BOPE 75

Chapter 75 …

Amidst his blood-soaked kin, one of the Qulen lay flat on the ground, feigning death. When the time came, it drove its hook-like foreclaws into the ground and crawled forward at terrifying speed.

“Kyakyakyakyak!”

“My lord!”

The knights, seeing this, rushed to block its front and sides, swinging their swords. But even as it bled profusely, the Qulen charged madly ahead, ignoring everything else. One knight slashed at it from the front, only to be trampled; his face mangled and ribs broken beneath the creature’s weight. Another knight dashed to block it again, but with one swipe of its claw, his head went flying.

At last, the beast reached its target. In the blink of an eye, it seized Donghee by the shoulder and soared into the sky. It all happened too quickly to react.

“Kyaa!”

Her body was suddenly yanked upward, leaving her no time to evade.

The shock of the rapidly rising view lasted only a moment before searing pain exploded in her shoulder, making her scream. She had never felt agony like this in her life—it was as though her shoulder were being ripped off. The ground beneath her shrank away at frightening speed.

Am I going to die here? Just like this? Caught by a bat bastard?

Slingshot recharging.

• Target and user are in direct contact. Slingshot cannot be used.

What the hell?! Donghee furiously hurled the slingshot away. It disappeared back into her inventory.

The injustice of it all made her shake with anger. Already, the ground was far, far below.

Even if she managed to escape somehow, she’d plummet straight down and die, her body crushed beyond recognition—like the mangled corpses she’d seen piled near the wooden palisades.

Then it happened—the Qulen’s grip tightened. Its claws dug deeper into her shoulder.

“Arghhh!”

It was as if the creature meant to rip her apart. The thought of doing nothing and dying like this filled her with unbearable rage.

With trembling arms, she reached into her cloak and pulled out the dagger Smith had crafted from a Qulen fang. The blade gleamed in the sunlight with a pearly white glow.

“I didn’t think the last time I’d use this blade would be… my last moment.”

Donghee gripped it tightly in her gloved hand. Her shoulder burned like fire; soon she might not even be able to move. Summoning every ounce of strength, she stabbed the dagger into the Qulen’s talon.

“Let me go, you damn beast!”

“GRAAAAARGH!”

For a brief moment, she felt like the Hulk. Even now, she lamented that she couldn’t record this scene. If she had, the Avengers themselves would’ve come to recruit her.

Facing death head-on, everything around her suddenly felt surreal, almost peaceful. The pain even dulled. She twisted the dagger deeper into the talon, using her gloves’ grip to pry it upward like a lever.

“Let me give you a manicure!”

With a grunt, she wrenched the claw free.

The Qulen shrieked, its scream splitting her eardrums. The claw was now hanging by a shred of flesh.

Grabbing it tightly, Donghee shoved it off.

“KYAAAAAARGH!”

Blood gushed from the beast’s mangled foot—oddly satisfying to see.

Startled by its prey’s unexpected counterattack, the Qulen faltered mid-flight. Instead of soaring higher, it flapped erratically, shaking its leg to drop her.

Donghee clung until the talon finally tore loose. Then, she plummeted.

From below, horrified screams rose as people watched her fall. Clutching the bloody claw to her chest, she tumbled downward, faster and faster.

It had been short, but not bad, she thought. In this brief instant, so many faces she’d met here flashed across her mind.

She hoped Delma wouldn’t cry too much.
She hoped Patrasche wouldn’t wreck Grace territory.

Her brown hair whipped about her face as the blue sky receded. Goodbye, everyone.

Donghee shut her eyes.

And then—

“You’re a nuisance. Tch.”

A man suddenly appeared. Silverfish Man—no, Taechang—caught her effortlessly, clicking his tongue.

The world flashed white, and their descent slowed drastically. His silvery hair shimmered upward like strands of light in the air.

“You… Taechang.”

She didn’t ask how he appeared so suddenly. Taechang’s very existence was absurd enough that it wasn’t surprising he’d show up to catch her mid-fall.

“Yes. I’m Taechang—the ridiculous name you gave me.”

His gray eyes, fathomless as storm clouds, studied her quietly. Then, with one hand, he closed her eyes.

“I want to keep them open.”

“Just shut them.”

Every time she tried to peek, he covered them again. Moments later, with a dull crash, her body hit a patch of unburnt brush, cushioning her fall.

“Ugh!”

It felt like being hit by a car. Her whole body screamed with pain.

Damn it. If you’re going to catch me, catch me all the way! That hurt like hell.

He must’ve let her go from just high enough to avoid killing her. Typical stingy bastard.

Still, the fact that she could swear at all meant her head was intact. For that, she was grateful. Struggling, she opened her eyes.

Taechang stood over her, his silver hair falling like a curtain, watching her silently.

“For such a stingy guy, you’re disgustingly handsome.”

Those were her last words before she fainted.

“My lady, my lady, can you hear me?”

A crushing pain weighed on every inch of her body as Donghee stirred awake. She couldn’t even tell which part hurt most. But the familiar ceiling and faces above her brought her comfort, and she smiled faintly.

“I’m alive.”

Delma, eyes swollen from crying, looked down at her and sobbed.

“Delma?”

“Yes! It’s me, Delma. Oh, God above—thank you, thank you!”

Delma seized her lady’s hand, pressing it to her feverish forehead. The heat against her skin startled Donghee.

“Delma, are you sick?”

“What? No, you’re the one hurt! Oh my—of course you’re in pain, there’s not a single part of you unharmed!”

She broke into sobs again. Donghee tapped her thick hand gently, forcing a weak smile.

“Not me. You, Delma.”

“Me?”

“Mm. Your forehead’s burning.”

Delma gazed down at Chloe, her chest tightening. Even like this, her lady worried more about her than herself.

“I don’t feel sick at all. Now that you’re awake, my lady, I don’t feel a thing.”

Of course, Delma knew her body was aflame with fever. But she truly felt nothing—not compared to her joy. She almost wanted to dance.

On the carriage ride back to Grace Castle, when she saw Chloe’s ruined, half-dead body, it had been like the sky collapsing. From that day until now, over a week later, each day had been torture. She had wished countless times she could take her lady’s place, that she were the one broken instead.

The villagers praised their lady for saving Morta from the Qulen, but Delma couldn’t bear to hear it.

“Please… don’t be sick, Delma. It hurts too much when you are.”

Donghee smiled faintly before drifting back into sleep. Her breathing now was calm, steady.

Delma wiped her streaming tears and bowed deeply to the physician who had stayed by Chloe’s side day and night for a week.

“Thank you. Truly, thank you. I will never forget this debt.”

“Yes, thank you. You’re the savior of our land,” added Scrooge, the steward, his bloodshot eyes betraying many sleepless nights.

The knight sent to fetch a cleric had yet to return, delayed by bandits. When news of the delay arrived, the entire Grace household had broken into despair, sobbing openly.

And then, as if by miracle, the physician appeared—Gallen, the same doctor who had crafted the medicine that once saved their lady from illness. He had meant to leave after confirming her recovery, but the warmth of Grace territory had convinced him to stay a few more days. Then he witnessed her brought back in ruins.

Her bones were broken in multiple places. The wound on her shoulder was deep, threatening permanent damage to her arm. Worst of all, she would likely bear a terrible scar. For a noblewoman yet unmarried, such a mark could ruin her life.

Gallen had heard ugly rumors about the Grace lord before, but the woman he met here was nothing like that. She wasn’t overly gentle, but she never mistreated her servants—in fact, she cared deeply for them, often helping them quietly behind the scenes. Though younger than his own daughter, she carried herself with greater maturity and courage.

“Now that she’s conscious, if she takes her medicine and rests, she’ll recover. You needn’t worry so much,” he reassured.

He reached into his pouch, pulled out a black pill, and offered it to Delma. Though he had tried several times before, she had always refused, focused solely on her lady.

“Your lady worries about you. Take this, drink plenty of warm water, and sleep. By morning, you’ll feel much lighter.”

“Thank you,” Delma said, bowing as she accepted it.

Gallen patted her shoulder gently, smiling warmly. But then, sensing a sharp gaze, he turned his head.

There stood the steward who had been thanking him moments ago—now glaring at him with dagger eyes.