Drip, drip, drip.
He heard the sound of water.
A thin, clear sound. The pure trickle of spring water flowing down through a crack in the cold rock. The poleaxe wielder listened to it quietly for a long while. Before opening his eyes, he awakened each of his senses one by one and assessed the condition of his body. It was a brutal habit the former slave soldier had learned through countless blood-soaked battlefields.
'These wounds... This is strange.'
His forehead gave a sharp tingle where it had been roughly torn open, but it did not hurt. His side throbbed dully where it had been raked deeply and burst open with blood, but there was no damp sensation of blood trickling down. His arms and legs were heavy as iron from losing so much blood, yet he was still capable of moving them with sufficient force.
Three nights ago, he should have suffered countless injuries while fighting to the death against five enormous tigers in the mountains. And yet the wounds on his body were strangely quiet and calm.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
He was inside a cave. The ceiling was so high it seemed distant, and cool sunlight whose hour he could not make out—morning or midday—filtered softly through the cracks. Clear water ran down one moss-covered wall of the cave, forming a small pool among the rocks. That was where the clear sound he had just heard was coming from.
When he checked beneath himself, he felt something soft and warm. Two enormous tiger hides had been neatly spread out beneath him. When he carefully touched the wounds on his torn forehead and side, he found a crushed herbal paste strangely applied over them. It was an unusual plant he had never seen in his life. It was a deep indigo color, and its bitter, acrid scent stung his nose before somehow calming his mind.
Someone had clearly treated him personally.
The situation was remarkably similar to when he had awakened in the Goguryeo commander's tent only three days ago. But this time, even the smell filling the cave was completely different. Instead of the stale reek of blood, leather, oil, and iron... the rich scents of fresh earth, moss, and some strangely divine beast lingered in the air.
The poleaxe wielder carefully sat up. This time, every joint in his bones did not scream. His body ached, but the pain was bearable. There was no way a human body could have closed wounds this severe and recovered this much strength in a single night. How many days had actually passed? Or was the plant applied to his wounds some mysterious immortal elixir that did not exist in the mortal world?
The first thing he looked for was his poleaxe.
The custom poleaxe had been propped firmly against the cave wall. It was close enough for him to reach simply by extending his hand. Without hesitation, the poleaxe wielder gripped the shaft tightly. When the heavy, cold feel of iron touched his palm, a deep breath filled his starved lungs.
"You're awake."
The voice descended from high above his head.
The poleaxe wielder abruptly raised his head.
Inside the cave, a woman sat on a rock platform raised one step above the ground. Her legs were neatly crossed, her chin propped in one hand as she gazed languidly down at him. Silvery-white hair flowed softly below her shoulders, and tiger ears twitched faintly beneath her fur hat. Her fluffy tiger tail swayed slowly over the rock like a pendulum.
She was the very woman he had encountered beneath the moonlight three nights ago.
In the bright sunlight, the lines of her face stood out much more clearly. Her features were sharp and beautiful, but hers was no beauty belonging to a mortal human. It was the face of a spirit deity, with the proud, multicolored eyes of a tiger.
The poleaxe wielder stared quietly up at the woman, tightening his grip on the poleaxe. Her yellow eyes slid toward the weapon in his hand.
"The moment you wake up, you grab your weapon?"
Her voice was flat and emotionless. Yet the deeply curved corners of her mouth had lifted ever so slightly.
"...Where is this?"
The poleaxe wielder asked. His voice was horribly hoarse from thirst—the voice of a man who had not swallowed a drop of water in days.
"My home."
The woman answered briefly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Who in the world are you?"
"I am the master of this deep Seoraksan."
The woman lightly stepped down from the rock platform. Her movement was as light as a feather. Even when her bare feet touched the cold rock, they made no sound. She walked right up to the poleaxe wielder and raised her head. He was sitting on the tiger hides while she stood, yet their eyes were strangely level. That was because the poleaxe wielder's seated height was so immense, measuring six feet three inches.
"You slept as though dead for three days."
"Three days..."
"Because you lost too much blood. If you had been an ordinary human, you would already have become a cold corpse and food for the mountain beasts."
The woman's gaze fixed on his forehead. The mysterious indigo herb had been carefully applied over the wound that had been clumsily stitched in the Goguryeo commander's tent.
"Did you... treat me?"
"If a human rat dies on my mountain, the stench of its decay becomes a nuisance."
The poleaxe wielder quietly examined the woman. Tiger ears beneath her fur hat. A tail beneath her robe. She was unmistakably not human. The memory of last night... no, the night three days ago flashed through his mind. The pack of tigers that had surrounded him from every direction. The beasts that grew unnaturally stronger the farther the fight progressed. And this woman strolling leisurely between them.
"Were all those tigers yours?"
"They are my cubs."
"...I felled five of them."
"I know."
The woman's yellow eyes narrowed. He could not tell whether she was angry or thinking of something else. There was no reading that gaze.
"You did not kill them. The cubs you felled are still alive and well. They are not so weak that they would die so pointlessly."
The poleaxe wielder was speechless for a moment. Then he slowly lowered his heavy head.
"...Even so, I apologize. It was my fault for recklessly swinging my blade at the master of the mountain and her beasts."
At that moment, the ear beneath the woman's hat twitched sharply once. It was an exceedingly faint movement. By the time the poleaxe wielder raised his head again, the woman's arrogant expression had not changed at all. But the tiger tail behind her robe was swaying back and forth a little faster than before.
"You are apologizing to the lowly creatures of the mountain?"
"I am."
"In all the hundreds of years I've lived, I have never seen humans enter my mountain of their own accord, beat down my cubs, and then offer an apology so calmly."
The woman turned away. She walked into a dark corner deeper inside the cave, then picked up a small wooden bowl from behind a rock. It held cold spring water drawn from between the moss.
Without a word, she gently set the wooden bowl down in front of the poleaxe wielder.
He lifted the bowl with both hands and took a deep swallow. It was water from the valley, cold enough to make his teeth ache. The stream slid refreshingly down his cracked throat, spreading through all his burning organs.
"Thank you."
"You say that so easily."
The woman climbed back onto the raised rock and plopped down. Just as before, she crossed her legs, propped her chin in one hand, and looked down at him.
"What exactly are you?"
"They call me the poleaxe wielder. It means a man who only uses an axe."
"That is not a name, is it?"
"...I have no name. I was born a slave and never received one."
The woman studied the poleaxe wielder intently. Her reaction was distinctly different from the Goguryeo commander's when he had heard the same answer. Human emotions such as sympathy and pity had passed through the commander's eyes, but the spirit deity's eyes showed not the slightest ripple. She simply accepted the single fact that he had no name exactly as it was, with a calm gaze.
"...How interesting."
The woman murmured softly. For the first time, clear emotion entered her voice. Interesting. Pure interest—the first she had felt in a very long time amid the tedious centuries of a spirit deity's life.
The poleaxe wielder carefully set down the empty bowl. Then he braced himself on his poleaxe and tried to stand. When he forced strength into his legs, the wound in his side throbbed heavily, but he could manage to remain upright.
"Are you leaving?"
The woman asked, narrowing her eyes.
"I am deeply indebted to you. But I cannot stay in another person's dwelling any longer."
"Where do you intend to go?"
The poleaxe wielder could not answer right away. Where was he supposed to go? His main force had already withdrawn far into the distance, and Goguryeo survivors were surely still encamped at the foot of the mountain. He was not even certain there was anywhere left for him to return to.
The woman read his deep silence as easily as a ghost.
"You have nowhere to go?"
"...I have somewhere to return to. I simply do not know where I should head right now."
"Then sit back down."
The woman snapped coldly. It was an unmistakable command. Yet the chill in her tone was not all that cold.
"Your body is not yet whole. If you go down the mountain in that stumbling state, you will cough up blood and die on my mountain. Did I not say that a rotting corpse on my mountain would be a nuisance?"
The poleaxe wielder gazed quietly at the woman. A proud, arrogant face. An indifferent voice. And yet this woman had brought him spring water when he was parched with thirst, treated his life-threatening wounds with an immortal elixir, and laid out warm tiger hides for him.
The poleaxe wielder lightly touched the herb spread across his body. A faint warmth like a breeze lingered between the crushed leaves. He could not help picturing the spirit deity grinding the herbs beneath her fingertips and pressing them onto each wound herself.
After hesitating for a moment, the poleaxe wielder slowly sat back down.
"...Very well."
Immediately afterward, the tiger tail beneath the woman's robe gave one great flap. The woman herself seemed not to notice it.
A cool mountain breeze blew in through the cave entrance. It carried the scents of earth, leaves, and the dew of early morning. The eerie silence flowing through the cave was now filled with a strangely pleasant coziness.
The poleaxe wielder looked outside the cave. Blue sky spread between the branches. It was the very same sky he had seen over the battlefield, red with blood, yet the sky as viewed from here was strangely calm.
The woman lightly stepped down from the rock.
"Aren't you hungry?"
The poleaxe wielder turned around. The woman stood gruffly with her gaze turned outside.
"...I'm ravenous."
"Of course you are. You have spent three days starving while hovering between life and death."
The woman walked toward the cave entrance. Before going outside, she stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.
"Stay right there and wait. I'll bring you something to eat."
When she finished speaking, the woman vanished into the undergrowth without a sound, like the wind.
The poleaxe wielder was left alone inside the cave, still clutching the weighty poleaxe in his hand.
He had somehow ended up in a truly strange place. He owed his life to a strange and arrogant spirit deity. Only three days ago, he had been locked in a bloody clash of blades with the Goguryeo army. Now a spirit deity with tiger ears had gone off to bring him food.
The poleaxe wielder quietly set the poleaxe he had been holding down on the floor.
For the first time in his life, he had laid down his weapon of his own will.