Sohark! That filthy wretch—where is he hiding?!
The cry split the sky.
All across the entrance field, people and animals alike dropped where they stood—paralyzed not by violence, but by the sheer weight of fury in that roar.
I'll tear him apart with my own claws, the tiger snarled. The one who killed my sister—my Jiony!
Yagma's heart pounded. His limbs trembled not from fear, but from the storm of rage that now surged through his blood. Jiony, his sister, had always been the kindest of them all.
She had once stood between him and death.
Back when Yagma was still young—his divine power vast but unshaped, like a blade yet to be tempered—something had appeared in the forest.
It looked like a human being. But it wasn't.
Its presence was wrong. Deeply wrong. Like the stench of rot hidden beneath sweet incense, or a shadow cast where no light ever touched.
"Serve me," it commanded.
Yagma had snarled back.
How dare it?
He had lunged, intent on punishing the arrogance.
He remembered the flash of pain—lightning made flesh—and then, darkness.
When he awoke, Jiony was there, standing between him and the enemy, her body torn, her fur soaked in blood. She was barely able to stand, but still she growled, low and unwavering.
"You're the one worth having. Swear yourself to me. This is your last chance."
Jiony snarled, defiant even in ruin. Her breath came shallow, and her wounds bled freely. She planted her feet, trembling yet unyielding, and began to gather the last of her strength. Her claws scraped against the earth, her teeth bared in a low growl.
Yagma saw it. He saw it all.
Jiony, my Sis, wouldn't survive this, but she would make sure the enemy never touched me, her youngest brother.
She was always ready to give everything for him.
She used to scold me. Always you need to learn patience. That rage is not strength.
And yet, every time danger found him, it was Jiony who stood in its way.
Then—Mother arrived! Followed by his two sons…
She simply stepped between her children and the enemy, as though the very mountain had risen to shield them.
For a long, harrowing moment, the enemy studied her. The smile faltered—just slightly… and retreated with a low, mocking laugh.
Still, Mother held her head high and said only this:
"If it ever returns… don't fight. Run."
It had taken three full moons before Jiony could rise again.
And now—now, she was gone.
Killed by a human.
No, Yagma growled to himself, pacing like a stormcloud barely held together.
Not just any human. Sohark.
He turned toward the chaos behind him. His growl rose again, thunderous and wild.
Sohark! You cowardly rat! Show yourself!
But amid the haze of dust and fear, only one figure moved—calmly, steadily—walking toward him. Yagma narrowed his gaze.
Who was this mortal? Why did he not run?
Yagma, intrigued by the audacity of the man who approached without hesitation. He held his ground, his golden eyes locked on the lone figure who dared approach without fear. The man's pace was unhurried, steady, and at his waist, a bronze bell gave a soft chime—as though the wind itself had drawn breath.
That sound. It cut through the haze like incense through smoke.
Yagma's growl deepened, reverberating through the earth. His claws scraped at the soil.
You're not the one I'm looking for… he rumbled,
Where is Sohark?
"I've never been to Bumgok Land before,"
Goi replied, his voice even.
"So I don't know who you seek."
How could you, human, understand what I say?
Yagma's snarl rippled the air.
Again, the bells chimed—delicate and clear, as if amused by his confusion.
Goi tilted his head slightly.
"Does it matter?"
he said, his tone half-mocking.
"You hear me now, don't you? That's all you need to worry about."
His eyes gleamed with quiet power.
"What matters is that you understand me."
He drew his steel blade, its edge catching the daylight with a cold gleam, and pointed it directly at the tiger.
Yagma's body tensed—but not in fear. He began to circle the man, his massive frame moving with unsettling grace, muscles coiled like drawn bows. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement.
A human dares raise a blade to me? Hah. You're amusing.
Goi met his gaze, head tilted slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Then you'll find out soon enough," he said softly, "whether I'm something to marvel at… or something to fear."
Then he moved.
A blur of motion—a flash of steel—the first strike came swift and clean. Yagma barely dodged, his breath catching in surprise. The second blow grazed the side of his head, slicing through fur and flesh. Blood streamed down his cheek. He staggered, fury and alarm surging in equal measure.
He let out a roar that shook the trees.
But Goi stood his ground, blade still raised.
"What's wrong?"
he called, eyes glittering.
"Scared?"
Yagma lunged, claws wide, body a blur of striped muscle and wrath. But as he did, pain stabbed through his left flank—a fresh cut, clean and deep. He faltered, growled, and leapt back. Blood now stained both his head and side. His legs wobbled beneath him.
This man… was no ordinary mortal.
Again, the bronze bells sang, their melody light and strangely cruel.
"I know,"
Goi said, his tone taunting.
"This big cat is now scared out of its wits."
Yagma's gaze dropped to the blade—his own blood glistening on its edge—and something colder than pain crept into his chest.
Fear.
With a desperate roar, he turned and tried to retreat into the center of the village.
But Goi did not let him go.
He followed, swift and merciless, blade whistling through the air. It struck Yagma's right flank with a terrible force. The tiger collapsed with a grunt, his limbs finally giving way beneath the weight of blood loss and broken pride.
Impossible… he rasped, head low. How… could a human do this… to me?
Goi said nothing. He wiped the blood from his blade with slow precision, then slid it back into its sheath. From his left side, he drew the bronze gladius.
The moment it cleared its scabbard, it shone like dawn. A radiant gold washed over the field. Yagma's eyes widened, dazed and disbelieving.
What… what are you? Tell me… he whispered.
Goi stepped forward. His voice, when it came, rang with clarity and command.
"Cleansed!"
The word struck like thunder. The golden light from the gladius surged outward in a tidal wave. Yagma's rage ebbed instantly, his body falling limp beneath its warmth. He could no longer lift his paws. The growl in his throat died to a breathless murmur.
Goi knelt beside him. Not as a conqueror, but as something else—something quieter.
He placed one hand on Yagma's bloodstained shoulder. "Rest here for now, kitty" he said gently.
Then he stood, sheathed the gladius, and walked away—his gray robe fluttering behind him, eyes set toward the village heart.
Behind him, Yagma lay still, his breaths shallow.
And then—footsteps.
Dowoogi, timid and wide-eyed, crept toward the fallen beast. His steps faltered, but he did not stop. He stared at the massive creature sprawled before him, its golden eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.
For a moment, tiger and boy regarded one another.
Then, slowly, Dowoogi turned and followed Goi—his shoulders squared with a courage he had not known he possessed.
Yagma watched them go.
He did not hate them.
Not anymore.