Chapter 402: Who the Hell Is Drinking in Broad Daylight?
Chapter 402: Who the Hell Is Drinking in Broad Daylight?
“What I want to say is…”
Not only Han Seol, but even Geom Mu-geuk was curious about Lee An’s answer. Her stepping forward like this hadn't been part of the plan.
Lee An calmly conveyed her sincerity.
“I’m asking you to put your faith in our Young Cult Leader, just this once.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Han Seol’s usually expressionless face. She truly hadn't expected a subordinate of the Young Cult Leader to say such a thing.
“I know this is a situation where it’s difficult to trust one another,” Lee An continued.
“Then why say such a thing?” Han Seol asked coldly.
Lee An replied softly, “Because in this world, there are things that transcend all of that.”
From beginning to end, the answer was entirely outside Han Seol’s expectations. Her gaze shifted toward Geom Mu-geuk.
“Are you saying the Young Cult Leader is that transcendent being?”
“Yes. Though to you, Young Palace Master, I probably sound like a madwoman.”
Han Seol looked from Lee An back to Geom Mu-geuk. Her eyes seemed to say: Well? Explain this madwoman.
Of course, Geom Mu-geuk was not the type to simply follow her lead.
“As you can see, I’m quite well-respected by my subordinates.”
Han Seol glared at Geom Mu-geuk as if trying to pierce through him. She had never believed the myths surrounding Geom Mu-geuk’s reputation to begin with. Hearing Lee An’s words only turned that doubt into certainty.
Perhaps it really was all fabricated.
Otherwise, there was no reason for a subordinate to tell her to trust their leader because he was a "transcendent being." Either she was brainwashed, acting under orders, or truly insane. Whatever the case, it didn't fit the image of a great hero who was reshaping the landscape of the Murim.
“The beginning is always the hardest part,” Geom Mu-geuk said. “Doesn't everything become easier once you get used to it? So, Young Palace Master, why not just take the plunge?”
His gaze turned toward Lee An.
“Just as she did.”
Lee An bowed her head deeply. It was because he was the kind of person who would stand by her no matter what trouble she caused that she felt brave enough for an outburst like this.
Lee An mustered her courage and spoke once more. “Trust the Young Cult Leader. You will never regret it.”
Han Seol gave a cold snort, bid Geom Mu-geuk farewell, and turned away.
“I will be in touch.”
Once she had departed, Lee An let out a heavy sigh. “I ruined everything, didn't I?”
“‘Transcendent’ was a bit much.”
“The words just came out before I knew it. I don’t even know why I wanted to help that cold-hearted woman.”
Weren't you the one who followed me all this way just for a cup of water? Geom Mu-geuk thought, already knowing the answer.
Lee An found her own answer in the surrounding scenery. While dealing with the matters of the North Blood Sect, she hadn't noticed her surroundings at all. But after meeting Geom Mu-geuk, the landscape had finally begun to come into view.
“I suppose it’s because the snowscape I haven't seen in so long is just so beautiful.”
*
“The Young Cult Leader has made a new proposal.”
Han Seol’s actions were different from the words she had spoken to Geom Mu-geuk.
“In exchange for handing over the children of the North Blood Sect, he has requested to stay at the main palace for a while. I have accepted that proposal.”
She had told Geom Mu-geuk she would discuss it with the Ice Palace Master, but she spoke to her mother as if she were merely notifying her of a decision already made. It wasn't necessarily because of Lee An’s plea.
She was curious about her mother’s reaction—how she would respond when Han Seol made an independent decision. She expected anger or a cold rebuff, but surprisingly, the Ice Palace Master remained calm.
When the Ice Palace Master’s gaze silently asked for a reason, Han Seol answered.
“Because rescuing the children of the North Blood Sect is the priority.”
“No, tell me the real reason you accepted. That isn't the primary one, is it?”
It was true. Her mother was the one who had made the secret pact with the North Blood Sect Leader. There was a reason that took precedence over the lives of those captured.
“I wanted to confirm something.”
“What?”
How you would react to my defiance.
However, she gave a different reason.
“The Young Cult Leader I saw with my own eyes was different from the rumors. I wanted to keep him close and see for myself if he truly is as great a man as they say. And…”
Beyond the fact that false rumors wouldn't work on her, there was another reason.
“If the Institute Head was truly murdered as they suspect, aren't you curious? Curious about who killed him?”
The Ice Palace Master stared at her daughter in silence. It would have been natural to comment on her changed demeanor, but she simply said, “Handle this matter as you see fit.”
“Thank you, Palace Master.”
Han Seol bowed politely and descended from the Palace Master’s hall.
The Ice Palace Master walked to the window and looked outside. The snow-covered scenery of the Ice Palace was the same as yesterday, but she was looking at it with a different heart today.
*
Yang Il, who had been pressing his ear against the iron door, let out a shaky sigh.
The prisoner in the cell across from him had been taken away and hadn't returned. It had been several days since the man from the Im clan, who had been with him, was dragged out; he hadn't returned either. He didn't think they were resting in a clean, comfortable place. If that were the case, they wouldn't have been locked in this damp, dungeon-like hole in the first place.
“Hyeon-ah, Min-ah.”
Tears welled in Yang Il’s eyes. He was a man who had rarely shed a tear in all his years. He missed his children terribly. He hadn't realized it when they were together, but the thought that he might never see them again kept their faces flashing before his eyes.
His wife, who was already prone to worry, was likely unable to sleep a wink by now. They had been led away with smiles, yet they weren't even allowed to send a single letter saying they had arrived safely.
It had all started when they were told a famous physician was testing a newly developed medicine. People were gathered at the village’s largest clinic for various tests. Many flocked there because they were paid a few days' wages just for undergoing the examination.
In the whole village, only he and the man from the Im clan possessed the constitution they were looking for. They were told they would be paid a fortune if they participated in the experiment for two or three months—an amount that would take years of labor to earn at his current wages.
His wife had tried to stop him, saying it was dangerous. She worried his health might be ruined and found it suspicious that they were offering so much money. Moreover, they were outsiders.
But after much deliberation, Yang Il decided to go. There were people who wanted to go but couldn't because their constitutions didn't match. Furthermore, the people who examined his body were so polite and refined. They even honestly told him that, depending on the circumstances, it could harm his health. That actually made him trust them more.
No matter how hard he and his wife worked, they could never save much money. Just when they thought they had a little, something would come up that required spending it. He intended to open a small shop once he received the lump sum. His own life had been spent doing all sorts of menial, dirty work, but he didn't want his children to live like that.
Could his children even endure the hardships he faced? His wife told him to have faith in them, but Yang Il couldn't. No, he simply didn't want them to suffer. Just one small shop to support a family of four! Please!
However, after leaving his hometown, he felt something was wrong.
It wasn't the people from the clinic who took them; instead, martial artists with swords escorted them. They didn't go to their original destination but ended up in the North Sea, confined not in an infirmary but in a secret villa. They weren't allowed to go out, let alone step past the door. Then, not long ago, they were moved here—a place designed exactly like an underground prison.
I should have listened to my wife.
Just then, a martial artist opened the iron door and entered.
“Let’s go.”
Yang Il’s heart sank. It was finally his turn. His heart began to pound frantically.
Am I going to die now? I can’t die like this.
Should he ambush the martial artist in front of him and run? Maybe headbutt him? But that would be difficult even for a trained fighter, and his opponent was a martial artist. No matter how much his body had been tempered by construction work, he was no match for a warrior.
Yang Il was dragged out. As he walked down the hallway, he felt no eyes on him. Normally, there were people in the front room, the side room, and the room next to that. But those who were taken away never returned.
I’m the last one!
He was dragged to a place filled with all sorts of mysterious objects. It smelled of strange medicines he had never encountered in his life. In the center of the room was a bed made of jade.
The martial artist who brought him spoke. “Take off your clothes and lie on the bed. Strip. Every last stitch.”
When Yang Il hesitated, the martial artist glared at him coldly, as if he wouldn't say it twice. Cowed by the sharp, fierce aura, Yang Il stripped. Should I lunge at him now, overpower him, and run? His instincts screamed at him to do so, but his body, which had never fought anyone in his life, couldn't follow through.
Building houses, clearing roads, stacking embankments—he had lived a life of rough labor, but he was a gentle soul who had never once struck another person.
Yang Il lay on the bed. It was much colder than he had expected. The martial artist bound Yang Il’s arms and legs with leather straps attached to the bed so he couldn't move.
Once he was prepared, the door opened and four people entered. It was a middle-aged man in a blue robe and three martial artists guarding him. One of the martial artists wore a mask, and his gaze was even more intense than that of the middle-aged man in blue.
The middle-aged man approached and looked down at Yang Il. His gaze was colder than the chill of the bed seeping into Yang Il’s back.
Yang Il prayed fervently. He didn't know what kind of test they were performing, but he desperately hoped he was the right person for it.
Please, just let me live!
He didn't even care about the money anymore. If only he could return alive. If only he could see his wife and children again.
The middle-aged man began the test in earnest. As he manipulated something beneath the bed, the jade began to grow even colder.
“Uuuuugh!”
It was so cold that groans escaped his lips involuntarily. At this rate, he felt he would freeze to death.
“Please, save me!”
At Yang Il’s plea, the man spoke coldly. “If you possess the Extreme Cold Body, which is said to exist in only one out of a thousand born with the Ice Cold Body, you will survive.”
Yang Il fell into despair. Didn't that mean if he wasn't that one in a thousand, he would die?
It was at that moment the middle-aged man in the room flared his nostrils. “Wait, what is this smell?”
A scent was wafting in through a small hole in the iron door.
“It’s the smell of alcohol.”
The middle-aged man’s expression hardened instantly. “Who the hell is drinking in broad daylight?”
One of the three martial artists standing guard went outside. “I’ll check.”
The martial artist opened the door and stepped out. Checking the hallway, he was startled. The far end of the corridor looked as if it were shrouded in fog.
What is this?
There was no way such a fog could form indoors. Sensing an unknown danger, the martial artist drew his sword.
In an instant, the fog rushed in. The smell of alcohol was emanating from this mist.
Alcohol in the fog? Then this is—!
It was Liquor Qi.
Someone with a low tolerance—no, even someone with a high tolerance for alcohol—would find it difficult to keep their balance under the influence of this energy. It was a Liquor Qi so intense that one might think a dam holding back a sea of wine had burst and flooded the hallway up to their knees.
Then, before he could even sense anyone approaching, an arm with a clenched fist lunged out of the fog. The fist struck with a light tap, but the martial artist was sent flying into the wall, where he crumpled, unconscious.
The person who emerged from the fog was none other than the Drunken Demon.
The Liquor Qi swirled around his body like Body Protection Qi. Right now it looked like ordinary mist, but in truth, it was the Drunken Demon’s Liquor Qi, capable of taking any form.
He opened the door and entered the room the martial artist had just left.
Swish!
Sensing that the situation outside was dire, another martial artist lunged at the Drunken Demon with his sword. The Drunken Demon lightly dodged the incoming blade and, this time, struck the martial artist’s neck with the edge of his palm. It was a mere tap, but the fallen warrior did not rise again.
Whirrrr.
The mist-like Liquor Qi that had filled the outer hallway gathered toward the Drunken Demon, shimmering around his body like a heat haze.
The middle-aged man in the blue robe stared at the Drunken Demon with a shocked face. His two subordinates were not of a skill level to be defeated so easily. This meant the opponent’s martial arts were truly formidable.
However, he did not despair yet. Among the three martial artists, the true expert was the masked man.
The Drunken Demon glanced at the two of them and then immediately checked on Yang Il lying on the bed. Frozen cold, the man looked as if his breath might stop at any moment.
It was a situation where the masked man could have launched a surprise attack while he was distracted, but the Drunken Demon didn't care at all. Even though the Drunken Demon had turned his back to look at Yang Il, the masked man did not dare to attack. He felt as if the Liquor Qi shimmering around the Drunken Demon’s body was watching his every move.
After the Drunken Demon unfastened the leather straps binding Yang Il, he grabbed the man’s wrist. As a warm energy flowed into him, Yang Il began to breathe peacefully and regained consciousness.
Despite having seen the opponent’s skill, the middle-aged man issued a low warning. “Do you know who we are to be doing this? If you withdraw now, you may keep your life.”
At that, the Drunken Demon coolly revealed his identity. Since the North Sea Ice Palace already knew the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult was involved in this matter, there was no reason to hide it.
“I am the Drunken Demon.”
“...!”
The middle-aged man froze, his face turning pale. The masked man’s expression also hardened into a mask of stone.
“Why are you...?”
If not for the single move he had shown against the subordinate, or the realm he displayed where no opening could be found even with his back turned, they would never have believed his words.
But it was definitely the Drunken Demon. This deep Liquor Qi and fragrance that wafted subtly was an aura that no one but the Drunken Demon could even hope to imitate. No, setting all that aside, the man before them exuded an overwhelming presence that one simply did not dare to approach.
Yang Il was just as shocked as they were.
This man is the famous Drunken Demon of the Demonic Cult’s Eight Demon Lords? Who in the world didn't know them? There was even a saying that if children cried, a Demon Lord would come and take them away.
“Is there a man named Yang Il among those brought here?” the Drunken Demon asked.
Yang Il was stunned. “I... I am Yang Il. That’s me.”
He was a man who had never even been personally involved with a third-rate martial artist in his life, yet a Demon Lord was looking for him. How does he know my name?
“That’s a relief. My goal was to rescue you.”
Yang Il couldn't understand the situation at all. A Demon Lord came to rescue me? It felt like he was dreaming. He looked down at the bed. Ah, am I dreaming right before I die?
The thought occurred to him that the real him was freezing to death on the bed, and he was merely having this dream in his final moments. But it was too vivid to be a hallucination. Even now, the bed he was sitting on was so cold it made his skin sting.
“You came to rescue me? Why would someone as noble as you... for me?” Yang Il’s voice trembled.
Then, a shocking answer flowed from the Drunken Demon’s mouth. It was likely the most surprising thing Yang Il had ever heard in his life.
“Your wife asked me. She asked me to bring her husband home.”
“...!”
Yang Il’s eyes went wide with shock. How could his wife possibly make such a request of a Demon Lord?
“My wife? My wife is someone who hasn't even stepped outside the village since we married...” Yang Il soon shook his head. There was no way such a thing could happen. Ah, I really am dead. Wife, thank you for saving me, even if it’s just in a dream. Raise the kids well and live a good life. I’m sorry I couldn't be with you until the end.
Even amidst those thoughts, the dream-like reality continued.
“I haven't had a drink, so my nerves are a bit frayed,” the Drunken Demon said.
He had put the Ice Wine brewed by the Institute Head into his Blood Tear gourd but had not drunk it yet. He intended to drink that wine only when he killed the one who had murdered her. So that she could be with him in the moment of revenge.
“I wonder... am I more dangerous when I’ve been drinking? Or when I haven't?”