Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 32
Chapter Title: The Little Palace Lord of the Holy Fire Palace 1
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The chill of the White Flower Divine Art swallowed Yi Gon's Heaven-Annihilating Flame Technique in an instant.
Yi Gon's face turned pale in a flash.
More than the strain on his body, the mental shock of being overwhelmed by a mere youth struck him harder.
Moreover, the encroaching cold showed no sign of stopping at his hand. It soon climbed to his forearm, and his entire arm stiffened as if bereft of sensation.
Yi Gon was tasting a bone-deep despair unlike anything in his life of reigning as a powerhouse. And yet, even amid that, he thought of the Little Palace Lord.
'No matter how strong the Little Palace Lord has become, better to hold off.'
Yi Gon had but one path left.
Detonate the Heaven-Annihilating Flame Technique from within his own body.
Before Baek Moo-jin's ice energy could consume him entirely, mutual destruction was his sole remaining option.
His own body would shatter to pieces, but Baek Moo-jin wouldn't emerge unscathed, he calculated.
Besides, it would serve as repayment to the Palace Lord.
Yi Gon's gaze settled darkly.
'Palace Lord, Little Palace Lord... this attendant takes his leave.'
As Yi Gon, flustered until moments ago, shifted to a resolute expression, Baek Moo-jin's eyes changed in kind.
Yi Gon pushed his Heaven-Annihilating Flame Technique to the limit, and a red glow began enveloping his body everywhere save his right arm.
Baek Moo-jin instantly divined his intent. No explanation was needed.
'You're resolved to die. Foolish...'
No matter Yi Gon's ploy, dying together would prove difficult. At the same time, his loyalty was profoundly impressive.
At that moment, a woman's voice began from some strangely distant place, only to reach near Baek Moo-jin and Yi Gon by the time she finished.
"Left Attendant, halt immediately. That's an order."
The self-detonating Left Attendant's face wavered at the Little Palace Lord's voice.
She had drawn near unnoticed and spoke sternly to him once more.
"Stop."
"......"
The Left Attendant couldn't speak, locked in resistance against Baek Moo-jin's internal energy.
Only then did the Little Palace Lord belatedly notice Baek Moo-jin's relaxed demeanor and the Left Attendant's gravely rigid face. Startled, she uttered the unexpected.
"Master! Please stop. Patriarch Baek, show mercy for the circumstances. This happening here is my oversight. I apologize."
Baek Moo-jin regarded the Little Palace Lord impassively, then withdrew his palm force in an instant.
But the moment Baek Moo-jin's pressure lifted, the Left Attendant choked out a "Keuk!" and let his right arm drop, spewing a handful of blood onto the ground. Already overtaxed preparing self-detonation, Baek Moo-jin's chill had invaded his body, inflicting grave internal wounds.
That he hadn't collapsed bespoke Yi Gon's iron will.
The Little Palace Lord, now beside him, laid a hand on his shoulder, infused internal energy, and forced him down to sit.
The Left Attendant spoke urgently even as the force bore him down.
"I'm f...
"Don't speak."
Her internal energy surging in, the Left Attendant clamped his mouth shut. Moments later, her pure vital energy carried him past the crisis; he circulated his own to expel hers roughly. Yet instead of expulsion, his energy mingled into hers like flotsam in the tide.
Injured or not, he felt pathetic failing to resist the Little Palace Lord's internal energy.
'Yi Gon, how pathetic.'
Recalling her childhood days calling him "Master"—a title long unused—he closed his eyes briefly.
As she poured in more internal energy, the Little Palace Lord addressed him.
"You've done something needless."
Eyes shut, the Left Attendant remained silent.
2.
Baek Moo-jin watched the pair wordlessly. As Holy Fire Palace warriors tightened their circular formation, the Little Palace Lord commanded curtly without turning.
"Stop."
Baek Moo-jin glanced; the encircling men froze as one.
Only then did the Left Attendant open his eyes.
"I'm alright now."
As he rose, the Little Palace Lord steadied him. He waved off her aid burdenedly, speaking in subdued tones.
"My apologies."
Meeting his gaze, the Little Palace Lord replied.
"Anything you say will sound like excuses. I'll hear the details from Patriarch Baek to understand clearly. Left Attendant, stand by elsewhere."
He bowed.
"I withdraw. Take care. As you witnessed..."
"Understood."
She nodded as if to silence him. Words unnecessary; she knew his mind perfectly.
He took a few steps, glanced back. Advising against clashing with Baek Moo-jin now would ring absurd. She had expended considerable energy aiding him.
She wouldn't face a foe at less than peak, he reasoned.
Then it came. Turning fully, mere steps taken, he toppled forward. Alarmed subordinates swarmed, hoisted him piggyback, and lightness-skilled away toward the Jin merchant caravan.
Yet lingering men remained; icily, the Little Palace Lord ordered.
"The rest of you, withdraw."
"As commanded."
With subordinates gone, she faced Baek Moo-jin, pleading the case.
"I got word many had rushed ahead, so I followed."
Baek Moo-jin nodded blankly; she pressed on.
"I knew nothing of it. Later, the Left Attendant will be...
She trailed off before "severely reprimanded."
No reprimand would suffice.
Besides, her lifelong master in martial arts—scolding him bordered impossible. His collapse bespoke heavy wounds from Baek Moo-jin.
She stared limply at the ground awhile.
Baek Moo-jin stayed mute.
He spectated the uncanny tableau.
Holy Fire Palace is odd, he mused, yet their bond struck deep: vassal and disciple entwined.
Precisely as Baek Moo-jin surmised—lord-servant and master-pupil both.
At last, she lifted her head to him.
Absurdly, they stood wordless, eyes locked. Thoughts mirrored.
How did Patriarch Baek overpower the Left Attendant? Unbelievable.
Is the Little Palace Lord stronger than her Left Attendant?
Thus they stared long.
Solemn, yet awkwardly thick the air, bizarre the scene.
3.
An eerie vista graced the table too.
By Baek Moo-jin's wine cup lay his white longsword; by her teacup, the red one she'd borne.
At her behest, they'd shifted to this nearby inn. There, softly, she unveiled herself.
"Jin So-hye, Little Palace Lord of Holy Fire Palace."
"Baek Moo-jin of Snow Mountain Baek Family."
Ah! Peak awkwardness, perchance?
Post-greeting, faces inexplicably warmed. Her genteel apology for the Left Attendant's unannounced solo act left them thus: table interposed, stilted salutations swapped.
Baek Moo-jin nodded, wrenching words free.
"The Little Palace Lord, then."
"Yes. Snow Mountain Baek patriarch, I heard."
Silence anew.
Worse, this handsome pair's entry and murmured exchanges hushed the erstwhile rowdy inn.
Patrons aplenty, yet odd quietude held sway awhile.
"···························."
Baek Moo-jin surveyed; all strained to eavesdrop the duo.
He throat-cleared inwardly, sighing deep.
What is this vibe...
Their awkwardness? Thus: martial obsessives, fools to all else hitherto.
Opposite sex before them, words failed naturally.
Issue lay in Jin So-hye's ravishing beauty. Baek Moo-jin handsome enough, yet dimmed beside her splendor.
Her ingress drew every eye—male, female alike.
That plus awkwardness? Inn's silence, dead as mouse, inevitable.
Baek Moo-jin fared marginally better.
Wine to sip atop table.
Shame? None versus her.
Jin So-hye? Wine virgin, cornered. Tea ordered oddly, she sat uncharacteristically cowed.
She spoke.
"Again, apologies for the Left Attendant. Never foresaw such scheming. Best hear from Patriarch Baek what transpired. He'd but excuse first."
Baek Moo-jin nodded, synopsis crisp.
"En route via lightness skill, hidden weapons assailed. Toward Left Attendant too. Unsuspecting till I pursued the hurlers—then he obstructed. Revealed: Holy Fire Palace warriors."
"Ah."
Baek Moo-jin self-poured, sipped languid. She appraised him.
"Injured anywhere?"
"No."
"I see."
"And you, Little Palace Lord? Infused him earlier—sound?"
"Fine."
Nods synced; Baek Moo-jin resumed.
"You wished to spar?"
"Yes."
"Surprised hearing you'd felled veterans young."
"Really? Age gap seems slim, yours and mine."
Baek Moo-jin nodded.
"Twenty-two."
"Twenty."
Inn's ill-starred sots raged at cringe dialog, scene.
Initial din muffled them. Curiosity birthed hush; four murim folk, overhearing, swapped incredulous looks—erupted laughing.
"Puhahaha!"
"Hahaha!"
"Uhahaha!"
"What even is that?"
"What? Lovey-dovey duo... kuhaha."
"Quit laughing, assholes! Kuhahaha!"
Yet amid guffaws, one man blank-faced glared Baek Moo-jin, leched Jin So-hye with slimy, tongue-lashing eyes snaking her features.
Gaze swiveling Baek Moo-jin-ward, he unknowing table-smashed.
Kwaaang!
Bottles, cups scattered; table halved.
Baek Moo-jin pitied him straight-eyed. Undaunted glare met tongue-click stare.
A comrade scowled.
"Again?"
Others grinned, flicking eyes betwixt man, Baek Moo-jin.
Trouble brewing plain, Jin So-hye queried softly.
"Usual handling?"
Baek Moo-jin drawled.
"Dunno. Novice here. You, Lady Jin?"
Expressionless riposte.
"Usually? Kill 'em all."
Words dropped, room dead. Chair kicked back roughly; table-wrecker thudded over, loomed beside, peered down.
Bulky build.
Baek Moo-jin ignored proximity, lectured Jin So-hye-like.
"No need wholesale. Wrong way."
Her brows arched; kill-ready paused.
"Wrong?"
Staring gravely.
"Can't slay world's bugs all. Kill him, mates mob—more slaughter. Escorts, gang ilk evident. Spare sword the filth."
As she mulled, bystander's left arm arced Baek Moo-jin's nape.
Head-grab, table-smash intent.
How grasp Baek Moo-jin? Finger flicked abdomen—thud, knees floored.
Right hand shouldered, eyed Jin So-hye.
Man strained vainly. Finger technique felled; agony chill swarmed.
Jin So-hye faint-smiled first-time.
"Then, quiet disposal?"
Baek Moo-jin blasé.
"Properly, yeah."
White Flower Palm shoulder-injected. Tremors racked man. Comrades surged—halted by one sensing dire. Keen one.
Innfolk gawked alternating Baek Moo-jin, kneeler.
Jaw chattered tatatata; foam drooled mouth. Tears iced; half-gape steamed white.
"S-sp... mercy..."
Unfinished, quietude reclaimed.
Frozen rigid.
Baek Moo-jin to comrades.
"Take him."
They mobbed, lifted kneeling form—retreated.
Cue taken; wary patrons trickled out.
Baek Moo-jin fearsome; brutal-tongued woman no norm. Entangle? Scream-death risk; inn voided swift.
Jin So-hye queried.
"Ultimately, killed him too?"
Sip taken.
"Breath lingers. Probably..."
She echoed hushed.
"Probably."
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