Chapter 170

Chapter 170
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**Chapter 170: Falcons in the Fold**

Once someone attains the rank of a Super Peak expert, they gain the power to sail the skies. More precisely, through Void Stepping, one may leap straight through open air, an experience that feels indistinguishable from true flight.

In his past life, Baek Yang-hui had, naturally, gazed down upon the world from immense heights countless times before. Yet—

*This kind of sweeping, breathtaking view? I have never known anything like it.*

They had climbed so high that the party far below appeared as mere pinpricks against the land. An elevation beyond even what Void Stepping could ever hope to reach.

“Kyaa-hoo!”

The cry burst from him unbidden, and a voice sounded at his side. “Brother, what has gotten into you all at once?”

Ah, right. For all his soaring perspective, his physical form remained grounded where he stood. He felt a flush of sheepishness as he replied, “I have just come to understand what this falcon’s gift truly is.”

“It certainly is fast enough, that much is plain to see.”

“Speed is not all of it. To feel it firsthand, through its own eyes—that is the swiftest way to grasp its nature.”

He stilled his mind, reaching for the spiritual thread that bound him to the white falcon. Then he wove an image into that link, urging the bird to reach out to Chui-dal.

*This one? Still clinging to such lofty pride?*

The connection brought back only a clear rebuff.

Spirit beasts were notorious for their proud tempers; having outgrown the bounds of common creatures, wielding extraordinary powers, and living spans far exceeding those of ordinary animals, they tended to look down on all other forms of life. That was why he had spoken so sharply at first, threatening to make a meal of it—seize the initiative from the very start, whether one meant to tame a creature or consume it. Even now, look at it: turning him away with haughty disdain.

*That cannot be all there is to it, can it?*

Then the thread carried a new impression: flustered, anxious confusion. So there was another reason after all. Very well—he would have to speak plainly.

“I share a spiritual bond with this falcon,” he told the others. “Its power allows us to see through each other’s eyes.”

As one, the group shivered with awe, just as he had moments before. “There is no way—” “That can truly be done?” “Who would have guessed it was such a magnificent spirit beast!”

To look out over the land from such towering heights? Since antiquity, commanders leading great armies had always climbed high peaks to survey the terrain and track enemy movements. The very idea of a mountain fortress stemmed from building strongholds atop heights for exactly that purpose. In a single bird, they held an asset of immeasurable strategic value.

“Do you see now?” he said. “We would have regretted it deeply had we struck it down and eaten it.”

“I never truly intended to, not really… well, perhaps a little.”

Baek Heon-so and Chui-dal pressed close on either side, hanging on his arms as if they were sneaking a secret look, craning their necks for a glimpse. Seeing two grown men behaving so foolishly stirred a sharp irritation in him. “Get off me, you fools—you will not see anything through my eyes.” He shook them off lightly, a faint smile touching his lips. “Now, let us set about finding the Bladepeak Venomhawk in earnest.”

He sent the order along the spiritual thread, and the white falcon adjusted its wings, gliding onward. Even at this altitude, the landscape blurred beneath them—its flight speed was nothing short of remarkable.

*The bond grows fainter the farther it reaches.* Fortunately, the Bladepeak Venomhawk’s roost lay close enough that the thread would not snap.

They arrived at a nest set into the sheer face of a jagged, blade-like peak. The white falcon circled, calling out urgently—*Kyaah? Kyaahhh!*—and the Bladepeak Venomhawk rose to meet it, its gaze sharp with suspicion and deep mistrust. Piles of bones and shed skins of venomous creatures littered the ground around its perch. Again and again the white falcon called, insistent, while the Bladepeak Venomhawk shifted restlessly, its wariness unshaken. If it had been human, it would have been pacing with anxiety. For nearly an hour the exchange continued, until at last both birds spread their wings and turned back toward the group.

“It worked—you have persuaded it!”

“Hui—brother, is it truly so?”

“It is. It flies here alongside us now.”

“Ooooh!” Dang-gun cheered, throwing one arm high in triumph.

Winning the Bladepeak Venomhawk’s trust had long been a cherished ambition of the Tang Clan, and for good reason. If they could tame and study a creature that thrived on deadly poisons, they might uncover the secret to breaking the limit that bound their clan—their immunity extended only to a hundred different toxins, and no further.

“It has not yet given its full confidence,” Yang-hui cautioned.

“Even so, to see it so close at hand is more than I ever dared hope for.”

Presently the two birds came into view. The white falcon settled near Yang-hui, but the Bladepeak Venomhawk alighted warily atop a distant tree. *Kyaah. Kyaah.*

“It says it has brought it here,” Yang-hui relayed, “and asks that you make your own attempt to win it over.”

“I shall do my best.” Dang-gun reached inside his robes and drew out a vividly colored frog, limp and unmistakably dead.

Yang-hui’s expression twisted with distaste. Who carried a dead venomous creature tucked against their person, rather than stored in a pouch or pack? *Truly, the Tang Clan are unlike other folk… I hope Dang-gun does not take offense if I think so.*

Dang-gun approached the Bladepeak Venomhawk with deliberate care. The bird drew back, its posture sharpening; five jang was the closest it would suffer anyone to come. He set the frog gently on a low branch and stepped back.

*Offering food first to build trust—sound enough.*

The Bladepeak Venomhawk tilted its head, considering, then fluttered down to the branch. Most wild creatures will not take food from a human hand; fear makes them wary even of carrion they did not find themselves. Yet this one hesitated only a moment before prodding the frog with its talons and beginning to feed. It seemed the white falcon’s advocacy had already planted the first seeds of trust.

*It consumes flesh steeped in poison as though it were nothing at all.*

Of course it did—the Bladepeak Venomhawk lived on such things. The Tang Clan sought to understand exactly how its body could endure and thrive where others would perish.

“All of you—if you carry any venomous creatures, bring them forth now.”

“Understood.”

“I have mine.”

“Here, brother.”

When the bird finished the frog, Dang-gun stepped forward again with another offering, closing the distance a little more this time. He repeated this again and again, until at last the Bladepeak Venomhawk hopped down from its perch to take food from the ground before him.

“Come with me,” Dang-gun told it softly. “You shall eat your fill every day. My people will hunt the most potent creatures for you, always.”

Life in the care of a clan would be far easier than surviving alone in the wild—no endless wandering in search of prey, no danger from other predators. A domesticated beast might fall to hunters, but not one as rare and powerful as this.

*Kyaah!*

At last the Bladepeak Venomhawk settled lightly on Dang-gun’s forearm and tore into its meal. Poison fumes curled thickly from the creature’s flesh, and droplets of tainted blood glistened—yet Dang-gun stood unflinching, his face lit with pure, unfeigned delight. He looked at the bird with open affection.

When it had finished, it hopped up his arm to rest upon his shoulder. Now that it was close enough to breathe the same air, even the young clan leader had to swallow an antidote pill to guard against lingering fumes.

“Hui—brother, might you ask the falcon what it is thinking?”

“Certainly.” He turned to the bird. “What does it say?”

*Kyaahhh!*

“It says it will stay. The food is too good to turn away.”

“Is it true? Ahahaha!”

*I have never seen Dang-gun laugh so freely or so happily.*

Nor was he alone—every member of the Tang Clan cheered aloud. This meant more to them than Yang-hui had fully realized.

“I cannot thank you enough, brother!”

“It was nothing. I did so very little.”

“Without your falcon, it would never have accepted our offerings at all. We have tried this many times before, and always it turned away.”

“If you insist on giving me credit, then—speak well of me to your elders, will you?”

“With all my heart. They will be overjoyed.” The sheer delight on Dang-gun’s face left no doubt of that.

*Talk about good fortune falling from the heavens—no, descending while I cultivated.* He glanced over at the white falcon, which met his gaze and tilted its head, watching him shyly to gauge his mood. He sighed, feeling a sudden, unaccountable pang of guilt. He had spoken harshly to it before.

“Hey,” he said gently. “What will you do now?”

*Kyaah…*

“If you wish to return to the wild, I will set you and all your kin free.” He owed the Bladepeak Venomhawk a great debt; he could never again threaten or speak cruelly to it. What one receives, one must repay. “Besides—once every year, I will come myself, bringing you all the game you could want. I owe you that much, for your help today.”

The white falcon paused, considering, then shook its head. It called out clearly—*Kyaahhh!*

“Truly?”

*Kyaah!*

“I never expected that. I thought you would fly free without a second thought. Very well—from this day, your name shall be Won-woo.” *Won* meaning “far-reaching,” and *woo* meaning “feathers”—feathers that travel to the ends of the earth. “Won-woo, you and all your flock are now part of our household. You shall know the same care and comfort as the Bladepeak Venomhawk—safe nests, the finest food, all that you need. In return, I ask only that you carry messages for me, when the need arises.”

A single spirit beast and its entire flock, bound to them. He would ensure they never wanted for anything; in exchange, they would serve as messengers. It was a fair bargain.

*Kyaahhh!* Won-woo cried in glad assent, and the other falcons took up the call in unison—*Kyaahhh! Kyaahhh! Kyaahhh!*—a sound like shared, joyful laughter.

Yang-hui smiled back. “I look forward to working with you, Won-woo.”

*Kyaah!*

The bird’s eyes shone bright with feeling; fear had melted into gratitude. Suddenly Won-woo spread its wings and soared upward.

“Where are you going?”

*Kyaahhh!*

The others stayed where they were—so it was not leaving for good. Perhaps it had forgotten something? As he wondered, the spiritual thread reconnected.

*Ah—I see. It is returning to its nest.*

Won-woo cut through the wind to land at the very peak where it roosted, and clutched something round in its talons.

*What in the world is that doing in a bird’s nest?*

A metal sphere, etched with intricate patterns, split cleanly down the middle.

*An Iron Orb!*

He had learned of these while rescuing Chui-dal, when they uncovered the legacy of the “World’s Greatest.” In the Tomb of the Sword King, just such an orb had sealed the Blood Cult’s cursed blade—a vessel holding a spirit core of condensed sword energy.

Everything fell into place.

*So Won-woo was connected to Sword Sage Yeo Dong-bin.* That explained why it had drawn near during his meditation, why it had looked so hurt when he threatened it. *Raised by Yeo Dong-bin himself? No wonder its powers are so extraordinary.*

Won-woo returned and dropped the orb into his outstretched palm. The aura radiating from it confirmed the core lay within.

*They say swallows bring good fortune in their beaks—but falcons bring spirit cores.*

“Brother—what is that?”

“It hums with strange power. There is nothing ordinary about it.”

No one else present had ever seen an Iron Orb before—not Chui-dal, not Dang-gun, not even Gu-ak.

“It holds a spirit core, I believe.” He channeled sword energy into the sphere, and it parted open. He held out the glowing core to Chui-dal. “Eat this.”

“But—this is a spirit core, is it not?”

“It is. Just eat it, quickly.” He had a theory to test, and no time to explain. He pressed it into Chui-dal’s hand.

“Brother, why—mmph!” Chui-dal stared, startled, then frowned. He took a bite and spat it out. “It is hard as stone. I thought spirit cores melted on the tongue? It is too large to swallow.”

Yang-hui took it back and placed it in his own mouth. It dissolved instantly, as he had known it would.

*Just as I suspected. Only I can consume cores woven from pure sword energy.* A long-held suspicion had proven true at last.
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