Chapter 632
Although the quarters I was staying in were technically part of the inner palace, it was immediately clear that Yal Mok wasn’t referring to ‘that’.
“Lord Yal Cheok wants to see ‘us’?”
“Yeah. To be exact, he said to bring just you and that old man.”
Good news. After days of silence, the Beast Miao King had finally accepted my request for a private meeting.
But calling out only me and Nam Ho, and not the whole Fire Dragon Pavilion…
As that thought passed through my mind, I suddenly asked,
“Do we need to avoid attention?”
Yal Mok gave me a surprised look, then nodded slightly.
“You’re sharper than I expected. It’s best if you move without being noticed.”
“Because tomorrow’s the Tribal Assembly?”
“No, because most of the chiefs don’t like you.”
“Fair enough.”
Maybe I was a guillotine in my past life. He sliced right to the point.
Still, I couldn’t deny it, so I clicked my tongue bitterly.
“I get the gist. You’re under pressure from all sides too, huh?”
Yal Mok opened his mouth like he was about to say something but then closed it with a stiff face.
Just like I couldn’t deny the truth, neither could he.
But facts are facts. The Southern Barbarian Region isn’t some savage land, as the Central Plains like to assume. And the Beast Miao King wasn’t an absolute monarch—he was merely one of the great chiefs representing his people.
‘There’s no way this guy wouldn’t know that.’
Yal Mok is decent, but he’s still a young man who hasn’t completely outgrown his immaturity.
And then, with a frustrated expression, he muttered,
“You’re right. Even for my father, it’s impossible to handle them all alone.”
“What’s with that face?”
“I just didn’t expect you to admit it so openly. Looks like you’ve matured a bit.”
Maybe that conversation two days ago really got through to him?
He still acted like a moody teenager, but he’d been more cooperative lately—even catching boars and all.
‘That’s a good sign. The problem is, even on this vast land, allies are few and far between.’
Before he could retort, I asked,
“What time and where?”
“Hour of the Tiger. I’ll come pick you up.”
“Alright. Oh, and while you’re at it…”
“While I’m at it, what?”
“Catch a deer or something. No more boars.”
—
In the Murim, a day is divided into twelve two-hour segments. The Hour of the Tiger is between 3 and 5 a.m.
And Yal Mok kept his word. In the deep of the night, as everyone else slept soundly, a white tiger covered in snowy fur landed silently outside my quarters.
‘Thud.’
It even had a familiar dead animal in its mouth.
“For fuck’s sake, another boar? Are you doing this on purpose?”
“Found it on the way.”
“You keep saying that. What, you got a boar farm somewhere? You water them and harvest when ripe?”
Nam Ho asked, puzzled.
“What’s a harvest? Never heard of it.”
“Oh, it’s a thing. Not that it matters—you’ll never hear it again in this lifetime.”
“Typical Han bastard. Always twisting words…”
“Please stop with the Han slander.”
I politely interrupted Nam Ho’s grumbling, and Yal Mok gestured toward the tiger’s back.
“Get on.”
“This tiger?”
“…You want me to give you a piggyback ride instead?”
“Looks like it’s got a temper.”
“That’s prejudice. I raised him since he was a cub. He’s as gentle as they come. But if you don’t trust me, test him yourself.”
“Oh, really?”
I reached out to pat the tiger’s chin… then immediately yanked my hand back.
‘Snap!’
A huge set of fangs sliced through the air. As I stared at him with a sour look, Yal Mok clicked his tongue.
“Too bad.”
“You little shit.”
“I said test it. Never said he wouldn’t bite.”
Yal Mok, talking nonsense no one would believe, gently scratched the tiger’s forehead.
“Yaho. Yaho, don’t get mad.”
At first, I thought he was doing a mountain-hiker impression, but then it hit me.
“Wait. That’s its name?”
Yal Mok nodded proudly.
“Mu Yaho. It means ‘Tiger of the Wild Plains.’”
“Pretty cool name, right?”
‘Grrr… grrr.’
As if showing off, the tiger purred like a housecat. Yal Mok watched it with loving eyes and spoke proudly.
“He’s in a good mood. You can get on now.”
“…Right.”
“What’s with that face? Is something wrong?”
Yeah. A slight problem that only I knew. But I couldn’t talk about it here.
I swallowed the words and silently climbed onto the tiger’s back. Nam Ho, face slightly flushed with excitement, followed.
“Can’t believe I’m riding a tiger at this age. And a divine white tiger at that!”
Nothing beats the joy of praising your child. Yal Mok, now a full-on ‘Yaho Dad,’ beamed proudly.
“The old man knows his stuff. You like tigers?”
“Of course. Always have.”
Stop. That’s too much. You’re going too far.
Just as I braced for whatever line he’d say next—
The white tiger, carrying all three of us like it was nothing, stretched its limbs and took off.
‘Whoosh!’
Under the bright moonlight, our trio on a single tiger shot through the dark forest like a streak of light.
—
The place we stopped was an old, crumbling shrine.
The air inside was damp, like a wet sauna. The floor was covered in dust, the pillars were eaten away by insects, and the flickering oil lamp barely lit the interior.
And at the center of it all stood the one who had been waiting for us.
“Haven’t been here in a while. It’s a mess. Then again, it wasn’t in great shape back then either.”
Unlike when we first met, the Beast Miao King Yal Cheok turned toward us with a low murmur. His expression was as dim as the lantern’s flame, revealing undeniable fatigue.
Maybe that’s why—none of us asked.
Why he chose to meet us in this old shrine instead of the palace’s grand hall.
Instead, I chose to go along with his disjointed rambling.
“When are you referring to?”
“When I was young. No, even before that—when I was still a child. Whenever we got into big trouble, we’d come here to hide from the elders.”
“‘We’ as in…”
“Someone you’ve already met. I think you’ve figured it out.”
“Baek Sang. The Great Chief of the White Tribe.”
Yal Cheok nodded.
“That’s right. Him.”
“I’d heard you were lifelong friends.”
“‘Lifelong’ isn’t enough. We spent our entire lives together—on the pastures, in the marshes, through mountains and fields, and even on the battlefield.”
Lost in thought, the Beast Miao King stared into the flickering flame, then nodded quietly.
“Yes. That’s right.”
“You were childhood friends and sworn brothers, weren’t you?”
At my sudden remark, he shifted his gaze toward me. I met his eyes directly.
“But… is that still true?”
“Jin Taekyung. Watch your mouth.”
‘Grrrr.’
The crouching white tiger let out a low growl.
Yal Cheok held out a hand to stop his son, then turned back to me with a calm stare.
“Do you think it’s not?”
“It just seemed like your thoughts were different from Baek Sang’s. Different from the Palace Lord’s too.”
“I don’t know how much you’re aware of, but the Central Plains is facing chaos. And it all started in Shanxi Province, home of the Taewon Jin Clan.”
I still remember it vividly.
Though it was overshadowed by the Shaolin and Sichuan Massacres, the first place Dark Heaven showed up in the Central Plains was Shanxi.
They manipulated Hangsan Sword Sect and the Great Elder, waging war that claimed nearly a thousand lives.
‘If they got intel from Silent Heaven Pavilion, they must know that.’
As if reading my thoughts, Yal Cheok nodded.
“I’ve heard. I even met Jin Baekyang, wielder of the Fire Support Sword.”
“No one could’ve predicted this. If it were some outsider, maybe. But the Great Elder was blood family—a pillar of the Taewon Jin Clan.”
That’s why Jin Wi-gyeong trusted him despite being wary.
And Yal Cheok was no fool—he understood the implication.
“Baek Sang… no. That’s impossible. He’s not like Jin Baekyang.”
“No one can say for sure.”
As I replied firmly, Nam Ho suddenly spoke up.
“There was once a subordinate I cherished like family. He was the last heir of a ruined clan. His parents were murdered by the Demonic Cult. Later, when the inferno known as the Ten Thousand Demons rose in the west, he joined the Murim Alliance.”
“He never feared death and often brought back crucial intel. Thanks to him, we had several small victories.”
A story I’d never heard. One known to few outside Silent Heaven Pavilion.
But just like Nam Ho’s somber face, the rest of the tale was no less grim.
“Even after it all happened, I couldn’t believe it. That he was a traitor. One day, he traded an arm for intel that ended up sending five thousand alliance members to their deaths.”
“When the truth came out, he fled. Days later, I saw his severed head brought in by the execution squad. He was smiling. Like it was all a joke.”
Silence fell over the shrine.
Nam Ho sighed deeply and continued.
“I’m not saying Baek Sang is a pawn of Dark Heaven. But Murim is unpredictable. Whether it’s Baek Sang, Yohee, Heukung, or one of the thirty-two chiefs at tomorrow’s assembly—any of them could be a traitor, and it wouldn’t surprise me.”
The Beast Miao King didn’t respond. He just stared into the flickering flame for a long time, until finally turning to me.
“Are you certain?”
I answered,
“There’s one thing I’m sure of.”
“What is it?”
“The Southern Demon Empress. That bitch isn’t going to leave the Southern Barbarian Region alone.”
Yal Cheok let out a low hum and replied,
“Southern Barbarians are not so easy.”
“Oh, right. That’s why Sichuan Tang Clan, Shaolin, Mount Emei, and Qingcheng Sect all got wrecked? Because they’re easy?”
“…Sorry. That was harsh.”
Chuckling at my sudden outburst, the Beast Miao King replied,
“You really are the Fire King’s disciple.”
“He’d be pissed if he heard that.”
“Deep down, he’d be proud.”
“…Huh.”
Okay, respect.
Just as I mentally gave him a thumbs-up—
‘Whooosh—thud!’
Suddenly, heavy footsteps and a hushed voice echoed from outside the shrine.
“G–Grand Palace Lord!”
At the same time, a red warning flashed in my mind.
System Alert.
‘Ding.’