Chapter 219
Chapter 219
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 61
>Chapter Title: Craftsman (2)
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“His eyes were blue.”
“What? Blue eyes?”
Blue eyes.
The term referred not only to blue irises but also to people from the Western Regions.
The people of the Western Regions lived to the west of the Central Plains.
Though there was some distance between the stalls in the plaza and the front gates and rear halls, Mok Kyung-un—having reached the realm of Fiery Transformation and possessing senses far keener than an ordinary person’s—had spotted the blue eyes peeking through the gaps in the man’s mask.
“Are you certain?”
“The eye holes in the mask protrude, making the inside dark and hard to see, but they were clear as day to me.”
“Hmm. How peculiar. This isn’t the Western Frontier or Xinjiang, yet a Westerner serves as an imperial guard in the palace.”
This was more than rare—it was unprecedented.
Though the martial world had recently opened up in exchanges and many other ways, the imperial palace remained more closed-off and conservative than any other group.
And for good reason: this nation prided itself on the Han people as the center of the Central Plains.
Hadn’t they even arrested everyone connected to the Fire-Worship Cult from the West, branding it a heresy that deceived the masses, and exterminated their families to the ninth degree?
For such a country’s palace to employ a Westerner not as a slave but as an official guard was extraordinarily unusual.
“There must be some reason for it.”
“What a casual answer. Still, a Westerner trained in martial arts serving in the palace’s Embroidered Guards alone warrants caution. Steer clear of any entanglements.”
“Understood.”
Their sole purpose here was one thing anyway.
To abduct the Castle Lord of Holy Fire Command, imprisoned in the palace’s underground Golden Prison.
Whatever baggage the man carried or motives he harbored, it had nothing to do with them.
Following the bearded man who was leading them, they soon came upon a pigsty reeking of animal dung.
The squeals were so piercing they hurt the ears.
The bearded man didn’t stop and guided them straight inside.
At this, the renegade monk Ja Geum-jeong wrinkled his nose and muttered.
“Surely we’re not here to butcher pigs?”
Mong Mu-yak shook his head at him.
“If you know nothing, just follow along.”
“You saying I should shut my trap? Hmph.”
“Tsk tsk.”
Mong Mu-yak clicked his tongue in disapproval.
The bearded man led them straight through the sty and stopped at an empty pen.
He then used a pitchfork to shove aside the pile of straw stacked there.
Revealed beneath was an entrance made of wooden planks.
The bearded man grabbed the rusted iron ring on the entrance and pulled.
-Kreeeeak!
The door swung open, revealing stairs leading underground.
Seop Chun remarked with admiration.
“Quite the clever hiding spot.”
Who would imagine a secret underground chamber concealed in a pigpen blockhouse filled with shit stench?
The bearded man grinned and pointed his thumb downward.
“This way.”
They descended the stairs.
After two levels deep, a cavern about thirty feet wide came into view.
The lantern-lit space held various tools and workbenches.
The bearded man gestured to some reception chairs in one corner of the workshop.
“The master craftsman will be here shortly, so please wait just a...”
-Tatata-tak!
Before he could finish.
Someone rushed down the stairs and ran up to the bearded man.
Judging by the bloodstained leather apron, he was a slaughterhouse worker.
“Brother Song, a word.”
At this, the bearded man excused himself to Mok Kyung-un and the group.
“Please wait just a moment.”
Gan Yang nodded dismissively.
The worker and the bearded man stepped away, whispering.
Though hushed, Mok Kyung-un’s heightened hearing—sharpened by his advanced martial realm—caught every word clearly.
“This is a problem.”
“What’s the issue?”
“The ones who commissioned that last job... they seem to have been officials after all.”
“What?”
“So we’ll need them to wait a bit.”
At their whispers, Mok Kyung-un’s eyes narrowed.
Something had gone wrong for them.
The bearded man approached, bowing in apology.
“My deepest regrets, but could you wait here a little longer? The master craftsman is delayed by an urgent delivery.”
“What’s so hard about that? We’ll wait.”
Gan Yang replied nonchalantly.
They were the ones making a request, after all—no room to complain.
Once the slaughterhouse men had excused themselves and left, Gan Yang glanced at Mok Kyung-un and the others.
“It won’t take long.”
The renegade monk Ja Geum-jeong chimed in skeptically.
“I wonder about that.”
“Pardon?”
“I overheard them talking about some officials. Didn’t you catch it?”
Ja Geum-jeong had eavesdropped too.
Gan Yang blinked.
“Officials?”
“Yeah. The boss mentioned seeing Embroidered Guards earlier—probably them.”
Gan Yang stroked his chin, troubled.
The Embroidered Guards had likely just come to inspect and collect the meat delivery for the palace.
But what was this about?
Seop Chun spoke up.
“If something’s happened to the craftsman, won’t it derail our mission?”
“Well...”
“Didn’t you say he’s the only one who can make the human skin masks in time?”
“...You’re right.”
Their purpose here was to commission human skin masks.
A human skin mask was made from human skin or pig hide, indistinguishable from a real face.
The owner of Hong Bong-yuk operated a slaughterhouse openly but was renowned in the shadows for crafting exquisitely lifelike human skin masks.
Of course, few in the martial world even knew this.
“Even so, as Demon Arhat said, if those officials are Embroidered Guards, inserting ourselves won’t help.”
“What rotten luck. Of all days!”
It was an unfortunate coincidence.
They needed to infiltrate the Embroidered Guards themselves—starting a fight now would be disastrous.
Any incident could affect their cover in the Guard Unit, ruining everything.
“Let’s wait for now. No better options.”
Everyone nodded at Mok Kyung-un’s words.
Some time passed in the awkward space.
Then, the sound of the secret underground door opening above echoed as someone descended.
The craftsman? No.
It was the bearded man who’d guided them.
But unlike before, his complexion and expression were grim.
Gan Yang asked.
“The craftsman’s still not here?”
“Apologies for the wait, but I’m afraid I have even worse news for you gentlemen.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The master craftsman can’t take any commissions right now.”
“Can’t take commissions?”
Gan Yang raised his voice.
The bearded man bowed low, voice meek.
“My regrets, but we can’t disclose the circumstances. Please, just leave.”
“What? You’re telling us to leave now?”
Gan Yang shot up from his seat, incredulous and scowling.
Frightened, the bearded man flinched back half a step.
Gan Yang pressed him.
“You’re breaking your own rule of serving those who bring tokens first? We even waited here despite arriving ahead, out of consideration for your situation!”
“I-I know, but truly, no commissions now. Even if you threaten my life...”
Mok Kyung-un spoke up.
“There’s blood on you.”
“!?”
Everyone turned puzzled stares his way.
Mok Kyung-un pointed at the bearded man’s hand with his index finger.
“That hand.”
The bearded man furrowed his brow.
Ten paces away—did he think he had a dog’s nose?
He waved it off.
“My work’s butchering. Of course there’s blood...”
“No. Not cow or pig blood—human blood.”
“W-what...”
“Not what. Besides the blood stench, there’s dried purple orchid and greater cockscomb mixed in. You did a hasty dressing.”
The bearded man’s eyes bulged.
He’d doubted even the blood mention, but naming the herbs left him stunned.
Both were hemostatic herbs used in the slaughterhouse.
They treated occasional cuts during butchering.
But mixed with blood stench? And he’d picked them out?
Shaken, the bearded man stammered.
“...How did you...?”
“Ah, I studied herbs a bit.”
“A bit?”
Everyone gaped at Mok Kyung-un.
Possible from just “a bit” of study?
The basement reeked of leather and metal, masking other scents.
Yet he’d distinguished blood and herbs from the man’s hand. Astonishing.
Suddenly, the bearded man rushed to Mok Kyung-un, dropping to his knees.
“M-might you know medicine too, sir?”
“Medicine?”
As Mok Kyung-un echoed, the man kowtowed, pleading.
“Help us!”
* * *
Between the pigsty and cattle sheds stood a building.
“Groooan...”
In one room, a bearded, leather-clad man in his fifties writhed in agony, face ashen.
Both his wrists were severed.
Slaughterhouse workers beside him bound the stumps tightly with cloth for hemostasis, but the blood wouldn’t stop.
One worker urged the suffering man.
“Hold on, Workshop Head. The physician will be here soon.”
“Haa... haa... What about Song-ah...”
“Miss Song-ah’s being fetched by Old Mok right now.”
“Song-ah first... groooan.”
“Calm down. You’ll make it worse.”
Despite the pain from his severed wrists, he tried to rise; the workers restrained him.
Then the door burst open. The bearded man led six men inside—Mok Kyung-un’s group.
One worker jumped up, shouting.
“Brother Song! What’s this? Why bring outsiders here?”
The bearded man pointed the man called Workshop Head at Mok Kyung-un.
“His severed wrists won’t stop bleeding. We called a physician, but it might not arrive in time. Please help!”
“What in the world happened?”
Gan Yang was dumbfounded.
What could have severed the workshop head’s arms like that?
Seop Chun and Mong Mu-yak both eyed Mok Kyung-un.
Unclear what happened, but he’d once reattached Mong Mu-yak’s severed arm with sorcery.
Hence their hopeful glances.
-Step step!
Mok Kyung-un approached the workshop head.
The nearby workers moved to block him warily.
The man called Brother Song snapped at them.
“He’s here to help—don’t interfere!”
They hesitated, then stepped aside.
Mok Kyung-un reached the groaning workshop head and swiftly struck acupoints on both arms.
-Tatata-tat!
Pressing the pressure points, blood from the cloth-wrapped stumps visibly slowed.
The workshop head looked up at him with gleaming eyes amid his gasps.
“Haa... haa... Who... are you?”
“We’ll talk later. Where are the severed hands?”
Mok Kyung-un scanned the room.
They weren’t visible.
A nearby worker—not the head—slammed the table furiously.
-Bam!
“Those bastards wrapped the hands in leather and took them!”
“They took the severed hands?”
Mok Kyung-un looked troubled.
Now somewhat stabilized, the workshop head rasped.
“G-guests... whoever you are, leave. We can’t take commissions or help anyone now...”
“Who took the hands?”
“What good asking...”
“If you want to save them, you’d better tell me.”
The workshop head and workers stared in disbelief.
Save already-severed hands?
The bearded man, Brother Song, interjected awkwardly.
“The ones who cut and took the Workshop Head’s hands—they’re Embroidered Guards. Even if you follow, you can’t get them back.”
“Damn it!”
Seop Chun cursed.
As suspected—Embroidered Guards.
Not just anyone, but the palace’s elite guards had severed the craftsman’s—the human skin mask maker’s—hands. No immediate recourse.
Mok Kyung-un turned on his heel.
“My lord?”
Mong Mu-yak called puzzled.
Mok Kyung-un shook his head.
“No choice. I’ll be right back—wait here.”
“But my lor—”
-Swish!
Before the words finished, Mok Kyung-un’s form dissolved like smoke and vanished.
The workshop head and workers gawked.
* * *
Hong Bong-yuk Slaughterhouse was large, but due to its nature, sat at the city’s southwestern outskirts.
The outer roads were forested, sparsely traveled.
-Rumble rumble!
A procession of meat-laden carts rolled along, trailed by a carriage and four Embroidered Guards in navy uniforms riding alongside protectively.
One droopy-browed guard on the right tsked while riding.
“What a brazen wench.”
His goateed comrade beside him agreed.
“Tell me about it. Chasing after us over her father’s hands? Fearless.”
“Brainless is more like it.”
“Can’t blame her. Who stays level-headed when it’s their parents?”
“Fair enough.”
“By the way, what’ll Heaven Fox do with her? His Lordship ordered the hands personally—won’t return them.”
He glanced at the carriage.
Heaven Fox and the girl were inside.
Then—
The forward-moving carriage halted abruptly.
“Hm?”
Wondering what happened, the guards spurred their horses forward to check.
There, a black-cloaked figure stood arms crossed, blocking the way.
The droopy-browed guard rode up incredulously, drawing his sword as he shouted.
-Shing!
“Who dares block the procession?”
The cloaked figure chuckled.
“You idiots.”
“What?”
“If I meant to tell you, why cover my face?”
“You bastard!”
-Pat!
Enraged, the droopy-browed guard leaped off his horse, slashing fiercely at the figure.
But—
-Clang!
His blade stopped dead on the figure’s index finger.
Blocked by a single finger, the guard couldn’t hide his shock.
‘An expert!’
End of Chapter 61 Craftsman (2)