek!
Kkieak flapped excitedly at my words. A poison bird that preferred tangerines over toxins. A sight even rarer in my next life.
"You're sending the poison bird?"
As Kkieak geared up for the long flight, Ji Wi-pyeong approached.
"Yeah. Even the fiercest beasts hesitate at the sight of one. It won't stick around forever, but every moment counts for Sunghyeon-hyeon, right?"
"You're right, sir."
Ji Wi-pyeong agreed, then reached into his bosom and pulled out a familiar egg.
- Kkiik?
- Shiiik!
The very familiar egg drew reactions from Kkieak, mid-takeoff, and Samshik peeking from my sleeve.
"I made this recently. The sky-flyer and poison-maker have worked hard, so I'd like to gift it."
"I'm fine with it, but..."
I glanced at Kkieak—drool dripping from its beak. Was it my imagination, or did that drool mix appetite with sorrow?
"One should be okay. Poison birds build up venom over years by eating toxic plants and bugs. Removing it all takes effort, but once it's gone, the occasional indulgence is fine."
"Really?"
"Yes. This is my first time seeing one in person, but I've studied the records more than anyone."
Coming from the expert, it rang true.
"Kkieak. Eat one and go."
- Kkiiiiiik...!
Despite my okay, Kkieak hesitated, then squeezed its eyes shut and vanished into the distance. The liquid scattering in the air? Not drool—tears.