Chapter 4: The First Words I Ever Spoke
The weight of reality pressed down on Beomcheon's body as well.
If this were the past, a simple pressure point strike would have sufficed.
A mere flick of his sleeve could have sent someone like Beomcheon flying over a hundred feet away.
But not now.
Beomcheon straddled his chest, pinning his arm with a knee, leaving him breathless and immobile.
Beomcheon might as well have been a mountain.
To be blunt—this body was so feeble that even an untrained elder could overpower it.
“Beomcheon, I can’t… move… Ugh…”
Before he could finish venting his rage, his jaw slackened involuntarily.
Beomcheon pried his mouth open with both hands and shoved something inside.
“Eat and die. I’ll follow soon enough—your journey to the underworld won’t be lonely!”
“Gah… Stop… Keugh…”
Even as he tried to clamp his mouth shut, Beomcheon’s hands were iron vises.
What little strength he exerted left him dizzy and drained.
Meanwhile, Beomcheon forced poison into his mouth.
“Ugh!”
The same Beomcheon who’d been tearing at his lips now covered his mouth with a palm, sealing even his nose. Hoo-gong thrashed, desperate for air.
The poison on his tongue began to melt.
‘Am I really dying like this?’
To suddenly inhabit another body only to die just as abruptly—Hoo-gong reeled in disbelief.
‘From a poison that’s barely a snack? Me?’
If he had to die from ingestion, it shouldn’t be poison. Even if he died a hundred times over, perishing without understanding why was unacceptable.
Beomcheon, fully committed to their mutual demise, strained every muscle. Veins bulged in his bloodshot eyes as he desperately muffled Hoo-gong’s mouth.
“Die! Die—you wretched creature!”
In his thrashing, Hoo-gong wrenched one arm free.
Thwack!
The edge of his hand struck Beomcheon’s Adam’s apple.
“Kgh! Hk… Hk…”
Clutching his throat, Beomcheon crumpled sideways.
Seizing the moment, Hoo-gong frantically spat out the poison. He gagged, expelling every trace—even the minuscule amount dissolved on his tongue—along with saliva.
“Keugh! Hack! Huh?”
Dizziness struck. His head spun. The ground seemed to sway—or was it his body?
Then the floor rushed toward his eyes.
Thud!
Hoo-gong collapsed face-first. The toxin’s potency was staggering—even that tiny dissolved fraction took effect.
‘Unbelievable. Am I truly… dying here…?’
His chest burned as if scorched. Half his body numbed. His neck stiffened, jaw gaping uselessly.
He couldn’t breathe. Clawing at his throat did nothing—his airway remained sealed.
“Gk… I… I…”
I’m not your grandson. I’m the Martial Alliance Leader!
The words lodged in his throat, unvoiced.
Gripping his neck, Hoo-gong stared up at Beomcheon in confused desperation. The old man’s shadowed face had turned glacial.
“Yes, die now. Isn’t this the death you craved? You who claimed pain meant nothing if death followed—was that not you?”
‘What absurd fate is this?’
Even among soul transmigrations, why possess a suicide-obsessed body? Ordinary people existed aplenty!
This death wasn’t just unfair—it was intolerable.
Yet it approached inexorably.
He had no choice but to deploy his final gambit.
In an instant, Hoo-gong synthesized all available information, marshaling his last dregs of strength. He loathed this outcome, but alternatives had vanished.
Success wasn’t guaranteed—but he had to try.
Trembling violently, Hoo-gong reached out.
“Sa…”
“What?!”
“Sa… save…”
“……?”
“Save… me… Grandf… Gk… keugh…”
“……??”
Vision blurred. Consciousness frayed.
At the edge of oblivion, Hoo-gong saw Beomcheon’s pupils tremble.
In the main heir’s quarters of Cheonhwaseogo...
Family Head Beomcheon and the physician gazed down at the slumbering youth.
“How is Beomhang’s condition?”
The physician answered promptly:
“No need for concern. While traces of Blood Mushroom Poison remain, they’re no longer life-threatening. Full detoxification will take between one month to six weeks. Pain will gradually subside, and partial paralysis will resolve.”
“Your efforts are appreciated.”
“Not at all.”
‘Damn Blood Mushroom Poison?’
The youth—no, Hoo-gong—lay awake, feigning sleep. Though his desperate ploy had saved him, resentment outweighed relief. Never had he imagined begging for mercy.
In all his lives, this was the first time he’d pleaded to live.
Others had groveled before him—he’d simply decided their fates.
And now, to learn the “poison” was Blood Mushroom extract? It burned.
He knew this toxin well.
Blood Mushrooms, alternatively called Crimson Caps, were poisonous fungi. Roasting amplified both toxicity and savory richness, making them popular trail snacks for martial wanderers. Rare and coveted, they were irrelevant to life-or-death matters. Yet here he lay, bedridden for a month over mere snack-grade poison!
Their conversation continued.
“Family Head, if I may ask…”
The physician hesitated.
Earlier, at dawn, the Family Head had tearfully vowed never to repeat his suicide pact with his grandson after lengthy admonishments.
“Speak.”
“This is fortunate, but… what does it mean that the heir begged for his life?”
Caution and puzzlement tinged the physician’s voice.
“Exactly as heard. No mistake.”
“Is that so? But…”
“Had I not witnessed it myself, I’d doubt it too.”
Bizarrely casual dialogue ensued. While a dying plea for life seemed natural, these two treated it as a miraculous anomaly.
“Good news, yet so sudden…”
“Hmm. His demeanor differed too. Even his speech.”
“Could it indicate newfound will to live?”
“Not exactly. I’d have recognized such sentiment. Rather…”
The Family Head’s brow furrowed as he recalled:
“It was… detachment. Observant detachment (觀照).”
“Pardon?”
“Unlike the indifference of despair. More like… centered neutrality (正中). Stranger still—he didn’t recognize me. Addressed me by name without honorifics.”
“Failed recognition? Then the poison likely affected his brain.”
“The toxin’s influence?”
“Yes. Blood Mushroom Poison’s virulence is unparalleled. Even traces reaching the brain can cause aggression, docility, memory loss—or speech coarsening. Common symptoms.”
“Perhaps. Yet…”
“Does something trouble you?”
“No.”
The Family Head measured his words. His grandson’s strange behavior and rough speech had preceded the poisoning.
Hoo-gong grasped the unspoken hope—even a sliver of possibility that his plea signaled change was precious to the old man.
“May this incident prove a blessing in disguise.”
“Then I’ll harbor no regrets.”
“Frankly, I worry more about you, Family Head.”
“Haha! Me? No cause for concern.”
“I ask little—simply live another thirty years.”
“Only thirty? I expected higher ambitions from you.”
They left the room chuckling.
That afternoon brought more visitors—two youths.
The drunken elder brother staggered through the doorway, nearly falling until the younger steadied him—only to be shoved away.
“Brother, are you alright?”
The gentle-faced younger sibling watched anxiously.
“M’fine! Bumung—don’t misunderstand. Didn’t fall. Meant to sit.”
The drunk collapsed gracelessly onto the floor.
“Of course.”
“That beast—still alive?”
“He appears asleep.”
“Asleep? Hah! Crazy bastard’ll outlive us all. Keeps yapping about dying while surviving to shit on walls!”
“Since he asked Grandfather to save him… perhaps his heart has changed?”
The younger’s mild tone provoked fury.
“Elder brother? Shut your mouth before I gut you!”
“Apologies.”
“You’ve only one brother—me! That’s no human, just a beast! Understood?!”
“…….”
“Understood?!”
“Yes.”
“Gods, this mood’s ruined. Why’d I come see that madman’s face? Let’s go.”
“…….”
“I said move!”
“Yes.”
Their departure restored quiet.
‘So this body has brothers.’
Though curious about the drunk’s face, Hoo-gong deemed it premature to act.
Come evening, the Family Head returned briefly, sat silently, then left. The physician checked his pulse. No other visitors came.
Hoo-gong maintained his charade, gathering intelligence.
Conversing in this feeble, ignorant state would only exhaust him. Better to observe.
Minor gains:
This body was named Beomhang.
A death-seeking wretch.
Cheonhwaseogo’s main heir.
Two brothers.
Moreover, Cheonhwaseogo seemed in decline—the atmosphere desolate, few well-wishers visiting.
For a main heir’s near-death recovery, only three family members came. Considering one arrived drunk, this likely constituted “everyone.”
Illness naturally casts gloom—but Beomhang’s history of wrist/neck-cutting attempts had surely drained the clan’s spirits.
