Chapter 363: Be careful with flames when you wake up, let’s check even the extinguished ones again (6)

How can a person be so gravely injured and act so damn composed?

Yeon Pa stared at the grotesquely swollen, lumpy bruise, her gaze full of pity, before glancing back at Qing’s face.

The realization struck like a hammer blow.

Why the hell was she only noticing now—the faint tremble at the corners of the girl’s eyes, the way they scrunched tight, quivering?

No wonder the brat’s face looked so stiff—she’d been clenching through the pain this whole damn time.

The foolish old woman kept working this child to death like some servant.

It wasn’t Qing who should be nursing His Highness—His Highness ought to be nursing her.

His Highness, the one they cherished to the point of madness, the one they loved above all else—and here Yeon Pa was thinking even His Highness should be tending to Qing.

Her expression sank into pure guilt.

But Qing wasn’t in any state to be reading expressions.

Without hesitation, she slapped a thick layer of salve onto her side, pressed a large cloth over the wound, grabbed the bandage—and suddenly yanked it tight.

“AAAGH!!”

She couldn’t stop the scream from bursting out.

You had to press and compress the wound all over to control the swelling, but this idiot clumsily cinched it down right in the center, where the half-healed injury had swollen up again—of course the pain would spike like wildfire.

Qing collapsed forward, her forehead thunking against the ground, curling into herself, gasping through clenched teeth, body shaking as only ragged, airless wheezes escaped.

Yeon Pa recoiled, panicked.

“What the hell are you doing!?”

“What happened!?”

The door slammed open, Jayu charging in at the sound of her agonized scream.

Qing, stripped down to her undergarments, was tending her wounds.

Jayu’s eyes landed first on Qing’s snow-white, flawless back, bowed deeply in front of Yeon Pa—the kind of pure, unmarred beauty that looked carved from flawless marble, radiant enough to steal the breath from a man’s throat.

And then he saw the grotesque, swollen mass of flesh bulging from her left side, and his expression hardened like stone.

“Yeon Pa? What—”

“Your Highness!”

Yeon Pa jumped up, blocking his view.

“How can you just barge into a woman’s room so carelessly!? Get out this instant!”

“Ah—uh—yes, sorry, sorry.”

“OUT!”

Jayu stumbled back, utterly flustered.

It was the first time he’d seen Yeon Pa angry.

She adored him so much, she’d probably praise him even if he beat someone half to death—always fawning over His Highness, saying men needed to be ruthless, even if they were drenched in blood, still so dashing and magnificent.

But now, those sharp eyes bore into him, and he could only falter.

He backed away awkwardly, grabbed the door he’d kicked open, and retreated beyond the threshold.

Then, as if remembering something, his voice slipped cautiously through the crack in the door.

“If—if I wasn’t seeing things... you didn’t look well, my friend. Perhaps—”

“Close the door!”

Whether she meant the door or his mouth wasn’t clear—but the roar left no room for questions.

Jayu wisely closed both.

Only then did Qing manage to sit up.

“Shit... damn near died—”

“You idiot! What the hell are you doing!?”

Yeon Pa practically shrieked.

Qing, breath ragged, defended herself.

“Huugh... huff, huff... I have to tie it tight, or I won’t even be able to move. If the wound shifts while I’m walking, I’ll pass out on the spot.”

“Hmph.”

“I can’t manage this alone. Good thing you’re here. Help me?”

“Good thing? You brat...”

The good thing here was that His Highness and Yeon Pa met this girl while their lives were dangling by a thread.

If the kid had passed by, they wouldn’t be crawling around in this miserable state.

But it wasn’t like she could just let the wound fester, either.

The west wind wasn’t strong yet, so the wildfire wouldn’t spread too fast—but the villagers abandoned the place for a reason.

The stronghold wasn’t truly safe.

Yeon Pa reluctantly pressed the cloth to Qing’s side.

“Ugh—just a little tighter. No, more—more—more, aghh—”

“Are... are you alright?”

“No. But squeeze harder anyway.”

Better to cinch it down all at once, even if it hurt like hell.

But Yeon Pa was hesitating, hands weak, dragging out the process and making everything worse.

For fuck’s sake, just finish it already.

And what the hell—why was the foul-mouthed old hag suddenly playing the gentle grandmother role?

Sure, her swearing was always full of affection, but still—this sudden shift?

Were grandmothers universally weak in front of wounded patients?

In the end, the treatment dragged out longer and hurt more than if they’d just done it in one brutal go.

Qing carefully twisted her torso, testing the compression.

Throb—immediate, sharp pain, like nails driven deep into flesh.

But... she could endure this much.

At least her vision wasn’t whiting out, her body wasn’t folding over from breathless agony.

****

Meanwhile—

Gaedu Sa, seventh among the Eight Blood Banner Knights of the Imperial Guards—the so-called "Eight Heroes," exalted by the Heavenly Martial Emperor—had been smashed into the ground by Qing’s dirty trick.

More precisely, he was launched like a human arrow straight into the earth.

In a way, it could be called mankind’s futile challenge against nature.

The result? Utter defeat.

Nature could not be bested.

His nose was crooked now—not just his nose. Sliding face-first across the rock-hard, frozen ground of the Twelfth Moon left his face scraped raw, blood crusting over like streaks of black rain.

The only reason his face wasn’t torn off completely was thanks to the Imperial Grace—the Huang Eun Divine Blood Technique bestowed by the Heavenly Martial Emperor himself.

Regardless, their commander lay unconscious, and the Imperial Guards were in crisis.

If they admitted they’d lost the runaway rickshaw and its passengers, he’d explode with rage.

If they were lucky, it’d stop at shouting—more likely, that dog bastard would whip his subordinates bloody.

He hadn’t always been this vicious.

But ever since joining the Eight Blood Banner Knights, as his strength skyrocketed, so did his temper.

The Imperial Guards whispered that a man’s true nature only emerged after success—this bastard’s foul personality had merely been restrained until now.

If they reported failure, he’d throw another tantrum.

The solution? Don’t fail.

They crafted their story—at the Gungja Pass, the runaway rickshaw lost control and tumbled over the southern cliff.

But before they could even finish, Makseok, regaining consciousness, erupted with fury.

“Eight men—EIGHT men—how the hell do eight of you fail to kill those worms!? This is the standard of the Imperial Guards? Unbelievable! You weak, pathetic sons of bitches!”

Their faces darkened.

Six dead, two seriously wounded—and he didn’t spare a word of condolence, only blame.

Besides, the “weak bastards” were already corpses—so why insult the living?

And above all, this so-called commander hadn’t even managed to catch the damn rickshaw himself—he’d gotten knocked out like a chump.

Makseok’s temper flared at their sour expressions.

“Those peasants follow an insignificant Chang Cheonho—a lowly farmer’s son—and worship him. Yet I—heir to a noble house, Seventh among the Blood Banner Knights, exalted by the Emperor himself—am disrespected!?”

The Guards exchanged glances, quietly enlightened.

So that’s what this is about—jealousy.

But respect isn’t bought with status or rank.

You can force people to show deference—but true respect is earned.

Yelling Respect me! doesn’t make it real.

Especially when your nose is crooked and your face looks like hammered meat.

Makseok huffed and puffed, eventually sulking and turning away.

There he goes, sulking again, the Guards thought, exasperated.

Whenever he pouted like this, he clammed up, glaring daggers at everyone, issuing no orders, daring them to act without him.

So they got back to their task.

Wait—what were they doing again?

Right—heading home.

And with that realization, fresh rage boiled in their chests.

If they’d just let the rickshaw pass, no one would’ve died, and they wouldn’t be suffering like this.

Four of the dead were set for promotion—but honestly, that wasn’t much of a loss.

Those idiots only chased recklessly to impress Makseok, blinded by ambition.

The surviving Guards descended the mountain, intending to cross the river ahead of the wildfire.

“Hah, morons,” Makseok sneered audibly. “Crossing the river already, when we’re headed north anyway? Look at those dimwits, soaking themselves over and over, every time the river bends. Let’s see how many times they cross.”

It was a familiar, yet freshly infuriating tone.

But annoyingly, he wasn’t wrong.

As they skirted the mountain’s northern slope, the Musu River curved back, blocking their path again.

The river hugged cliffs, twisting northeast, forcing them to cross two more times.

Bastard could’ve warned us...

They crossed, again and again.

Soon, a fortified village emerged, smoke curling from chimneys.

Their soaked clothes clung like ice as the river wind howled, teeth chattering.

They approached the locked gate—barred after Qing’s arrival—but Makseok’s voice grated once more.

“Looks like those peasants have time to relax in our barn. Who cares if the wildfire spreads? Maybe they’ll just settle down there. Filthy, soaked rats—they belong in the livestock pens.”

Veins bulged on the Guards’ foreheads.

If he weren’t so powerful, they’d have stabbed him already.

Being murdered by subordinates was the leading cause of death for commanders, east or west.

They bypassed the village reluctantly.

But even Makseok’s throat yearned for hot tea as they watched the smoke rise.

So they circled around to the wide-open northern gate, muttering bitterly.

“Leaving their injured unattended? This is brotherhood? Hmph, I always knew they lacked loyalty.”

The veins on the Guards’ temples bulged again.

One more vein, and it’d be their commander’s whole damn body swelling up in bruises.

Grudgingly, they entered the stronghold.

The injured were hauled into the still-smoking house, scouts drew lots for patrol, and Makseok’s voice oozed mockery once more.

“South gate closed, no people, north gate wide open—they saw the wildfire and fled. Didn’t even snuff the hearths. Maybe a few feeble old men stayed behind, trembling in fear. Such courage, befitting the Emperor’s warriors—my heart swells with pride.”

His snide remarks practically begged for a knife in the back.

But they’d seen worse.

Had they not drawn lots, he’d gripe about their lack of caution entering unfamiliar ground.

At least this time, they didn’t waste rage over it.

They stoked the fading fires, wrung out their drenched clothes, and settled in for much-needed rest.