Chapter 113

 

“Kyah, kyaak! Kyaaaang!”

Dori resisted desperately.

The claws at the tips of his feet ached as though they were about to rip out from the strain, but he was too overwhelmed to even register the pain. Wonwoo’s condition was clearly abnormal—his pupils had elongated vertically, and his entire eyes gleamed with an unnatural color.

Has he finally gone insane? It wouldn’t be surprising. He’d been pushed to his limits, after all.

But why was he taking out his frustration on him just because his attempt to forcibly imprint had failed?

Despite Dori’s fierce struggle, his relatively light body was dragged with ease. Shaking his head violently, Dori let out a sharp cry, “Kyaeng!” The collar around his neck had tightened, choking him.

“Well, I guess this won’t do, either.”

Wonwoo suddenly glanced around, then grabbed a knife from the table. The blade was thin, perfect for sliding between neck and rope, and short enough—no longer than a fruit knife—to be wielded easily.

“Kkak! Kkak!”

Snip.

The moment the rope was cut, Dori exhaled sharply. He had been holding his breath the entire time, terrified that the knife might graze his flesh.

Wonwoo grasped one of Dori’s bound ankles, his thumb slowly rubbing against the rope there. After a brief hesitation, he spoke in a begrudging tone.

“If you obediently take human form, I’ll release this one too.”

Dori’s perked ears twitched as he coughed, still struggling to catch his breath.

“But it’s under one condition: you keep your promise. Even I don’t want to do it in a place like this, at least not in this form.”

What nonsense is he spouting? He’s already worse than a beast.

Dori swallowed down his bitter retort. With someone as volatile as Wonwoo, if he suddenly changed his mind, Dori would be the one to suffer.

“Stay still. If you’re careless, you might hurt your ankle.”

Flinch.

Why… why does it have to be this leg?

Instinctively stiffening, Dori flattened his long ears against his head, freezing motionless. With several swift cuts, the rope was severed cleanly.

The instant the last restraint snapped, Dori tried to leap backward, but only ended up rolling onto the floor. His body refused to move the way he wanted.

“…Ka, kang?”

Wh–what’s wrong with me?

Dori’s eyes widened, his leg trembling faintly.

“You’ve been bound like that for a long time. Of course you can’t move easily,” Wonwoo said, almost casually. He flipped the knife into the air and caught it, grinning faintly, as if he’d anticipated the escape attempt all along.

Figures. No wonder he released me so easily.

Blood was slowly circulating back into his limbs, leaving them prickly and numb. Dori groaned low in his throat. If only he had the strength, now would be the perfect time to shove Wonwoo away and run, but standing up was impossible.

“Well then, it’s your turn to keep your promise.”

Wonwoo’s hand brushed over Dori’s chest.

Don’t touch me!

Dori smacked the descending hand with his tail and wedged the fluffy appendage between his legs the instant Wonwoo faltered.

Wonwoo merely shrugged, unfazed, and pinned Dori—still in fox form—against the wall, his legs boxing him in. Trapped between those knees and the cold wall, Dori bared his teeth, letting out a low, menacing growl.

“As you can see, I’m not in the best mood right now. So if you keep this up… even I don’t know what I’ll do.”

With his free hand, Wonwoo grasped his own engorged shaft. The dark red flesh was obscenely large. A few slick strokes, and the bead of clear fluid at the tip smeared over the entire length, making it gleam wetly.

Though the tingling in his legs was slowly fading, Dori didn’t dare move recklessly. When Wonwoo tried to push his tail aside, Dori recoiled in horror, pressing himself tighter against the wall.

Wh-what do I do?

If only that knife weren’t there…

Eyes flushed with arousal, Wonwoo gave his length a few heavy pumps—thunk, thunk—making it bob obscenely. The swollen head peeked in and out of his fist, producing squelching sounds.

“…Haa.”

The low moan reverberated through the cabin, nauseatingly close. Even with his eyes shut tight, Dori couldn’t block out the sound.

“Hurry up and transform.”

Wonwoo grabbed Dori’s leg again.

“It might hurt a bit. But that’s fine, isn’t it? This isn’t your first time anyway.”

How dare he say that!

“Kka, kkaang!”

Frightened out of his wits, Dori lashed out with his paws, frantically clawing at Wonwoo’s hand. Even scratching with his claws didn’t loosen the man’s grip. His gaze darted desperately toward the door and windows—

“—!”

An unfamiliar sound came from outside. Footsteps approached the cabin, deliberately muffled.

Wonwoo froze. Judging by how he hastily pulled clothes over himself, even he didn’t know who it was.

Could it be… Haban?

The only person who would come to rescue him was Haban.

Just as Dori turned his head in hope, a large hand clamped over his muzzle, the other pressing down on his head.

“Quiet.”

“Fwoom!”

“Stay still. Something’s out there.”

“Grrmph!”

That’s Haban! It’s Haban! Get off me, you mangy beast!

Left with no choice, Dori abruptly transformed into human form. At least now, without ropes, he wasn’t being strangled by a collar.

“You—!”

Wonwoo lunged for him, but at that very moment—creak!—the door swung open.

A figure clad in black from head to toe entered, sword raised. Spotting the two of them entangled so closely, the intruder hesitated briefly—then leveled the blade toward Wonwoo.

I knew it! Haban must’ve sent him!

Dori had seen similar attire in the imperial palace before—Seo Hon had appeared in such garb, descending like a phantom from the sky.

“Ha…!”

Dori almost cried out in relief—only for his heart to plummet.

…No. He’s different.

The man in black shifted only his eyes to glare at him, and the moment Dori felt the killing intent directed at himself, realization struck.

This wasn’t someone sent by Haban.

Darkness closed in on his vision.

Preparations were complete.

With a grim face, Haban rose to his feet. When he opened the windows—shut tight all day—the stifling heat had already eased into a cool breeze.

In just a matter of days, even the weather had changed so much.

But waiting… waiting made each day feel like a year.

If it were up to him, he would have scoured every possible place Dori could be right this moment.

“This is your final chance. Repeat your mistake, and you will never meet again.”

The words of the fox deity still rang in his ears—a warning not only for the wrongs he had done to Dori, but also for failing to fulfill his duty as emperor of the empire.

Perhaps it had been a dream. But he had indeed returned to life and encountered a Dori bereft of memories; he could not ignore it.

More importantly, rather than recklessly pursuing Dori now, he needed to remove every danger that might threaten him in the future.

“Hoo…”

How many sleepless nights had he endured preparing for this?

Haban rubbed beneath his weary eyes. Chamberlain Kim approached quietly, removing the long-cold teacup and setting down a fresh, steaming one.

“Your Majesty, you should rest at least a little.”

“I am fine.”

“But still…”

Since the white fox had vanished, Haban had neither slept properly nor eaten. He merely sipped tea now and then to keep his mind sharp. Chamberlain Kim could only fidget in anxiety, unable to do anything else.

“Deliver this to the chancellor and summon the Chief of Inspections.”

“…Yes, Your Majesty.”

Accepting the imperial edict, Chamberlain Kim stepped out of the office with a heavy sigh. Everyone knew Haban was overexerting himself, but as emperor, no one could stop him.

Jeokbi always described the nation of Yeon (演) as peaceful and beautiful.

Its people were industrious, its artisans famed for their works, and the ministers who aided the king loved their country dearly.

Until the ruthless empire invaded, trampling its lands beneath the hooves of rough soldiers, Jeokbi longed for Yeon’s golden age.

Whenever she muttered this wistfully to herself, young Yungak—munching on sweets beside her—would silently scoff.

That’s why Yeon fell.

They should have trained their hands to wield weapons as skillfully as they chose fan ribs and wove silk. Believing peace eternal, they indulged in leisure, so of course they were helpless when war came.

And yet, even in her obsession with the past, Jeokbi had done something crucial for him: she had entrusted him to Moran, the underground faction secretly working to restore Yeon.

Even Yungak had believed Jeokbi to be a mere daughter of an insignificant family. In truth, she was Yeon’s last surviving heir, and the family she posed as had been imperial spies. They had hidden her identity at the cost of their own daughter’s life.

The emperor who had forged the current empire through conquest—Yungak’s grandfather—was a formidable ruler. But his son, Yungak’s father, the late emperor, was a man consumed by lust.

Thanks to that, Jeokbi, with her exceptional beauty, rose from consort to favored imperial concubine.

But she was too delicate and powerless to rebuild Yeon herself. When Moran’s hope waned, Yungak was born—the sole surviving bloodline of Yeon, yet also son of the empire’s ruler.

It was only natural that Moran sought to place Yungak on the throne. In doing so, they orchestrated conflicts between arrogant Consort Mun and the empress, eliminating Mun entirely, along with all her sons.

Believing she had removed her greatest rival, the empress grew overconfident, consolidating power among the harem—until Jeokbi’s death shifted all of Moran’s influence onto Yungak.

That was when Yungak first learned of Moran’s existence—a revelation so thrilling he had never felt such exhilaration in his life.

As Moran systematically eliminated political enemies to pave his way to the throne, Yungak, now grown, abruptly halted them.

“Are you truly satisfied with this?”

“…What do you mean?”

“Are you content for me to ascend the throne merely as the empire’s bloodline?”

Indeed, even if he became emperor, he would represent the empire, not Yeon.

As expected, Moran fractured.

One faction insisted that power itself was enough and saw no need to complicate things; the other decried the idea, declaring that an emperor descended from the empire could never represent Yeon.

Yungak observed the schism with amusement, then spoke casually:

“Then I’ll simply drive out the imperial army, ascend the throne, and rename the nation.”

Both sides agreed.

Rather than ascend the throne under suspicion and face scrutiny from imperial ministers, they would scapegoat the crown prince for all atrocities, cleanse Yungak’s image, and enthrone him as a righteous ruler. That required time and careful preparation.

In the meantime, the late emperor died, and Haban took the throne. As planned, rumors of the emperor’s cruelty spread throughout the empire. His neglect of state affairs and obsession with winter hunts only fanned the flames.

Yungak found it amusing, watching from the sidelines.

But then Haban brought back a pure white fox.

And from then on… he began to change.

He started attending court sessions daily, even involving himself in governance. His obsession with the fox was unusual, to say the least.

How could Yungak not be intrigued?

Besides, seeing that pompous merchant’s face twist in frustration made the game twice as enjoyable.

I wonder if things are proceeding as planned.

A shame he couldn’t witness his elder brother’s shocked expression firsthand. But no matter—something entertaining was surely unfolding at this very moment.

On his way back to the imperial palace after a hunting trip, Yungak leisurely sipped his wine, gazing at the trees sliding past. The snacks were good; the wine tasted even better because of it.