Tame or Be Captured (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 003
Jackal mounted his horse and spoke.
“We’ll keep heading north. Follow the hoofprints. If you can.”
With a short grunt, he spurred his horse into a gallop, and his comrades followed in his wake.
Though there was a strong chance the tracks would be lost mid-journey—either from a blizzard or other reasons—he only gave them a direction, not a destination.
It would likely be too risky to casually reveal the organization’s hideout to an outsider.
She understood, yet still felt a little helpless.
She had spoken boldly, but right now she was shoeless and dressed in ragged clothes.
The her from before would never have dared even attempt to follow them. As he’d expected, the probability of her collapsing en route was nearly one hundred percent.
She had been fearful, fragile, and passive.
But he’d overlooked one crucial fact.
She was no longer that endlessly delicate girl from the past. She was a woman who had already glimpsed the end of her own life once.
Someone who had lost everything and tasted death had nothing left to fear.
Asha steeled her resolve and slowly took a step forward.
Since it had come to this, she might as well go all in.
She had no food anyway, and returning to the minority village was just as far a journey as following them.
First, she needed to find her lost shoes.
Since she’d fled the bandits in a panic, they were likely snagged and pulled off by a tree root or something similar.
Asha quickly retraced her steps along the path she’d fled.
She couldn’t afford to fall too far behind them from the start.
Even if she couldn’t match a horse’s speed, staying close enough to keep the tracks visible was the right move.
Soon enough, Asha found one shoe caught between tree roots.
‘Where’s the other one?’
No matter how much she searched the area, the second shoe was nowhere to be found.
Still, having one shoe was better than none. Asha put it on, then wove branches and bark together into a makeshift shoe for her other foot, lining the inside with fallen leaves from beneath the snow.
It wouldn’t last long, but it was better than risking frostbite or cuts.
Once ready, Asha walked aimlessly for a long while, following the hoofprints.
The cold was brutal, and the unchanging scenery made her lose not only bodily sensation but even her sense of time.
Her whole body was frozen stiff, her skin turning red as if burning, yet Asha kept walking, arms wrapped tightly around herself, exhaling shallow puffs of cold breath.
It was strange.
She’d once wanted to die so badly, yet now that she’d been given another chance at life, she found herself wanting to live.
This time, she truly wanted to discover the reason for her own existence—and why she’d been sent back to the past.
Asha resolved never to give up, not until she couldn’t take even a single step further.
How many hours had passed like this?
Her feet had gone completely numb.
Her makeshift shoe had long since torn open, leaving raw wounds, but the bone-deep, hook-like cold erased any feeling of pain.
To make matters worse, a blizzard began falling from the overcast sky.
Amid the swirling, blinding snow, Asha felt her vision blur and her mind drift.
‘This is bad…’
She’d always prided herself on her stamina—after all, escaping the imperial palace had practically been routine.
And to some extent, that had been true.
Having been born a butterfly, her natural healing ability surpassed that of others.
People often praised butterflies as sacred beings—perhaps there really was some kind of divine power inherent within her.
But maybe she’d already used up all that power during her return to the past.
Having breathed only the mild air of central Etzheim, her body might simply be unable to adapt to the raw snowfields of the north.
Head bowed low, Asha dragged her numb feet forward until she finally stumbled and collapsed face-first into the snow.
She needed to get up, but her body had no strength left.
It seemed this was where it ended.
With her face pressed into the snow, Asha blinked her dimming eyes like a fading flame.
Snow rapidly piled atop her disheveled golden hair and slender frame.
‘If I die like this… will I go back to the past once more?’
Though her regression had been unintentional, perhaps the gods had simply mistaken who was meant to die and who to live.
‘Please… don’t make that mistake again this time…’
Just as Asha slowly closed her weary eyes,
distant hoofbeats thundered fast and strong, followed by a long, clear whinny echoing through the mountains.
Through her hazy vision, Asha looked toward a far-off hill.
There stood a horse with deep slate-gray fur, towering over her.
It was a magnificent steed—glossy, muscular, its dark mane wildly tossed by the snowy wind.
Standing tall on that hill, watching over her, it looked just like a messenger sent by the gods.
But it seemed the gods still had no intention of letting her die this time.
The slate-gray horse approached with a soft “dag-dag, dag-dag,” carrying a wolf pelt in its mouth.
Its deep, striking blue eyes studied her intently—and beautifully.
Weakly smiling, Asha asked,
“You’re giving this to me to wear?”
“…Purung.”
The horse snorted in reply.
Asha barely managed to drag her frost-numbed body out of the snow.
Immediately, the horse swiftly draped the wolf pelt over her shoulders and knelt low before her, making it easy to mount.
Surprised by its intelligence, Asha asked softly,
“Do you… belong to Mister Jackal?”
The horse glanced sideways at her.
Asha murmured, half to herself, dazed,
“For some reason… you remind me of him.”
Just moments ago, with her vision blurred, she’d thought she’d seen his silhouette coming to rescue her.
Now she saw clearly—the horse’s dark slate mane and icy blue eyes mirrored his perfectly.
“I don’t know if horses really do resemble their masters… but you’re awfully clever and handsome.”
The horse’s eyes widened slightly.
Smiling gently, Asha reached out and softly stroked its mane.
After walking alone in the cold for so long, simply having company felt comforting.
Even if it was just an animal, it somehow seemed to understand her words, making her feel oddly close to it.
“Did Mister Jackal send you to bring me back?”
The horse answered by slowly closing and opening its eyes, then shifting its front hoof slightly—
a clear signal for her to hurry and mount.
Asha finally felt relief.
Since he’d even sent the wolf pelt with the horse, he must already know exactly what state she was in.
She crawled onto its back, and the horse abruptly stood.
Caught off guard by the sudden height, Asha swayed and quickly clutched the horse’s neck.
The horse seemed to stiffen briefly, as if startled.
But then, as if remembering its duty, it began walking steadily, then swiftly.
Its body was firm with muscle yet smooth and supple.
Pressed close beneath the thick wolf pelt, she could feel its warmth—enough to endure the cold somewhat.
From its slate-gray mane drifted not the usual animal scent, but a faint, musky fragrance like men’s perfume mingling with the crisp snow.
For some reason, that scent brought her calm. Unconsciously, Asha buried her face deep into the mane, nuzzling softly.
The pleasant scent and soft texture lifted her spirits.
She felt the horse flinch again—but wrapped in that warm, secure feeling, Asha’s tension melted away, and she swiftly drifted into sleep as if fainting.
The horse glanced back at her sleeping form and quickened its pace.
The dark horse, stark against the white snowfield, charged through the blizzard with the golden-haired woman on its back.
By the time they reached the village, the organization members who spotted Asha widened their eyes and rushed toward her in a group.
The horse, having galloped tirelessly over a great distance, walked calmly among them, snorting heavily (“purrung, purrung”) as steam billowed from its nose and mouth.
At that moment, a silver-haired man quickly approached, took the reins, and led the horse somewhere.
Avoiding the curious stares of the others, he soon arrived safely at a cabin and immediately locked the door behind him.
“…Did you find her, then?”
At those words, the horse instantly transformed into a man with deep slate-gray hair.
It was Jackal.
Naked, he held Asha firmly in his arms and answered gravely,
“She was collapsed in the snow. Another moment later, and she’d have frozen to death.”
The silver-haired man sighed.
“…If the captain hadn’t gone to look for her, she truly would have died.”
Without a word, Jackal walked over to the bed and gently laid Asha down.
Staring intently at her bright red, frostbitten nose and limbs, he suddenly said,
“I’m cold.”
“Ah, yes.”
The silver-haired man hurriedly piled several thick blankets over Asha’s body.
Glancing sideways at him, Jackal spoke again.
“I mean I’m cold—me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Only then did the man notice his captain standing naked, and he scrambled to fetch a robe and towels.
Jackal, too, had spent a long time bare-skinned, carrying Asha through the fierce snowstorm—a miracle he hadn’t suffered frostbite himself.
As he slipped on the robe, his broad shoulders and wild-horse-like, compact muscles moved dynamically.
Jackal roughly wiped the moisture from his hair with a towel, then pulled a bottle of spirits from a drawer and drank straight from it, gulping deeply.
For those living in freezing regions, high-proof alcohol was a survival necessity—a vital supply to rapidly raise body temperature.
Meanwhile, the silver-haired man diligently fed logs into the fireplace, stoking the flames until the room grew warm.
“Sosa.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Sosa quickly turned around.
“I’ll keep the fire going. Go fetch the medic. Also, ask Yuris to bring hot water and towels to help.”
“Yes, right away.”
Sosa hurried out of the cabin.
Jackal, wearing only a loose navy-blue robe, dragged a chair close to the fireplace, dropped heavily into it, and took another long swig from the bottle.
A trickle of liquor slid down his muscular chest from the bottle’s rim.
He wiped his mouth roughly with the back of his hand, set the bottle carelessly atop the fireplace, and poked at the logs with a poker.
As his frozen body gradually regained warmth, he cast a sidelong glance toward Asha, fast asleep on the bed.
His gaze now held a faint, curious interest.
In truth, during the ride back to the village, Jackal had constantly sent scouts to check whether she was still following.
The woman was slow—but persistently kept trailing behind them.
One of his men, the same one who’d earlier declared any man who didn’t bring back the woman he’d fallen for at first sight deserved to starve, scratched his head sheepishly and spoke.
“Captain, I spoke too rashly before. It was just a joke—hope you’re not angry. But honestly, we should probably bring her along. The mountain path is treacherous; she’ll surely collapse before crossing the pass.”
“…If you know you’ve misspoken, stay quiet. Those who don’t value their own lives need to learn the hard way.”
At the cold remark, the man shut his mouth and stole cautious glances.
Jackal, as the organization’s leader, had truly intended to test how firm her resolve was to become Lycaon.
But when an unexpected blizzard began to fall, Jackal’s expression darkened as he looked up at the sky.
“…Is she still following?”
Male lead says he’s pregnant — and it’s female lead’s child
Something seems a bit off about this world.
Wang Zhao thought as she watched a pregnant man walking towards her…
Intro
Female lead finds herself in a world where the men who possess the ability to bear children.
As she navigates this unfamiliar reality, she is caught off guard by the sudden appearance of her boyfriend, who reveals that he is pregnant.
Is this truly her boyfriend?
Why can’t she recall any details about their time together?
She begins to doubt whether the child her boyfriend is carrying is even hers.
Is there a hidden reason behind her amnesia, or could it be a side effect of her sudden arrival in this strange new world?
Just when it seems the protagonist’s life couldn’t become any more entangled, her ex-boyfriend makes an unexpected appearance, raising questions about the protagonist’s past.
__________
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No way…did Karaf set up this situation with the assassin or kidnapping attempt to earn points?
Not practically, it is a form of torture. Jackel didn’t jump into the water on his own while tied to the boulder.
It seems backward that the Empress is invited to a Duchess’ tea party.