Dark Clouds: Days Leave Their Traces
Days leave traces. If an object is moved, marks remain. If materials are hauled, follow the laborers' wages and expenses. And sometimes, when pursuing people. That was why Jang Cheon taught her this.
"Do you remember what that reckless demon said?"
"You mean about the magistrate colluding with the monk? Ah! Are we going to grab the magistrate and...?"
"No, what the magistrate did. Do you see me as some bloodthirsty fiend who captures people without question? Cough."
Jang Cheon suddenly coughed, as if struck by some inexplicable force. Regardless of the truth, he considered himself reasonably righteous, so he quickly continued.
"He said he captured people and locked them here."
Those words carried multiple meanings. First, this wasn't a one-time affair. If it were something confined to Seongdo, the magistrate would have staged a disguised murder case and been done with it. And there was more.
Heukgongsinran could make do with just vital energy, but Gongheohon requires... more meticulous offerings.
The Sima family spoke as if certain outer gods were picky about their sacrifices. But the one in this village wasn't that type. That narrowed it down.
The magistrate's scheme required ongoing, substantial human sacrifices. Jang Cheon placed his hand on the wall.
"Channel your qi into the Yongcheon acupoint. Very gently."
"Yes."
It was an application of lightness skill. Lightening the body ensured silent landings. For Cheon Sohyang, this was her first lesson in it.
Jang Cheon then quietly approached the prison area. Plenty of people remained locked inside. Two guards stood watch out front. Their chatter could be overheard, but that wasn't what he sought.
Hiding behind the building, Jang Cheon silently climbed onto the roof. His subsequent instructions came via sound transmission.
When infiltrating at night, remember this: among the sentries, few watch the roofs or sky. As night deepens, people grow more vigilant, focusing on dark blind spots. The sky, being brighter by contrast, is ignored.
Cheon Sohyang nodded vigorously. She landed on the roof a touch less gracefully than her master. Crack—a faint sound escaped.
The girl clamped her hand over her mouth and ducked low in panic, while her master remained utterly composed. It was too soft for the guards to hear.
Stay calm. No harm will come to you, whatever happens.
"Y-yes..."
She patted her chest in relief. Such a blunder was rare for her—hardly a mistake at all. She'd fled the Sima family countless times, traversing nights on the run, each step a gamble with death. This slip came from relaxation now, from learning under her master, evoking the girl she'd once been: not the fugitive Cheon Sohyang who'd lost friends and master to the Demon Subjugation Squad, but the young head of the Cheon family, gazing at the sky upon leaving seclusion.
Has your heart settled?
Her master's teachings continued. Near the prison wall, Jang Cheon spotted what he'd been seeking. But solving it alone defeated the purpose, so he held back.
Now you've secured a vantage. The clue is here.
Cheon Sohyang's eyes widened slightly. Cheek tapping thoughtfully, she pondered. Sacrifices. Human offerings. People imprisoned. Was the altar in the yamen too?
"Hmm... No building seems fit to hide an altar, and if they did, it'd show."
That was too big—impossible to sneak in unnoticed. The Sma family might enforce secrecy at home, but this was a rural yamen. Rumors would spread.
The girl's sharp mind hit another insight.
"If they grabbed people nearby, then this village chief's father probably..."
Her words trailed off, recalling Heukbaekmagwi Yi So-jin's father, who'd rallied folks to protest. As a family head, if not as fallen as the Cheon, he'd have connections. Unholy rumors wouldn't escape him. So he wouldn't have gathered people to complain.
Thus, Cheon Sohyang soon reached a chilling conclusion.
A cart before the wall. Faint stains beneath it.
Well spotted.
What could stain a cart with blood?
"They killed them..."
A picture formed in Cheon Sohyang's mind. The prison crammed with innocents, soon released. New prisoners arrive; a few die in custody—nothing odd. Among them, the unclaimed, the rootless. Someone loads them onto the cart and vanishes.
"...!"
Cheon Sohyang moved. Inspiration sparked like lightning. Frequent cart use leaves tracks. It had to be discreet—no daytime hauls, no trips outside the village. Too conspicuous. So they'd handled the bodies nearby, loading corpses onto the cart.
"The stench..."
"Indeed."
Bodies rot. Even buried well, the smell lingers. A rural magistrate wouldn't excel at cleanup. Heading to the yamen's rear, a secluded foothill, Cheon Sohyang knew at once. Any martial artist would recognize it. Entranced, she walked on. Jang Cheon followed.
He scanned the terrain. Dark night, the Great Pa Mountains' jagged peaks piercing the sky. Ambush? No presences. His disciple was safe.
"M-Master. Here... I found it."
"Good."
It was gruesome. Beneath a shallow mound of earth lay at least four corpses, all gutted. The most decayed one's abdomen was shredded beyond recognition. No skilled handiwork.
Jang Cheon frowned.
"Savagely done. Let's head back. Climbing mountains at night is unwise."
The magistrate's personal involvement was clear now. Pushing into unknown wilds was folly. Best to make him guide them.
"......"
Jang Cheon reburied them, silently wishing them peace. Cheon Sohyang asked,
"You've done this sort of thing a lot before, right, ajussi? What you taught me."
"What do you mean?"
"Corpse disposal..."
Jang Cheon fell silent, recalling old days. His sword then was a muted half-blade, whispering ceaselessly in eerie tones. He offered no silent prayers to his victims. No disciple's clear gaze stirred him, no ache in his chest.
His master eyed his disciple, whom he'd known since childhood. A thought struck: She's different. She must be different from me. He hoped so.
Thus, eyes closed, he murmured,
"More times than I can count. So if there's aught you don't know, ask your master. I'll answer fully."
"Yes, ajussi!"
*
Back at the inn.
"I'm weary. Don't disturb me."
"Good night!"
Her cheerful wave sent her to the next room. Lately, she smiled often, brimming with joy. Soon, her snores drifted—exhaustion claiming her.
"......The family head sleeps so carelessly. Who taught her that?"
Yet Jang Cheon, hearing her soft breaths, found sleep elusive. The full moon gleamed outside.
He drank alone.
"Corpse disposal."
Cheon Sohyang's words. Old memories resurfaced.
What reason to desecrate even the dead?! A life taken is enough—defiling corpses dishonors any clan, any dao!
Foes' dying curses, hatred-filled roars, revived.
Jang Cheon was a seasoned warrior. Even unbefitting a Manifestation Realm expert, he did it: pursuit, slaughter, traps, lures, ambushes. Petty fights, threats. Torturing for info, exploiting grudges to manipulate emotions—all that.
Hardly "righteous conduct."
"......"
But to be such a master to his disciple shamed him. He couldn't tell her.
He pondered shame. Then chuckled bitterly.
"What use now?"
Family slain, he survived, sought revenge only to be imprisoned. Three centuries later, no one knew him—a relic ruminating. What good in this world was shame...?
"Keep promises, nurse grudges—that suffices. For a man like me..."
Clink. The flask met the windowsill. Somewhere, a night heron cried. Deep night.
And from that profound darkness, a form emerged. Coalesced was more apt. Human-shaped, yet not human. No door or window—it sprouted from the floor like a specter, dark shadow manifesting.
Even Jang Cheon hadn't sensed it. His hyper-acute senses couldn't grasp the unreal.
The shade, as if absent from the world, glided to his side. Gazed eternally.
Then, as in ancient times, a shadowy hand extended, gently stroking his hair. A touch nonexistent in the manifest realm, unreachable.
Yet mimicry sufficed. For this shade, now.
"I've missed you. So much... I've missed you. No prison was as wretched as this. My blemish, my plaything, my ruin. My freedom, my art, my hell. Ah..... My,"
"my Jang-rang."
The shadow smiled. A smile more irreverent, more chilling than any other.