Toxin

“Keep a close watch on his mother. But sweep up the rest—relatives, friends, maids, and even the courtesans he frequented. Anyone who even brushed past Raonhiljo.”

“Are you ordering a massacre?”

“Don’t ask the obvious.”

He immediately mounted Heukryeong, gripping the reins connected to the saddle, his eyes obsessively fixed on the sunset where they had disappeared. Was it just Jincheonroe that made them approach? Did they come at him with those lust-crazed eyes for that? He twisted his lips.

“So that’s how it is…”

It was a rage like his brain melting entirely in hot lava. Crack! With a snap of the whip, Heukryeong flapped its wings and soared into the sky. Three bodyguards and a dozen soldiers followed behind him on eungryong.

Countless pursuers were sucked into the crimson sky.

***

“We were late in spotting them because they were hidden by the trees. It’s possible they abandoned the noticeable eungryong and fled, so we’re searching the area thoroughly.”

Garon listened to the soldier’s report as he headed directly toward the hermitage. The other soldiers couldn’t land in the small courtyard, so they hovered around on their eungryong.

Garon violently slid open the sliding paper door and entered. The room was empty and cold, but there was a pool of blood on the floor. He slowly crouched beside it, dipped his finger into the blood, and rubbed it between his fingers. There were splattered bloodstains and drying herbs scattered around. Traces showed someone had been here recently. He picked up a few strands of long hair that had been lying on the bedding and stared at them intently. About waist-length and thin—definitely theirs. His eyes instantly filled with murderous intent. He bit down on the strands of hair and stood up, gripping a soldier’s neck as if he were about to break it. The soldier, gasping for air, listened as Garon etched each word into him.

“What I want isn’t traces like these. It’s the people. Remember that well.”

He immediately went outside and mounted Heukryeong. Pungbaek, arriving late, leapt off his low-flying eungryong. Pungbaek’s expression as he approached was far from reassuring.

“Lady Yehui has long since disappeared, and my lord sold off all of his assets not long ago.”

It wasn’t an impulsive escape but a planned one. His body burned with fury, but his mind had to remain calm.

“He must’ve found someone to help hide his mother. Track him down and negotiate immediately. It doesn’t matter how much they demand. People who move for big money can always be swayed by even bigger money.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

A wanted poster with the fugitive’s face was spread throughout the kingdom. After the portrait was completed, Garon gave the order to execute the Painter. His intent was to wipe out anyone even remotely connected to Raonhiljo and Mongrel. He pursued them recklessly, certain they were still within the Baedal Kingdom’s jurisdiction, but he couldn’t be sure. After several days of relentless pursuit, the first place they arrived at was a Miao village. The eungryong was exceptional in mobility, but its massive size, comparable to a small house, made landing a challenge. After circling the outskirts of the town, they found a suitable spot and descended into the square. Bodyguards dismounted from their eungryong and followed behind, while Unsa quickly reported.

“There’s still no news from Lady Yehui’s side. Since the matter was handled in strict secrecy, it’s been difficult to discover who facilitated it. And that Imae child… it’s inconvenient not having a proper name to call them by. In any case, we investigated but found no connections. The chieftain was left in such a state by Your Majesty that the child is now a complete orphan. We’d ask those they lived with, but since Your Majesty exterminated them all, that’s no longer an option.”

Garon listened closely to Unsa while his eyes scanned the lined-up houses and the large crowd.

“By the way, Your Majesty, are you currently chasing the spy who stole Jincheonroe, or…”

Unsa trailed off, pulling at his lips.

“You don’t seem to be pursuing the spy. I only mention it because, outside of wartime, it’s rare for Your Majesty to leave the capital for so long or take direct action.”

At that, Garon’s gaze, which had been fixed forward, slid over to Unsa.

“What are you trying to say?”

Unsa gave a sardonic smile.

“Your Majesty. I keep having this thought. Perhaps that day, the day the Imae child’s actions were discovered, Your Majesty had no intention of killing the child. If that were the case, you wouldn’t have hesitated when you noticed the suspicious behavior. Not to mention, there were plenty of opportunities before that, even when the child first arrived at the palace.”

At least, that might have been the case back then. At least back then. Garon pushed aside the voice gnawing at someone’s bones.

“So, I’m planning to reclaim the opportunity I missed. Is the bitch still keeping her mouth shut?”

“Despite the severe torture, she’s not speaking easily. Narsha’s younger sister and grandmother have already been executed, so it’s hard to find a weakness to exploit. It’s probably her loyalty to My Lord that makes it difficult. I’ll give orders to intensify the torture.”

“Avoid fatal injuries.”

“Pardon?”

“It’ll be troublesome if she gets seriously hurt.”

Garon murmured, seemingly deep in thought.

“What has Veronjubille been up to lately?”

“Excuse me?”

Unsa exchanged puzzled glances with his subordinates at the unexpected question. As Garon was about to continue walking, he suddenly felt a stabbing pain in his gut. At the same time, the metallic taste of blood rushed back into his mouth, and a thin stream of blood leaked from his lips. Garon tried to roll his tongue to find the source, but there was no sign of a wound. Unsa frowned.

“Did you bite your tongue? You should be more careful.”

Garon wiped the blood from his lips. Just then, the Miao chieftain hurried over and bowed respectfully. He was from a race known for their disproportionately large heads compared to their short stature, with oversized eyes, noses, and mouths.

“Black Martial Emperor! I came as soon as I heard the news. It is an honor that you’ve graced us with your presence! We have prepared a humble feast so you may rest and recover from your journey. Please, follow me.”

Without even glancing at the chieftain, Garon continued to scan the surroundings as he walked through the streets. The crowd followed behind him in a line.

“A feast…”

He had thought about devoting himself to designing lethal weapons until the very end of his tedious life. Only the extreme stimulation of blood and flesh being torn apart offered any pleasure. His first impression of Mongrel had been quite striking. The moment he laid eyes on the pale face hidden beneath a filthy blanket and the purple crystal, he couldn’t look away. Mongrel’s dark purple eyes were more captivating than the red eyes of the Imae Tribe, which he despised. The color was so intensely unpleasant and vivid that it made him want to gouge them out and chew on them. And then there was the unexpected heat that surged in him, fueled by his own violent impulses.

His once-unstable life shifted in an instant. Mongrel circled around him like a fog, both familiar and elusive. The lustful gaze was disgusting. He wanted to peel off the scalp and gouge out the eyes. He even wanted to sit cross-legged while painting and fire Jincheonroe at him. The urge to destroy gnawed at him constantly, to the point where his body itched with the need for release. Yet, strangely, he also wanted to let that longing gaze cling to him. The dampness between Mongrel’s legs piqued his curiosity as well. It was only after the incident that he understood the strange emotions that had followed him around like a shadow.

At some point, he had planned to discard Mongrel in his own way, just like he had ruthlessly executed those monsters at Morusan, without a shred of hesitation. But when everything was calculated and settled, Garon found himself hopelessly entangled with Mongrel. The pleasure and satisfaction he felt the first time he had Mongrel were beyond anything he had ever imagined. It was a level of fulfillment he had never found with the Empress Mother or his concubines. Not just the body, but Mongrel’s subtle, fiery presence had become an addictive, hallucinatory drug.

That’s why he could resist the urge to shove Jincheonroe into Mongrel’s backside, even when he had broken his own fingers, even when the chieftain’s son was violating him within his own territory, and even when he dismantled Jincheonroe.

In the end, it was Garon who had been violated by Mongrel. Somewhere, Mongrel was likely spreading his legs for Raonhiljo, savoring the traitor’s touch with his tight, damp hole. Did he not know that the deeper he hid, the more Garon would burn with rage? Slowly but surely, Garon would tighten his grip and show Mongrel that he was still entirely in his grasp. But until then, he needed something new to fill the tedium.

“A feast…”

Garon ground his teeth in a rhythmic motion. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth sent his blood rushing faster. The sound of his teeth grinding against bone made the chieftain and soldiers tense. Garon’s gaze fell sharply on the Miao chieftain.

“Bring me the ones with long hair, big eyes, and slender bodies. Around nineteen years old. Gather as many as you can.”

***

On the fifth day of pursuit, the wanted posters had spread quickly. Reports came flooding in about sightings of people matching the fugitives’ descriptions. They immediately headed to the one that seemed the most credible and was the closest. The destination was a high-end inn located in the bustling city center of Seonbi Kingdom. Quick footsteps echoed from the corner of the inn’s wooden floor.

“They asked for the best room at the fragrance house, so I gave it to them. They’ve only been here for a day. Ah, that room there.”

The innkeeper led them to a room at the end of the corridor. Unsa narrowed his eyes at the luxurious room decorated with jade.

“Seems like someone living comfortably.”

The innkeeper’s voice trembled with unease.

“They claimed to be a merchant from the continent, accompanied by someone they called a slave. They spent money lavishly and moved about so boldly that I didn’t suspect anything at first. But I had a bad feeling, so I informed the authorities, and by then, they had already fled.”

As Garon’s expression grew colder, the innkeeper inhaled sharply, as if he were a criminal himself. Garon leaned casually against the open doorframe and scanned the room. Elegant furniture and porcelain were placed meticulously throughout, oil lamps added to the ambiance, and at the center, his gaze rested on a pair of pillows neatly arranged atop a gold-embroidered blanket.

“So, what did they do while staying here?”

“Yes? Ah… well… When they said they were going to examine his body, I thought he must be some kind of pervert. Sometimes, in the slave markets, they buy male slaves for that kind of use. So, from what the servant said, the two of them had a strange atmosphere between them…”

His vision blurred, clouded by the surge of bloodlust.

As he found more and more traces of the culprits, grotesque images of tangled bodies and countless cruel methods of murder swirled in his mind.

“If he’s a merchant from the continent, he must be heading back there.”

But the real question was whether he could capture him before that happened. There was also a strong possibility they were headed somewhere entirely different. Without further delay, he turned around. Stepping outside the inn, he found people gathered, buzzing with excitement. The Grand Chamberlain was brandishing an imperial edict and shouting at the crowd.

“Listen carefully! The one who fled with the traitor attempted to steal state secrets from the Baedal Kingdom! Our benevolent emperor, in his immense generosity, has placed a bounty of one hundred gold coins! That’s enough to change your lives twenty times over! If you do well, you might receive even more! Report any sightings of an Imae Tribe member or a young man, without hesitation!”

The mention of such a large bounty and the mysterious fugitives stirred the crowd. Soldiers quickly handed out wanted posters. Amid the gathering throng, a group of gamblers sneered.

“I don’t care about this Imae Tribe nonsense! Just do something about that damned eungryong! We can’t even set up our game with that thing blocking the way!”

One of the men crumpled the wanted poster and jabbed a finger toward the massive creature in the road. In an instant, the man’s wrist was severed clean off. He grabbed his bleeding arm and screamed in agony.

“Arghhh!!!”

Garon swung his sword down, shaking off the blood cleanly from the blade.

“Then it’s time you started paying attention.”

His eyes slowly scanned the crowd.

“Bring me anyone who looks similar. I don’t care if you have to break a few limbs to subdue them. Just make sure both are captured alive.”

Frozen in fear, the people screamed and scattered. The once peaceful street quickly descended into chaos. Garon grabbed a random fleeing man by the arm and twisted it. Without hesitation, his blade flashed, severing the man’s arm.

“Arghhh!!!”

The man writhed in agony, clutching his bleeding stump like a fish thrown into boiling water. The crowd, terrified of drawing the attention of this ruthless killer, held their breath. In the center of it all, the cold-hearted ruler gazed at them. As a black sandstorm swirled around, his dark imperial robe billowed like wings. His features, illuminated by the setting sun, seemed as if drenched in blood.

“Do you understand? You need to be very interested now.”

Ten days passed after that. What Garon had expected to be a quick capture turned out to be a miscalculation. They combed through every country along the route to the continent, big or small, sparing no effort. Even though they pressed forward on instinct alone, they never neglected to keep an eye on other possibilities. From time to time, scouts or bounty hunters would bring in people suspected to be the culprits, but they were all false leads. Whenever Garon rushed to investigate a promising sighting, he was often met with false reports from greedy individuals, blinded by the large reward. Those who lied quickly found themselves at the mercy of his merciless sword, and rumors of his brutality spread like wildfire. It wasn’t long before people, driven by a kind of collective hysteria, became convinced that finding the fugitives was their only way to survive. Yet the fugitives remained elusive.

As time passed, the pursuit only became more intense. Garon utilized every means of authority, pressuring officials and commoners alike to find any trace of the runaways. Every waterway and route to the continent was sealed off, and a blockade was established. Wanted posters spread rapidly across the nation, but just as they seemed to catch a lead, the fugitives would vanish into thin air. The bounty continued to soar, and countless innocent lives were lost as a result. Everywhere he went, grand banquets were prepared in honor of the Baedal Kingdom’s emperor, but Garon consistently used these occasions to carry out “his work.”

***

Reports came in that the fugitives had been sighted in Gudachen. To reach their destination, they would need to cross the river, but heavy rain had caused the water levels to rise, making it impossible to launch a boat. Despite this, Garon was determined to cross, though his Grand Chamberlain and bodyguards pleaded with him to reconsider. Finally, they managed to convince him to rest at a lodging arranged by the Gudachen officials. The grueling chase had worn down even the battle-hardened guards, and the Grand Chamberlain, who had once been plump, now looked gaunt and exhausted.

Garon sat at the center of a low table with Unsa and Usa seated formally beside him. The Grand Chamberlain, who had sat on one side, was now nodding off. Unlike the bodyguards, who made sure to eat regularly, the Grand Chamberlain had neither eaten nor rested properly. When Unsa approached to pour him a drink, Garon waved him away, taking the bottle and drinking straight from it. Unsa sighed softly.

“Why isn’t Your Majesty’s wound showing any signs of healing? No matter how deep the injury, by now it should be starting to recover. I believe we should summon a physician once more.”

Garon, taking a drag from his cigarette, removed the bottle from his lips.

“What about Sohou?”

“There’s still no word from Lady Yehui’s side. We’ve sent people familiar with the area to investigate, so it’s only a matter of time before we catch them in the net. But perhaps it’s time to consider another approach. If you continue to push them so hard, they’ll only hide more deeply.”

Garon slid his gaze to Unsa, who responded with a blank expression.

“We should coax them out. Promise them a pardon if they return… something along those lines.”

“Pardoning a spy is an excessive indulgence.”

“What does it matter? The goal is to bring them back first, isn’t it? Lately, Your Majesty seems to have lost your usual composure. I’m only suggesting you handle this the way you normally would.”

Unsa’s lips curled into a faint smile.

“Then again, coaxing a spy who tried to sell state secrets… it’s hard to imagine Your Majesty’s immense pride allowing that.”

Unsa popped a few pieces of the pancake into his mouth.

“It’s been over two weeks since you left the palace. Do you know what people are whispering?”

Unsa spoke indifferently.

“A mad tyrant, blinded by a demon, neglecting the affairs of the state.”

Not a single word was minced. Garon exhaled smoke as if he found genuine amusement.

“That’s why I like you all.”

Unsa placed a hand on his chest and bowed neatly.

“I’m so overwhelmed with honor, it’s enough to make me shiver.”

***

After everyone had left, Garon brought the bottle back to his lips. He reached for his pipe to take a drag, but it fell to his knee. It was a cheap pipe Mongrel had casually handed him. The paint had long worn off, but he still kept it close because he liked it. He stretched out his hand to pick it up again. The numbness in his hand felt foreign, as if it no longer belonged to him.

He frowned. Lately, his body had felt increasingly sluggish, and this numbness had become more frequent. After spending considerable time shaking off the numbness in his hand, he brought the pipe to his mouth and clenched and unclenched his fist a few times. A faint bite mark on his finger caught his attention. He recalled that night when the one who had pressed a gun to his own head pulled the trigger. Soaked in the cold night air, the figure had licked the blood from the hand that had tried to kill him, softly cradling it. The tender sensation of the tongue and the transparent drops welling in the figure’s eyes were hauntingly sorrowful. Perhaps it was from that moment that he began to acknowledge the strange feelings he had toward him.

Garon stared blankly at the empty room. The eerie silence, without even the sound of dust, was one of the few things he liked. Apart from the screams steeped in blood, everything else was just noise. But after letting Mongrel into his space, the strict order he had always maintained began to unravel piece by piece. The rustle of fabric whenever Mongrel moved to gather materials, the scraping sound of charcoal on paper, and even the nagging he used to reprimand him for his bad attitude—none of it was noise anymore.

The pleasure Mongrel gave him, like hardened skin, was completely unexpected. His insolent tongue was more satisfying than any meat, and the hot, enveloping hole was a ripe, languid pit of pleasure that made him want to carve it out and carry it on his body like a sheath for his member. As he neared the climax, Mongrel’s deep violet eyes would turn to a blood-tinged shade of purple. Drunk on the burning hue, he would ravage Mongrel until his mind felt shredded. The wantonness with his concubines had ended in an instant.

Ever since, he found an inexplicable fullness in Mongrel, who often fell into a deep sleep on top of him. It was a sense of fulfillment no one had ever given him before. Like a creator making something from nothing on a blank canvas, Mongrel was always drawing something. So he wondered. Maybe Mongrel could change this dull life, could paint something new. But even that thought had been a manipulation. A cold smile lingered on his lips.

Garon leaned back and drank the remaining liquor. The strong drink burned down his throat and stomach like Mongrel’s semen, leaving him throbbing. No matter how much alcohol he consumed, no matter how much he smoked until his throat burned, this fierce hunger and thirst never subsided. He felt no desire for proper rest, food, or any other basic needs—only an unrelenting craving for Mongrel’s body haunted him. It was an overwhelming withdrawal that invaded his body and soul.

Each time he found a trace of their whereabouts, he imagined the two of them tangled together. He was convinced that only by killing them himself could he escape this vision. There would be no leniency, no half-hearted punishment—only a brutal reckoning.

He gritted his teeth and threw the bottle. The white porcelain shattered against the wall with a sharp cry. At that moment, a painting hanging on the opposite wall caught his eye. It was a scene of a woman washing her hair under a waterfall. He stared at the image with detachment before rising to his feet. His steps, drunken and unsteady, carried him past the endless corridor and to the most secluded room. The loud sounds of moaning leaked through the door.

“You… you bastard…! Ahh… it’s so deep…! Nngh… haah…”

“Hah… Please, just this once, could you open up quietly? You won’t get many chances like this. Ngh, ahh… so hot…”

Without hesitation, Garon swung the door open. The lewd sounds of flesh slapping together echoed through the room. Unsa and Usa, half-naked and entangled on the disheveled bed, were oblivious to the uninvited guest. They continued to kiss and thrust against each other, unaware of Garon standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with a cigarette in his mouth.

“What do you call the unique way an artist applies color or their distinct habits when painting?”

Startled by the sudden voice, Unsa and Usa froze. With a confused expression, Unsa answered.

“

… it’s called a style. But why are you suddenly…”

“That’s right.

.”

“Exactly the same.” 

Garon muttered in a low voice. Every time he looked at Mongrel’s drawings, they felt familiar. He hadn’t been able to place it until now, but the realization hit him suddenly. The night he had wiped out Imae Village, he had seen a house with paintings strikingly similar to Mongrel’s. There had been someone there. A woman, small in stature. He couldn’t remember much else. Even if he did, they’d likely be dead by his hand anyway, so why bother remembering?

But the paintings had remained, vaguely etched in his memory. Even if Mongrel was the chieftain’s adopted child, it was unlikely he had received proper care. If he had, he wouldn’t have needed to sell his body and art to survive, nor would he have had those eyes. The house wasn’t just some place that kept Mongrel’s art—it had too many paintings for that. The growing suspicion that it had been Mongrel’s own home solidified in his mind. If that were the case, the woman in the house had to be one of two things: either another guest or someone intimately connected to Mongrel.

Even in his sleep-deprived, foggy state, anything related to Mongrel sharpened his senses. Garon glanced at the two still frozen in their entanglement.

“Mongrel’s drawings. I remember seeing something similar in Imae Village. Find out who lived in that house.”

“Even if we wanted to, the village was completely wiped out. There’s no one left. Even if someone survived, they’d be scattered, and finding them…”

“Then track down anyone who might have survived.”

“Understood.”

As he turned to leave, a sense of emptiness hit him.

“Someone’s missing.”

Unsa and Usa remained frozen in place.