The First Sight of the Military Strategist
“Haa—huff!”
Cheon Sohyeon’s chest heaved as he dragged in ragged breaths.
He had been refining the forms by repeating Shaolin’s Warranted Insight hundreds, thousands of times over. His muscles burned as if they had been set alight, and his whole body felt so leaden it was hard to even draw breath.
“Whew. I really am going to die at this rate.”
He was the sort who always sought out grueling training and had long been called a hard case for it. But even by his own standards, this was excessive. His entire body was trembling so badly it looked ready to collapse from sheer exhaustion at any moment.
And yet Cheon Sohyeon did not stop.
“One more round, maybe.”
Woooong!
He steadied his breathing and roused Muryeonggi. The surging force immediately began infusing every corner of his body with renewed vitality.
Like a single spark setting the whole world ablaze, life spread through his limbs.
It really is strange.
For his exhausted body to recover this quickly. The fatigue was not completely gone, but even just easing the strain was enough.
The gifted constitution he had never experienced in his previous life—Cheongol Jiche, the Heavenly Bone Physique—was enough by itself to burst into activity like a storm.
Thud.
And with that, he found a clue for solving the problem of his half-broken dantian.
If there isn’t enough quantity, then all I need is quality!
Martial power was decided not by size, but by depth. Even a handful of qi, if it possessed the depth of the great sea, could carry one into the ranks of the absolute masters. That was his firm belief.
So he lost track of time entirely, searching for ways to maximize the efficiency of his energy.
He focused on perfecting each form, refining his force again and again, no longer fixated on quantity but pushing the purity as high as it could go.
He was deep in that training when—
“Young Master.”
“Mm?”
Sama Ryang had approached before he noticed and spoke carefully.
“The agreed-upon day has arrived, so we should depart soon.”
Cheon Sohyeon wiped the sweat from his face and looked at him.
“Already? Wait a moment. I’ve got the smell of a walking manure pile all over me, so I should probably wash first. And what happened to my clothes? Why are they in this state?”
“Ah, of course.”
Cheon Sohyeon tore off the frayed sleeves and headed toward his quarters. Sama Ryang watched his retreating back in silence.
Incredible.
Just how brutal had his training been? The martial robe, soaked with sweat and then dried by heat over and over again, looked so brittle it might crumble at any moment.
He’s hardened his resolve.
His conviction was palpable. He could feel, clearly and without doubt, the will to accomplish the greater plan no matter what he had to sacrifice. The strength of that purpose exceeded what he had expected.
He knows, then.
That within the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult, the most important thing in getting one’s wishes carried out was not status or bloodline.
Being born of the Cheon family merely bought a person the right to speak. In the end, it was personal authority that gave weight to those words.
What was even more astonishing was that he had not spent the past half-month solely on training.
He had sifted through countless records in search of justification for their position, and then, with unexpected flashes of ingenuity, produced answers that could serve as a beacon.
The specific path forward would only become clear after the meeting, but even so, Sama Ryang could not help admiring him.
I can’t fall behind.
This was only the first step.
With that resolve, Sama Ryang steeled his will.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Songum Pavilion, the tavern located between the inner and outer walls of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.
“If you show even a single flaw to the honored guests visiting today, it won’t just end with the business going under! Heads will roll! You understand that, don’t you?!”
At the tavern master’s bellow, the twenty-odd servers answered in unison.
“Yes, sir!”
Even after hearing that thunderous response, Jo Maenggil, the master of Songum Pavilion, kept his eyes sharp and continued scanning the place.
We’ve got about half a shichen left.
In half a shichen, Songum Pavilion’s fate would be decided.
They would either file for closure, stand there in tears watching the building being torn down, or spread word everywhere and end up opening branches all across the Cult.
Jo Maenggil wiped the sweat from his forehead.
The, the Cult Leader’s children are coming here…
A few days ago, when some man had come and said he wanted to reserve the entire tavern, Jo Maenggil had truly felt like kicking the bastard in the ass and throwing him out.
If it had been this floor, divided into separate rooms, that would have been one thing—but to reserve the entire tavern, which could easily fit two hundred people?
And yet he had soon understood.
What? The, the Young Master is coming?!
At the time, his mind had really been full of chaos.
Y-Young Master? What’s a Young Master? Doesn’t sound like food. Did he mean gongcha? No, wait. Surely somewhere there was…
And once he realized who it referred to, he had forgotten all about keeping a tavern master’s dignity and shouted with his mouth hanging open.
-W-We’ll prepare immediately!!
After that, Songum Pavilion had gone straight into emergency mode.
He had never met them in person, but within the Cult, the only people who could be called Young Master were the Cult Leader’s children.
“Not a single flaw!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Hey! What’s that over there!! Why is there still dust? Do you have any sense at all or do you—”
It was then.
Creeeak.
The tavern door opened slowly, and at the same time Jo Maenggil lowered his head and shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Heavenly Demon descends! May ten thousand demons rejoice! Welcome to Songum Pavilion!”
“Welcome! This is Songum Pavilion!”
The servers all squeezed their eyes shut, bent deeply at the waist, and cried out in chorus.
“Huh? What’s going on? Don’t tell me this was your doing? Maybe I should’ve come in pretending to be more surprised?”
“No, that’s not—actually, I’m not sure either….”
At the low voice, the servers exchanged looks while still bent over.
Did two people come?
I thought at least thirty would show up.
Could we have the wrong person?
Jo Maenggil slowly lifted his head and gauged the situation.
“A pleasure to meet you! I’m Jo Maenggil, the master of Songum Pavilion.”
The man in white looked bewildered as he replied, “...Yes, pleased to meet you as well.”
The man’s expression was full of bafflement; it was Sama Ryang.
Why are they welcoming us like this at a tavern?
It looked as though everyone had rushed out. The servers were lined up in three rows, bowing at a perfect right angle.
Did they know the Third Young Master was visiting?
It was set by the Military Council. There’s no way the information could’ve leaked.
At that awkward response, Jo Maenggil’s eyes trembled for a moment.
“May I ask… are you not the party that reserved today?”
“We did make a reservation, yes—about half a month ago.”
“Half a month?”
“Yes.”
Crack.
Jo Maenggil clenched his fist. He had realized that he had bowed to the wrong people. The reservation for the Young Master had only come in three days ago.
Damn it!
As his anger surged, Jo Maenggil snapped at a nearby server.
“Hey!”
“Y-yes?!”
“There was a reservation that came in half a month ago?”
“P-please wait a moment.”
The server scrambled off, rummaged through a drawer, pulled out a ledger, and flipped through it quickly.
“Ah! It says three people were scheduled to arrive at youshi.”
“You idiot! What were you doing all this time, only to bring that up now?!”
Jo Maenggil barked out the words and took out his irritation on the server.
“You’re the one who’s going to deal with this, so explain it and send them off! I’m telling you, this is an important day—what the hell are you people doing, you bastards!”
Normally, managing the overall affairs of the tavern was Jo Maenggil’s responsibility as the master. But he had been so consumed by the fact that the Cult’s heir was coming that he had not considered any other reservations at all.
No, truthfully, this floor—run on a reservation system—was usually fairly empty, so even on ordinary days he did not pay it much attention. If someone showed up with a reservation, he would usually just have a server guide them in.
For the server, it was an abrupt lightning strike from nowhere, but given the situation, he had no choice but to bow his head.
“I’m terribly sorry. Due to the tavern’s circumstances today, we can’t accept customers—”
“What’s this now?”
The man in the black robe looked around the tavern in disbelief.
“You can’t accept customers? You’ve got the tables polished to a shine and the dishes all laid out properly, so what in the world are you talking about?”
“Th-that is….”
“From what I’m hearing, it sounds like some important guests are coming, but even so, this isn’t how you do business.”
The man’s gaze fell on the stocky Jo Maenggil.
“Is this really how you run a place?”
Jo Maenggil frowned, clearly offended.
This green kid is going to lecture me?
With his temper flaring, he spoke.
“It’s my tavern, so I’ll do as I please. What are you going to do about it? Whatever you say, we’re not serving alcohol today, so come back another time.”
He jerked his chin toward the back.
“If you’re really disappointed, I’ll even hand you a bottle of white liquor, so take it and get lost.”
The man in the black robe let out a dry laugh.
“Unbelievable. Are you possessed by a demon or something? How can you be this incapable of telling right from wrong?”
“What?! You little—if you’re going to keep talking, then—”
Bang!
Jo Maenggil’s body flew backward with a dull crash. He smashed through several tables and went tumbling into the far corner, kicking up a cloud of dust.
“...!”
At the sudden turn of events, the servers stood frozen, mouths agape. Sama Ryang was no different.
W-What?
The Third Young Master had thrown a single punch at the tavern master.
“M-Master!”
The servers began to murmur, and one of the cooks with a fierce-looking face spoke up.
“What the hell do you think you’re—”
As he reached out to grab Cheon Sohyeon by the collar, Sama Ryang shouted sharply.
“Stop!”
“...?”
“How dare you commit such a crime.”
The cook stared at him in confusion.
“Do you even know who the guest we’re waiting for is?”
“Whoever it is doesn’t matter.”
“...?”
“This man is the Third Young Master of our Cult!”
Cheon Sohyeon looked at Sama Ryang, dumbfounded.
Even if he just blurted out that he was the Third Young Master, no one would believe it—
“H-Haah!”
Thud.
A ridiculous thing happened. The cook in the apron dropped to his knees and slammed his forehead to the floor.
“Heavenly Demon descends! May ten thousand demons rejoice! I pay respects to the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult’s Third Young Master.”
The servers followed suit and knelt as well.
“We greet the Third Young Master!”
Before he knew it, even the tavern master had come to his senses and was bowing with his head pressed down.
“Hup! I-I’m sorry! I was too lacking to recognize a divine being! I’ve committed a sin worthy of death! Please forgive me!”
Cheon Sohyeon stared at them in disbelief.
They just believe it?
Was there some law in the demonic cult like the imperial rule that said impersonating royalty could cost nine generations of one’s clan? He could hardly believe how everyone was trembling with their foreheads on the floor.
“Hey, shopkeeper. What would you have done if I weren’t the Third Young Master?”
“What? W-what do you mean?”
“Looks like you’ve got quite the temper, but with a head that noisy, can you even sleep properly?”
Jo Maenggil’s shoulders twitched like they were seized by a cramp.
“W-who in the Cult would dare impersonate the Young Master? A bolt of lightning would come down from the sky….”
Ridiculous.
Cheon Sohyeon answered in a low voice.
“Fine. Just show us the way.”
“...You’ll spare me?”
“My cultivation’s gotten deeper lately. Let’s count the smashed table as the price of your life. In the future, run your business with a bit more sense.”
“T-thank you, Young Master!”
One of the servers hesitantly got to his feet.
“Young Master, this way, please.”
As Cheon Sohyeon followed him upstairs, a thought suddenly struck him and he called out, “Ah! And I absolutely intend to taste that bottle of white liquor you told me to take and get lost with, so bring it up first.”
From below came the sound of someone choking. Looking over the railing, he saw Jo Maenggil sprawled with his belly exposed, foaming at the mouth.
Was embarrassment only hitting him now?
Cheon Sohyeon nodded to himself.
“Still, at least he has some shame. There’s room for rehabilitation.”
“...Pardon? Young Master, what do you mean by that?”
Cheon Sohyeon snorted.
“Nothing. Just talking to myself. Let’s go up.”
Before long, the two of them entered a large room.
Come to think of it, this is my first tavern since I landed in the demonic cult.
The taverns of the demonic cult were dark and gloomy, the sort of place where fiends seemed perfectly suited to holding secret talks.
They had arrived early, before the appointed hour, and while he was exchanging small talk with Sama Ryang, a voice came from beyond the door.
“I’ll come in.”
Sama Ryang tilted his head and answered, “Yes.”
Shortly after, a middle-aged man in a white robe entered. At the unexpected atmosphere, Cheon Sohyeon’s brow faintly furrowed.
What’s this?
He could tell at a glance that this was no ordinary greeting. Judging by his complexion, the man looked quite fatigued, but his eyes shone brightly, as though filled with hidden brilliance.
What was most curious was that his gentle eyes and thick brows resembled Sama Ryang’s somewhat.
Sama Ryang shot to his feet, his expression rigid.
“W-what brings you here?!”
“Is this a place I cannot come to?”
“That’s not what I meant….”
Who was this man?
The difference in their bearing was obvious, but the aura he gave off was strikingly similar to Sama Ryang’s, much like their features. It seemed he practiced the same kind of internal cultivation.
Only after the middle-aged man sat down did he introduce himself.
“This is our first time meeting face-to-face. Allow me to introduce myself—I am Sama Hyeok, Chief Military Counselor.”