Hero’s Child C14

Chapter 14

Thud!

“Argh! Stop! It hurts—stop!”

Uichan slammed the man’s head into the ground several more times before finally releasing his hair and shaking the blood from his gloves. The villain, nose bleeding and face streaked with tears, whimpered pitifully.

Uichan crouched in front of him, his tone calm and deliberate.

“I want to ask you something. Don’t worry, I avoided your mouth when I hit you—so you can still talk, right?”

The villain nodded frantically, sniffling.

“There’s a rumor going around lately. Something about a villain organization that betrayed Aengak. What was it… ah, right. Lambit, wasn’t it? And look at that—you’ve got their insignia right here on your chest. Care to tell me what you know?”

As Uichan tapped the insignia on his chest, the man flinched and quickly covered it with his hand.

“I—I’m just a grunt! I don’t know anything about what the higher-ups are doing!”

Uichan’s gloved hand lifted again, hovering over the man’s head. The villain panicked, bowing until his forehead hit the dirty ground.

“I swear, I don’t know anything!”

“Then what about Aengak himself? Have you ever seen him?”

“Aengak? I—I’ve heard of him, sure, but of course I’ve never seen him in person…”

The man’s voice trembled, small and pleading, like a mouse before a hawk. Uichan studied his face carefully but saw no sign of deceit.

“Why is it that none of you ever know anything?” he murmured coldly. “I’m not exactly a nice guy, you know. If you don’t know, then you die.”

As he picked up a stone from beside him, the villain’s whole body shook like a leaf in the wind.

“W-wait, hang on! What do you want me to say?! Let’s talk, okay? Oh—wait! I just remembered something! I heard that Aengak was looking for something! Something stored at the Central Bureau!”

“I already know that much.”

“H-he sent out his goblins!”

Uichan froze, mid-swing. The man screamed the words desperately, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Aengak sent his subordinates to find whatever it is! But I swear, I don’t know what it is! Just that a hero stole it from him! Please, sir—please let me live! I’m going to lose my damn mind!”

The goblins were Aengak’s subordinates—grotesque creatures nearly two meters tall, each crowned with bright blue horns. They wore rough white hemp garments, their skin black as charcoal, while their hair and eyes gleamed pure white. Anyone who’d seen one never forgot it.

Veiled in mystery, they were often called ghastly demons by those unlucky enough to encounter them—monsters from ancient folklore, beings of misfortune born from calamity itself.

The trembling man didn’t seem to be lying. Uichan decided he’d leave him near a hero patrol route and let them pick him up. But before he could act, the man suddenly screamed.

“Argh! Aaaah!”

He fell to the ground, writhing and clawing at his own skin as if aflame. Uichan stepped back warily, eyes narrowing.

The man’s back arched violently. Then—

“Guhhh!”

His eyes rolled back as a ghastly blue mist poured from his mouth like winter breath.

It was cold, filthy, and wrong.

[Betrayal… shall be punished by death.]

The voice that rasped from his throat wasn’t human. It scraped like metal against bone. His neck twisted unnaturally, body jerking as though possessed. If anyone else had seen it, they would’ve fainted on the spot.

After a few spasms, the man coughed up a mouthful of blood and went limp.

Uichan hurried over, checking his pulse—still alive. Barely. But his eyes were blank and lifeless. He’d likely been reduced to a husk.

This was one of Aengak’s infamous tricks—curses cast upon his subordinates to ensure absolute obedience. Any act of betrayal triggered a deadly hex of ruin. So, it seemed the rumor about Lambit’s betrayal wasn’t false after all.

“Ah… and it ends like this again,” Uichan sighed, rising to his feet. He looked down at the man’s lifeless form and exhaled slowly. Pity flickered across his face—but he quickly brushed it away. The man had stolen what wasn’t his; maybe this was divine retribution.

His stomach growled softly. Guess I’ll call it a day before La Épée shows up.

He removed his bracelet, ran a hand through his hair, and put on his glasses. His reflection shifted, transforming him once again into an ordinary passerby.

Pulling down his hood, Uichan stepped out of the alley and glanced around. If he could just blend in and make it home, the night would end uneventfully.

He only needed to cross the overpass. Alright. Let’s move.

He had just started walking when the sparrow that had been perched nearby let out a sharp shriek. The little creature flapped frantically, pointing toward the alley behind him.

From the shadows, a villain burst out screaming—only to be yanked backward by his hair.

Uichan froze. The hand gripping the villain’s head was gloved in black, and its grip looked impossibly strong. The owner of that hand—

Crunch.

—crushed the villain’s skull like paper.

Uichan instinctively caught the sparrow in his hands and tucked it away, his pulse quickening. The killer turned slowly, his head angling toward him.

Piercing gray eyes swept over Uichan, cold and razor-sharp. Then, unexpectedly, they softened.

A faint mist clouded those eyes—like fog drifting across a winter sea. It was said that overuse of a hero’s ability could temporarily blur their sight and dull their cognition. Perhaps that was what had happened here.

Thud.

The villain’s corpse hit the ground with a wet sound. The man flicked the blood from his gloves and turned toward Uichan.

He stood still, unable to move, as if his feet had been nailed to the pavement.

The man’s hair was black—so dark it shimmered like ink under moonlight. His eyes, pale gray to the point of translucence, carried an eerie calm. Strong features, sharp lines. Handsome, but severe.

La Épée.

The strongest hero in South Korea.
Feared, revered—and hated.

Despite his fame, his reputation was divisive. Many whispered scornfully about his origins. Few knew he, too, was born in Seolhyang Village—the very place that had burned Uichan’s life to ashes.

While Uichan hesitated, La Épée stepped closer.

“Hero?”

His voice was steady but carried a teasing edge, the kind that got under your skin. Uichan looked up at him like a mountain towering over him and shook his head quickly.

“No.”

“Civilian, then?”

“Yes.”

Though his answers were brief, La Épée’s pale eyes roamed over him. He didn’t seem able to make out details; the lack of focus in his gaze made it clear his vision was off.

“We’ve restricted this area. How did a civilian get in here?”

Despite the irritation in his tone, he spoke with a faint smile—a dangerous kind of charisma.

“I’m sorry,” Uichan replied, trying to sound nervous but harmless. “I didn’t come in—I just didn’t know where to evacuate. I finally found the exit, but then that villain showed up.”

Behind him was a brick wall; he had nowhere left to back away. If La Épée stepped aside, he could slip past and run across the bridge. For now, he just had to stay calm.

“Civilians,” La Épée murmured, “should leave.”

He stepped back slightly.

Seizing the moment, Uichan nodded in thanks and started to move past him—but then froze.

A gloved hand had caught his shoulder.

“Your shoulder…”

People often speculated that La Épée’s gloves were special weapons—military tech that amplified his power.

To wield his elemental ability, he needed to touch a physical source of that element. So, many assumed his gloves were inscribed with sigils of fire, water, and ice, allowing him to channel them at will.

But the truth was far more disturbing.

He had burned those sigils into his own flesh.
On both palms. On the backs of his hands.
And even on the roof of his mouth.

How did Uichan know?
Because Under Doom had once burned those very gloves—and seen what lay beneath.

The pale hands etched with runes.

“Have we met before?” La Épée asked quietly.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Then why…”

The hand on his shoulder pulled him closer. Off balance, Uichan stumbled, finding himself face-to-face with that cold gray gaze. Something about those eyes felt disturbingly familiar. His heart pounded.

At this distance, even with impaired vision, La Épée would be able to see his face.

Suddenly, the hero’s hand reached out. His voice, low and sharp, brushed Uichan’s ear like a blade.

“Your voice… sounds like someone I know.”

Uichan flinched as his wrist was seized. The man’s grip was unyielding, coiling around him like a snake.

“What are you doing—let go—!”

“Strange,” La Épée murmured, unfazed. “You claim to be a civilian, but you have a hero’s ability code. Code number: 0-1893-56.”

He spoke it matter-of-factly, studying the small marking on Uichan’s wrist—the identifier every registered hero bore.

A code that served as both license and brand.