Heir: Jongchil 11
Gold Pavilion
There weren't many brothels in Hanan City more famous than this one. It was a favorite haunt for martial artists with sublime skills, high-ranking officials who pulled the strings of the nation, and merchants who'd piled up gold like mountains—those who excelled in force, power, or wealth.
'That's why it's perfect for avoiding clashes of strength.'
No martial artist, no matter how shameless, would dare cause trouble inside the Gold Pavilion. Not if they had any sense left in their heads.
The brothel's greatest asset was its staggering network of connections. If an incident shut down operations here, you'd make enemies by the truckload. You wouldn't live long after that.
I'd come straight to the Gold Pavilion after the tournament. Faster than I'd expected. It was still half a shichen until noon.
'The bastard didn't pick this place just to shake off the Three Elders' eyes.'
A masked giant couldn't waltz in here. He'd chosen it to confirm my face.
Of course, I had zero intention of playing his game. I'd already prepared a way to meet without showing my mug.
Brothels weren't just for fooling around with courtesans. The Gold Pavilion boasted top-tier courtesans, but its food was elite too. To cater to its high-class clientele, the cuisine had to match.
I ordered So Hongju liquor and a light meal.
Ten nyang of silver for a meal. The place took a savage markup, as expected. If you couldn't afford that, you didn't belong here.
"Your meal, sir."
The So Hongju was decent—smooth going down, nothing like cheap swill.
The five-spice pork was thinly sliced and bland. It couldn't hold a candle to modern fine dining or the dishes head chefs in Solaris World whipped up just for me. I hadn't expected much, but it fell short even of that. I quietly pushed the plate aside.
'He's here.'
Maro entered right at noon, sans his usual black horsehair hat. Wearing that would've gotten him bounced at the door.
True to his status as the next Demon Cult leader, he exuded class. The attendants perked up around him, moving with crisp efficiency. Anyone would straighten up in Maro's presence. Anyone but me.
"Welcome, sir! Do you have a reservation?"
"Under the name Juhyang."
"Right this way~! We'll seat you at the window table."
Confirming he'd arrived, I brushed off my seat and stood. Paid for the meal and slipped out. Now I just had to wait for him to follow.
Maro sat and ordered liquor and a small bowl of noodles. No plans for a full meal—he'd be moving hard soon and didn't want a heavy gut.
He closed his eyes and extended his senses, quietly scanning the brothel's interior.
This was no place to flaunt your presence; masters could be anywhere. Broadcasting your aura would be idiotic. He probed discreetly.
'No martial artists.'
Noon meant the place was quiet. Most martial folk had headed to the Yongho Contest. Officials on government payroll were at work. The few patrons were mostly merchants.
"Sir."
A burly attendant approached, empty-handed—no tray.
"What is it?"
"Someone asked me to pass this to you..."
Waiting behind
Sparks flew in Maro's eyes. No doubt from the Twin Black Lust Demon.
"Who sent this?"
"I-I'm not sure. This morning, on my way in, some guy in a black mask said to give it to you."
"A black-masked stranger... What'd he say about me?"
"Said a fine young lord like you would show up around noon."
"......"
He'd been outplayed. The bastard was sharper than he'd thought.
Maro unfolded the note. A single short line inside.
He stood immediately. Food hadn't even arrived.
Paid for the untouched meal and headed out. He made for the vast rear garden, moving slowly, eyes peeled for any of the Three Elders' hounds. Burned too many times by their cunning, he couldn't afford sloppiness.
"You're here."
A flat, toneless voice—gender, age, personality, looks: impossible to guess.
It greeted him. Yesterday's masked man stood there, arms crossed, mask in place.
"Nice weather today."
Maro nodded.
"Perfect for treasure hunting."
"Got the map?"
"Of course."
Straight to business. Maro drew the treasure map he'd never let out of his sight and showed it. The man nodded at the chart-like scroll.
"Let's move. Treasures with legs don't stick around."
"Hold on."
Maro cut him off, pulling a talisman from his pouch and burning it with Samadhi True Fire.
"What's that?"
"Transmission talisman. Primitive magic tool."
Before even one incense stick could burn down, someone approached.
Shorter than Maro by a head. Fox mask hid the face, but shoulder-length hair and a petite frame screamed woman.
The masked man tilted his head at the intruder, seeking explanation from Maro.
"My attendant. Trustworthy."
"An attendant, huh. Odds she's a Three Elders' spy?"
The attendant answered, not Maro.
"I'd sooner bite my tongue and die than serve that slimy weasel."
Female voice—quiet but edged like a honed dagger.
"Anyone can talk big. A sly fox like the Three Elders might've taught her to badmouth him on purpose. Hell, probably did."
"I vouch for her. She can't be their lackey."
Maro spoke, and the man nodded.
"Fine. I'll buy it. Not my skin on the line anyway. Time to go."
"You know where the map points?"
"I've roamed the Central Plains top to bottom. Treasure hunts aren't new to me. Cracking maps? Piece of cake. Follow."
Maro and I reached a rundown temple—an out-of-the-way dump off the beaten path.
On Hanan City's southern outskirts, it looked abandoned for over a century. Buildings sagged, cracked, desolate.
Animal tracks and droppings everywhere. Long neglected, it'd become a beast den.
'Maro's attendant. Shows up in the original too.'
Never named, but she was canon: Maro's loyal right hand, faithful to the end. The classic devoted Alfred type in fiction.
'And she's no slouch in martial arts.'
She'd rise to become the Demon Cult's chief attendant, aiding Leader Maro in admin and protection. No dirty work too low for her.
Not stronger than Maro, but a solid master. At this point, top-tier among the righteous sects' younger generation.
'That mask cranks up the allure. Body's slim like Liena's... but that's its own flavor.'
And loyal to Maro. Prime NTR bait—no better prey.
Black desire stirred. My mind raced.
How to play this to bed her?
"This the spot on the map? Why here?"
Maro scanned around. I nodded.
"See the cross in the center? That's not a ten (十)—it's a tree (木). Faded over time into a cross."
"But what's a tree got to do with this place?"
"Check the foundation. This is Mokbi Temple—Wood Stele Temple. Used to have a millennium-old zelkova tree here. Burned in a righteous-evil clash a century back, tree chopped down."
"Makes sense. An ancient landmark like that works as a marker."
"Map's about three centuries old. Tree was old even then."
"Treasure hidden in a temple... Not out in the open, though. Someone would've snagged it."
"No point in a map if it was."
I dug at the southern foundation stones. Barely a scratch in, and it clanged—steel door buried flush, manhole-cover style.
"Leads underground. Well hidden."
Maro pried it open. Rust-eaten from centuries unused, but his inner energy forced it with a grinding screech.
"Inside."
Stairs plunged below. Maro glanced back.
He took point this time. Pitch black down there, but no issue for us.
We were all martial artists. Circulated inner power to sharpen our eyes for night vision.
"Tight and damp."
Narrow stone corridor stretched on. Mold stench assaulted the nose, fitting the vibe. Mossy floor slippery. None of us clumsy enough to slip, though.
"Long passage. Just for hiding elixirs or artifacts? Feels oddly spacious."
Maro eyed the walls, guessing purpose.
Simple basement on the surface—like a sect's underground prison.
We advanced cautiously, probing.
"No traps. If there were, they'd be busted by now. No mechanism lasts forever."
"Cocky talk. There are perpetual ones, even after a millennium."
"Exceptions."
I knew from the original. Useless telling Maro—he'd think I was nuts.
We proceeded steadily. No hitches. About ten minutes in?
The path split two ways.