What Cannot Be Said, What Cannot Be Known Unless Spoken
A few days had passed.
It was a quiet afternoon, and the two of them were engaged in their customary training, repeating the same forms over and over under the sun.
Kreeeee—!
The shrill cry of a falcon split the sky, and Namgoong Woon-hyeon's head snapped upward in an instant.
The blue falcon he had dispatched days ago—bearing the message that he was still among the living—had returned at last.
And carrying, most likely, his son's reply.
"Grandpa, how should I place my leg here...?"
"Yeon-woo."
Woon-hyeon caught her by the shoulders. Yeon-woo tilted her head up to look at him, but her grandfather was not looking back. Even as he called her name, his gaze was fixed entirely on some distant point beyond the horizon.
"Keep practicing your forms."
Swish—
Before she could even manage a nod or an "Okay," Woon-hyeon had vanished from sight. A half-beat later, a gust of violent wind tore through the clearing, swirling dirt and leaves into the empty air where he had stood.
Yeon-woo blinked, staring blankly in the direction he had disappeared. There was not a trace of him left to be seen, but after watching the empty path for a long while, she quietly resumed her stance and went back to practicing her movements.
Tap!
Just as he had done before, Woon-hyeon crossed an entire mountain ridge in moments. Once he reached a secluded crest, he whistled sharp and clear into the open air. High above, a massive falcon beat its broad wings and began its swift descent.
A wide shadow momentarily swallowed Woon-hyeon before the blue falcon pulled in its wings, landing steadily upon his outstretched arm. Reaching down, Woon-hyeon opened the tiny cylinder bound to the bird's talons and drew out the rolled slip of paper nestled inside.
The moment he smoothed the parchment flat, tears threatened to spill from his eyes.
Ho-yeon's... It's really Ho-yeon's handwriting...
It was an unmistakable script, one he had watched grow and mature over decades—the hand of his own son. Pressing a hand against his surging chest, Woon-hyeon drank in every word.
Your son shall come to receive you, Father. Please grant me your location through the blue falcon.
Because the strip of paper was minuscule, the missive was brief in the extreme. Yet Woon-hyeon read it over and over, feeling as though his son's voice were ringing directly in his ears.
From within his robes, he retrieved a fresh slip of paper, a miniature brush, and a tiny vial of ink—materials he had requested in advance from the Guan Clan Residence. Previously, circumstances had forced him to send only a generic token proving he was alive; this time, Woon-hyeon could reply in his own hand.
Let us meet three days from now at Haneum Valley. Speak of this to no one.
Haneum Valley was a secluded ravine resting directly along the border where the northern reaches of the Central Plains met the rugged foothills of the Hundred Thousand Mountains. Instructing his son to meet him there meant gathering at the small, lonely mountain inn tucked away within the gorge.
It was one of many waystations used by travelers journeying between the Demonic Cult's domain and the Central Plains, but because it was bordered by perilous cliffs and treacherous peaks, virtually no one ever passed through it.
Woon-hyeon carefully rolled his reply, slipped it into the carrier cylinder on the bird's leg, and stroked the creature's sleek feathers. When he lifted his arm with a gentle thrust, the blue falcon spread its wings and launched into the azure sky.
Whoosh— Whoosh—
A serene, tender smile broke across Woon-hyeon's face as he watched the raptor soar away with powerful wingbeats. Three days. In just three days, he would see his son again.
This mountain was not far from Mount Seolhon, which meant Haneum Valley was relatively close as well.
Half a day at most.
He could make the journey and return in half a day. The only problem...
Rustle...
"..."
Woon-hyeon turned his gaze toward the distance—toward the humble cottage where he lived alongside Yeon-woo. The light in his eyes dimmed, settling into a heavy, contemplative silence.
"Today we shall gather medicinal herbs. It has been far too long since you last plucked the plants you love so dearly, has it not?"
With those words, Woon-hyeon brought Yeon-woo out to a rugged, remote mountain far removed from their usual training grounds.
"You must track them relying solely on your sense of smell. Do you think you can manage it?"
"Yes!" Yeon-woo nodded vigorously, brimming with confidence.
This peak was much too far for her to reach on her own, meaning she had never scavenged here before. And that meant one wonderful thing.
Yummy smells everywhere!
A mountain untouched by mortal hands was bound to be overflowing with precious wild herbs! Woon-hyeon wrapped a thick black sash around her head, covering both her eyes and her ears.
Thump, thump!
Her heart fluttered with pure excitement at the thought of picking sweet-smelling greens after such a long time. Even with her vision darkened and her hearing muffled, she did not feel the slightest bit timid. Her nose had always been her greatest pride.
—Begin whenever you are ready.
The instant Woon-hyeon's voice reached her mind via Telepathic Transmission, Yeon-woo was off. Lowering her center of gravity, she felt the damp earth and brush with her fingertips, letting the delicate fragrances dancing on the breeze guide her forward.
Roots, roots...
True to her word, she swept up medicinal plants with effortless precision. Deprived of sight and sound, her concentration only deepened, allowing her to lose herself entirely in the hunt. Half a day slipped by in a blur. As she traversed the slopes, the wicker basket on her back grew pleasantly heavy with their harvest.
Then, without warning...
"...!"
Yeon-woo straightened up abruptly, her little nose twitching as she sniffed the air.
What a wonderful smell...!
A sweet, intoxicating fragrance tickled her nostrils. Herbs with a scent like this were never ordinary. Ever since she had uncovered the Azure Cloud Grass for Woon-hyeon, she understood that rare aromas belonged to extraordinary treasures.
Careful, careful...
Moving with extreme caution, Yeon-woo crawled through the brambles, feeling her way across the uneven ground. The rich perfume grew stronger with every step, luring her forward like an invisible thread.
And then, she froze.
"...!"
Her crawling hands locked in place. Cold sweat began trickling down her brow. Though her eyes saw only pitch black and her ears heard nothing, every nerve in her body shrieked in unison. There was a colossal, lethal presence right before her.
Directly in front of the blindfolded child...
Grrrrrr...
A gigantic tiger crouched low in the brush, baring yellowed fangs dripping with saliva, poised to snap her small head off in a single bite.
"..."
Yeon-woo's hands trembled faintly. Before she knew it, she had stopped breathing altogether.
If I move...
She would die. If she ran, she would die. If she twitched a single finger, parted her lips, or even let out a gasp of air, she would be torn apart.
If I... die... Grandpa will... be so sad...
Yet the suffocating tension caused the air in her chest to run out all the faster. She held her breath until her throat burned, but when she could endure it no longer and let out the faintest, trembling exhale—
ROOOAAAR—!!
The tiger's jaws unhinged wide enough to swallow her whole.
"...!"
Eek!
Yeon-woo reflexively jerked backward, and in that split second—
Whoosh— Shkrrrrt—! THUD!
Something snagged the black cloth wrapped around her head, and the knot slipped loose, unspooling onto her shoulders. Squinting against the sudden rush of daylight, Yeon-woo blinked up in utter bewilderment at the figure standing before her.
Short black hair brushed halfway back, a thin black veil concealing his eyes, and lips set in a grim, immovable line. His martial robes were pitch-black from shoulder to hem, as were the sashes bound tight around his neck and waist. In his hands rested a spear of utter darkness—a black shaft, a black blade, and a black cord binding the two together.
A man cast entirely in shadow stood between her and death.
And at his feet lay the tiger that had terrorized her moments before, sprawled lifeless upon the bloody grass. Seeing the beast with her own eyes, it was far more monstrous than she had imagined; its severed head alone was larger than her entire torso.
"Danger is..."
Yeon-woo looked up at the unfamiliar voice.
Flick—!
The man flicked the dark blade of his spear, shaking free a splatter of blood before turning his gaze toward her.
"...something you confront the instant you perceive it."
His breath carried a faint hint of exhaustion, yet his tone was low, calm, and unshakable.
"If you cannot triumph, you run. Collapsing in a daze on the ground like this..." Behind the sheer black veil, dark, obsidian-like eyes bore into her. "...leads only to a dog's death."
Yeon-woo's mouth parted slightly.
A child of darkness.
That was the very first thought that crossed her mind.
"...Mister, who are you?"
"..."
The man did not answer. He merely looked down at her in silence. For some reason, it felt as though faint ribbons of black mist were writhing around his silhouette, prompting her to think it once more.
Definitely a child of darkness.
Tap!
"Yeon-woo...!"
Woon-hyeon arrived an instant later. Dropping to his knees, he pulled Yeon-woo to her feet, brushing the soil from her clothes as his hands frantically checked her over for injuries. "Are you hurt? Did it touch you?"
Still unable to tear her gaze away from the spearman, Yeon-woo nodded faintly. "I'm okay."
Woon-hyeon turned his head toward the stranger. "And you are..."
"I am called Gwi-young."
"...I see. So you are the one Dark Shadow Demon Lord sent to be my..."
...dog.
The word caught in Woon-hyeon's throat; he could not bring himself to utter it aloud. Dark Shadow Demon Lord had casually claimed he would tether a "dog" to watch over the child while he was away, but what kind of moniker was Gwi-young—Dog's Shadow?
A dog's shadow...?
And it was not even written with the standard character for hound, but with gu—the vulgar, derogatory character used strictly for curs and mutts. To write one's own martial name with such a character and introduce oneself with it meant willingly debasing his own existence. Was he truly at peace with that?
"So, er..."
"I am Gwi-young."
Demonic Cultists... every last one of them.
Woon-hyeon exhaled a weary sigh and rose to his feet.
"...Gwi-young. Thank you for saving Yeon-woo."
Woon-hyeon looked him in the face. Beyond the thin black veil, those dark eyes continued to gaze back, cool and utterly impassive.
"Thanks to you..."
"..."
"...the child came to no harm."