Because You Are No Ordinary Guest

The Murim League Hubei Headquarters.

At the head of the Military Affairs Division, the Chief Strategist commanded a web of intelligence spanning every corner of the Central Plains. Sama Yeon, who had risen to the rank of Middle Strategist at a remarkably young age, wore a satisfied smile as she read through the dispatch from the White Sword Hall.

"So that wretch Sikmugaek is finally getting caught!"

Every time the man surfaced, he left a trail of gruesome slaughter behind him, yet because he roamed the whole of the realm, tracking him down had never been easy.

After all, the Murim League could hardly station warriors in every inn and tavern under heaven.

But now the fiend had reappeared — and this time, even his likely whereabouts were known. With the White Sword Hall Master's abilities, the pursuit was bound to succeed.

Sama Yeon was nodding ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠along to herself when she abruptly froze.

"Wait. Seongun Inn, you say?"

As if something had just surfaced in her memory, she hastily rifled through the already-sorted documents. From the densely stacked papers she pulled out a single sheet.

These were the rising stars who had recently passed through the League's doors. Precious sons and daughters of eminent clans and sects, so tidbits of information about them kept flowing into the League's hands.

Sama Yeon's finger, racing down the lines of writing, stopped dead at a single point.

"...Seongun Inn in Yichang."

The last recorded location of the young elites.

Sama Yeon shot to her feet. It was entirely possible they had already passed through and moved on to other regions. But one thing nagged at her: Baek Sang and Baek Seol's martial uncle, Oh Jeong-san, was staying in Yichang.

What if they're still there?

Sikmugaek was not the sort of devil to size up his prey before unleashing his slaughter. Had he been, he would never have been designated a First-Rank Public Enemy of the Martial World in the first place.

Sama Yeon kicked open the door of her office and sprinted down the long corridor.

"Ch-Chief Strategist! Grandfather!"

Moments later, at Sama Baek's urgent cry — the second-in-command of the League and its Chief Strategist — elite warriors of the Tang Clan, the Seomun Clan, and Seok Manor shot out of the League's main gate like beams of light.

At Jin Seongun's appearance, the young elites could only stare in dumbfounded disbelief. This was a moment that should have brought the White Cloud Sword or the Godly Wood — and instead, what arrived was the inn's waiter.

Even Baek Sang and Baek Seol, the only ones who knew Jin Seongun was no ordinary waiter, were little better. Their opponent was no random devil, but Sikmugaek — a First-Rank Public Enemy of the Murim League.

Only Seo Yugyeom's expression remained calm. He had seen Jin Seongun cross blades with the Vice Master of Salmak before, and no matter how he looked at it, Sikmugaek hardly seemed like a master who overwhelmingly outclassed that man.

In other words, now that Jin Seongun had joined in, that fiend Sikmugaek was a dead man walking.

"That lunatic smashed the place to pieces. If he knew why Seomun Ak ended up Seongun Inn's slave, he wouldn't have dared."

He blurted it out on the spot. Seomun Ak's face ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠contorted.

Jin Seongun swept his calm eyes across the interior of the inn. It was, truly, wrecked in every direction. It was hard to find a single chair or table still intact; the floor and the walls fared no better. One wall even had a gaping hole punched clean through it.

"...I'll never be able to face the elder again."

The inn that Shin Mok had painstakingly repaired had been reduced to this in no time at all, and the thought sat poorly with him.

Having surveyed the whole of the inn, Jin Seongun turned his gaze to the young elites.

Seomun Ak was fine — fear had driven him to stand far off on his own. Everyone else, by contrast, was in tatters. Baek Sang and Baek Seol's handsome faces had gone stiff and pale; Seok Tae-shin's shoulder had been cut deep and bled heavily. Tang Soyeon, having rolled across the floor again and again, stood with her hair loose and her robes torn. And above all, Seo Yugyeom's clothes were soaked through with blood.

It had been Seo Yugyeom who fought at the very front. Every time he was driven back a single step, one of the young elites took a wound. Slashed and slashed again by that crude chicken cleaver, his robes had been reduced to so much bloody rags.

"Are you all alright?"

He asked it of everyone. Seo Yugyeom nodded. With only the matter of putting down Sikmugaek remaining, how could he not be?

But to the young elites other than Seo Yugyeom, the situation felt unbearably stifling. Tang Soyeon spoke up, irritation plain on her face.

"Look, we should run for it right now and get Elder White Cloud Sword—"

She never finished the sentence.

Because in that moment, Jin Seongun's eyes, fixed quietly on Sikmugaek, sank low.

And with it, the air inside the inn changed.

He had released no internal energy whatsoever. He was simply standing there, watching — and yet a strange pressure settled over the inn like a held breath.

Tang Soyeon knew this air. Her father, the Poison King, Patriarch of the Sichuan Tang Clan — this was something she had seen from him, once or twice. Masters who had reached the Transformed Realm could turn the atmosphere of an entire place with nothing but their presence.

She was not the only one to feel the shift. Sikmugaek's face hardened.

"You're right. This is no ordinary inn."

Children of the Tang Clan and Seok Manor came here as guests, while men of Wudang and the Seomun Clan worked as waiters and cooks.

And above all—

Sikmugaek's gaze shifted to Seo Yugyeom and Jin Seongun. Even he, who had frequented every inn under heaven, had never once encountered an inn like this.

Jin Seongun gave him his answer.

"Because you're no ordinary guest."

Jin Seongun's eyes and Sikmugaek's met.

Sikmugaek charged on instinct. His senses as a warrior were screaming endless warnings of danger.

Shraak—!

The distance between them closed in an instant. Even Seo Yugyeom, to say nothing of the young elites, lost track of Sikmugaek's movement for a heartbeat.

Kaang—!

A black straight sword had appeared in Jin Seongun's hand without warning. The Taichi Sword Hyeon Un had given him somehow never felt right in his grip.

The wind kicked up by the clash of blades ruffled Jin Seongun's hair. Amid the whistling sword-wind, Sikmugaek peered into Jin Seongun's eyes. Seen this close, they stirred a strangely unpleasant feeling in him.

It was an odd thing. An ordinary person looking at Sikmugaek should have been the one feeling disgust — that was what devils were for. Yet now the current was reversed: it was Sikmugaek who felt that emotion looking at Jin Seongun, and he could not fathom why. A restlessness rose in him — he had to kill this man, and quickly.

Sikmugaek's cleaver tore through the air again and again.

Reverse Heaven Ordinary Saber.

His family-secret saber art. A name that promised to defy heaven with a humble blade — and it suited Sikmugaek perfectly. Every time he honed this art, he had imagined carving up the palace men who had cast him away.

But not once had his blade ever been turned toward the palace. That twisted fury had only ever found innocent cooks.

Precisely because it was a short, crude chicken cleaver, it conjured a speed several times greater than that of any first-rate fast-blade master.

Jin Seongun's black sword moved to meet it. Dozens of intersecting trajectories embroidered the space between the two men.

"We... we have to help—"

Tang Soyeon stammered, rare for her. When the fight between Jin Seongun and Sikmugaek had first erupted, they had meant to fight together.

But once the real exchange began, that became impossible. To put it precisely — none of them dared insert themselves into that fight.

Tang Soyeon's eyes slid sideways. Baek Sang, Baek Seol, Seok Tae-shin, and Seomun Ak all wore expressions much like hers. Seomun Ak, who had worked under the same roof with Jin Seongun, was so astonished that his jaw simply hung open.

Wait — did even he not know?

Beside the young elites, Seo Yugyeom was in his own state of shock.

He had known Jin Seongun's martial prowess.

No — he had thought he had. A genius formidable enough to trade blows with the Vice Master of Salmak. Honestly, even the word "genius" fell short, but Seo Yugyeom hadn't been able to think of a better one.

Was he not even going all out when he fought the Vice Master?

He had assumed inwardly that Jin Seongun and Sikmugaek would be roughly evenly matched. That was why he had planned to fight alongside him.

But he had been wrong. From where Seo Yugyeom stood, Jin Seongun's face was serene — and Sikmugaek's back was screaming with desperation. Indeed, Sikmugaek was unleashing saber strike after saber strike, yet not a single one so much as grazed Jin Seongun's skin.

Of course, the most dumbfounded of all was Sikmugaek himself.

He was driving his internal energy to its very limit as he poured out his fast-blade art. And still that long straight sword of his opponent's was always waiting, precisely where his cleaver meant to land.

A master reborn in a rejuvenated body?

Like the many before him, Sikmugaep arrived at a similar suspicion. If this was truly an old master in a young frame, then he had wandered badly into the wrong place. Sikmugaek was a madman — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but he had a cold, clear streak in him.

I run.

The decision came fast, and his body moved faster. He deliberately pounded out flashy strike after flashy strike, straining to enlarge each saber technique while keeping his speed up.

He tasted blood in his throat, but that was no immediate concern.

The young elites' faces grew anxious. To them, it looked as though Sikmugaek's momentum had abruptly turned even fiercer.

Then it happened.

The instant Jin Seongun's black sword stretched deep into a thrust, Sikmugaek offered up his left shoulder.

Chwaak—!

The shoulder split open and blood sprayed into the air. Gritting through the searing pain, Sikmugaek took a single step closer to Jin Seongun. The two men were now near enough to feel each other's breath.

Sikmugaek quietly rejoiced.

The man was no rejuvenated old master. A seasoned swordsman would never have permitted the range to shrink this far. Sikmugaek burst out his palm force in a sudden ambush.

A swordsman wielding a long blade could never respond in time from this position. And whether or not the man was a rejuvenated master, it remained true that he was stronger than himself — so Sikmugaek meant to buy time with this palm strike and flee.

That plan collapsed beautifully the moment Jin Seongun simply extended his open palm to meet him. Sikmugaek had made one mistake: Jin Seongun was not merely a swordsman.

Sikmugaek's eyes went round. From the palm suddenly reaching toward him, a reddish glow seeped out — and then a terrible agony struck home near his chest.

BOOOOOOM—!

Blood Demon Palm.

A plain, unadorned name — for the Blood Demon had never been a being who needed to advertise himself to the world.

Sikmugaek was flung backward outright. The young elites, aghast, threw themselves to either side. Their view of the Blood Demon Palm had been blocked by Sikmugaek's own body; all they saw was a sound like something bursting, and Sikmugaek flying.

The airborne Sikmugaek smashed clean through one wall of the inn and crumpled into the wreckage, black, viscous blood trickling in threads from his mouth.

"Kghrk!"

He tried to rise through the pain — but the sinister energy that had seeped in with the palm force had shattered every meridian and qi channel in his body.

Sikmugaek realized he would never avenge himself upon the cooks who had hounded him out, nor upon the men of the palace.

His eyes slowly closed. In his final moment, his lips stirred briefly — and with that, Sikmugaek's frame went slack.

Only one person in the room understood those last words: Seo Yugyeom. Assassins, after all, can converse through the shape of a mouth alone, even in darkness.

Seo Yugyeom approached Sikmugaek's body. After a brief search through his robes, he drew out a small book from near the man's side.

It bore no title. Perhaps from the final palm strike, one corner of the book had been burned away. But when he opened it, thankfully, the writing within was still legible.

"What is it?"

Baek Seol asked. Seo Yugyeom quietly took in the contents of the book before answering.

"A secret manual."

"A saber art?"

"No."

Inside was not his family-secret Reverse Heaven Ordinary Saber, but a lifetime of cooking.

"The man was a cook, all the way to the end."

Seo Yugyeom clicked his tongue. Every martial artist, on the verge of death, longs to leave their enlightenment to the world. Had Sikmugaek been a man of the murim rather than a cook, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thing in his breast would have been the secret manual of the Reverse Heaven Ordinary Saber.

Seo Yugyeom looked at Jin Seongun and asked,

"Can I keep this?"

"Of course."

Jin Seongun nodded placidly. It was of no use to him. If Seo Yugyeom, head cook of Seongun Inn, kept it, that was better for Jin Seongun too.

As the two exchanged this light back-and-forth, the taut air inside the inn dissolved in an instant. Only then did the young elites register, anew, that the fight was over — that the devil called Sikmugaek was dead.

And at the same moment—

"Seongun-ah!"

An old man's urgent shout rang out. The voice carried from a fair distance away, and before long the inn's door burst open.

It was the White Cloud Sword, Hyeon Un. He had run so hastily that his ever-neatly-combed hair hung somewhat disheveled.

At his side strode up a hulking middle-aged man, and at the sight of him Tang Soyeon cried out in shock.

"Elder!"

It was Dang Tae-san, the Poison Lord — one of the Grand Elders of the Tang Clan. Nor was that all. Behind him came Seomun Jeok, Clan Head of the Seomun Clan, and then Seok Won-sang, Lord of Seok Manor, one after another, while dozens of warriors arrayed themselves around the inn.

Warriors of each clan — and warriors of the Murim League's White Sword Hall.

"Are you hurt?"

Dang Tae-san asked his niece. For all his mountainous bulk, his voice was remarkably soft and careful.

Tang Soyeon nodded, and relief settled over the elder's fearsome face. Then his gaze turned to a single spot — the place where everyone was already looking.

Sikmugaek, dead, slumped against the shattered wall.

"What happened here?"

Dang Tae-san asked. And the eyes of Tang Soyeon and all the young elites turned, quite naturally, toward Jin Seongun.