TBML 9

Grrr. Grrr.

The sound, as though bubbling up from deep within a cave, grated on his nerves. Through the brush, he could see a rounded back twitching repeatedly, but for some reason, the tiger didn’t lift its head.

The black stripes, heavy with ink-dark fur, gave off an imposing air. The familiar pattern left no doubt—it was the same black tiger Yeon had seen before.

What should he do? Yeon held his breath and cautiously cradled the matchlock in his arms. Everyone knew it was a waste of words to say that taking down a tiger was far more profitable than catching a dozen scrawny spring rabbits.

But if he valued his life? Then, of course, it made more sense to stick to hunting rabbits day in and day out.

He carefully craned his neck, just enough to check on the black tiger. He wished it would raise its head, but it only continued to growl, never once lifting its gaze. Somewhere, a crow cawed—caw, caw—in a desolate voice.

Yeon couldn’t make out what the black tiger was doing. He wavered—should he point the muzzle of the matchlock at the beast, or should he flee before it noticed him? He couldn’t come to a clear decision. If only he could see the tiger’s head, maybe it would be easier to make up his mind. But for all his experience as a hunter, even Yeon couldn’t make sense of the tiger’s behavior.

As someone known for moving like a ghost, unseen and unheard, it was strange that the black tiger hadn’t noticed him at such close range. The tigers Yeon knew would’ve already devoured him the moment he wandered in this deep, distracted by rabbits.

In a way, it felt like divine luck. But whether this stroke of fortune was leading him toward a reward of a hundred nyang or simply sparing his life—he couldn’t tell.

Caw—caw—caw.

The crows’ cries were deafening. Though he couldn’t see them, their voice came from oddly low—eerily close. The sound felt as if it were circling directly over his head, and the sensation was so strange that Yeon raised a hand to the top of his own head. As expected, nothing was there.

The disturbing growl of the tiger mixed with the crows’ cries, and the confusion it stirred above his head mirrored the storm in his chest.

Yeon quietly slung the matchlock back over his shoulder. The weight of the rabbits tied to his carrier was substantial. He couldn’t say he wasn’t reluctant, but he suppressed his presence and turned away.

It wasn’t just because he feared for his life. Perhaps because of the bizarre dreams where the black tiger kept saving him, he felt uneasy about aiming a gun at the creature—one that didn’t even know anything about him. If it had caught him from behind like last time, or if he were staring straight into those fierce yellow eyes, he would’ve had no hesitation about raising the muzzle. Of course, by then, it would already be too late.

Now, he couldn’t help but worry—what was the tiger so absorbed in that it hadn’t even noticed a human lurking nearby?

Yeon’s feelings toward the black tiger were nothing if not conflicted. Guilt over killing its mother, a strange empathy born from shared suffering, a sliver of gratitude, and a healthy dose of fear. It was like the way a farmer felt facing the vast, unrelenting force of nature.

When the weather was perfect and crops flourished, they thanked the heavens. Then, when floods swept the fields, they cowered and cursed. Yet when the next harvest came, they were back to rejoicing, grateful all over again. Unpredictable, complex, and yet, somehow simple.

That was exactly how Yeon felt now.

Because of what happened before, the second son and the thugs had run their mouths so often that word of a strange-looking black tiger in the mountains had spread throughout the village. Hunters who passed through likely knew as well.

And as if it were their own idea, the second son and his men boasted loudly that they would catch the black tiger, use its bones, whiskers, and tail for medicine, and make clothes from its pelt. They stirred up the trails near the base of the mountain, and for a while, the village enjoyed an odd period of peace.

But if things went sideways, men would come crawling out of the woodwork to target that massive body—just like Yeon himself. How could it survive in such a daze? He worried, wondering if it had grown up without its mother and now, instead of ruling the mountains like a true Mountain Lord, was a dull-witted beast that couldn’t even catch a single pheasant or deer, and had wandered all the way down to the village.

Yeon figured that once he had put enough distance between them, he’d throw a stone to rouse the black tiger.

Who the hell worries about a tiger? That’s crazy talk, he thought, shaking his head at his own thoughts and stepping into the muddy path.

That was when a thunderous roar erupted behind him.

Even the loud, incessant cries of the crows vanished in an instant. The forest birds, which had been quietly watching the human and the tiger from afar, flapped into the sky all at once.

The roar was so loud, so filled with fury, that Yeon jumped as if the mountain spirit itself had scolded him. His hair stood on end, and forgetting the tiger entirely, he let out a startled shout and dropped to the ground.

But the roar didn’t stop. It rang out again and again—from the very spot where the black tiger had just been.

Even so, Yeon, who had been clutching the matchlock tightly as he sat down, realized only after a moment that he was trying to avoid the tiger. With a shiver running down his spine, he slowly, cautiously lifted his body and turned his head with a creaking sound, like the hinges of an old door.

The massive tiger’s head, which had been out of sight just moments before, was now facing him. However, it looked as if it had wrapped a cloth over its face, like a woman’s veil.

Wrapped around the tiger’s head was a ho-mang (tiger net). There were several methods for capturing a tiger, but the way Yeon hunted tigers with his life on the line was different. Most chakho soldiers or mountain hunters would use large nets like thunder traps, drop massive cages to capture the tiger, or dig holes to trap it. Rarely, they used the ho-mang, which was exactly what the black tiger had tangled itself in now.

These were all hunting methods designed to minimize human casualties, but they had their flaws. They could easily damage the tiger’s fur, weren’t always effective, or required a lot of manpower.

A ho-mang, literally a net to catch a tiger, was enormous. The net was made of thick ropes, and naturally, it was heavy.

To transport it, horses, mules, or oxen had to carry it up the mountain. Not only was it labor-intensive, but the tiger could often break out of it relatively easily. Because of this, chakho soldiers rarely used this method. The ho-mang wasn’t intended to kill the tiger, but rather to prevent it from passing through easily. It was set up to deter the tiger from roaming freely.

No one had passed through this area for some time, so Yeon couldn’t help but wonder who had set the ho-mang here.

Cautiously, Yeon stepped back, his eyes fixed on the black tiger that was tangled in the ho-mang, thrashing and rolling on the ground. Tigers, though cunning, could easily tear through or leap over a ho-mang. But this black tiger seemed like it was experiencing the net for the first time. Despite its size, it struggled violently, fur bristling like an angry cat, its roar filled with frustration.

The tiger was still young, despite its large body. The growling that had disturbed Yeon’s ears earlier was the tiger’s angry cry as it struggled to free itself from the ho-mang.

Yeon, watching the black tiger struggle, sighed in relief, thinking to himself, Today really is a day of luck. He didn’t waste time and turned to walk away from the struggling tiger, increasing the distance between them.

But just as he was about to flee, a sharp, irritated roar sounded behind him. The thick snow from the winter had melted and turned the ground into a muck, slowing his steps and making it harder to escape quickly.

The sight of the black tiger, with its fur puffed up like a wildcat and its relentless growling, haunted him. How could it not free itself from such a simple net? If it couldn’t even manage that, how could it possibly escape a real tiger hunter?

As that thought crossed his mind, Yeon abruptly stopped. The voice of an old mountain hunter, asking if he was trying to become a ghost, echoed in his ears. If the black tiger had a mother, surely it would have learned how to avoid such a net long ago.

A strange feeling of guilt tightened in his chest. After all, he hadn’t meant to save the young tiger that day.

Yeon turned back, his footsteps heavy. He knew it was crazy, and he couldn’t fully understand his own actions, but if he left it like this, he would likely toss and turn all night, plagued by the black tiger’s image in his dreams.

Well then, even if it was a mere beast, that day the tiger had helped him. It was a creature that knew how to repay a favor. He had to do at least this much in return. That was what he told himself.

Yeon turned back toward the black tiger, still struggling with the ho-mang. The area around the tiger was in complete chaos, the ground torn up from the violent rolling.

The black tiger, perhaps not expecting Yeon to return, froze as their eyes met from a distance. Covered in mud, it stood up quickly, startled. Their eyes locked through the trees.

Seeing the tiger again, Yeon’s legs trembled as he realized just how crazy his actions were. Staring into the tiger’s yellow eyes, he felt as if the large beast would leap at him and swallow him whole if he so much as blinked or turned his head.

Yeon lowered his body, keeping his gaze locked with the black tiger’s. He spread his hands wide, ensuring the tiger could see that he wasn’t holding anything to harm it. Yet, despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to get any closer and instead moved toward the tree trunk where the ho-mang was fastened.