As True as a Dream Chapter 149

“…If word of such an artifact spreads…it would bring calamity, not fortune.”

Hae-Joo’s voice was heavy. While not everyone in the world was evil, most would covet such a treasure.

 

“Is Governor Saito moving Mao now to use the Man Insa’s Bloodstone?”

 

“Likely.”

 

Countless had already died. Even now, Man Insa was probably prowling the streets with bloodshot eyes, hunting more victims.

 

“…This Bloodstone…truly…”

 

To Saito, how it was made didn’t matter—only what it could do. That’s why he sacrificed Korean lives so ruthlessly. Hae-Joo suppressed another wave of nausea rising in her throat.

 

Yi-Ho watched her sidelong, then lowered his gaze.

 

‘Survival is all that matters. No matter how painful.’

 

He vowed silently: I won’t let her suffer more.

 

 

* * *

 

At Dawn.

 

“Why are you up already?” Yi-Ho stirred as Hae-Joo rustled about before sunrise.

 

“Did I wake you? Go back to sleep.”

 

“Where are you going?” He sat up, watching her braid her hair and grab dark pants and a gray top.

 

“Just…a walk around the village.”

 

“A walk?”

 

“Yes. Sleep more. I won’t go far.” She dressed quickly and slipped out before he could protest.

 

Stretching her stiff limbs, she headed for the wooded hill behind their hideout. The steep, untrodden path made her pant heavily. By the time she reached the summit, the sky had lightened.

 

“Hah…I thought I was fit—” She wiped sweat from her brow—

 

“Training endurance?”

 

She whirled. Yi-Ho stood behind her.

 

“…Since when?”

 

“Followed you at dawn. You looked too serious to interrupt.”

 

Embarrassed, she rubbed her pounding chest. “This is all I can do right now.”

 

Yesterday’s meeting with Kim Cheong-ho haunted her. “He was right. I’m dead weight in a fight. If I stumble, people die.”

 

She remembered her mother—bloodied, escaping torture—now a fading memory.

 

“At least I shouldn’t drag others down. With little time left, I thought…to build stamina. But…” She sighed, knees wobbling. The climb had winded her more than expected.

 

“A few more days might help,” she muttered.

 

Yi-Ho chuckled. “Your physical skills…are something else.”

 

“Huh?” Then she recalled demonstrating her pitiful self-defense moves to him before and flushed. “…Well, who could compare to you?”

 

“I didn’t say anything. Why so defensive?” His smirk vanished as he grabbed her arm. “Want lessons? Basic self-defense.”

 

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Who just mocked me?’

 

Yi-Ho ran skilled fingers along her arms, spine, and legs—like a doctor checking meridians.

 

“Bones and muscles aren’t bad. Was your teacher that terrible? You said your adoptive father taught you.”

 

“…Sorry, Dad, but yes.” She grimaced, recalling the drunken, flailing “lessons” that made village children point and laugh.

 

“Want to learn properly?”

 

“Yes. I need to help. And…not die if things go wrong.”

 

Thwack! Yi-Ho flicked her forehead hard.

 

“Don’t even joke about that.” His icy stare made her nod meekly.

 

“Sorry, I just—”

 

“Nothing will happen to you while I’m here.” He cupped her head, dead serious.

 

She nodded. Just as she feared for him, he did for her.

 

“Good. Let’s see if it’s the teacher or student who’s hopeless.”

 

“Yes!”

 

As the rising sun bathed them, Yi-Ho rolled up his sleeves. For two hours, he drilled her—dodging, counterattacking, vital strikes—until conceding defeat.

 

“This…can’t just be the teacher’s fault.”

 

Hae-Joo wobbled after a failed elbow strike, saved by Yi-Ho’s steadying hand. He tapped her shaky legs with his foot.

 

“No power transfer.”

 

“Huh?” She stiffened her legs, only for her upper body to turn rigid. Each attempt left another body part uncoordinated.

 

Yi-Ho massaged his temples, torn between amusement and despair. “You don’t know how to use your body. Your mind gets it—your limbs don’t.”

 

Flushing, she stared at her feet. “Then what do I do?”

 

“You’re hopeless.” His teasing grin returned. “Your mom was athletic?”

 

“Yes! How am I this bad?”

 

“Must take after your real father.”

 

As she groaned, he mused, “Change tactics. If this fails…just practice running. Be our escape specialist.”

 

“What tactic?” She perked up.

 

Yi-Ho smirked.

 

“Guns.”