Snake Venom Ch 10

Chapter 10

The man’s gentle question sounded as light as a feather. Who he was. Why he alone had a gun. How he knew Yeonwoo’s name. What his intentions were in making such an offer. He sounded like he had no interest whatsoever in the storm of questions swirling in Yeonwoo’s head.

Yeonwoo looked up at the man. He could only see him as a black silhouette, but he fixed his gaze on the object covering the man’s eyes. He had assumed it was some kind of restraint device, but—if it was night vision goggles… His pupils trembled violently as he guessed what the object might be.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a herding game? Had new rules been added without his knowledge? If so, that would be the best-case scenario. But the worst possibility flashed through Yeonwoo’s mind: the human he thought was the prey was actually an armed hunter, and the rest of the participants—including himself—were the real targets of the hunt.

He suddenly recalled the man’s refined scent. Could this man be one of the “clients” President Park had spoken of? A high-level psychopath who wasn’t content with watching the game, but participated directly to enjoy it himself? It felt as though he’d been shot in the head—his mind reeled from the shock.

Whatever the case, if his suspicions were correct, Yeonwoo had to get as far away from this man as possible.

“……”

“……”

But in his current state, how could he?

The man looked down at Yeonwoo, who remained stiff with tension, and slightly rotated his wrist. Thunk—the muzzle resting on Yeonwoo’s head radiated a searing heat.

“I’d like an answer.”

Yeonwoo glanced toward his own forehead and gave a small nod. The muzzle slowly moved away. He knew perfectly well that this wasn’t a gesture telling him to relax. Even if it looked meaningless or pitiful, he opened his mouth like a man grasping at straws.

“No killing teammates… right?”

The man fell silent, and the muzzle once again aimed at Yeonwoo. Frozen in place, Yeonwoo heard the same level voice speak without a trace of warmth.

“Then get rid of that cocky little thought about running away.”

The barrel tapped his temple lightly, indifferently. The message was clear—try anything foolish and your life is forfeit. The quiet clicks of metal rang louder than any warning; Yeonwoo quickly nodded.

“I won’t.”

“Get up.”

As Yeonwoo began rising to his feet, rapid footsteps echoed through the room and someone burst in through the doorway. It was a partially transformed half-blood. Two large buffalo-like horns jutted from his head, and his black eyes gleamed, devoid of whites.

“There you—!”

Before the sentence could finish, the half-blood’s head snapped backward and his body crumpled to the floor. The muzzle, which had returned to firing position, was now again pressed against Yeonwoo’s forehead as if it had never left.

The man had only needed to shift the angle of his arm to shoot with perfect precision. There had been no hesitation, no breath out of place.

Now it was certain. Unlike the other participants—including Yeonwoo—this man could see everything perfectly.

He had a gun, full vision, excellent aim and speed—none of which would be possible without serious training. Facing him wasn’t even gambling—it was suicide. Stupefied, Yeonwoo muttered,

“I’m not thinking about running. I swear I won’t.”

At this point, it was probably best to add that they should remain on the same team until the end of the game. Yeonwoo moved his lips to speak.

“We should just stay toge—”

“I’m not going to kill you, Yeonwoo-ssi.”

Had he read Yeonwoo’s anxiety? The man lifted his muzzle toward the ceiling as he spoke.

“I haven’t killed anyone.”

Yeonwoo blinked at the unexpected statement. It sounded, strangely, like a compliment on having endured so well this far without giving up.

In the distance, more movement could be heard approaching. The ruckus caused by Yeonwoo and the half-blood had apparently drawn in nearby participants. Glancing toward the exit, the man spoke.

“From now on, you and I are the taggers.”

Taggers. Yeonwoo had never taken on that role before. The man moved a few steps away—not to distance himself, but to take a position from which he could easily hit either Yeonwoo or any targets.

He extended his arm and aimed his gun at a point in the darkness. Though he still looked like a mere black silhouette, his stance was precise and ideal—something only a trained individual could achieve. The man spoke.

“Carnivore-type—bear and half-blood. Let me know if you see them.”

“……”

Before answering, Yeonwoo looked at the man. On what grounds was he making this request? How had he figured it out? And what did he stand to gain from asking? The more Yeonwoo dealt with him, the more questions piled up—but now wasn’t the time to ask.

“Is that all you need?”

“Yes, for now.”

Yeonwoo turned his gaze to the exit. A figure stepped across the threshold, scanning the surroundings. He didn’t fit the bear or half-blood category. Then there was no need to mention him. Just as Yeonwoo was deciding to stay silent, the man asked casually,

“What’s that?”

“……”

The question changed Yeonwoo’s vague suspicion into certainty. This man knew how Yeonwoo survived. He might not understand the exact mechanics or how effective it was—but he definitely knew.

Suddenly his head throbbed. Calling themselves a team while prying into Yeonwoo’s last line of defense—it was impossible to guess what this man was truly after. Biting the inside of his cheek, Yeonwoo answered.

“…He’s a half-blood, but not a bear.”

The words had barely left Yeonwoo’s mouth before the half-blood was shot and fell. Judging by his posture, the bullet had struck the same place again. The accuracy of the shot was chilling, and Yeonwoo instinctively hunched his shoulders.

The man continued to ask Yeonwoo for the identity of each target before firing. Finally, Yeonwoo couldn’t hold back the one question he had been putting off.

“What if I’m wrong?”

The man’s answer was light and easy, as if it were no big deal.

“So far, you’ve been right every time. Good boy.”

So he knew everything from the beginning? Was there even a point to calling this a team effort? While Yeonwoo sat dazed, the man jerked his chin.

“Let’s move.”

The man’s footsteps were eerily quiet even as he walked without disturbing his shooting posture. Beside him, Yeonwoo also instinctively muted his steps.

When they reached the next floor down, the man reached into his pocket. He dropped something through the railing with a loud clang as it struck the metal bars. It was the shard of glass Yeonwoo had given him. To think he’d use something meant for self-defense like that—he had a knack for this sort of thing.

Yeonwoo had once worried for this man, even going so far as to arm him with that shard. A man equipped with a gun and night vision goggles, no less. Feeling strangely robbed, Yeonwoo cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Aaaaah! Help me!”

“……”

The man slowly turned his head. Even in the darkness, Yeonwoo could sense his expression: What the hell are you doing?

“I just thought… this much noise might help draw them in. It works well sometimes.”

Yeonwoo stopped himself from claiming he’d done it as realistically as possible and wiped his nose.

They moved on to search the second floor. As Yeonwoo busily scanned the surroundings, the man grabbed him by the back of the neck.

“Eleven o’clock, one o’clock. Two targets.”

It meant the enemies were approaching from both sides, deliberately silencing their footsteps. Yeonwoo couldn’t see them yet. He squinted, trying to make out their forms, then lifted his head and sniffed.

“They’re coming.”

The man shot him a sidelong glance.

“I don’t like vague words like ‘I think.’ Be precise.”

“Bear and half-blood. They’re coming.”

“Which one is which?”

“Uh, what…?”

Yeonwoo was flustered at the demand to distinguish between them. He had never done it from this far away, especially not when their blood smells were mixed.

The two men, apparently having silently agreed to devour their prey, were closing in together. One began to pick up speed. As Yeonwoo hesitated, the man pressed him again.

“Which one?”

After a moment of certainty, Yeonwoo answered.

“The one in the back…!”

But the man shot the one in front first. As the figure fell, the one behind flinched, realizing something was wrong. Just as he turned to flee, a single gunshot took him down—this time in the leg, not the head.

“Aaaaagh!”

The half-blood screamed, clutching his leg. His booming voice echoed through the building. The man asked Yeonwoo,

“What was the one in front?”

Watching the wounded man crawl away, Yeonwoo murmured,

“Human.”

“Hmm.”

The man’s low hum carried not a trace of regret. Yeonwoo blinked.