Chapter 41
A crowd had gathered in the inn's corridor. I spotted the scene from afar and ducked down below the railing.
The waiter was dressed neatly, as befitted a high-class inn worker, but his sleeves and front were stained with dark splotches that looked like splashed water. His voice carried over.
"She said she'd dry her hair herself, so we let her out."
"How was she?"
"She stayed quiet the whole time we washed her. Didn't answer questions, didn't ask any herself."
"I see. What a dilemma."
"But she had a lot of wounds on her body. From fresh ones to ones that were healing... quite a few."
"Hm. For now, pretend you didn't see any of that."
The waiter took a heavy pouch from Ma Hye-hyang, flashed a beaming smile, and withdrew.
"Call me if you need anything else."
Once the waiter was gone, Ma Hye-hyang turned to Shim Bu-gwan.
"So, she was the only one?"
"Yes. The sole survivor found amid the corpses when we first discovered her..."
Shim Bu-gwan's voice faded out of earshot, so I edged closer—only for the conversation to cut off abruptly. He shouted,
"Who's there!"
Ah, martial artists.Eavesdropping is this tough around them.
I straightened my clothes and strolled out casually.
"It's me."
Ma Hye-hyang tilted her head. "You? What brings you here?"
I grinned and bounced over. "I wanted to see the kid Father brought... but it looked like you were having an important talk."
At my sheepish words, her expression softened completely.
"I see. Why do you want to meet her?"
"She looked hurt earlier, so I brought some ointment! And she seems about my age. Um, I just wanna chat with her."
I said "chat," but anyone could tell I meant "play." Ma Hye-hyang stroked my head, finding it adorable.
"Makes sense—you must be bored with nothing to do. Oh, where's your senior?"
"Father's out—he's not in his room!"
"Really? Hmm, what to do?"
Ma Hye-hyang glanced at Shim Bu-gwan, who pondered briefly before speaking.
"Since they're the same age, she might open up more easily, don't you think?"
"But what if the child..."
"From what you heard earlier, she's well-behaved. I'll stand guard at the door. Lord Baek Ri told us to keep watch anyway."
Ma Hye-hyang nodded and turned to me. "If she doesn't like it, don't force a chat—or play—and come straight out. Got it?"
"Yes!"
I slipped through the door Shim Bu-gwan opened for me. No sign of Yahul. The room was divided into two sections, and I sensed a presence from the inner one. I licked my dry lips from nerves and took a deep breath.
It's okay. I can do this. This hasn't happened yet.
Steeling myself, I stepped inside. There was Yahul. He didn't seem to notice me enter, his gaze fixed on a small potted flower tree on the table.
Freshly bathed, he looked so much like an adult Yahul in miniature that I wondered why I hadn't recognized him before. His skin was pallid, almost greenish, and his lips strikingly red.
Drip.
A drop of water hit the floor. I glanced at Yahul's feet. The wooden planks had darkened where they were soaked. I froze, unable to twitch a finger.
All my resolve from before vanished, my mind going blank. The dripping water echoed like blood falling from a severed neck in the past.
Yahul slowly reached out. The moment his hand touched the pale pink flower bud in its rough ceramic pot, the petals withered as if drained of moisture.
In an instant, the shriveled stem snapped off.
"...!"
My eyes widened. The bizarre sight told me exactly what was happening. No martial art in the world could do that but one.
A demonic art that made even the righteous tremble and gnash their teeth at its mere name. It stole the life force and true qi of others to bolster one's own inner energy—one of the sinister signature techniques of the Demonic Cult.
Victims might survive if lucky, but most perished. Even fellow martial artists weren't spared; Demonic Cultists could have a lifetime of cultivation ripped away.
Yahul knows the Absorbing Star Demonic Art?
The shocking scene shoved my past memories aside.
So that's what happened.
I instantly understood why Yahul, sole survivor of the Cheon-gwi-jo's den, ended up imprisoned in the Murim Alliance's dungeon without fanfare.
The Murim Alliance began as a coalition of great orthodox sects. Victorious over the Demonic Cult, it grew into a massive power wielding influence across the martial world—mediating sect disputes, capturing and executing notorious villains.
Even as a child, Yahul—renowned practitioner of the infamous Absorbing Star Demonic Art—wouldn't be seen as a survivor of the Cheon-gwi-jo, but as a spawn of evil. That's why he was thrown into the Villain Valley.
I forced my stiff body to move and approached the flower tree. Only then did Yahul notice me. His glassy black eyes betrayed no emotion.
"Does Father know about this?"
Yahul blinked, then nodded.
"He knows?"
Another nod.
"What about the others?"
He tilted his head, as if to say, What others?
"The people with Father."
"They don't know."
"..."
I bit my lip. Namgung Wan was a hardliner who killed Demonic Cultists on sight. And for good reason—his mother, elder sister, and brother-in-law had been brutally slain by them. His maternal clan, the Dan-mok family, had been nearly wiped out in the war against the Cult.
Namgung Wan couldn't tolerate breathing the same air as a Demonic Cultist. If he learned of Yahul's Absorbing Star Demonic Art, he'd draw his sword in an instant.
Father couldn't be ignorant of it.
Yet he brought Yahul without telling Uncle Namgung...
I staggered back, clutching my head. Moments later, I went to the window and flung it open. The fresh air cleared my mind a bit.
For now...
I gathered my thoughts, returned to the table, and brushed the flower dust out the window—ignoring Yahul's stare. Then I offered him my handkerchief.
"If you don't wanna die, don't do this again."
"Why?"
"Absorbed qi varies in nature. You can handle it now, but as your inner energy grows, it'll cause problems."
"...How do you know?"
"Is that important right now?"
Yahul showed no sign of taking the handkerchief, so I grabbed his wrist. It tensed rigidly under my grip, but I ignored it and wiped the dry flakes from his hand.
"You're not trying to kill me?"
My hand paused. I looked at Yahul. His expressionless face murmured,
"I said I would."
"Who did?"
"The Cheon-gwi-jo."
"..."
Then—
Creak.
The door opened, footsteps approached.
"Can't stay put for a moment without causing trouble? I told Shim Bu-gwan no visitors. How'd you get in here?"
Father strode in, glanced at me, and scooped me up. His eyes fixed on the withered flower before Yahul. The gentle gaze he'd given me turned icy in a heartbeat.
Father addressed Yahul. "If my daughter hadn't seen what you did, you'd be dragged off right now."
"..."
"If you can't trust my words, there's nothing for it. If you choose to pay for your sins yourself, I won't stop you."
Father's voice held a bitter edge.
"That... wouldn't be so bad, either."