In an instant, the living were separated from the dead. He managed to treat two more, their wounds mere lacerations—a task that was, at least, possible. But as he worked on them, the faint breaths of the others stilled one by one. He could only watch their passing, his gaze heavy with a familiar gloom. He thought he’d grown used to it by now, but watching people die never got any easier. Finally, he forced his head up and scanned the bloody clearing. A flag lay tangled in the dirt nearby. “The Un-ryong Pyoguk…” He’d always loved martial arts novels, a passion that had led him to study traditional medicine as a hobby. He could read the characters embroidered on the soiled banner. “So they were all from an escort bureau. This must have been a robbery… but where’s the rescue party? In the novels, if an escort bureau lost its cargo, they’d send a tracking squad for revenge.” An escort bureau was the historical equivalent of a modern courier service. In an age with such poor public safety, however, encountering bandits on the road was a common risk. The men and women who protected goods, money, and travelers were called escorts, and they banded together in bureaus like this one. And by the looks of it, nearly everyone from the Un-ryong Pyoguk was now dead. From his professional assessment as a doctor, only a few hours had passed since the attack. “This is a world without asphalt or streetlights,” he muttered to himself. “If we can just hold on for a day, will anyone even come? Can we hold on?” Night was falling. The temperature was already dropping, and the wounded would surely die if the cold leeched away what little warmth they had left. “We need a fire to last even a little longer. I only ever learned the theory in the military, but… no, this is no time to hesitate. I have to do something.” These were lives he had clawed back from the brink; he couldn't let them slip away now. He had to get a fire going and raise their body temperatures. He picked his way through the corpses, but his search for anything metallic proved fruitless. It was no surprise. Bandits would have stripped the dead of anything valuable. Still, he kept looking, and finally spotted the hilt of a knife wedged between two bodies. “Maybe this will do.” The child’s body was weak, and he grunted with the effort it took to pull the blade free. The knife was chipped in several places and the edge was dull, but it was better than nothing. He gathered a handful of dry leaves and brittle twigs, then held the battered knife over the tinder. “Okay. One, two…!” A harsh grating sound echoed in the quiet forest as he struck the blade against a stone. A single spark flew out. He repeated the motion again and again until, finally, a tiny flame licked at the edge of a leaf. He carefully added more kindling, coaxing the flame to grow. Once the fire was stable, he painstakingly dragged his three survivors closer to its warmth. There was the old man he’d treated first; a boy whose striking, handsome face seemed to glow even through the grime; and a woman who carried herself like a warrior, her hands scarred and calloused from years of gripping a sword. They were alive only because their wounds hadn’t struck anything vital. “I’ve done what I can for now, but it’s not enough…” He knew the fire alone wouldn’t be a complete solution. “The forest looks autumnal… the temperature will plummet overnight. Without some kind of shelter, hypothermia is inevitable. Damn it, what can I use to make a tent?” He scanned the wreckage, but the prospects were grim. The carriage had been smashed to pieces, and the corpses of the horses lay nearby. Scraps of canvas were scattered about, but they were torn and useless. Yet, if he did nothing, his patients would die. With a weary sigh, he pushed his exhausted body to its feet. “It’s just one thing after another.” It would be so much easier if this were a movie, where a ten-minute treatment was all it took for someone to jump back to their feet. Reality was never that kind. Grumbling under his breath, he got to work. He salvaged a solid piece of timber to use as a support, then gathered the largest scraps of cloth he could find, lashing them together to create a crude, makeshift tent. By the time he finished, the sun had sunk well below the horizon. True darkness would soon be upon them. “Heh…” He dragged the patients one by one into the flimsy shelter. The air grew sharp with cold. Night in the mountains arrived early and without warning. From within the tent, he could hear the low moans of the wounded. “I have no guarantee any of them will even survive… The logical thing to do would be to head down the mountain myself before it gets any darker, but…” Why, then, did his feet feel rooted to the spot? He sat by the entrance, feeding branches into the fire to keep the cold at bay. Aooooo! “Gah!” The howl of a wolf from the darkness made him jump, but his panic quickly subsided into a grim resignation. “Right. It would be strange if there weren’t any predators out here in this era.” It was only natural for beasts to roam these mountains. Tigers were a rarity in his time, but even two hundred years ago, as the modern age was just dawning, there were still old tales of hwan-hwan—the tiger menace. “If a wolf pack shows up, we’re in real trouble…” Though shoddy, the tent did its job, blocking the wind and trapping the warmth from the fire. Staring into the dancing flames, he felt a tightness in his chest and let out a long sigh. He was an orphan. The director of his orphanage said he’d been abandoned on the front steps one day, tucked inside a cardboard box. It had been a frigid winter, and for some reason, he’d been bundled in a red padded jacket instead of infant’s clothes, wrapped so tightly they’d had trouble getting him out. His name, Choi Min-jun, had been a gift from that same orphanage director, another man who loved martial arts novels. He’d been born with a fierce drive to learn. It had propelled him into a decent medical school in Daehan, where he’d survived on scholarships and part-time jobs. Though he sometimes yearned for the embrace of the parents he’d never known, he never bothered to look for them. As he grew older, a thick callus of resignation had formed over that particular wound. Why bother looking for people who aren’t looking for me? The void left by his lack of family had only made him live more desperately. He’d never had time for dating and had almost no friends. It wasn't until his forties, when his skills as a doctor were finally recognized, that he'd achieved a measure of financial stability. “Sigh…” How did I end up like this? A lifetime of hard work, gone in an instant. There’s nothing left but this emptiness. He looked down at his own hands—small, soft, and childlike, with none of the calluses earned from years of saving lives. “That’s just how it is, I guess.” The weary sigh of a forty-year-old man escaped from the boy’s lips. Most medical school graduates served as military surgeons, and he had been no exception. He used to greet new soldiers with a deadpan warning: “Close your eyes. What do you see? Nothing? That’s your future in the military. Bleak.” Then he’d offer a wounded soldier a little red pill. “What does this look like to you?” “An antiseptic pill.” “Wrong. As of right now, this is a miracle joint supplement.” “A joint supplement?” “That’s right.” …It was a joke, of course. Now, he was the one facing a bleak future. How was he supposed to survive in this harsh, lawless world? I’m still a doctor. I won’t starve, no matter where I end up. But can I adapt to a world where bandits roam free? I’m worried about tonight, and every night after. By the way, that flag… Un-ryong Pyoguk? That’s the same name as in the novel I was reading just a few days ago. If I remember correctly, the story begins with an attack on the Un-ryong Pyoguk. It was a strange coincidence. And come to think of it, that handsome boy bore a striking resemblance to the novel’s description of the Demon King in his youth. As he was feeding the fire, a new sound cut through the night. Thump, thump, thump! A low, rhythmic rumbling seemed to vibrate up from the ground itself. “What is that?” The sound was getting closer. “Is that… the sound of horse hooves?” It sounded like a cavalry charge from a movie. “What should I do?” Someone was coming. He had no way of knowing if they were friend or foe. He tried to calm his racing heart, but panic was setting in. “Stay calm.” He picked up the chipped knife, his hand trembling slightly. After a day of frantic work, every muscle in his small body screamed in protest. How much more could he take in this child’s frame? He gritted his teeth. Choi Min-jun forced himself to his feet and stepped out of the shoddy tent. Thankfully, a sliver of twilight still clung to the western sky. Below, he could see a group of riders and a single, unique carriage making their way up the mountain path. They were all dressed like characters from a period drama, each with a sword at their waist. One of the riders carried a banner, and on it, he could just make out the words ‘Un-ryong Pyoguk.’ As he registered the name, a small sigh of relief escaped Choi Min-jun’s lips. “The Un-ryong Pyoguk! Ha… thank goodness.” The tension drained from his body so suddenly that his legs gave out, and he collapsed where he stood. Only then did the throbbing pain in his arms and back truly register. He’d pushed a child’s body to its limits all day long. This was the inevitable result. “Is my eyesight better now that I’m younger? I can see them so clearly, even from this far away.” Was it the relief making him have such strange thoughts? He watched the approaching party with a detached curiosity. There were twenty-two riders and one carriage. The carriage, in particular, was unusual. It was massive, drawn by four horses, yet utterly plain and painted a single, somber color. What truly set it apart were the countless small storage cabinets that covered its entire surface, turning the whole vehicle into a giant, mobile medicine chest. Choi Min-jun had read a description of just such a carriage before. “That looks exactly like the medical carriage of Baek Seo-jun Eui-seon, from the novel The Supreme Demon King.” The Supreme Demon King was the last novel Choi Min-jun had read to completion before he died. It was a fascinating story, and one of its most important supporting characters was a doctor named Baek Seo-jun Eui-seon. Baek Seo-jun Eui-seon was one of the three Great Doctors of his era. He was the one who saved the novel’s protagonist, Yeo Ha-ryun, the boy who would one day become the Demon King. After several adventures with Yeo Ha-ryun, the doctor eventually succumbed to his own chronic illness and passed away around the second volume of the story. Surely… this can’t be the world from that novel… As he was entertaining the absurd thought with a wry shake of his head, the riders from the Un-ryong Pyoguk finally arrived at the clearing. Choi Min-jun remained sitting on the ground, unable to move, staring as they reined in their horses.

Chapter 2: The Faint Breaths Stilled