The moonlight collided with the streetlights and scattered across the academy’s night.

Shepherd #3, also known by the number 10-11-16, dashed through the darkness, her thoughts fixed on one young man.

…Chun Yeomyeong.

The Savior of Manchuria, the Dragon Rider, the first and last transfer student of Lord Howe’s academy…

To the Korean government, he was an utterly incomprehensible existence.

A prodigy who seemed to have dropped out of the sky, appearing suddenly without warning.

He wasn’t from a notable family or elite background, nor was he a product of any government-run superhuman project.

He was simply a boy who had wandered between orphanages, barely passed his high school equivalency exams, and graduated—a completely unremarkable individual born at the lowest rung of society.

Even government agents tasked with investigating him struggled to believe how ordinary his past was.

Despite repeated investigations, Chun Yeomyeong’s life revealed no exceptional traits.

His distinctive golden eyes prompted a genealogical search, but all they found was that he was a descendant of a farmer who had illegally crossed a dimensional gate decades ago.

In the end, the government was left with only one conclusion about Chun Yeomyeong:

“A monster born with talent by mere chance…”

It was an unbelievable reality, but reality it was.

Unlike other factions, which still seemed to question his abilities, the Korean government had no doubts.

How could they? They knew exactly how many “pig heads” and “cow heads” he had slaughtered in Manchuria.

“A tragedy among Koreans, truly…”

Shepherd #3 lamented as she recalled her fallen comrades.

Did Chun Yeomyeong even realize it?

Did he know that the “pig heads” he had killed weren’t monsters but patriots who had sacrificed themselves for their country?

He probably didn’t. Just as he likely didn’t know how the Korean public now referred to him.

…Tch.

Shepherd #3 clicked her tongue as her thoughts drifted to the recent state of affairs in Korea.

While tracking the Black Sheep’s trail through the academy, events from just days prior vividly resurfaced in her mind.

 

Recently, Chun Yeomyeong had become a household name in Korea.

It was inevitable. A superhuman who had helped save Manchuria alongside the Saintess—and a Korean, no less.

Even tabloids known for their jingoism and major news outlets that prided themselves on “nationalist journalism” ran endless stories about him.

The public eagerly consumed these stories.

Dark, somber tales from Manchuria were less appealing than the straightforward narrative of a hero.

Of course, the news surrounding Chun Yeomyeong didn’t last long.

It had been covered exhaustively, and with him now studying at the academy, there was little new material to report.

However… everything changed when the military got involved.

The military, embarrassed over disputes regarding a dragon’s bones, sought to discredit Chun Yeomyeong’s achievements.

They claimed that the dragon’s defeat was solely the work of the Seonjook Mercenary Corps and the Saintess, and that Chun Yeomyeong had been nothing more than a figurehead.

At a time when the academy had already secured him as a transfer student, this claim held little weight, yet the military refused to relent.

They even went so far as to suggest Chun Yeomyeong should be conscripted into the army—a proposal so absurd that it only fueled public outrage.

“Is the military trying to create another Jeon Yongseop?”

“Why enlist a student who’s thriving at the academy?”

“What if he defects to the U.S. or France, like others before him?”

Politicians and Korea’s superhuman community welcomed the backlash with open arms.

It was a rare chance to criticize the military, which had stubbornly clung to power even after the end of its dictatorship.

They eagerly seized the opportunity, declaring that Korea must retain Chun Yeomyeong at all costs, and accusing the military of suppressing future superhumans over budgetary concerns.

While these claims were typical of politicians’ hollow rhetoric, the public and media enthusiastically agreed.

The nation’s collective trauma from Jeon Yongseop’s defection and his son Jeon Yunseong’s rampage against Korean superhumans only fueled their fervor.

To the public, Chun Yeomyeong was nothing less than a heaven-sent hero for Korea’s superhuman community—a symbol of hope to restore Korea’s global standing and strike back at traitors and foreign powers alike.

 

But the reality was far less straightforward.

The government lacked the resources or means to secure Chun Yeomyeong’s loyalty.

Bribing him with martial arts instruction or medicinal support, as they had with others, was impossible.

Rumors were rife that the Dwarf tycoons of Chicago were already showering him with treasures, including dragon bones and rare elixirs.

The government, constrained by fairness and its own lack of resources, couldn’t match such generosity.

If material wealth was out of the question, then perhaps power and honor could suffice—but even here, Korea fell short compared to countries like France or the United States, which could offer far greater freedom and prestige.

Ultimately, all the Korean government could do was rely on Chun Yeomyeong’s patriotism.

Yet, even this was a gamble they hesitated to take.

What if they appealed to his patriotism only for him to publicly reject them, leaving Korea humiliated?

Politicians, being pragmatic by nature, devised a more realistic plan instead:

“Use him for publicity while he’s still at the academy, and after he graduates, arrange for him to defect to France instead of the United States.”

This approach, while not ideal, was low-risk.

Even the government’s “patriots” agreed, as they couldn’t conceive of a better alternative.

But upon arriving at the academy, they realized they might have overlooked an unexpected tactic.

Honey traps.

It was a plan so simple that it hadn’t occurred to them.

They had assumed it wouldn’t work on someone constantly in the company of the beautiful Saintess, but…

“…So, a genius is still just a man at his core.”

Shepherd #3 allowed herself a rare laugh.

Her amusement was cut short when she spotted what she had been desperately searching for: torn fabric.

The signs of a struggle, and scraps of what looked like a school uniform’s skirt.

Upon closer inspection, she confirmed it—it belonged to the Black Sheep.

“Good. Red Sheep’s report was accurate.”

Feeling confident, she followed the trail.

The first clue had been difficult to find, but the rest was easy.

Beyond the academy’s unlit paths, the trail continued—a string of discarded items.

Socks, a lone shoe, a ripped skirt, a snapped bra, and then…

“…A note?”

Shepherd #3 frowned and picked it up. Tiny writing, visible only when infused with mana, adorned the paper.

“Idiot.”

The moment she read it, she heard a deafening whoosh.

A massive hammer came crashing toward her head.

   ***
   

"Chun Yeomyeong."

As Yeomyeong dusted himself off and rose to his feet, the burly masked man spoke.

"...Did you know who we are when you set this trap?"

The grinding of teeth reached Yeomyeong’s ears. He glanced at the man for a moment before drawing his blunt, student-grade training sword.

“Shepherds, aren’t you?”

“…”

“I’ve always wondered—what comes after the horse head? But it looks like you’re just regular human heads, huh?”

The information spilling from Yeomyeong’s lips wasn’t just something casually overheard from the sheep.

It meant he hadn’t killed the Shepherds in Manchuria without knowing who they were.

“…Number 9, stall him. I’ll think of something.”

The burly man muttered to his similarly masked companion.

“…The plan?”

“It’s failed. Eliminate the target and escape as fast as possible.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the masked woman drew a pistol from her waist and fired at Yeomyeong.

Bang!

The gunshot echoed through the night sky without a moment’s hesitation, and Yeomyeong leapt into action.

“Footwork arts?!”

The woman gasped but didn’t stop firing. Shots rang out in quick succession, one bullet grazing Yeomyeong’s cheek and leaving a long, shallow cut.

As blood trickled down his cheek, light flared from Yeomyeong’s hand.

Flash!

The masked woman narrowly escaped death, her superhuman reflexes and foreknowledge of Yeomyeong’s techniques saving her life.

She dropped her gun and flung herself to the side. Thanks to her quick thinking, she only lost her left arm, rather than her neck.

“Gahhh!”

Black blood—not human red—gushed from the severed arm.

Yeomyeong wasted no time. Sword in hand, he charged toward the masked man preparing something in the background.

“Stop, you traitor!”

The masked woman blocked his path.

“Step aside.”

His voice was cold, brimming with lethal intent. Yeomyeong extended his left hand, forming a blade-like edge, and swung.

The motion was less swordsmanship and more akin to a punch, but the result was the same. A crescent of cutting energy surged from his hand, slicing through the woman’s body.

Boom!

Her body flew backward, blood spraying in all directions. Yeomyeong didn’t spare her a glance and instead brought his sword down toward the man.

The target was his head. One decisive strike to end it all.

But just before the blade could cleave through the man’s skull, something enveloped his head and clashed against the blade.

…!

The sound wasn’t flesh meeting steel—it was the deafening crash of mana clashing with mana.

A thunderous boom filled the air, forcing Yeomyeong to take a step back. He narrowed his eyes and muttered.

“…Removable, huh?”

“Kr-AaaAaaaAaaah!”

The man, now with the head of a horse, let out an ear-splitting roar.

And the transformation didn’t stop there. His eyes glowed with a menacing red light, saliva dripping from his maw. His lower body began to swell grotesquely.

Soon, his shoulders began to twitch and tremble before two additional arms burst from the joints.

These new limbs were grotesque, clawed, and utterly inhuman.

“Chun Yeomyeong! You cursed traitor!”

The transformed creature’s voice was chilling, like something dragged up from the depths of hell.

“Tonight, I’ll make you pay for the blood of the patriots you’ve—”

Before the creature could finish its sentence, Yeomyeong’s sword thrust toward its throat.

The creature barely managed to block the strike with one of its claws and bellowed.

“You bastard!”

I let you finish transforming, and now you want a speech too?

Yeomyeong didn’t relent, his mana-infused blade and hand strikes carving a path directly into the creature’s chest.

He moved as though wary of magic bombardments, like those used by the horse-heads he’d fought in Manchuria. But this one didn’t cast a single spell.

Instead, it relied entirely on its monstrous physique, swinging its oversized limbs and grotesque claws while stomping the ground with its bloated legs.

…So this one’s the brawler type.

Yeomyeong parried the attacks. His blade deflected the arms while his hand-edge intercepted the kicks.

Each slice left deep, bloody gashes across the creature’s body, but it ignored the pain, relying on its regenerative abilities to keep fighting.

Its reckless assault was its undoing. Yeomyeong turned the brute’s aggression against it, positioning his sword where the next swing would inevitably land.

Slash!

One of its grotesque arms flew into the air as black blood rained down on Yeomyeong. Neither combatant paused for breath, their blows relentless.

Yeomyeong’s blade swept horizontally, prompting three clawed arms to retaliate instantly.

He countered with his hand-edge, severing another limb.

A knee flew toward him. He countered with the pommel of his sword, shattering the joint even as his weapon’s hilt was crushed beyond recognition.

And then the creature’s gaze sharpened. Its blood-red eyes burned brighter as its remaining limbs moved with newfound desperation.

“Die!”

With a guttural roar, the creature lunged, its neck extending unnaturally as its gnarled teeth aimed for Yeomyeong’s throat.

Instead of retreating, Yeomyeong stepped forward, closing the distance in an instant.

He discarded his broken sword and brought both hands together, mana swirling between his palms, and drove them into the creature’s neck.

The monster’s jaws closed on his neck as his attack connected.

Squelch. Blood splattered, but only black blood spilled.

“H-How…?”

The creature coughed up ichor as it spoke, its teeth falling away from Yeomyeong’s unharmed skin.

“Mana… arts…?”

Before it could finish, Yeomyeong drove his hand deeper, piercing through the base of its skull.

The crimson glow in the creature’s eyes dimmed, and its body fell limp.

The last thing reflected in its dying gaze was the shimmering haze of Yeomyeong’s mana-drenched form.