Where Is So Yeomgyo?
My hand shot out.
I seized the entire shadow behind the bedpost and slammed it into the wall.
“Keok!”
I whipped the figure hidden in the shadows like a lash and smashed him into the floor.
—Kwaaang!
The floor shattered. It crumpled under the impact, fragments spraying in every direction. The masked man coughed up blood as his teeth broke free.
Before he could utter a word, my fist drove straight into his mouth. Before a scream could form, my knee crushed his groin.
“Wai—!”
I shattered his knees before the shriek could escape, twisting both joints until the wet crack of bone rang out.
“Aagh—!”
A wad of bedding stuffed into the masked man’s mouth buried the rest of his scream.
“Shut your mouth. We’re only getting started. Screaming isn’t something to be proud of.”
—Whirik.
I tore the short dagger from his grip, spun it once in my palm, and leveled the point at his face.
“My patience is already paper-thin. Do not test it any further.”
I pressed the blade closer.
“Trash like you wouldn’t have the skill for it anyway… and even if the heavens split in two it would still be impossible. So. So.”
My voice came out hoarse.
“Where is So Yeomgyo? Or else… truly, truly, that sort of thing must never happen, and it is completely impossible, but—”
For a fleeting moment my pupils darted left and right, lost.
“…Did something happen to her?”
“…Mph! Mph!”
The masked man trembled, trying to speak.
I yanked the cloth free and spoke quickly.
“For the record, the usual poison pill under the tongue or any other obvious trick won’t work, so give it u—”
I stood frozen, the wad of cloth still in my hand.
—Burrr.
Every meridian in the masked man’s body had been severed. He was already dead.
In the martial world there were said to be three most humiliating ways for a trained warrior to die—deaths fit only for dogs.
First: beaten to death with bare hands instead of a weapon.
Second: hanged, thrashing helplessly while soiling himself.
Third: every meridian cut so that even the proof of a lifetime’s cultivation was erased in the final instant, leaving him to depart this world having achieved nothing.
He had prepared a poison pill, yet still chose the ultimate disgrace of severing every meridian. That meant he already knew exactly who I was and what kind of man I was. And that knowledge could only have come from his superior.
The one behind this knew me well.
“…No. No. That’s impossible. She’ll be back soon. Who could possibly hurt her? Bullshit. She’s a master. Who could lay a hand on her?”
I stood.
I sat in the chair where So Yeomgyo always waited for me with a book.
—Tadadak…
My fingers drummed faster and faster on the table.
No one came.
I rose again.
I wet my dry lips.
Sat once more.
Rose.
Sat.
“Damn it.”
The masked corpse on the floor had already stiffened into rigor mortis.
[…In the end she is still someone who carries a blade. Her skill is exceptional, but this sort of thing is entirely possible.]
Mumyeong spoke.
[It happened often in my era as well. Countless powerful demonic practitioners fell into the same delusion. After years of training and building formidable demonic arts, they began to believe they had become some sort of immortal demon who could no longer die even if stabbed. That they would never fall, never feel the cold… when in truth they had only become a little tougher.]
“….”
I sat at the table and lowered my head.
On the table sat the wooden skewer of candied fruit she had left unfinished the day before, alone on its plate. Beside it was the tray from the meal we had shared.
[After that arrogance piled up and up, one careless instant left them wounded by some low-ranker’s rusty blade. The injury slowed them, and then they were gradually cornered. In the end that demonic practitioner would be carved up from every direction and hunted down. It was commonplace in my time…]
“Mumyeong.”
I lifted my head.
“Shut up.”
[…]
I waited for any word from her. None came.
As time passed my heart began to hammer like mad. Paradoxically, my mind grew colder and colder.
I gulped down cold water.
I tightened my guards.
I cinched my belt.
I pulled the Seven Sects Black Pearl Gauntlet as tight as it would go.
—Kkiik.
I walked to one corner of the room.
—Kwaang.
I flipped the bed and retrieved the sash Asura had given me—the one holding the gray bead, the green bead, and finally the black bead—and tucked it into my robes.
I moved to the wardrobe, opened it, and selected a few useful items from So Yeomgyo’s belongings: a short dagger the length of a handspan and a steel skewer. I tested them a few times in the air, then slipped them into my boot and waistband.
I returned to the chair and sat.
I wished the sun would rise soon.
Dawn was still far off.
I wondered if sleeping might make morning come faster.
As I used to, I laced my fingers and lay on the bed in a rigid posture.
I turned my head.
No one was beside me.
“….”
They say that when a person is pushed to the extreme of tension, they sometimes drop into a faint-like doze.
I might have fallen asleep just like that.
—You did well.
For a moment I thought I heard her voice in my half-sleep.
Only after I opened my eyes did I realize they had been closed.
I stared at the ceiling.
I blinked.
“….”
The room was silent.
I gazed blankly upward.
Only my own breathing filled the air.
—Kkuuk.
My laced fingers clenched hard.
Damn it.
My nails dug into flesh. Blood began to well.
I spent the rest of the night wide awake.
Day broke.
The quarterfinals began.
The atmosphere of these quarterfinals was very different from usual.
The announcer’s voice boomed across the arena again and again.
“Before the matches begin, an announcement. Today’s entry is restricted to those holding blue permits only. I repeat: due to emergency repairs—”
The spectators murmured restlessly.
Compared to ordinary days, the stands held less than half their usual crowd.
“What kind of setup is this? Are we supposed to watch the matches or not?”
From far away, amid the crowd ebbing out like a tide, Eung-chil shouted.
“Hyung-nim! Something feels off, but I’ll wait outside the temple as ordered! Give it your all!”
“….”
Under every gaze, I stood face-to-face on the stage with a massive man.
The one before me was Sumaho of the Joyful Butterfly Dream.
“What, is this all the audience my match gets? Whatever. Once I reach the semis I’ll show them real presence. So you’re the one they call the Butcher of Yoryeong?”
His bare upper body was a mass of developed muscle. He stood a full head taller than me, long glossy black hair streaming.
His booming voice filled the stage.
“Specialty is bare-handed combat, and you use a sword too, but too bad! The matchup’s bad for you! Then again, assassins are born low and stay the lowest scum in the martial world, so who can you blame? Right?”
He carried shields—rare in the jianghu. In one hand a large rectangular shield edged with a long blade; in the other a small round buckler no bigger than a palm.
“Just like that guy in the round of sixteen, I’ll take your head clean off with this shield! Ah, but there’s something I’ve always wondered about assassins.”
“…?”
Sumaho’s roaring laugh cut off abruptly.
“Especially the women among real assassins. They’re beauties, and they supposedly love luxury, right?”
I stared at him.
“And since they never know when they’ll die, they’ll even sell their bodies for a single jewel—”
A female announcer’s voice overrode him.
“Dark Fighting Tournament quarterfinals! Begin!!”
—Dung-dung-dung
Drums thundered the start of the match.
“Let’s begin!”
Sumaho of the Joyful Butterfly Dream charged.
As he ran he flung a smoke bomb at his feet.
—Peong!
Acrid fumes and thick smoke swallowed the view.
I covered my mouth and nose.
[Calm your mind.]
Mumyeong said.
[…Your pulse is more than twice its usual rate.]
—Tadat.
I leapt backward.
[Recall Asura’s teachings. At this rate you’ll ruin even what should succeed.]
I flipped through seven aerial somersaults in an instant, opening distance, then landed on both feet.
I clenched my fists.
I drew a deep breath.
Inhaled fully.
Exhaled the stale air.
—Kkuuk.
I tried to suppress the red light seeping from my eyes.
Mumyeong’s calm voice resonated in my skull.
[Even if it’s only pretense, suppress it. You can—]
<Oh, you’ve grown, haven’t you?>
It was another voice ringing through my mind.
The sudden crack in my composure left an opening Sumaho did not miss.
“An opening!”
I dodged the shield-blade that came for my neck.
Without pause another tiny bead flew toward my feet.
—Kwaang!
I yanked my robe up over nose and mouth.
Through the smoke the shield-blade came like hail, aiming for my throat.
I arched back and avoided it.
“You rat bastard…! How do you keep dodging so well!”
Sumaho grew flustered when his methods failed to land.
Even in the frantic exchange I was not looking at him.
That voice that had just echoed in my head.
At first I doubted it.
I told myself it was imagination.
But it was unmistakably that bastard’s voice.
I could not know the method, yet I guessed it was a form of sound transmission. I could even sense the direction.
I could not believe it.
No matter how insane he was, he would never come here as an ordinary spectator.
—Cheok.
I stopped my footwork.
I poured every scrap of power into my eyes and looked toward the stands where the voice had come from.
There he was.
Mixed among ordinary spectators, a man was waving at me continuously, as if begging me to notice him.
“…!”
I doubted my eyes.
Everything clicked into place at once, gears meshing with terrible precision.
It began as despair, then transformed into rage.
He must have seen the rapid shifts on my face, because the hand that had been waving without end suddenly froze.
The voice returned.
A face white as if coated in flour paste split open with a watermelon-red mouth, stretching into a smile so wide it seemed ready to tear.
At that laughter, blood vessels burst in both my eyes until they stood out like they would explode.
—Kiiing!!
Over the bloodshot eyes, red light erupted like a flare.
The murderous crimson radiance pouring from my eyes was the true demonic gaze itself.
Sumaho of the Joyful Butterfly Dream roared and charged.
“Butcher! You dare turn your back in a match that might as well be a life-and-death duel!!!”
The telepathic voice giggled.
“I’ll kill you!”
—Bawoong!
The shield in his hand slammed toward the back of my neck.
My eyes flashed.
The Seven Sects Black Pearl Gauntlet, formed into a hand-blade, smashed down on the large shield.
—Kwaaang!!
Nearly half the great shield split and flew away.
Sumaho gaped in shock.
“My shield?!”
I drove my knee into his face. His nose crumpled. I seized his hair and slammed his head into the floor.
I tossed a gray bead onto the ground.
—Tadadang!
A roar far louder than anything Sumaho could produce erupted, and thick smoke billowed.
“U-u-uagh! My eyes! My eyes!”
At less than half a span the smoke and blast completely blinded and deafened him.
“You bastard!”
Sumaho swung his fists blindly. I released him. He staggered back and poured internal energy into his remaining shield.
—Uuung!
Amazingly, a thin but genuine protective aura spread before him.
“Come on, you son of a bitch! Heh, heheh! A-attack…! I’ll block everything!”
The protective aura covered nearly his entire upper body.
I charged while rummaging in my robes. Between my fingers appeared the black bead. Internal energy focused at my fingertip.
A crack ran through the black bead.
“Heup!”
The black bead shattered and shot from my fingertip at the same instant.
—Jjeoeong!!
In one burst the countless tiny pellets inside became a storm of steel shot that swept Sumaho’s lower body.
“Kuaaak!!”
Blind, he tried to block with the shield, but the area of effect made it meaningless. His lower half turned to pulp in an instant.
“Good heavens!”
“Th-that’s—!”
The stands fell into stunned silence.
I stood over the thrashing Sumaho.
“You… you!”
“What did you say earlier?”
Above the trembling, blinded man I clenched my fist. Murderous intent and bloodshot veins filled my eyes.
“What does trash like you know about her that you dare run your mouth?”
“You… you bastard!”
“What do you know about her that you dare babble? What gives you the right to say she loves luxury, that she’d sell her body for jewels?”
“You, youuu!”
Sumaho covered his face with the small iron buckler, voice shaking.
“Y-you… my father won’t let this go! Do you know who my father is?! Do you?!”
“Your father?”
I raised my fist.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you?”
I began smashing the iron buckler with my bare fist in a frenzy.
—Kwang! Kwang! Kwang! Kwang!!!
The iron buckler yielded under bare hands. It dented. It broke. Sumaho’s face broke with it. It crushed. It pulpified. It burst.
—Tuk… tuk….
Beneath my heaving bare fist lay the mangled iron wreckage of the buckler and Sumaho’s instantly dead corpse.
I lifted my head.
There stood the pale-faced man, expression overflowing with rapture.
I drew a great breath.
Baring white teeth, I poured every ounce of strength into a single roar.
“Ryu Hwasa!!!!!!”