Chương 124: Snatched Back from Death

Arrows had pierced his entire body, yet none had struck anything truly vital. Most had been stopped by the heart-guard his master had given him long ago. Those that slipped past and drove into unprotected parts of his body had not gone deep. There were simply too many of them— dozens, lodged like the quills of a hedgehog. He must have lost consciousness the moment they struck. For a brief instant he came to, and Jang Sang-geun seemed to be saying something— but he could not hear it. He had lost too much blood.

It had dried, and with it, all strength had drained from him. His mind drifted. He was moved beneath a burning sun. He did not know where he was being taken. With a weakened consciousness, he muttered what he thought were necessary words, but no one listened. He passed through something like a dark tunnel, was laid down under harsh sunlight, then moved again. Wrapped in a straw mat, he was loaded onto the back of a donkey. And once more, he lost consciousness. Did they need the arrows?

No— were they trying to pull them out and use them again? This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it The tearing pain of flesh brought him back. Someone was pulling the arrows from his body. Aaaah— He screamed, but no sound came. Through barely opened eyes, he saw a gaunt man—thin as a corpse— ripping at his body.

"Water." No answer.

"I'm not dead." Still no answer. He tried to shout with all his strength, but his lips only trembled. No voice followed. What was wrong? His side felt strange. He must have been struck again after falling. Perhaps a rib was broken. That spot always gave way. Perhaps it had always been weak. He was breathing, yet they treated him as a corpse. He gathered what little strength he had left and forced out a sound.

"Hey." Did the man hear? He came closer, leaned in, listening.

"I'm not dead. Not yet." The man pressed an ear to his chest, felt for his pulse, checked the artery at his neck— and let out a long sigh.

"What am I supposed to do? They handed you over as a corpse when you're not even dead."

"What will you do? Wait until I die?"

"……"

"Or just kill me?"

"If I do that, I'll be punished!"

"Then you'll wait."

"……"

"You don't intend to save me."

"……" The corpse spoke. Or rather— what he thought was a corpse. This had never happened before. Those fools hadn't even confirmed death. They had simply declared it. Sometimes, right after death, a body twitches— but this was different. He had gotten himself into something troublesome. Very troublesome. The man decided to leave him as he was— and simply wait for death to come. Pain surged through his entire body. Even breathing became difficult. Better to kill him outright. Why leave him like this? No.

The man had struck fortune. The armor was intact. The belongings untouched. Corpses coming out of the palace usually had nothing left. No valuables. Nothing to take. But this one— whoever handled him had been in a hurry. Everything remained. The man began stripping off the armor. It was not something just anyone could do. The fastening cords twisted behind, the bindings along the sides— every part of it differed from ordinary clothing.

He tried lifting the body, fumbling with it, and when that failed, he cut the cords. He removed the outer layer— and found another beneath it. As layer after layer came off, Yeong-u's strength returned, little by little.

"Go to the Dragon-Tiger Army. Call General Park Geun-su. I'll give you everything on me." The man let out a dry chuckle. It was all going to be his anyway. The offer meant nothing.

"You don't need to go yourself. Just send a messenger. Tell him Yeong-u is here."

"So… you'll give me everything?"

"Mm."

"Really?"

"There are silver ingots in the pouch at my side. Take those first." The man's eyes lit up. He reached into the inner pocket of the outer armor and quickly took them.

"Call him. Hurry. I'll give you more."

"Really?"

"Mm." Yeong-u had nearly given up. And then— something like a miracle happened. Water touched his lips. Slipped into his mouth. The man had given it to him. Then at least— he would no longer be treated as a corpse. As he swallowed, tasting life again, the man stepped out— and returned.

"I sent a runner. But I get my payment first."

"Mm." The way he spoke— something was off. He was slow. Dim. And men like that— were the most dangerous of all.