Betting Her Sect and Master on It!
KWA-GWA-GWANG—!
Cho Yeong-bin, caught square in the flank at point-blank range by an ambush he had never dreamed of, went flying helplessly into a tree stump and was slammed down into the dirt with a resounding crash.
The sight of him rolling across the ground, once, twice, was a sorry one indeed.
So-yul's voice, steeped in cold killing intent, had frost crystallizing in every syllable.
"What are you? How do you know? Do you know me?"
Cho Yeong-bin, his senses scrambled by a surprise strike far beyond anything he had anticipated, coughed and shouted in a panic from where he lay sprawled.
"Gahk! What is the meaning of this? Know? I merely... merely asked, that is all. Is it not a plain matter — to one who had to escape from such a place, I mean."
Of course, So-yul had had no intention of killing him either, so she had struck with no more than the inner power of one freshly entered Peak, and Cho Yeong-bin for his part had reflexively flared his body-protecting qi the instant the blow landed. For all the racket, the damage was negligible.
He was merely in a foul mood from being smashed face-first into the dirt.
"Such a place? No — I mean, how do you know about such a place?"
"...Because I have been there. And I have seen plenty of that sort of thing in my time."
"...You've been there?"
Cho Yeong-bin was speaking, of course, of courtesan houses — but So-yul could not hide her shock at this bastard's casual confession of comings and goings from the Demonic Cult.
"Indeed. Do not all men visit at least once?"
"All men...?"
What? Was the Cult such a lax organization?
Was it truly such a soft target that orthodox bastards could stroll in and out whenever they pleased, like men visiting their own homes?
Countless thoughts flashed through her mind in the space of a breath, and So-yul went blank for an instant, tumbling into confusion.
Cho Yeong-bin, who had been anxiously reading every subtle shift in her expression, hastily dusted himself off, rose, and raised a formal fist-and-palm salute once more.
"Forgive me, my lady. It seems my overgrown curiosity led me into a rudeness. I shall ask no more about your past."
But more than any apology, what truly stunned So-yul was this: her identity as one born of the Heavenly Demon Cult had been laid bare, just like that, to a greenhorn martial artist who had barely entered the early Peak realm.
"Ah... no. More to the point — how did you know I was from that place?"
"...Does one not simply see such things?"
"...Ha."
Once more the Ring of Illusions shimmered faintly, and in the following instant Cho Yeong-bin's eyes swept over her scantily clad figure — but So-yul, missing that split-second flicker of his gaze, let out a sigh before she knew it.
She had heard that orthodox bastards were far and away better at sensing qi waves than the martial artists of the Demonic Cult, and it seemed the claim was no empty boast. Here was a man who had barely stepped into Peak, reading the demonic roots of a Flower Realm master — herself.
Should I kill him?
It had not been long since So-yul left the familiar domain of the Cult behind, and she found herself gravely weighing whether it was wise to be leaving traces of her martial arts behind in such an ambiguous place as this.
Blissfully unaware of what was passing through her head, Cho Yeong-bin ventured to speak again, cautiously.
"My lady, forgive me. From this point on, I shall bury the matter of your past entirely and never pry again."
"I don't believe you. Especially not when it's an orthodox martial artist saying it."
An orthodox martial artist, keeping a Demonic Cultist's secret?
She would sooner believe a cat entrusted with a fish and faithfully handing it back than believe a word of that.
Faced with the sharp, wary, entirely justified suspicion in So-yul's eyes, Cho Yeong-bin heaved a deep sigh.
Ah, this poor child — just how many unspeakable things did she suffer at the hands of vicious orthodox murim men, back in the courtesan house where she once lived? And afterward, did she harden herself and learn martial arts so that no one could ever hurt her again? That would fit. And armed with the skills she bled and sweated to master in secret, she must at last have clawed her way out of that place.
Perhaps it was the Ring of Illusions at work, but having reasoned his way to precisely the conclusion that suited him, Cho Yeong-bin made a quiet resolve.
Whatever manner of beast that man may be, is he not a disgrace upon the orthodox faction, a walking shame? Someday I shall find him — and he will pay for it with his life.
And so, having completed yet another flawless misunderstanding entirely on his own, Cho Yeong-bin gazed upon Gang So-yul with an expression of boundless sorrow and pity.
"My lady, not all orthodox martial artists are cut from the same cloth. I am no perfect gentleman myself, but even among their number, I am one who prizes faith and honor as dearly as my own life."
"And how am I supposed to believe that? Who's to say you won't start blabbing the moment we reach the next village?"
"Ha..."
As So-yul trained her barbed, prickling glare on him, Cho Yeong-bin lapsed once more into long and aching sorrow.
To trust people so little — what manner of life had this child led? And on top of it all, martial arts far beyond her years. How mercilessly must she have whipped herself forward just to break free of that yoke?
Cho Yeong-bin's pity for her was entirely sincere.
"Very well. I do so promise. Never shall I breathe a word of your secret origins to any living soul. Nor shall I ever again pry into your past or reopen those aching wounds. Upon the name of my cherished sect and my revered master, I swear it firmly."
"...?"
So-yul only stared back at him with undiminished suspicion.
Her face seemed to ask, And what in the world is that supposed to accomplish? Cho Yeong-bin was flustered all over again — until the meaning behind it struck him, and he could only sigh in fresh despair.
Ah! That poor wretch has survived by teaching herself, without any proper sect or master's guidance — of course she cannot fathom how weighty and solemn a promise that oath truly is!
He was half right.
So-yul did, in fact, have a proper sect and a proper master — but she rated her master at roughly the value of a dog turd rolling down the road, and her affection for her sect, the Heavenly Demon Cult besides, was slim to none. The only thought available to her was, So what? Like staking those means anything.
"My lady, you may not know this, but it is perfectly natural for a martial artist to hold his master and his sect dearer than the parents who bore him — dearer than the very heavens above."
"Ah..."
She nodded as if some small part of it had sunk in, but in no time So-yul's expression snapped right back to where it had begun: so what exactly is that worth?
At the sight of it, Cho Yeong-bin simply gave up.
She has no parents, so she cannot even understand what it means to stake them!
"I understand that you do not understand me. But to me, this oath is as good as staking everything I have. I ask only that you accept my sincerity."
Meeting the earnest eyes of the man gazing quietly at her, So-yul at length eased out of her guarded stance.
"I'll believe you. For now."
"My thanks."
In Cho Yeong-bin's eyes, as they gazed tenderly upon that wounded young soul, sincere compassion brimmed to overflowing.
And in So-yul's eyes, fixed upon the 'orthodox' bastard and his unfathomable, sinister designs, there was nothing but deep, undiluted distrust.
Their reasons were worlds apart — and yet, ironically, the conclusion in each of their hearts was the same.
I shall travel with her.
I'll stick with him and keep an eye on him.
"Then how does traveling together from here on sound?"
"Fine. Let's travel together. Just in case you decide to open your mouth about it."
"Hoo. Honestly. I told you I would not. I swore it, did I not?"
"An oath that's nothing but words isn't exactly easy to trust. Anyway — how old are you? Why do you talk like some old codger? You look about my age to me."
At that, Cho Yeong-bin flinched for an instant.
In truth he was already past sixty, but having undergone a complete rebirth of flesh and bone, his appearance could pass for the mid-twenties only by the most generous count.
"T... Twenty-five."
Cho Yeong-bin answered with forced composure.
"I'm twenty-six? Call me big brother."
"Do not lie."
"I'm not lying?"
"And stop speaking down to me!"
"You said twenty-five, didn't you? Then I'm the elder here?"
So-yul shrugged; Cho Yeong-bin faltered, flustered.
"Now... hah. Really. Is the matter of forms of address not one that cannot be settled so lightly?"
"Talking like an old man doesn't earn you an elder's treatment. Scram."
"Er... no matter how I look at you, you cannot be a day past twenty-three — and yet you persist in this?"
"It's the truth! I'd stake my sect and my master on it!"
Watching this woman fling her sect and her master onto the scales with such careless ease, Cho Yeong-bin very nearly blurted, You have neither a sect nor a master, do you? — and hastily swallowed the words.
"Haa... those are not things one wagers so lightly. And why 'big brother'? It ought to be 'big sister.'"
"If you prefer, call me big sister. It's a little skin-crawling, but fine — I'll allow it."
"That is... er... heh... heh heh heh."
In the end, Cho Yeong-bin could only laugh — hollow, dumbfounded, utterly at a loss.
When in all his life had anyone ever treated him with such preposterous, barefaced cheek?
He was the finest martial artist in the Jinsong Sect, and the younger brother of its next head.
His was a station where every soul around him deferred to him as a matter of course, and he in turn had spent a lifetime growing only more accustomed to grave speech and an expressionless face.
And yet, strangely, right now he felt wonderfully light. Free.
Yes — so what if he did? In this moment he was not Cho Yeong-bin, the Jinsong Sword Emperor ascended to the supreme heights of the Flower Realm. He was merely Cho Ja-un, a callow rookie martial artist who had only just entered Peak.
"Then how about we simply go on as close friends?"
"Friends? Ooh, that'd be a first for me."
Watching So-yul smile with a child's guileless innocence, Cho Yeong-bin found himself obliged to stare up at the sky in silence for a while, hiding the hot tears that welled up for no good reason at all.
"Oh, and anyway — sorry for hitting you back there."
"That was a strike? I scarcely felt a thing."
"You flew quite a distance for something you scarcely felt, no? You even screamed...?"
"Ahem — khem! I was merely putting on an act, lest you feel embarrassed, my lady."
"Sure you were. But can't you do something about that way of talking? A young guy speaking like an old man — it's just..."
"Truth be told, I am no fonder of your endlessly flippant tongue, my lady, but I hold my peace. Let us agree to leave that matter well alone, each of us."
And so, quite without meaning to, one of the orthodox faction's supreme masters and one of the Demonic Cult's supreme masters became friends and walked the road side by side.
Of course, at that moment So-yul had no way of knowing...
...just what sort of plight her master was enduring, all on account of her sudden vanishing.