The Masked Man
The Jongnam Sect, one arm of the Nine Great Sects.
As a Taoist sect that divided the martial world of Shaanxi alongside the Wudang Sect, it counted masters among its ranks beyond all reckoning.
Late at night, while the Taoists of Jongnam wandered the grounds at an easy pace — some mulling over their insights, others simply walking off their suppers —
"What was that?"
Elder Heomyeong of the Jongnam Sect lifted his head at once. His hawk-sharp eyes bored fiercely into the roof of the Janggyeong Pavilion.
"What is it, Elder Uncle?"
"......"
At his attendant's question, Heomyeong kept tilting his head back and forth, glowering at the rooftop for a long while.
"Never mind. Let's go."
"Yes, Elder Uncle."
Soon the two men departed.
And a round, black shape popped up over the roofline.
......Still not good enough.
If Master Shin Tu had been the one watching, would the Jongnam elder have sensed even a flicker of suspicion?
Not a chance. He had no idea how strong the Jongnam elder might be, but Master Shin Tu was the man who had toyed with both the Nine Great Sects and the Five Great Families in his day, all at once.
Jin Seongun's eyes sank deep.
Strangely, he felt annoyed.
"......"
Is this really right?
After entertaining such thoughts for a moment, Jin Seongun flung his body forward once more.
Half an hour passed.
He roamed the vast expanse of the Jongnam Sect, seen by no one, covering every corner of it.
In the end, he reached a single conclusion.
Recovering the warriors' swords is impossible.
This was not a failure of skill.
What he had learned on his circuit was this: the swords of Nakhwajeong and the Cheonghae Iron Pavilion differed from the very scabbard outward.
Astonishingly, the warriors wielding Nakhwajeong blades could be counted on one hand.
Considering that the Sect's fighters numbered in the hundreds, it was a strange state of affairs indeed.
Jin Seongun recalled the talk he'd overheard from the Jongnam Taoists back at the inn.
"Right. Calling this a Luhe Sword is too generous. It's barely fit to be called a third-rate blade at best. Why do the elders even bother receiving swords from Nakhwajeong? They should just take all of them from the Cheonghae Iron Pavilion."
The Jongnam Sect held the swords of Nakhwajeong in contempt.
From what he'd heard, whenever a blade broke, they simply sent for a new one from somewhere or other.
With movements that had grown steadily more practiced, Jin Seongun swam through the open air, scanning the names inscribed above each hall.
Some time passed like that.
There it is.
The Armory.
A name about as blunt and literal as could be — and two Taoists standing guard even in the dead of night.
As it happened, the young Taoists guarding the armory were the very same ones who had stuffed their faces with dumplings at the inn while bad-mouthing Nakhwajeong.
Jin Seongun surveyed the armory for a while. Naturally enough for a storage hall, there were no windows.
"Haaam......"
Watching the Taoists yawn from his perch on the roof, Jin Seongun soon threw himself down.
He landed between the two men.
He was right beside them, and neither noticed a thing.
Tuk. Tuk.
He pressed the points where their qi and blood converged, and they crumpled where they stood.
Time was short.
Taoists were still wandering every quarter of the Jongnam Sect.
He had to finish before anyone discovered something was amiss.
Jin Seongun slipped straight into the armory.
For a storage hall, the air was remarkably pleasant, and not a speck of dust sat atop the stacked goods.
Befitting its reputation as one of the Nine Great Sects, it seemed the place was diligently maintained even in ordinary times.
Finding the Nakhwajeong swords was not difficult.
There was a single box, alone among all the others, that had gathered dust.
When he opened it, a cloud of musty dust swirled up. Jin Seongun waved it away with a light flick of his hand and looked inside.
As expected, it was packed full of swords.
Nakhwajeong swords, every one of them.
He counted — exactly sixty-seven.
For some reason, he had the feeling it might take the better part of several years for this box to ever empty.
The swords piled inside looked for all the world like unwanted burdens.
Without a moment's hesitation, Jin Seongun closed the wooden box and hefted it whole.
Even if he stole twenty, forty-seven would remain.
He didn't know the reason why, but he had no wish to leave those forty-seven behind in this place.
Soon Jin Seongun shouldered the box holding the Nakhwa Swords and stepped outside.
The Taoists were still sunk in sleep, blissfully ignorant of the ways of the world.
He gazed at their faces for a moment, gave the area around their necks a light tap apiece, and then slipped unhurriedly out of the Jongnam Sect.
An uproar swept through the Jongnam Sect.
"What — what in the world do you call this!"
Elder Heomyeong of the Jongnam Sect erupted in fury.
At that thunderous roar, the two Taoists guarding the armory scrambled to their feet.
Heomyeong stormed over, his face twisted with rage.
"So sleep was that precious to you, was it?"
"N-no, Elder!"
"And yet."
"......"
"Did you think I wouldn't see you two yawning your heads off the entire time?!"
The two Taoists had ten mouths' worth of nothing to say.
They felt wronged, somehow, but no excuse would come to mind.
It was true that they'd been drowsy. True, too, that they'd yawned at leisure all through their watch.
And yet they had certainly not been on the verge of dropping off on the spot.
"To the Hall of Repentance. At once. You will not emerge for three days."
"B-but Elder......"
"Go! Does my word amuse you?!"
The two Taoists hurriedly bowed at the waist and sprinted off toward the Hall of Repentance.
Clicking his tongue in a low voice, Heomyeong glanced around, then entered the armory.
With his characteristically hawkish eyes, he checked the contents within one item at a time.
"Nothing amiss here."
Such was the Nakhwajeong sword's standing in the Jongnam Sect. It helped not at all that the blades of the Cheonghae Iron Pavilion could genuinely be called famous swords without embarrassment.
Nakhwajeong.
Chae Gahwi and Chae Seoryeong were still seated where they had been, trading words — or rather, it was Chae Seoryeong pressing her case one-sidedly.
"I'll admit I can't just take someone's word for it that he's the successor of Elder Shin Tu."
"......"
"But you're telling him to go to the Jongnam Sect and steal twenty of Nakhwajeong's swords?"
Chae Gahwi shook her head as though she had no intention of listening. In truth, she too knew it was an impossible task.
The Jongnam Sect was no ordinary sect. It fielded hundreds of warriors, and a good hundred-odd of them were men the martial world would readily call masters.
How could anyone slip between their ranks and carry off twenty swords? In truth, she thought even a single blade would be a steep challenge.
Had it been Shin Tu, once hailed as the greatest thief in all history, perhaps it would have been possible. But his successor — and a young one at that, barely more than a boy — could never manage it.
She suspected the man might be a fraud. And should he fail the impossible test and paper it over with plausible excuses, that suspicion would only deepen.
The answer she had expected was this:
'I can't do it.'
A true successor of Shin Tu — a proper man, at the very least — would not, she believed, hide behind pretty words or empty bluster and claim the impossible was possible.
"He is unlikely to return."
Chae Gahwi said it like a verdict.
At that, Chae Seoryeong narrowed her eyes.
"Come on, he's incredibly strong! And he's an incredible thief, too."
Chae Seoryeong, who had rattled off praise that would have turned Jin Seongun's stomach inside out had he heard it, kept shooting glares at her mother.
Chae Gahwi continued.
"Even if he does come back, he'll trot out some convincing excuse and try to change the terms of the test. Seoryeong, as the saying goes, never judge a man by his face."
"Wh-when have I ever judged anyone by their face?!"
"Fine-looking men always demand a price for that face. Have you forgotten why Nakhwajeong fell to its present state, why you were made to carry on your mother's surname?"
"That's not......"
Chae Seoryeong was dumbfounded.
She knew perfectly well why her mother guarded against men — especially handsome men — with such wariness.
But she had never once liked Jin Seongun for his face.
'I mean, I never liked him in the first place.'
Before long, Chae Gahwi spoke in a voice tinged with a sigh.
"Let us sleep. Even if that man does come, if he has a shred of conscience he'll slink here shamefaced sometime tomorrow morning. That way he can at least pretend he gave it his all......"
Kuuwoong—!
A heavy sound suddenly rolled across the courtyard.
Chae Gahwi stopped mid-sentence and turned toward the gate.
In the same instant, Chae Seoryeong shot to her feet.
"......"
For a moment, Chae Gahwi's thoughts simply stopped.
Something was very wrong here. If the man were a fraud, he should not be returning now — and even if he truly were Shin Tu's successor, the same held.
Soon the mother and daughter stepped outside.
The commotion had been loud enough that every maidservant and smith in Nakhwajeong had already been roused and come out into the night.
And among them stood a masked man.
Chae Gahwi stared, eyes trembling faintly, at the box set before him. It was unmistakably the box they used whenever swords were shipped to the Jongnam Sect.
"Y-you're serious?"
Chae Seoryeong asked, stunned.
Jin Seongun only nodded once.
Chae Gahwi, wearing a look of sheer disbelief, hurried over and opened the box.
Swords. The Luhe Swords of Nakhwajeong, the very ones sent to the Jongnam Sect.
She knew the sect liked to sneer at them under the nickname of "scrapped blades" — but these were beyond doubt the same Luhe Swords that had been shipped to Jongnam for decades.
"......"
Chae Gahwi stared at the swords in silence for a long time.
She had no idea what she was supposed to say. She couldn't even make sense of the scene unfolding before her.
When everyone fell quiet, it was Chae Seoryeong who spoke first.
"How did you do it?"
Her tone was one of genuine curiosity. As a thief, and as someone who understood Jin Seongun's talent, she truly wanted to learn his secrets.
Jin Seongun answered in his usual flat tone.
"Went there and took them."
"......Huh?"
Chae Seoryeong blinked rapidly.
Before long, Chae Gahwi set the sword she had been holding down and rose from her seat. Jin Seongun asked in that same even tone,
"Will that do, then?"
Chae Gahwi looked at him steadily.
Astonishment, a trace of doubt, hope, and even respect — emotions that had no business coexisting — were churning together in her eyes.
Soon she spoke.
"......Why are you still wearing the mask?"
Chae Gahwi's tone shifted at once. If the man before her truly was Shin Tu's successor, then by rights this was only proper.
"Oh, right."
Only then did Jin Seongun remove the mask.
Everyone stared at him in blank disbelief.
Jin Seongun squeezed the mask in his hand. Hour by hour, moment by moment, the mask was growing more comfortable to wear.
He thought he needed to finish Master Shin Tu's request quickly and escape this life.
Chae Gahwi studied him for a moment, then turned to the maidservants.
"......Prepare a room for our guest."
The night was very deep indeed.
So the talking was put off until the following morning.
Early the next morning.
Before the appointed hour, Chae Gahwi set out straight for the Jongnam Sect.
As the Manor Lord of Nakhwajeong, she had traded with the Jongnam Sect for decades, and so everyone greeted her with outward courtesy.
"Manor Lord of Nakhwajeong. What brings you here?"
Elder Heomyeong asked as he received her.
Chae Gahwi looked at him with her usual impassive face, then replied.
"I've come to repair a sword."
With that, she held up a hammer.
Heomyeong's face went blank with absurdity.
"You came yourself, Manor Lord? At this ungodly hour of the morning?"
"Yes."
A bone-dry answer.
Heomyeong clicked his tongue inwardly.
'The insolent creature hasn't changed a bit.'
In Heomyeong's eyes, Nakhwajeong was a spent force — has-beens trading on the glory of their past to prop up their pride.
Now all they had left were beauties with red hair.
And yet decades ago, when Nakhwajeong had stood at the height of its golden age, it had shown the Jongnam Sect a great kindness, and the then-Manor Lord had sealed a contract spanning decades. Nothing to be done about it.
When the Jongnam Sect had fought its war against the Sanye and found itself desperately short of weapons, Nakhwajeong had divided out its swords without asking a single coin in return.
But hearts wear thin over decades. All the more so when the ones repaying that debt of gratitude are not the ones who incurred it, but their descendants.
Yet reneging on it would stain the honor of their forebears, and so they had no choice but to spend the money, however grudgingly.
"Yes, well. Go on ahead."
Heomyeong snorted and led Chae Gahwi toward the armory.
Before long, as he rummaged through the storeroom, his complexion slowly hardened.
When Heomyeong kept digging through one corner after another, Chae Gahwi asked,
"Is something missing? Counting the recovered blade shards, there should still be nearly seventy. Are there shards that haven't been sent back yet?"
When a sword broke during training, the fragments were collected and returned to the forge that had made it.
From the very beginning, when a forge and a martial faction struck a deal over swords, the price was calculated with the return of shards in mind.
If a sword was lost, or shattered so thoroughly that its shards could not be recovered, the faction instead paid the forge the value of those missing pieces.
The forge benefited, since it could reclaim the fragments and reforge them into new swords; the faction benefited, since it paid less when buying the swords in the first place.
A custom that looked like mutual gain — and one that now sat very heavily indeed on Heomyeong's chest.