Chapter 4
Do You Know Who I Am? (1)
‘Phew. I finally feel alive after eating.’
Clisha had ridden nonstop for the past three days from Shumarin to the capital, Zikrit, taking the shortest route possible. That meant she had to traverse rough terrain — over hills, valleys, and fields.
Naturally, camping outdoors was a given. After finishing the dried rations her nanny had packed, she had to hunt twice just to feed herself.
Her nanny must’ve assumed she’d be traveling along the major roads that passed through large cities, because she’d packed more money than food in the small bundle she gave her!
But for Clisha, who was in a hurry, a safe and comfortable journey wasn’t even a consideration.
‘Good thing I learned how to use a sling.’
If she hadn’t been able to catch rabbits and pheasants in the mountains, she and her horse, Shoocream, would’ve gone hungry the entire way.
It had been a while since she’d hunted with just her bare hands, so she failed a couple of times at first. Shoocream’s pitying stare during those moments was absolutely insulting.
“Shoocream, if I had brought my bow, I would’ve hit them on the first shot, okay? Don’t forget my nickname — the Crimson Archer of Shumarin! I just don’t have my bow today.”
Every time her stone missed its mark, she glanced at her horse, feeling her pride sting a little more. After the twelfth try, Shoocream even started shaking his head. The long sigh through his nose was just a bonus.
‘Seriously, what does he take me for? The way he acts, you’d think he was the master here.’
And then — a pheasant happened to get hit by a stone she threw in frustration.
“Oh, look at that! Shoocream, what did I tell you? I said I’d catch something! I’m not done yet!”
Clisha gathered dry branches, lit a small fire, fed Shoocream his meal, and settled in under the black night sky.
“They say running away from home is asking for trouble. Wow, it’s been a while since I suffered this much, all thanks to some high-and-mighty noble.”
When she got to the capital… she was definitely going to make things right.
Now.
“Ahh, seasoned meat really is the best.”
As expected from a nice inn — the food quality was clearly superior. Not that it mattered much right now. Anything would taste amazing in her current state.
Clisha set down the soup bowl she’d scraped clean and patted her full belly with satisfaction.
‘Come to think of it… I wonder if Shoocream ate something. That picky thing wouldn’t even touch hay.’
She got up and opened the large glass window next to the bed.
A cool breeze that soothed the day’s heat gently brushed against her pretty forehead.
Looking down at the city streets now draped in the deep summer darkness, Clisha muttered,
“Carnivorous horse… If that gets out, I’m done for.”
Horses don’t eat meat.
Which meant Shoocream wasn’t a regular horse.
He was a rare hybrid between a demon horse, known for running across the continent, and a prairie land dragon. Though he looked like an ordinary steed, privately owning one was illegal due to their rarity.
They were extremely difficult to tame and nearly impossible to breed. Even a single one could cost as much as ten houses, making them unsuitable as simple transportation.
Picky eater. A nightmare to train. And yet, they were the dream companions of every knight — and even supervised by the imperial household — for one reason:
They could run for a hundred days without tiring.
Their lifespan was as long as a human’s.
And if they had inherited the dragon’s perception or the demon horse’s empathy, they could easily replace a hundred warhorses.
Well… Shoocream was a hybrid of a hybrid of a hybrid. Apart from being carnivorous, he had none of those features.
‘Still, eating meat is a talent in itself. It’s fascinating to watch, at least.’
Clisha had found Shoocream at the end of the war on the Carion Plains. Back then, he was just a bratty colt.
He was a baby of that notoriously arrogant hybrid breed, and after going days without his mother or food, he’d been so hungry that he followed Clisha back to camp the moment she offered him a grilled rabbit leg.
She’d named him Shoocream because of his flawless white coat.
At the time, everyone had said it suited him perfectly and praised her naming skills, which made her secretly proud.
‘Later I found out real choux cream is yellow.’
Not that anyone around her back then had ever actually eaten a choux pastry.
Just thinking about her days at the old garrison made Clisha’s lips curl into a smile.
Sure, the aftermath of that long, brutal war had been tragic. But for young Clisha, the memories of the garrison and the battlefields weren’t entirely bad.
It was only as she grew up that she realized how rare it was to have fond memories from the front lines.
Behind those memories must have been someone’s sacrifice — someone’s silent care.
She thought of the “so-called” relatives and soldier brothers who had risked their lives for her.
‘I wonder how everyone’s doing. I miss them.’
After the war, she’d returned to Shumarin with her father and hadn’t seen most of her extended family since.
Everyone had their own lives to live now. And her father had always insisted that spending time with people who shared your war scars only delayed your return to normal life.
Being this far from home for the first time in a long while, Clisha couldn’t help but fall into thoughts.
‘…I should sleep early. I’ll wash tomorrow.’
She lazily placed the empty dishes outside the door and collapsed onto the bed.
As her body sank into the soft bedding, her eyelids fell shut before any other thoughts could creep in.
‘Mmm… Shoocream… must be hungry. I’ll bring you meat first thing tomorrow. Just hang on… nom…’
Her sleepy mumbling was faint — barely audible.
But for those listening from the shadows, it was a signal.
The sleeping drug mixed into her food had worked.
The figures behind the fake wall exchanged silent gestures and quietly dispersed in different directions.
[Meanwhile…]
“Toma Horse”
A horse management company based in the commercial city of Muta — a paradise for travelers.
Their clientele ranged from travelers to merchants, mercenaries, vagabonds, soldiers, couriers, messengers, and problem-solvers of all kinds.
This small gateway city near the capital always overflowed with people, events, horses… and money.
Toma Ryuken, the third son of the prestigious Ryuken Merchant Guild, had been hailed as a prodigy in commerce since childhood.
There were many franchise businesses in Muta named after him — like Toma Horse, their original horse management company. Then there were newer ventures like Toma & Money, a mid-interest loan firm; Toma HumanBody, a manpower agency; and even late-night convenience stores, cheap-but-filling bakeries, and same-day produce delivery services like Toma’s Veggie Shack.
At least 30% of Muta’s commercial economy ran on these businesses. And if you included the shady ones — money laundering, illegal auctions, slave trade, underground betting, gambling dens — it was closer to 70%.
They called it:
TOMA HOLDINGS CORPORATION.
All of this had emerged in just five or six years, thanks to Toma Ryuken’s extraordinary mind and bold investments. His rise was already legend in the industry.
Of course, massive funding from the Ryuken Guild had played a role too.
They say all freedom comes from wealth, and wealth breeds corrupt power.
Even the arrogant Count Martin — who’d held the mayor’s seat in Muta for 13 years — treated Toma Ryuken with deference, despite the man’s commoner status.
In Muta, “Toma Ryuken” was more than just a name. He was practically the brand running the city.
“Master, what are you staring at so intently? Is there a problem outside?”
The butler placed a cold glass of iced tea on the table.
“Just… something interesting.”
“Sir?”
“That. Looks like a demon-horse hybrid, doesn’t it?”
A handsome young man with black hair and red eyes uncrossed his arms and leaned by the window.
Beneath his elegant eyebrows and smooth nose bridge, his sharp jawline completed a flawless face — looking no older than his early twenties.
The corners of his lips lifted slightly.
“Find out who owns that. I think we’ve found something fun.”
His gaze fell upon the white-coated Shoocream, licking his lips as he stared longingly at the dried meat hanging in the butcher shop across the street.
[At dawn…]
In the barely brightened darkness, several hands moved swiftly.
‘They prepared thoroughly, right?’
‘Why bother prepping so much for one kid?’
Slap.
‘Shut up. You crazy?’
Using only the faint glow from the sleeping lamp, the intruders communicated in sign language while keeping an eye on their mark — unsure if the boy was actually asleep or just pretending.
Muta might’ve been a safe city for travelers, but that only applied to groups or strong individuals. Or to poor folks with nothing worth stealing.
But a wealthy young boy, asleep and alone in an unfamiliar place? That would’ve been risky even in the capital.
‘He’s got a good number of gold coins in here.’
‘Should we check his outer coat too?’
‘What’s this bracelet? Kinda ugly, but it’ll sell for something.’
‘What about the kid? He’s got a decent face… might fetch a good price at the slave market.’
Clatter.
‘!’
‘!’
The boy stirred, and the lamp beside the bed fell to the ground.
“Mmnya… nom.”
Luckily, he didn’t seem to wake from minor sounds. He rolled over and went back to sleep with his back to the wall.
‘Jeez. That scared me.’
‘Don’t panic. The sleeping drug we used? It could knock out an elephant for twelve hours.’
The intruders continued rummaging through Clisha’s belongings, exchanging gestures silently.
None of them noticed the predatory eyes watching them from the shadows — eyes that had been tracking their every move.
