Hujaki paused.
A second scream.
He turned his head slowly, nostrils flaring toward the sound. For a moment, he hesitated—then resumed his path, pacing in the direction of the scent.
His mother's command had been simple: do not be seen, and bring back Sohark alive.
But the moment they crossed into Bumgok Land, his younger brothers had lost control.
Whether it was the overwhelming scent of human sweat, blood, and fear, or the rage they had long held back in their mother's presence—he could not say. But the result was the same: both had shed their disguises the instant they reached the village's edge, revealing their true tiger forms.
Hujaki had no choice.
To stop them from wreaking destruction, he too had shifted—his fur unfolding like dusk across the hills, his limbs swelling with primal might. That alone had sent the villagers into a frenzy. Screams filled the air. His brothers, no longer tethered by caution, had torn off in opposite directions—each hunting for Sohark on their own.
Hujaki had not followed.
Let them run.
He turned inward, to the faintest trace on the wind.
There. The scent.
Familiar. Unmistakable. Reeking of fear and deceit.
Sohark.
He pressed forward through the village.
Around him, humans scattered like leaves. Some fled. Others collapsed, fainting. Still more groveled on the ground, wailing for mercy. A few had already fouled themselves.
He ignored them.
He followed the scent—thick, oily, persistent.
As he walked, a memory returned. A scene burned into the back of his eyes.
Jiony. Kneeling before their mother.
In human form, her face glowed with some strange joy. And beside her… that man.
Sohark.
"I've chosen," Jiony had said softly. "He is my husband now."
Their mother had said nothing. Only gazed at her daughter with a sadness that reached beyond words.
Hujaki had not spoken, but in his heart, he had raged.
That scent—oily and slick. A coward's scent. A liar's.
But it was not his place to object. The decision had been made. Even his instincts had no standing against a mother's acceptance.
Until the day Jiony died.
When word reached them, their mother's sorrow had turned to silence.
Then came the command: Bring him back. Do not be seen.
Hujaki's nose twitched. The scent had grown stronger.
He began to run.
A blur of orange and shadow shot through the alleyways, leapt over rooftops, crashed through shutters and stalls. Panic erupted behind him. More screams. More chaos.
He did not stop.
He reached the village square within seconds.
There, beneath a towering zelkova tree, soldiers stood in formation—barely. Their spears and shields trembled in white-knuckled hands. Their armor clinked like chimes. In the center of it all, the tiger loomed, his breath steady but heavy, his eyes scanning every face.
He could smell Sohark.
Here. He's here. I know it. But where?
He began to circle, his massive body brushing past the edge of the square. The villagers cowered. Some sobbed. Some begged. But Hujaki paid them no mind.
His voice, when it came, was low but laced with a tremble.
Sohark... you filth. I know you're here. Show yourself.
Just then, a gong rang out from somewhere in the crowd—loud and sudden. Hujaki snapped toward it, baring his fangs in fury. The soldier who struck it fell backward in terror.
But Hujaki didn't strike.
Instead, he turned again, continuing his slow, methodical walk—like a storm circling the eye.
Then came the whistle. And the voice.
"Attack the beast!"
There you are! Sohark!
His eyes locked on the commander. His growl deepened into a roar that split the sky.
And he charged.
Not long before, Goi stepped into the village square, where there stood a towering zelkova tree. His gaze immediately locked onto the massive tiger pacing beneath the ancient branches.
A faint chime came from the bronze bells tied to Goi's waist, swaying ever so slightly as he approached. He muttered to himself, "I see it now. Unlike the others, this one carries no bloodlust."
Before Goi could ponder further, the shrill blast of a whistle pierced the tense atmosphere. A man stepped forward from the crowd, his voice sharp and commanding.
"Attack the beast!"
he shouted, motioning furiously at the soldiers.
But the men hesitated. Their eyes darted between the tiger and their commander, fear rooting them in place. The tiger, however, froze. Its eyes fixed on the man who had issued the order, and a guttural growl began to rise from its throat. With an explosive roar, it charged.
The sudden ferocity jolted the soldiers into a panicked retreat, their weapons clattering to the ground as they scrambled out of the way.
Goi moved without hesitation, his steel blade gleaming as he dashed toward the tiger. The commander, wide-eyed with terror, ducked behind a line of soldiers, using their bodies as a makeshift shield.
The tiger, undeterred, lashed out with a massive paw, sending the unfortunate men flying like leaves in a storm. Another deafening roar echoed through the square, leaving the remaining soldiers paralyzed with fear.
As the dust settled, the commander's hiding spot was exposed, his trembling figure now standing alone. The tiger snarled, muscles tensing as it prepared to pounce.
But just as it leapt, its instincts screamed a warning. In the blink of an eye, it twisted mid-air and landed heavily to the side, narrowly avoiding Goi's descending blade.
The swordsman stood where the tiger had been earlier, his weapon stained with fresh blood. A thin, searing pain radiated from the tiger's right flank, but it didn't dare glance at the wound.
To shift its gaze now would be to expose an opening—and the tiger knew it wouldn't survive another mistake. It growled low and deep, glaring at Goi, who remained unwavering.
The swordsman's stance betrayed neither aggression nor hesitation, yet the tiger could feel it: there was no opportunity to strike. This human had already anticipated every move it could make.
The bronze bells at Goi's waist chimed softly again, its gentle melody cutting through the charged silence. The tiger's growl shifted, morphing into words that resonated clearly in the ears of everyone present.
"I did not come here to slaughter senselessly," the tiger rumbled.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Goi, still poised with his blade raised, responded coldly,
"You have slain humans. What excuse could you possibly have?"
The tiger's gaze hardened, and its voice rose with conviction.
"I came to avenge my sister. That man must answer for his crimes."
Goi's eyes narrowed. His voice remained calm but carried a sharp edge.
"Your organs are damaged from my earlier strike. You will not last much longer. Cease this fight."
Hujaki already knew this to be true. Every breath came with mounting difficulty, its strength ebbing with each passing moment. But it also realized that this human knew its weakness, and that knowledge drove the final nail of despair into its resolve.