Your Son
Behind the main hall of the Murim Alliance Headquarters stood a building surprisingly modest for the private office of a faction leader.
The not-particularly-spacious room was packed tight with about a dozen experts who had been urgently summoned. Looking bored, the representatives or proxies of each sect sat around a round table. These few middle-aged and older men were the great figures who decided every major and minor affair of the orthodox Murim. And right now, they were discussing a single topic.
“The Blood Cult… It’s been a long time since I even heard that name.”
“So that suspicious fellow who was impersonating the Diamond Fist got away in the end?”
The martial artists half-doubted the sudden reappearance of a group that had suffered catastrophic losses in the old Righteous-Blood War and vanished for decades. There had been too many false alarms—traces found, tails chased, all amounting to nothing—so the mood favored caution.
“He got away, yes, but we do have physical evidence. This long needle.”
She drew out a Blood Cult identification needle that had completely discolored after being used on a corpse. Originally a token by which cult members recognized one another, it had been recovered after their near-destruction and was now used as a tracking tool.
“Ahem. Evidence or not, it’s still just an old needle and a thoroughly rotten corpse, isn’t it?”
“Hard to be certain. If you’d caught the one who fled, maybe…”
The sect elders and masters shook their heads, still unconvinced. The Shaolin contingent kept clearing their throats uncomfortably whenever the Diamond Fist was mentioned. The meeting dragged on in tedious back-and-forth without advancing an inch.
I slumped back against the chair, face already bored. I’d been called as a witness and figured I should say something, but there was no opening to jump in.
“So the bastard who wrecked my staff was Blood Cult, huh.”
Stubborn bastard. No wonder he never spilled his identity even after I smashed him in the crotch.
I lifted the beggar’s staff whose tip had been blown off, turning it into the Jiokchammabong. Meeting the wrong guy had left the Beggar’s mark half-gone.
“This thing won’t grow back even if I water it, will it?”
Murim was full of bizarre divine weapons and artifacts, so I turned the staff this way and that just in case.
“Like hell it will. You’re weird sometimes, you know that?”
Dang Yeohye, who had overheard my muttering, shot me a look of pure disdain. She’d been dragged in as a witness too and was clearly bored enough to pick fights over nonsense.
“What are you doing behind me, anyway?”
I asked the girl hiding behind my back the way Ilhong sometimes did. If anyone here was the weirdest, it was Dang Yeohye herself.
“Because of that guy. Just borrowing your back for a second.”
She pointed across the table at a sharp-eyed Dang Clan elder and ducked out of sight again. Judging by how hard she found it to meet his eyes, she’d pulled some messy stunt before leaving home.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything special.”
Which meant she definitely had.
I arched an eyebrow and gave her a skeptical look.
“Then why are you hiding? He’s from the same Dang Clan.”
“It’s… when I left the family, I kind of didn’t tell anyone.”
No wonder she’d been short on travel money and kept attaching herself to other processions.
“Ah. So you ran away from home.”
“Ha! Run away? I’m a full-grown adult! It’s not running away—it’s leaving the household to make a living!”
She was making the same kind of excuses Hwang Geolgae would. Insisting the two things were completely different, she tried to justify walking out of her house.
“Same difference.”
“You little shit. Want your next meal to taste bitter?”
Please stop putting weird things in other people’s food. Some people claimed that was her way of showing affection, but how was I supposed to take it kindly when a good meal suddenly clogged my throat?
Tsk tsk. That’s why the kids her age call her Poison Dog and she has no friends.
I shook my head and muttered under my breath.
“You bastard, you wanna die again?!”
Apparently she’d heard that too. Her voice came out loud enough that several nearby sect masters glanced our way.
“…Ahem. Sorry. Please continue.”
Looking awkward, she ducked behind my back again. Being short made her easy to hide.
“No evidence? A martial artist who trained in Shaolin’s orthodox arts used killing moves dozens of times. That can’t be normal. Isn’t that right, Young Hero Dan Mujin?”
When the higher-ups remained lukewarm, Moyong Cheonghye shot me a look that begged for backup.
“Yeah. He was as vicious as a demon. Didn’t look like any monk to me.”
“Ahem, ahem!”
Mentioning Hye-seung again made the Shaolin side look even more uncomfortable. But facts were facts. On top of that, the guy had piled up some serious killing karma—every act had reeked of pure malice. Still, that was something only I could sense, so it would never count as evidence. So I passed on the ominous rumors Ilhong had picked up at the Black Market: the appearance of a suspicious group, the bulk purchase of poison bombs, and the rest.
“As you’ve heard, the Blood Cult wouldn’t be prowling around the Murim Alliance’s biggest event for no reason. Therefore, Alliance Leader, I urge you to take this into account and make a swift decision.”
The Deputy Leader’s bold direct appeal made Alliance Leader Jeok Unyeop rub his throbbing temples. Every gaze in the room turned toward the Blue Cloud Sword, the Alliance Leader himself. As she had said, the final call rested with him.
“Hmm. The Blood Cult…”
The Alliance Leader toyed with a blue scabbard that looked as though a blue dragon had settled upon it. He closed his eyes for a moment, perhaps recalling the Righteous-Blood War he had fought long ago as head of the Namgung Clan.
“If they truly are stirring again, would they not harbor a deep grudge against the orthodox Murim that drove them to ruin?”
And right now, because of the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering, more orthodox martial artists were gathered in one place than at any other time. If they meant to hatch a plot, there would never be a better moment.
The Alliance Leader stroked his white beard and stared at the discolored needle with a complicated expression. He met Moyong Cheonghye’s pleading eyes once, then seemed to reach a decision.
“I cannot overlook the safety of our fellows of the martial world. Therefore, this Dragon-Phoenix Gathering shall be suspended until the culprit is—”
“What nonsense is this?!”
Someone objected so fiercely his beard trembled. It was Moyong Cheon, who had never doubted for a second that his second son would take the championship.
Looking as though he had expected exactly this reaction, the Alliance Leader scratched his cheek in mild distress.
“This cannot be allowed! Do you have any idea how many people have gathered just to watch this Dragon-Phoenix Gathering? A great betting market has already opened, the tournament is in full swing—and you want to cancel it out of the blue?!”
His furious roar shook the Alliance Leader’s office several times over. It was the bellow of a Transcendent Realm master ready to crush any logic or evidence that stood in his way.
“Alliance Leader! Coincidentally, none of your own children are competing this time. Is that why you’re doing this? Now that my son’s victory is all but certain, you mean to throw ash on it?!”
“…Clan Lord Moyong, that cannot be. This Alliance Leader is merely considering the safety of many.”
“Then continue it, Alliance Leader! With so many powerful martial artists gathered, would it make any sense to suspend the greatest event of the orthodox factions just because we fear some Blood Cult?”
It was true that the orthodox forces currently assembled in Shaanxi could have fought a full-scale righteous-evil war without shortage of strength. Now that they knew the threat existed, each sect could simply detach its main force and strengthen security, Moyong Cheon argued.
“Hmm…”
The Alliance Leader stroked his beard again and again, clearly troubled. Moyong Cheonghye stepped forward once more.
“However, Alliance Leader, even with defenses in place, these people use unfathomable heretical arts. We cannot even guess by what means they might strike.”
The younger generation was the future and the root of the orthodox path. If some scheme harmed them all at once, the future of the orthodox factions would be shaken.
“And they already know our full strength. Yet they still plot against us. Should we not prioritize human lives over the tournament and respond accordingly?”
That argument also held water. Several sect masters and elders nodded as if she were right.
“…Cheonghye. What do you think you’re doing right now?”
Her rebuttal had clearly enraged Clan Lord Moyong Cheon. He fixed her with a cold, furious stare.
“Why are you blocking the path of your own family?”
“It’s not that. If their blades turn not on martial artists but on ordinary civilians, something terrible could—”
“That little cost? If this is our chance to wipe out the Blood Cult in one stroke, isn’t that an acceptable loss?”
“….”
An acceptable loss. Was that the same way he had ordered her to cut me out as well? He was still a thoroughly sickening man.
“You’ve always favored the third child and treated Moyong Hwi differently. Are you doing this because of that?”
“N-no, Father. As Vice Leader of the Demon Extermination Unit, I’m simply doing my duty—”
Moyong Cheonghye shook her head hard in denial.
“Cheonghye. Are you a person of the Moyong Clan, or a person of the Murim Alliance?”
“…Of the Moyong Clan.”
This was that kind of era. A parent’s authority was absolute, and the family came before all else. Even if one served in the Murim Alliance, abandoning one’s own clan was nearly impossible. Knowing that, Moyong Cheon was crushing her opinion under the weight of a clan lord’s authority. All of it just to secure the championship for his second son.
“For now I am overlooking this deviation out of consideration for your agitation, but this cannot continue.”
“B-but—!”
I had seen this scene before. No—I had lived it myself. That was why I knew exactly how Moyong Cheonghye felt right now. The situation made me want to swear; my temper twisted, and I muttered in a voice as small as an ant’s.
“Damn old man. Nothing but greed…”
The old man I knew had thrown away house, fortune, and power to sleep on the streets and live like a free-spirited bum. Why was this one still like this?
“….”
A strange silence fell. When I looked up, everyone was staring at me.
“…Huh?”
“You crazy bastard, everyone’s a master here. They can all hear you.”
Dang Yeohye jabbed my side in a panicked whisper.
Ah, damn it. Of course.
“Truly an insolent whelp…”
Across the way, Moyong Cheon’s face had gone red and purple; he glared as if he meant to chew me up and spit me out.
Ah, hell.
“Hey. I, the one they call Poison Dog, admit it. You’re a real lunatic.”
Dang Yeohye, famous among mainstream orthodox circles for completely wrecking her social life, slapped my back and declared me something special. I didn’t feel happy about it at all—probably because of the middle-aged man currently staring straight into my eyes from right in front of me.
“Boss, it’s been fun till now.”
The former runaway ninja shook his head as if becoming enemies with the Moyong Clan—second only to the Namgung Clan in power—was a terrible idea.
Thud. Thud.
Eyes blazing, Moyong Cheon walked right up and looked down at me. It was the kind of gaze that stirred Moyong Cheongjin’s old trauma inside me; my hands and feet wanted to shrink away on their own.
“So. What exactly did you mean by those words?”
But I was no longer that perpetual coward. I’d already died once. Nothing left to fear.
“What meaning? Just what I said.”
So I rose from my seat and met his eyes without flinching.