Chapter 12
Chapter 12
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: uly
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Chapter 1: Inhuman
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The man showed no sign of returning anytime soon.
One hour passed, then two. It was an unbearably boring stretch of time. The three of them sensed the faint sounds of music and revelry fading away, signaling that morning had arrived.
"Looks like we pulled an all-nighter, sis. You should get some rest first."
This time, it was Hyang looking after Seol.
"Sis."
Seol shook her head but finally surrendered. It wasn't so much yielding to Hyang as succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue.
Seol rose from her seat and opened the door in the wall to one side.
A large bed filled her view. It was the bedroom. The temptation of sleep washed over her. It was an irresistible pull.
"Hyang, you sleep first."
She tried to push her younger sister inside, but Hyang stubbornly insisted Seol go first. At last, Seol climbed onto the bed. Hyang then wriggled in beside her.
Steady, rhythmic breathing soon filled the air.
Sang quietly stood and positioned himself in front of the sisters' bedroom door. He closed the half-open door and returned to the table, settling into the chair.
With no windows in the room, he couldn't tell the exact time. He could only sense the outside gradually brightening. Time dragged on like that. Sang sat there like a statue, his expression complex, until he suddenly raised an eyebrow and turned toward the door.
Creak, rattle.
Someone was there. The locked door opened and quickly shut again. Sang leaped toward it.
Clank.
The sound of it locking echoed.
The person was gone, but in their place stood a large covered bowl inside the door.
Food. Utensils for three were set beside it.
Sang stared down at the bowl with a desolate expression for a long while. Finally, like he'd lost a staring contest with the utensils, he lifted it onto the table and removed the lid. It was beef and greens stir-fried together. Come to think of it, they hadn't eaten for a full day and night. The rich aroma teased their empty stomachs.
It must have been the smell that roused them. The sisters emerged from the bedroom, looking disheveled. Seol stood before the food, murmuring glumly.
"They even deliver meals to prison, huh."
Hyang sat first. She picked up her chopsticks without hesitation. A far cry from last night.
"Let's eat for now, sis. They're not starving us—that's something. You ever hear of a prison serving meat?"
"Yeah. Never heard of that."
Seol picked up her chopsticks, then paused with a frown. She glanced at Sang.
"It's not poisoned, is it?"
"It shouldn't be, miss."
Sang replied. Though he had no certainty. In the jianghu, anything could happen at any time.
"It's pretty good, sis."
No time to stop her. Hyang already had her mouth full.
Like a bratty kid. But her sister knew she was anything but.
Whatever happens, happens, Seol thought suddenly.
She shook her head and scooped up some greens with her chopsticks.
The chopsticks moved faster.
The food was more than satisfying—it was delicious enough to banish their hunger. In the end, even Sang took up his chopsticks. Eat to live, live to eat—that's humanity. A light fullness eased their tension, if only for a moment. For the first time in a while, they felt alive.
Clank.
Creak.
The man entered when the music from below had built to a lively crescendo.
The revelry meant evening had arrived.
The man's sleeves bore fresh stains unlike before. Red, still wet—blood.
"What the hell have you girls gotten tangled up with?"
He demanded right away.
That was exactly what they wanted to ask. Now they noticed a thin gash on the man's neck. A glancing sword wound. Any deeper, and he'd be dead.
"What's the point of even asking. Let's get out first. Nothing to grab?"
He swept in like a fierce gale. Overwhelmed, Seol and Hyang nodded quickly.
The man turned.
Seol's eyes gleamed.
The blood-red armored sword slung on his back was gone. He'd been carrying it when they left, but now it was missing. The golden one was on his back, the original black-and-white patterned blade chained to his waist.
"What happened to the red sword?"
Surprisingly, it was Hyang who blurted it out. The man answered without turning.
"Gave it back to the owner."
He flung the door open.
Hyang asked again from behind.
"Then that golden sword isn't yours either?"
"Of course not."
An odd question, but his response was immediate. As if to say, would I even use something like that?
Seol asked.
"Where are we headed now?"
A more pointed question.
"To return the sword."
His answer missed the point entirely.
* * *
The path the man chose wasn't some dark alley.
It was the main thoroughfare.
In the early evening, as faint darkness filled the sky, their route was a bustling street lit up like daylight.
"Come here, warrior!"
"Oh my, what fine builds you all have!"
The calls of soliciting women filled the air. The street lined with brothels and taverns teemed with countless passersby milling about in the twilight.
"Pull your hoods lower."
"Got it, sis."
They tugged their conical hats down deeper and quickened their pace to match the man ahead. He pushed through the crowd without pause, as always. Shoulders square, striding confidently—yet he never bumped into anyone. It was as if the crowd parted for him.
"Huh? This place?"
Seol suddenly looked up and scanned around. She wasn't the only one startled. Sang's body tensed visibly.
"Go up and grab your things."
The man had stopped at an inn called Bucheong Tower.
"How did you...?"
The three couldn't hide their shock.
Bucheong Tower was originally where they'd been staying. It was the first lodging they'd taken after arriving in the area to find him.
Terrifying.
Sang, Seol, and Hyang had never breathed a word about booking rooms here. He'd figured it out in the half-day he'd been gone. They knew it wasn't easy. They should have felt reassured, but fear overrode it.
"What are you waiting for? Hurry."
Nailed in place, they finally lifted the inn's curtains at his urging and entered.
The inside of Bucheong Tower was different from before.
Eerily quiet. The heavy silence and stillness sent chills down their spines.
Feeling an inexplicable chill, Seol and Hyang stepped further in.
Sang stayed behind. He asked the man.
"How did you find out?"
"You asking because you don't know?"
His retort carried layers of meaning. Sang shook his head.
"What do you mean, asking if I don't know?"
The man smirked. He nodded toward the inn.
"Go grab your stuff first. We'll sort out what's real later."
Sang furrowed his brow.
Reluctantly, he turned and parted the curtains. The oppressive quiet hit him too. And he caught a scent the sisters had missed. Blood. Tension etched his face as he scanned the room.
The wide first floor of the inn held no sign of life—not even shadows. No innkeeper sweating despite the cool air, no bustling errand boys. He turned left. Amid the crowded tables stood the stairs to the upper floors. Their rooms were on the third. He heard the sisters' footsteps ascending.
Sang followed up the stairs. That's when it happened.
"Eek!"
A short scream from above. It sounded like Hyang. Sang bounded up the stairs. His face hardened like ice.
"......!"
The narrow third-floor hallway was littered with corpses.
All in black garb. Same outfits as the masked black-clothed figures they'd encountered before the man's room. Each bore fatal sword wounds, cold and stiff. A sea of blood. About ten bodies, like before.
"These are...!"
"Yes, miss. Same ones as last time."
Now it was Sang's turn to lead.
He stepped over the corpses to the rooms they'd stayed in. Men and women being particular, they'd rented the two facing rooms. Sang threw open his door first.
Creak, whoosh.
A shadow lunged. Sang recoiled, fist clenched. But no—it was a corpse leaning against the inside of the door. It slid forward as he opened it, collapsing toward him.
Thud, splat.
Blood-soaked body atop another bleeding one. The two corpses tumbled haphazardly. Sang entered, grabbed his satchel, and emerged.
Now the sisters' room. He stood before it.
"This way, please."
Seol and Hyang hesitated, stepping gingerly over the bodies. Even inside, under their untouched hats, their faces were ashen.
Rattle, creak.
No sliding corpse this time. But Sang's face hardened tenfold—more than at the hallway corpses, more than the one that lunged from his room.
Someone was there.
In a room with no prior presence detected, someone waited.
"Who are you?"
The most obvious question, yet sometimes the most foolish.
"......"
The man leaning by the opposite window said nothing.
The first thing that caught the eye was the red hair.
Not his own—likely a wig.
Wigs weren't common. Certainly not among upright sect warriors.
So who wore them?
Actors in plays. Courtesans in red-light districts to heighten allure.
But this blood-scented figure wasn't an entertainer pleasing crowds, nor a whore selling her body.
Not righteous, then—unorthodox. A heretic.
A ronin made sense.
The ronin world differed from ordinary warriors.
They chased no honor. Fame sufficed, ill repute included.
Profit over ideals. Money bought threats to kin, torment, even lives.
In that world, unique looks meant more than exposure.
The stranger, the more attention from fellow ronin—potential rivals. Attention equaled life-threatening peril.
Stand out and survive.
That proved strength in their realm.
Empty carts rattle, but not in the jianghu. Noisy empty carts shatter instantly.
A rattling cart that endures is sturdy.
Thus, the stranger the appearance, the stronger. Ronin creed.
Hence the bizarre accessories and outfits.
The wig fit that mold. But was he truly a ronin? Doubt lingered. His aura was oddly refined.
Backlit by the glow of the pleasure district, shadows deepened his melancholy face.
Not the skin of a street-hardened ronin.
More like a noble youth with eccentric tastes. The fine silk robe gleamed smoothly in the tavern's garish light.
"Huh...?"
The voice from behind belonged to Seol.
Now she noticed something familiar. Her gaze fixed there.
The man's sword.
'Blood-red blade...!'
A blood-red armored sword chained to his belt. The exact one the man below had carried. Identical hanging style. Proof they were allies.
Sang asked.
"...Your handiwork?"
The man replied.
"Just grab your things and go."
Unexpected. Especially the voice.
Too calm, too gentle for the hallway slaughter.
His profile, slightly turned, was womanly refined. Without the red hair, he'd clash entirely with this bloodbath inn.
Seol and Hyang hesitated before the red-haired man, then moved to the bed for their satchels. Seol peeked inside hers to check something. Hyang didn't even open hers. A faint glint crossed Sang's eye as he watched.
The red-blade man didn't stir until the sisters reached the door with their bags. As they crossed the threshold in awkward silence, Hyang suddenly turned back.
"Um, warrior, what's your name in the jianghu?"
Not Seol—Hyang.
The red-blade man stared straight at her. She fully faced him, voice pitched high with tension.
"If we'd been here alone, who knows what those masked thugs would've done. You feel like our benefactor. Shouldn't we at least know a savior's name?"
The man silently regarded her.
His gaze surely pierced her hat, yet unlike the man below, it didn't probe menacingly.
He answered slowly, curtly.
"Danmun."
"Pardon?"
Hyang asked again.
"Danmun... your name, warrior?"
He said no more. He turned to gaze out the window—a gesture like dismissing a guest.
Hyang turned to leave but tossed one more question.
"Then... what's the name of the warrior downstairs?"
Seol, about to chide her boldness, paused and glanced at the man. Come to think of it, they didn't even know his name. Only Sang's mention of "Tiger of the Dark House."
"......"
"Got it. Sorry for prying."
Hyang turned away glumly from the silent man. As she stepped out, a soft voice lingered behind.
"Ohho."
"Ohho...?"
"That's his name."
Even to young Hyang, he showed proper courtesy.
That was it.
Danmun said nothing more.