Ambush (2)
He hesitated at first.
Back when he was chased out of one city after another by those damn Road Guards, wandering aimlessly until he picked up an assassination contract through a back-alley broker in the slums.
"Boss... you sure we gotta do this?"
"If we don't wanna starve to death, yeah."
"Fuckin' hell..., kyaaak! Ptooey!"
It was a whole different league from simple highway robbery—just block the road, draw your sword, and threaten them. Sure, even back then, he hadn't exactly shied away from killing. There were always those idiots who put up pointless resistance when handing over the cash would've been easier for everyone.
But an assassination contract? That meant going in with the intent to kill from the jump.
So yeah, he hesitated at first.
But as the completed hits piled up, the boss and the whole bandit crew started to relish the metallic tang of blood.
"Aigoo! Big bro, please spare me! I'll crawl between your legs like a dog!"
A thrilling euphoria, like licking every inch of his body, swelled in the man's chest. It wasn't the finale yet, so he tried to hold back, but he couldn't quite hide the lecherous grin.
No. I still need to give him hope.
The guy had delicate features, but his exaggerated movements and speech grated a bit. Didn't matter. Even trash like him would sing a genuine tune once you carved into his flesh.
It was raw, unfiltered reaction—nothing like the painted whores in the red-light district who played along for coin.
"Good. Real good. Keep crawling slow like thaaat... yeah, come on."
His voice nearly cracked into a moan, the pronunciation twisting oddly as he barely held it together.
The more Seolhwa crawled forward on the ground, the more the man's face contorted grotesquely, his leather pants bulging at the crotch.
"Man, the boss looks like a total psycho when he's like this, right?"
"Ain't normal, that's for sure."
"Hey, shh. Finale time—focus up!"
The bandits snickered among themselves as Seolhwa reached the man's crotch.
"Yeah, yeah. First time, so take it slow. Relax. Jerking around'll just make it hurt more."
His brain's pleasure center must've been fried from the perverse high—half his eyes were rolled back, whites showing.
"Y-yes, big bro! Just spare my life, please!"
"Of course~ Why would I kill you? Gotta keep you alive looong time."
At the end of his slit-like eyes, stretched thin as fishing line, Seolhwa's form passed right between his legs.
"Kyahaha! That's it, that's the stuff! No matter how you fat pigs strut around in your fancy silk, deep down—your lives are mine!"
The man's back arched like a bow. But the climax didn't end; he bucked his hips wildly back and forth, something heavy swinging with each thrust.
"You sure about that...?"
"Huh?"
The man's eyes snapped back to reality, widening slowly.
Riiip!Splatter!
Something tore free with a wet slice, spraying everywhere. His feet burned hot, and his splayed legs collapsed in a heap.
"Wha—?"
Stab!
"Gaaah!"
Seolhwa had already righted himself, one knee on the ground, a shadow dagger in hand. From the side, it looked like he'd buried his nose in the man's ass.
Achilles tendon, popliteal fossa... next...
He recalled every vital point he'd learned the hard way in the mercenary company.
Perfect timing—a fresh training dummy right in front of him.
"You bastard... guk!"
As the man pivoted on his good foot to turn, the shadow dagger lightly scored his groin.
He crumpled like a puppet with cut strings. Seolhwa mounted him effortlessly.
"You fuckin' dog... what're you all standin' around for?! KILL HIM! Aaaagh!"
Seolhwa's delicate touch filleted him like a hog—slicing between the shoulder blades. Each rip of muscle let the dagger sink deeper, pulsing vividly along the blade.
Hand feel's always nasty, no matter how many times.
Seolhwa didn't seem the type to lose himself in pleasure like the man beneath him.
"Fuck! Fuuuck! Charge! Kill 'em all! Him, the ones in the carriage—everyone!"
His agonized scream, laced with spite, echoed outward.
But watching their boss butchered like cattle or a squealing pig, the masked men froze in disbelief.
Stab!
"Kyaaah!"
Seolhwa grabbed the writhing man's arm—like a bug drowning—and jammed shadow into his armpit. A thin membrane tore, and his thrashing intensified.
"Get off me! Get—guk! Huerk—off! I'll kill you! I'll make you regret being bor—kuhek!"
With arms and legs pinned, only his head could flail. Seolhwa seized it, veins bulging impossibly as it whipped around.
"Won't let go? You won't?! You'll regret being born! Hnggh... ugh."
The eardrum-shredding noise didn't last. Seolhwa gripped the hair to steady it, shoved the dagger under the jaw, and twisted viciously. Hot liquid soaked his hand as the tongue garbled his speech.
"D-did that bastard just kill the boss?"
"What the...?"
"What're you staring at?! Charge!"
Only after it was over did the masks snap to, gripping weapons.
Thought they'd chicken out and freeze. Tough bastards with some grit, huh?
He hadn't planned to chase if they fled, but if they came at him...
He snatched the shadow hand-axe he'd tossed before dropping prone and swung without mercy.
Splatter!
Bright red gushed from the man's torso, robbed of what should hang there. Like a new life bursting forth—a final spasm of unfinished pulses, an indifferent period at the end.
Thud!
The first mask to shake it off and charge locked eyes with the wide-staring corpse.
"Hiiik!"
Seolhwa, drenched head to toe in blood like a baptism, growled low at the bandits.
"What? Sun's settin'. Come at me, or I'll come to you."
"Guh... guaaah! Kill 'em all!"
Damn, was hopin' they'd piss themselves and bolt.
When cornered by ultimate terror, people react two ways: summon mad courage to fight, or collapse like a dog before the summer slaughterer.
Unfortunately for Seolhwa, these bandits were the former.
The moment Seolhwa eyed the front-runner, shadow dagger in one hand, dripping hand-axe in the other—
Whoosh!
"Keurk!"
"Th-this... wha...?"
"Guk...!"
Thorns erupted indiscriminately from the thick midday shadow, skewering the bandits' bodies.
Clap clap clap!
Without a touch, the door to Lady Moribwe's carriage swung open on its own. Amid the black-and-red tableau, she—still pristinely white—clapped in satisfaction.
"Did I interrupt?"
Before answering rashly, Seolhwa scanned the skewered bandits.
Deliberate... right?
The shadows from the carriage had pierced only the charging front-liners, sparing Seolhwa's skin entirely. Every vital spot dodged, thorns burrowing as deep and numerous as possible.
Seolhwa stared silently, then tightened his grip on the dagger.
Stab!
"Keurk!"
Stab!
"Guk...!"
About six times. The survivors received Seolhwa's mercy.
Far off, where he guessed an archer hid, shadow thorns sprouted too—but he didn't pursue.
Eh, too much hassle to go that far.
He hadn't moved much, but the mental fatigue of being blood-soaked after so long weighed heavy.
Dragging his rag-in-milk body toward Lady Moribwe.
"Thanks to you, I survived, Lady."
"Hm. Looks like you'd have handled it anyway. Glad you say that."
Thud! Thud!
Shadows receded; corpses hit the ground everywhere.
Ignoring her beaming mask, as he approached the carriage, Lady Moribwe raised a hand to stop him.
"...?"
"No idea what you look like right now, do you?"
"Ah... "
A shadow bat held up a jeweled hand-mirror to Seolhwa's face. Like something freshly ripped from its mother's womb. A steaming blood-clot stared back from the glass.
"This is a problem."
"Yeah?"
A water bottle appeared in Lady Moribwe's hand.
"Th-thanks, La—?"
He assumed it was for him. She dumped it on the ground instead.
Defying gravity and nature, the water gathered at his face.
Splash!
Blurgh!
It hit like a newborn washing its face.
"Ahahaha. Gotta snort the nose too."
"Am I supposed to thank you for this?"
"Can't hurt, right?"
His neck down was still slick with warm offal.
Won't feel right boarding like this.
But with just his face clean, Lady Moribwe extended her hand.
"Hop in, monsieur."
Seolhwa blinked blankly, then took it.
"Thanks, Lady."
"Fine getting in the carriage, but... shouldn't I be up top with the driver?"
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Driver took arrows and died, so I gotta drive. Horses are fine—point the way, and I'll take the reins."
Silence.
Her mask's shadow twitched, faintly annoyed.
"Wizards spend their lives pursuing the 'true.' To them, the 'false' is a nightmare to avoid, an object of disgust."
"Ahaha... caught me?"
"You admitted it straight-up, so no more grilling."
Clap clap!
Like an orchestra cue. With her light clap, the arrow-riddled attendants rose one by one.
Not a drop of blood anywhere—eerie as ever.
"When'd you notice?"
"No blood scent outside the carriage. Then I recalled Moribwe's famous magic. Figured this was your test from there."
"Academy grad, huh? Sharp as ever."
"Those bandits yours too, Lady?"
"Up to your imagination."
Moribwe, cradle of imperial magic. Deep lore in sorcery, with a family mage tower.
Their signature: puppetry and shadow magic.
"My puppets have no imperfect substances like blood."