Obsession of the Neglected 6-Star Heroes-Chapter 28

And if anyone understood this better than anyone else, it was Keyal.

Even in her prime, Byakhyang had never possessed the power to alter fate.

Her divination couldn’t prevent misfortune or change destiny. It was a cold, undeniable fact—a stark reminder of her impotence, even as a thousand-year-old Imoogi.

Byakhyang’s divinations couldn’t prevent Keyal’s misfortune. She knew this as well as anyone. She could only read and interpret the fates of others, piecing together the fragments of their lives.

“Hmm…”

Byakhyang let out a low groan, glancing at her guest with a weary expression.

She had only agreed to Keyal’s request because of his earnestness, but deep down, she was well aware of her limitations.

Watching her closely, Keyal felt a twinge of confusion. Next to him, Reina tilted her head as well, observing Byakhyang with the same puzzled expression.

Master and servant both wore matching looks of curiosity.

“Byakhyang, are you alright?” Keyal asked.

Byakhyang, looking as though she had seen something she wasn’t supposed to, averted her gaze, her brow furrowing deeply.

Her reaction wasn’t due to displeasure with Keyal or Reina. Rather, it stemmed from embarrassment.

To be called the “Wangsaeng Anrak,” a being revered as the Imoogi of the Plains, and to show such a pitiful display—it was enough to make her want to crawl into a hole.

“N-No, no problem. You asked for a divination?”

Keyal nodded, and Byakhyang’s face flushed slightly, three beads of cold sweat trickling down her cheek.

“…Very well, I’ll do it.”

The beads of sweat rolled down, falling to the floor with soft plinks.

Keyal glanced at the ground. The droplets left faint marks, like paint splattered haphazardly.

Tap, tap.

“Hmm?”

Lost in conversation with Byakhyang, Keyal hadn’t noticed Reina tugging at his sleeve persistently for some time.

Though they stood less than a step apart, Keyal instinctively closed the gap.

Huff.

A soft breath brushed against his cheekbone, carrying a faint floral scent that teased his senses.

And yet—

“...”

“Oh… sorry about that,” Reina mumbled.

It wasn’t just Keyal who was flustered by the closeness.

Reina quickly covered her reddening face with one hand, stepping back in a flurry of awkwardness.

In an instant, the two had put space between them again, as if recoiling from a sudden shock.

“...”

Byakhyang’s eyebrows lowered, her expression darkening.

Her brow furrowed deeply, as though she had seen more than enough.

“Haa… never mind.”

The Imoogi, a millennium-old virgin, felt a peculiar pang of defeat in that moment.

***

The One Who Manipulates Fate. The One Who Defies Fate. And...

The One Who Reads Fate.

Three beings tied to destiny, with two of them now bound by an alliance.

Even a being like the Yohō—a creature capable of shaping life and death—could not entirely dismiss such a partnership.

Of course, since it was unlikely the Yohō was aware of this yet, it would probably only realize what had happened much later.

For now, the half-demon’s path pointed in one clear direction.

“Hrk! W-What are you doing?!”

Not a metaphor, but quite literally—Keyal could only follow a single, unavoidable road.

A translucent dagger gleamed in his hand, its edge pressed against the neck of a man seated in a grand mansion, leisurely playing shogi.

Crash!

The man’s face turned ashen as he stumbled backward, falling to the floor with a loud thud.

The blade hovered a mere hair's breadth from his throat, its gleaming edge keeping his every breath in check.

The man blinked rapidly, staring up at the weapon with a mixture of disbelief and terror.

Though his expression wasn’t entirely desperate, his pride as a noble was undeniably shattered, leaving him teetering on the brink of panic.

“Now, now, no need to be so scared, my good sir,” Keyal said with a faint smile.

“Just answer my questions honestly, and I might let you live.”

The man’s pupils trembled as cold sweat ran down his face.

“Hah… hah…”

He lowered his head, breathing shallowly, as if bracing himself for the possibility of death.

“W-What do you want to know?”

The man looked up at Keyal, his voice tinged with suspicion.

“What do you think?”

The grand mansion, the meticulously manicured gardens, the man’s position as a second-in-command in the underworld—these were all things that pointed to only one possible reason for Keyal’s visit.

“Information.”

“Information?”

Keyal loomed over the man, his silver hair catching the faint glow of the room. The translucent blade spun lazily in the air, poised as though waiting to strike.

“Yes, very specific information. For example…”

The nobleman, nicknamed the Flamingo, a key figure in the kingdom’s underworld and one who controlled its finances, avoided Keyal’s gaze. Though irritated by the audacity of the boy who dared look down on him, he didn’t dare show it outwardly.

Keyal rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his mind briefly wandering. Meanwhile, the blade hovered ominously, reminding the Flamingo of his precarious situation.

“Ah, yes!”

Keyal snapped his fingers as though struck by inspiration, his eyes gleaming.

“The fox spirit. No, not just any fox. The Yohō—the one who pulls the strings of the underworld. Can you tell me about them?”

At his words, the man’s expression turned deathly pale. His body visibly recoiled, and his eyes widened with horror.

‘Yohō? Could he mean that Yohō?’

The Flamingo, who controlled the Mangwol Trading Company, was a prominent figure in the underworld. Of course, he knew of the Yohō—the monstrous being wielding immense power, rivaling even the legendary nine-tailed fox of myth or the Four Foxes.

“Is there a problem?” Keyal asked, his tone deceptively casual.

The boy before him was undoubtedly referring to the underworld’s enigmatic figurehead: the Yohō, a being whose influence extended across the kingdom.

The man stammered, his lips trembling as if forming words was a Herculean task.

“Y-Yohō…”

The Flamingo’s lips quivered as he muttered the name. Sweat poured down his face, his entire body beginning to tremble.

Though he wore layers of fine clothing, he huddled like a beggar caught in the cold, his hands clutching his head in a futile attempt to steady himself.

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“I’m going to die… I-I’m going to die…”

He began muttering incoherently, as though in a trance, repeating his fears of death.

What was it that frightened him so? What could possibly instill such terror?

Keyal had no way of knowing.

“What the…? What’s wrong with you?”

Keyal grabbed the man’s shoulders, unsure of what else to do.

Though he wasn’t exactly the comforting type, even he had his limits. Despite having broken into the man’s home with a weapon, fully prepared to kill if necessary, he couldn’t just ignore someone having a full-blown meltdown in front of him.

Without the Flamingo’s cooperation, tracking the Yohō would be near impossible. He had to snap the man out of it, somehow.

Smack!

Keyal slapped the man across the forehead, the sharp sound echoing in the room.

Wobble.

The nobleman’s frail body swayed as if he were a piece of paper caught in the wind, before collapsing to the floor like a waterlogged towel.

“Hey! Hey, wake up!”

“...”

“Oh, come on, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Keyal muttered, frustration coloring his voice.

“Damn it… this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

***

The Pharmacist.

The title of “Pharmacist” traditionally refers to one who heals ailments and dispels misfortune.

But why was it that this particular Pharmacist bore an epithet that blended chaos (혼돈) and destruction with their sacred role?

The answer was simple.

In the outside world, they were seen as a benevolent savior of the masses. But in the dark underworld, the Yohō who bore the name was a harbinger of chaos and pestilence, a self-proclaimed force of destruction.

A large man entered an old, decrepit tavern.

Clad in a crimson robe, he dropped a hefty pouch onto the counter with a loud thud.

“Same as always.”

With that curt order, he took a seat. The barkeep, saying nothing, moved silently toward the kitchen to prepare his food.

Sizzle, crackle.

The sound of bubbling and frying echoed through the air, a rare warmth in the man’s otherwise brutal life of bloodshed.

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

This, the simple sounds of cooking, was the only warmth he knew. The only semblance of peace he allowed himself to feel.

“Excuse me. Mind if I join you?”

Of course, such peace was rarely uninterrupted.

“Who are you?”

His gruff voice turned sharp, like a blade heated in the fire.

The man’s brow furrowed deeply. It wasn’t the first time some pesky interloper had dared to disturb his rare moments of tranquility.

Slowly, he reached behind him and unsheathed a knife hidden under his robe.

The blade was still stained with blood—a fresh reminder of the lives it had recently claimed.

Whoosh.

Without hesitation, he swung the knife toward the head of the boy who had seated himself beside him.

“Oho! Erectile dysfunction, huh?”

The man froze mid-swing.

“…What?”

“It’s common for rabbit beastfolk over forty. Don’t worry, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Keyal’s words hit like a thunderbolt.

The man’s face turned bright red, not with anger but with pure, unfiltered mortification.

“How the hell do you know that?!” he shouted, his voice laced with panic.

In a fit of rage, he lunged to slit Keyal’s throat—only to stop again, his gaze fixed in horror.

“If you don’t want holes punched into your family jewels, I suggest you sit down and close the shutters.”

Keyal’s blade, invisible and razor-sharp, was now pointed unerringly at the man’s most vulnerable spot.

Keyal’s tone was calm, almost casual, but his words carried an undeniable weight. The man instinctively knew this was not a bluff.

Sit down, or die.

The ultimatum hung in the air, and the man’s body betrayed him, his legs buckling slightly as he slowly lowered himself into his seat.

“If you don’t answer, it’s stabby-stabby for your buddy down there. Got it?”

There was no mistaking it now.

In more ways than one, their fates were entangled—though “entangled” might have been putting it kindly.

The man, his instincts screaming, realized with absolute clarity that he was utterly, thoroughly screwed.