Chapter 203
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 203
Chapter Title: To the Desert (3)
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Chimwon.
A city where travelers rested before venturing deep into the great desert. It wasn't as grand as the cities of the Central Plains, but a place of this scale was rare in the sands.
Chimwon had started as a modest waystation before entering the desert, but as merchants from across the continent gathered, it grew into a proper city. Perhaps because of that, it was a chaotic mix of various races entangled in complex interests.
Unlike the beggar-like Yukchil and Cheolho, Mujin's neat appearance often led people to mistake him for a slave trader.
'Wouldn't being a slave be better?'
'They at least let slaves sleep. Ah, I'm so tired.'
Yukchil and Cheolho were dumbfounded by this absurd wish. It was just talk, of course—slaves were treated no better than livestock. Especially in the desert, where they could die at any moment without raising eyebrows.
A perfect example: the slaves captured by slavers had lost all will to live, drained of vitality. Seeing them sparked a sense of gratitude for their own circumstances.
"We can't just duck into any old inn."
Even if they found a decent-looking place, they wouldn't get proper treatment. Expecting Central Plains-style inns in a desert city was a luxury. Most offered only the bare minimum for lodging and food.
After wandering the city for a good while, they finally found an inn that passed muster. The price rivaled high-end establishments, but the exterior was shabby.
Chaegeum Inn was one of Chimwon's three major inns. Unlike the previous ones, the burly, ronin-like staff didn't bark, "What're you staring at? Eat what we give you!"
They paid for a room and requested meals be brought up. The inn didn't have many rough types looking for trouble. The high prices attracted merchants with money to spare.
Still, Mujin had no desire for unnecessary fights.
There wasn't really a separate annex. Just larger rooms with bathing facilities. And yet the price matched what you'd pay for a private wing.
'They've got a real knack for fleecing outsiders.'
As a hub for travelers, they charged locals one rate and foreigners another. A hidden price list—two tiers in total.
"Let's finally take a bath."
The water basin was decently large, even if not spotless.
The staff brought lukewarm water, but Mujin didn't mind. He heated it just right with Triple Ignition. True masters adapted to any situation.
"Get in already."
"Yes, Master."
Cheolho and Yukchil soaked in the tub to scrub off grime, while Mujin used a separate basin.
Splash!
He scooped water with a ladle and poured it over himself.
Mujin's body, tempered by energy reinforcement, naturally expelled impurities. Any waste vanished without a trace, keeping his skin perpetually fresh and dry.
For him, bathing was more about mental refreshment than necessity—a ritual to feel clean and stable.
Whoa!
Yukchil and Cheolho gasped as they entered the tub.
They'd never seen him train, yet his physique was flawless. Massive builds were hard to balance perfectly. Shorter frames built muscle faster during cultivation. Common sense didn't apply here.
It never failed to impress, no matter how many times they saw it.
'Is that a hunk of steel or a human body?'
'Master, you're incredible!'
"No excess" felt cliché. It was like a roughly hewn chunk of metal, sculpted with precision. Muscles that would repel even a spear thrust at full force.
The lines from upper to lower body were seamless.
Whinny!
It almost seemed like a horse's powerful neigh echoed in their ears. As a man, he was impressively robust.
His armor-like muscles rippled with every movement. Mujin sat on a stool, exuding solidity.
'Demon King, scrub my back.'
-You mad bastard, treating me like a damn loofah!
'The Mythic Demon Essence Armor can handle it.'
-Cheonmuja would weep even in death.
With that, Mujin channeled energy into the Mythic Demon Essence Armor to scrub his back. It could morph into a slightly rough towel. No grime to remove, but the motion felt refreshing anyway.
Huh!
Yukchil and Cheolho were awestruck mid-scrub. Using a mythic-grade treasure from Cheonmuja as a scrubber—what would others say?
'If you're using the Mythic Demon Essence Armor as a loofah, just give it to me!'
'Wasting a divine weapon on Master is a shame.'
Facts were facts.
Mujin's body was far tougher and stronger than any divine weapon. So cheat-like that even without energy, it outmatched most external art masters.
With such a body, did he even need a divine weapon? If it weren't perfect like custom underwear, he might've skipped wearing it just for the hassle.
"All scrubbed? Come out. I'll get your backs."
-Don't use my sacred weapon for dead skin!
The Demon King protested, but Mujin ignored him and vigorously scrubbed Cheolho and Yukchil. The armor was perfect for it, adapting to their skin to remove only grime without harm.
Mass-produce it, and he'd sell it in a heartbeat.
Even at a hundred thousand nyang per towel.
Scrub scrub!
Grime peeled away in seconds, leaving Yukchil and Cheolho in awe. It reached spots hands couldn't, with precise control. Especially the massaging vibrations that banished fatigue.
Exquisite was the word.
It smoothed knotted areas and meridians. An astonishing scrape—mere scrubbing left them utterly refreshed.
-...You bastard, where the hell are you scrubbing?!
The Demon King complained about certain spots, so Mujin stopped. He'd gone too far for fun. Plus, it wasn't his, so casual use was rude.
'Mine's fine, right?'
-Toss it! Just throw it away!
'Why toss something perfectly fine?'
-It's filthy! Throw it out!
The Demon King wanted nothing more to do with the armor. Called the Blood Demon King for ages, but he was hypersensitive about cleanliness. Wiping someone else's privates? Revulsion surged.
'Scrubbing the important bits makes it more endearing, right?'
-Shut up!
With that venomous retort, the Demon King sealed himself in the abyss.
"So, thoughts on a mythic scrub-down?"
"Top-notch."
"Divine weapons really are the best."
"Exactly. Divine, divine, divine divine divine."
"Speak properly without stuttering."
"...Yes, sir!"
Yukchil's half-assed dodge made his hair stand on end, confidence shattered. Mujin's perfection missed no openings.
They dried off and changed into fresh clothes.
Clothes make the man—true enough. But appearance mattered just as much. Fine garb on a scrawny frame looked off.
Yukchil and Cheolho were transformed. They looked like new people. The staffer who'd come to empty the water had double-taked repeatedly.
"Your meals are ready. Shall I bring them?"
"Yes, hurry."
Two staffers bustled in, filling the table. Mutton was the star: boiled chunks like braised meat, stir-fried noodles with mutton, and soupy dishes.
Fermented sheep's milk liquor too. One sip was bitter, but it warmed the gut.
"Not to my taste."
"Lamb's unique smell takes getting used to at first."
It looked deliciously prepared, but as Yukchil said, the gaminess was off-putting. Still, hunger was the best sauce. It grew on you after a few bites.
Munch munch!
They shoveled it in. Crossing the desert meant adapting to mutton. It was the universal meat everywhere. Wild game occasionally, but adaptation would be rough otherwise.
Mujin, post-regression, was used to gourmet fare, but in his War King days, he'd subsisted on bare combat rations. Life as a weapon meant little attachment to food. Not that it was tasteless—just functional.
"How do we get to the rumor’s source?"
"We need a guide to cross the desert. The Central Plains rarely lose you, but I can't guarantee the sands."
Yukchil had guided them across the Central Plains, his beggar wanderings proving useful.
But the desert was alien even to him.
Its shifting environment was tough to handle. A mere wind could reshape dunes.
Navigating required reading stars, clouds, and surroundings. The catch: decades in the desert built that instinct.
"Hire a caravan?"
"Posing as ronin isn't bad. The issue is reaching the source."
The Great Desert Blood Palace, Red Wind Society, and Black Wind Society were hunting fiercely. Getting close was lucky enough. After the Ice White Witch debacle, tempers were high—that's why desert caravans had dwindled.
"So, get to the general area, then go solo?"
"We'll learn navigation en route."
Mujin vaguely grasped why the Sword Empress evaded capture. The area was only findable in the brief sunset window.
She never strayed far from the icy spring, the rumor's heart. Yet they couldn't catch or kill her—meaning they rarely spotted her.
Beat the rabble there first.
"Scout for a caravan."
"Yes, Great Hero Kang."
If none, hire a guide separately. But outsiders snagging reliable ones was tricky. Locals distrusted foreigners while itching to fleece them.
"Let's crash."
Tomorrow's worries for tomorrow.
If sleep delayed saving the Sword Empress, that was fate. Faster was better, but rushing rarely panned out.
Chimwon was a lawless zone with poor security. An implicit order held, dictated by the dominant powers.
Salt Sky Gang and Ghost Water Group ruled the roost.
Ronin scraping by on blade-work made it rowdy. Started as loose groups to avoid meddling, but growth led to city control.
They collected seat taxes and protection fees, but expansion hiked costs. So they shook down outsiders to cover it.
Not just anyone, though.
Border-crossers often weren't pushovers. Some fleeing Central Plains murders—rob them, and you'd regret it. They cherry-picked safe marks, luring them to quiet spots to meet quotas.
This time, bait was laid for a score. It hooked a target quick.
The lure was Galsucheon, Salt Sky Gang's Salt Venom Snake. He supplemented income targeting lucrative marks.
Never overt—merchants might boycott. But Red Wind and Black Wind chaos cut gang profits, sparking feuds with Ghost Water Group. Hence, targeting foreigners.
Galsucheon smirked at the deep-hooded figure.
"You tricked me!"
"The dupe's the fool. Surrender smooth, it'll go easy. The boys are riled up."
"Stop now. You'll regret it."
She fretted less over the peril than her disguise being pierced. It meant her cover was amateurish.
Thud thud!
Mid-argument, footsteps echoed from the alley mouth.
Galsucheon paid no mind.
Sparse traffic, but a path nonetheless. Fleeting eye contact with a hulking man passing by.
"What're you gawking at? Wanna join?"
Mujin ignored others' business. Just glanced at the crowd. The taunt meant nothing. A chill vibe caught his eye briefly.
"Hey!"
As Mujin resumed walking, the disguised woman called out desperately.
Imploring him not to just watch.
Whoosh!
Call or no, Mujin went his way. Yukchil had found a promising guide.
Hah!
The cross-dressed woman dropped her fake voice with a deep sigh. Ignored despite everything—she'd conserved strength, but now it was tangled.
"No more stalling. Hand over your goods and strip."
"Enough. Back off."
"Damn bitch thinks sweet talk's a joke? Boys!"
"No choice."
Pure white energy gathered in the woman's hand, a chilling aura sweeping the alley.