Gubamo lifted his great head, ears twitching toward the direction of the scream.
That voice... could it be—Yagma?
Around him, terrified soldiers who had momentarily thought the tiger distracted now scrambled across the dirt in desperate retreat. But they didn't get far.
With a single leap, Gubamo landed before two fleeing men and brought his paw down. There were no screams. Only silence.
How dare you… you pathetic creatures. I am the one who drove out demons alongside my mother—your so-called guardian spirit!
He turned toward the source of the cry, his brother's voice still echoing in his chest. The moment he saw the path blocked by a stream of villagers trying to flee, Gubamo did not hesitate. He barreled forward, hurling bodies with savage sweeps of his paws, carving a path of ruin behind him.
It had not always been this way. The first time he had hunted men was not by choice, but by command—his mother's command.
Stop those monstrous humans! Stop them now!
There had been a group of men laughing as they hunted foxes in the northern glade. They had pierced a mother fox with a poisoned arrow, then turned their blades on her kits, delighting in their cries. Fools. That fox had not been an ordinary animal. Her name was Yeni—a sacred being who had once walked as my mother's retainer. She had chosen to give up her power, to become a mother. And she had been dear to his mother's heart.
The men who drank her blood for sport, who severed the throat of a crying kit because they were "thirsty"—they were no different than vermin. Gubamo had torn through them. Not one was left alive. Not one.
When Jiony arrived, it was already over. She wept—not for the dead, but for what their deaths meant. "You didn't have to kill them all," she whispered. "There might have been one... who could have changed."
Their mother came later. She gently stroked Jiony's head and turned her eyes—piercing, sorrowful—on her son.
"You should have spared at least one,"
she said.
"To carry the lesson back to the rest. You must be calm, Gubamo. Even in rage. Especially in rage. That is the burden of those who protect."
Gubamo remembered. He remembered her words. But now, as he tore through the last of the terrified villagers, he muttered bitterly:
You were wrong, Mother. You were wrong.
They killed Jiony—killed her while you showed them mercy.
A humble cottage rose before him. Without breaking stride, Gubamo leapt onto its roof in a single bound, his claws sinking into the thatch like steel hooks.
Below, the man with two swords emerged calmly into view.
He looked up, gaze unreadable—then allowed himself a faint smirk.
"I'm more impressed," he said dryly, "that the roof can hold your weight."
Gubamo snarled.
I expected a monster… But it's just a human? Where is Yagma?
The bronze bells at Goi's waist chimed softly, unnervingly—an elegant sound amid the ruin. Gubamo's golden eyes locked on the bells, the fury in his gut stilled for a breath.
"Was that your brother back there?"
Goi asked, voice edged with mockery.
"He didn't last long."
Gubamo answered with a thunderous roar that shattered the air. The cry was a storm in itself—violent, overwhelming, meant to crush the insolent man before him.
But the only reply was the delicate chime of bronze bells.
Goi, unfazed, merely brushed his ear.
What…?
Gubamo's eyes narrowed.
How could a mere human stand his ground before such a sonic force?
Then, from the mirror hanging at the man's chest, a flicker of light pulsed—a soft, momentary gleam, like moonlight on deep water.
Suddenly, the man was no longer standing below.
He was right in front of him.
Sword raised, eyes fierce, charging straight into Gubamo's vision like a blade of certainty.
The tiger smirked. Fool. He swiped with his mighty paw, claws flashing.
But the blow struck nothing.
The figure shimmered and broke apart, dispersing like mist on wind—a phantom reflected from nowhere.
Then came the real strike.
Five paces away, hanging midair, the true Goi appeared—his steel blade already arcing down, trailing brilliance behind it like lightning in reverse.
Gubamo leapt, the ground vanishing beneath his paws as he crashed into the courtyard beyond. The roof behind him collapsed into splinters. But his landing faltered—his left forepaw buckled, and pain lanced through the joint. He let out a furious growl and forced himself upright, muscles burning.
Too slow. I was too slow.
And this man—this man is not to be taken lightly.
The human now stood above him, calm and poised atop the shattered rooftop, the wind tugging at his gray robe.
"I have no grudge against you!"
Gubamo growled, the pain rising in his throat.
"I came for the governor of Bumgok Land, not you!"
But Goi wasn't listening.
His eyes had fallen upon the corpses strewn across the courtyard—bodies broken and twisted, their faces frozen in terror. A silence fell over him, cold and unyielding, more merciless than the edge of any blade.
"No grudge, you say?"
he said at last, voice quiet but ironclad.
"Then look around. Tell me—how do you explain this?"
Gubamo opened his mouth to answer—but too late.
From Goi's chest, the bronze mirror flared again—light flickering, pulsing with ancient force. In an instant, four—no, five—Gois emerged before the tiger's eyes, blades raised, all striking at once. Each illusion aimed for a vital point—throat, heart, eye, spine. Gubamo roared and swiped with all his strength, his massive paw cutting through the air like a storm.
But they were not real. They vanished like reflections on a disturbed pond.
A chill crept down his spine.
Behind. Right side. Close.
He turned—just in time to see steel coming down like lightning.
The blade grazed his temple, parting flesh and fur. Before he could steady himself, it struck again—deep into his flank.
Gubamo stumbled back with a roar, blood pouring from his wounds. His limbs trembled beneath him. The earth seemed to sway.
I am Gubamo! he wanted to scream. Not some beast to be butchered!
"This wasn't my fault!" he cried, panting. "They stood in my way—I had no choice!"
Goi said nothing.
He lowered his steel blade with calm finality, then reached for the weapon at his other side.
The bronze gladius. Its blade glowed not with fire, but with a holy radiance—soft, golden, and terrifying in its clarity.
"No choice?" Goi said quietly. "Then you should've chosen better."
The blade swept outward, a wide arc of golden light.
"Cleansed!"
The word rang like thunder, or a judgment from the heavens.
Gubamo let out one final cry—wild, broken—and collapsed. His power drained away, not by force, but by light. His fury dissolved. His limbs fell still.
"How… could I be… defeated… by a human…"
he rasped, his voice crumbling to dust.
Goi sheathed the gladius with a soft chime.
"You were arrogant," he said. "That's why you fell faster than your brother."
Without another glance, he turned and walked on, deeper into Bumgok Land.
Behind him, Gubamo lay silent, strength gone.
And then, footsteps.
Dowoogi, the timid young man, stood beside the fallen beast. He said nothing. He did not run. Only studied its ruined form, fear trembling in his fingers. Then, with quiet reverence, he bowed his head—and followed after Goi.
Gubamo did not roar. He did not curse.
He only lay there, a memory stirring in his heart—his mother's voice:
Even in rage. Especially in rage.
And at last, he understood.