The Guest Who Arrived Too Late
Sama Hyeok rose from his seat.
“This meeting has gone on longer than expected. I think we’ve said enough, so I’ll take my leave now.”
“Huh? You’re leaving already? We haven’t even had dinner, let alone the white liquor. Stay a little longer.”
He asked, sounding dazed.
“White liquor?”
Cheon Sohyeon nodded.
“Since Yuju is so proud of it, it must be first-rate. Since you’ve come all this way, why not wet your throat before you go? I’m sure it’ll be excellent.”
Sama Hyeok, who had been momentarily frozen by the sudden suggestion, spoke again.
“I’d hate to refuse liquor offered by you, Young Master, but I can’t be away from my post for long. I ask for your understanding.”
“Then I suppose there’s nothing for it. Thank you for making time in the middle of such a busy schedule, Chief Military Counselor. I’ll be in your care.”
“Yes, of course.”
Sama Ryang bowed deeply.
“Take care, Uncle.”
“Right. Come to the Military Council once the arrangements are finished.”
“Yes.”
Sama Hyeok started walking. His steps were as solemn as when he had first arrived.
But the feelings carried within them were unmistakably different now.
I’m glad I came to see it for myself.
It was an especially hectic time, so he had not been sure whether it was worth showing up in person. Now, however, there was no doubt. If he had simply sat at his desk and listened to his subordinates’ reports, he never would have believed it.
That the Third Young Master could change so much, as though he had become a different person entirely.
No—more than that, I wouldn’t even have grasped it properly.
Creak.
As he gathered his thoughts, he opened the door and stepped outside.
He’s changed. Clearly changed.
He had not shown it, but from the moment he entered the room, one unexpected thing had followed another.
What had surprised him most was that he had felt not the slightest hint of killing intent from the Third Young Master. Knowing that the boy had been born under the fate of the Heavenly Killing Star, he could not help but be shaken.
So, during the conversation, he had repeatedly circulated his power and used his eye technique to examine Cheon Sohyeon. He checked again and again to see whether some special method was concealing that murderous aura, but found no sign of it.
What was more, he had not sensed even a trace of blood odor from the tavern where Yuju had supposedly committed such a serious offense, and that naturally led him to a conclusion.
The Cheonsalseong is gone.
That alone would have been astonishing, but the Third Young Master had even voiced his opposition to the grand scheme.
If that opposition had come from the weakness unfit for an heir, he would have been disappointed beyond measure.
But the boy had offered a valid basis for his opinion and even framed it with a plausible rationale.
Even if Sama Ryang had helped him, his view of Shaolin had been entirely his own, so it was fair to say he possessed a certain insight.
So this was the reason the Cult Leader took interest in him.
The sovereign of all demons must have seen everything during their earlier meeting. That the Third Young Master’s ferocity had vanished, leaving only his brilliance intact.
It was a blessing for both the Cult and for him personally.
As he sorted through those thoughts—
...?
Sama Hyeok suddenly stopped in his tracks. The ferocious killing aura drifting through the air made his brows draw together faintly.
Then his gaze dropped toward the railing below. What he saw first were the twenty-odd servers and cooks.
“U-uhhh... I-I’m sorry.”
“We committed a sin beyond forgiveness. Please, please forgive us.”
They were pressed flat to the floor, heads bowed, shoulders trembling as though seized by terror.
Between them, a martial artist held Songumru’s owner by the scruff of the neck, suspending him in the air in a precarious grip.
“S-sorry. Our tavern just wasn’t enough for—”
Smack! Smack! Smack!
The man grabbed him by the collar and slapped his face mercilessly.
Songumru’s owner’s cheek turned at once, swelling as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“If it wasn’t enough, you should’ve prepared better, you spineless bastard. Didn’t we tell you we’d be visiting today?”
“......”
“I told you to have everything ready. What is this disgrace?”
He pointed at the wooden fragments scattered on the floor.
They were the remains of the table that had been smashed earlier. The servers had cleaned up in a hurry, but because there had not been enough time, a few splinters had been left behind.
“I-I deserve death. Please, show mercy...”
The man’s face twisted.
“If you deserve death, then you die. What’s with all this garbage about mercy?”
Crack.
His right hand tightened little by little. From the body of the man gripping Jo Maenggil by the throat, killing intent seeped out in curling waves.
“Pathetic bastard. A demon asking for mercy? Do I look like a monk to you?”
“...Khhk.”
As the agony of suffocation stole Jo Maenggil’s breath and his consciousness began to blur, a voice came from behind.
“Enough.”
The man who had been watching quietly from the back stopped him.
He was seated with his chin propped on one hand, lounging as if this were all someone else’s affair. He looked like some noble young master. His broad, powerful frame suggested formidable bone structure, and his striking features were handsome enough to make anyone look twice.
“Jingyu, what is all this commotion on such a good day? You really should work on that temper of yours.”
There was a breezy confidence to his sharp eyes.
“My apologies, Young Master.”
He was Cheon Mu-tan, the Fourth Young Master of the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult.
“Tsk.”
Jingyu tossed Jo Maenggil aside. Before he could even groan from the pain, Jo Maenggil hurriedly bowed his head again. His eyes were bloodshot as he rushed to speak.
“T-thank you, Fourth Young Master. I’m deeply grateful for your boundless kindness...”
“Kindness?”
Cheon Mu-tan waved a hand, and a razor-sharp aura spilled out around him.
“You really thought that was kindness?”
At the frightening pressure he had never felt before, Jo Maenggil’s breath turned thin, trembling as if it might stop at any moment.
“Kh... khhk!”
“Stop spouting nonsense. This isn’t the kind of problem solved with nothing more than your head.”
“...!”
At Cheon Mu-tan’s gesture, Jingyu grabbed Jo Maenggil by the hair and dragged him over.
“Yuju, more people will be arriving soon. Elders of the family, unknown old men from the borderlands—whoever they are, they’ll all be streaming into the tavern.”
“...Yes.”
“And if they learn that the price for sullying my face was only one little head, what do you think will happen?”
Jo Maenggil’s eyes shook violently, like the earth itself was splitting beneath him.
“...!”
“Wouldn’t I just become a laughingstock?”
Jo Maenggil’s face went white in an instant.
The pounding of his heart grew louder and louder. The shadow of death hanging right before him seemed to make him scream without a voice.
“A descendant of the Cheon family reduced to a laughingstock. In nothing more than a tavern. All because of you.”
Wuuung—!
The force spreading from Cheon Mu-tan thickened little by little.
His lips stretched into a long smile. Murderous intent lingered heavily beneath the cool tone of his voice.
“There’s never been a more shameful disgrace. I’m so embarrassed I can’t even carry my face around. So how do you plan to compensate me?”
Jo Maenggil shut his eyes tight and said, “P-please. Young Master, please spare me. I have an elderly mother and a young daughter at home. Anything you want, I’ll—”
“Shut up. Forget that meaningless drivel and say something that might actually interest me.”
His tone was haughty and authoritative, and though he was still young, he seemed utterly at ease with that sort of bearing.
Somehow, Jo Maenggil had ended up kneeling and looking straight at Cheon Mu-tan.
“That’s right, I’ve thought of something. You said you’d do anything, didn’t you? Then...”
Cheon Mu-tan bent his head with a slick smile.
Just then—
“That is enough.”
A stern voice rang out.
Cheon Mu-tan jerked his head up irritably.
“Which bastard is—”
Then his eyes flew wide open. He recognized the other party at a glance.
“Chief Military Counselor?”
Sama Hyeok, the Chief Military Counselor, was descending the stairs with a cold, set expression.
Why is the Chief Military Counselor here?
Cheon Mu-tan looked on, hiding his surprise.
Why had the Chief Military Counselor suddenly appeared there? Was it business with the family, or with him?
He had reserved the entire tavern under his own authority, so those questions rose naturally in his mind.
Of all times to run into him.
Cheon Mu-tan put on a friendly smile and spoke.
“It’s quite moving to see the Chief Military Counselor in a place like this. These people were being rude, so I was only giving them a warning. There’s no need for any misunderstanding.”
Sama Hyeok looked around without answering.
Tch.
He saw the Cult disciples. Each one had lifted his head just a little, looking at him pitifully. What kind of offense had they committed to end up like this? What had they done that made their lives worth less than a number?
The demonic martial world might regard a ruthless, domineering temperament as the virtue of a ruler, but this spectacle was nothing more than a sordid farce.
At that moment, the words Cheon Sohyeon had spoken earlier flashed through Sama Hyeok’s mind.
-Protecting the disciples is only natural. There’s no need to question it.
He had seen the essence perfectly: without the people of the Cult, the Cult itself could not exist.
How can they be so different?
As Chief Military Counselor, Sama Hyeok had to remain strictly neutral, but even he could not stop the questions that welled up unbidden.
Cheon Mu-tan approached him with an awkward smile.
“So, what brings you here?”
“Wouldn’t it be better to have the disciples stand up first?”
The frost in Sama Hyeok’s tone made Cheon Mu-tan’s brows twitch.
...Disciples?
What a deeply unpleasant answer.
It was annoying enough that he had called the servers underfoot “disciples,” and not even offered a proper greeting before speaking as if only his own words mattered.
If anyone else had reacted like that, Cheon Mu-tan would not have been satisfied until he had beaten them into paste. But his opponent was the Chief Military Counselor of the Divine Cult.
Grrrk.
Cheon Mu-tan swallowed the frustration surging in his chest. Looking around, he said with affected composure, “It seems the Cheon family’s instruction went on a little long. This should be enough to make the point. Everyone, get up.”
The servers and cooks, who had been stealing glances all this time, quickly straightened and got to their feet. Jo Maenggil, however, could only rise awkwardly, his tailbone throbbing with pain.
At a time like this, he should be shouting his thanks...
Cheon Mu-tan’s irritated gaze fell on Jo Maenggil.
“Yuju, are you badly hurt?”
“No, I’m fine!”
“Then why are you moving so slowly? Even if this is only a tavern, a man in charge can’t be so sluggish.”
“I-I’m sorry...”
“What I said earlier was mostly a joke, so there’s no need to take it to heart. Forget it all.”
With his back bent, Jo Maenggil said, “O-of course. I’ll carve it into my bones, thank yo—”
“Quiet.”
Cheon Mu-tan cut him off and turned his attention away from Jo Maenggil, then looked at Sama Hyeok.
“What business brings the Chief Military Counselor all the way to a tavern?”
“I had some matters to discuss.”
It was an answer that made it clear he had no intention of explaining further. That reaction, as though he were being ignored once again, stiffened the corners of Cheon Mu-tan’s mouth.
“...It must have been rather important, then. For such a busy man to come all the way to a tavern.”
“Yes.”
Cheon Mu-tan let out a dry laugh.
“Ha ha, I was quite startled by your sudden appearance. Partly because it’s you, Chief Military Counselor, but also because I’d been told there wouldn’t be any other guests.”
His gaze drifted back to Jo Maenggil.
At the rage simmering in Cheon Mu-tan’s eyes, Songumru’s owner went even paler.
“I-I’m sorry, Young Master. I failed to catch that there had already been a reservation. I immediately started taking steps to send them away, but the guest’s identity was also—”
Grit.
Cheon Mu-tan’s molars ground together inside his mouth.
“Another reservation? Then you should’ve said so sooner, shouldn’t you? If you had, I wouldn’t have had to look so disgraceful—”
Just as the low, suppressed voice began to darken the tavern’s atmosphere again—
“Owner! When are you taking our order? Did you go out to make the white liquor?!”
A bright, ringing voice echoed from the second floor.
Cheon Mu-tan’s face stiffened in an instant.