Chapter 209
Chapter 209
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 209
>Chapter Title: Hero (2)
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Late in the evening.
To report on the progress of the education reforms, Wi Jin-hak left the Demonic Education Hall and headed to the Heavenly Demon Hall.
“I pay my respects to the Lord of Ten Thousand Demons.”
Wi Jin-hak offered profound courtesy to his master, and the Heavenly Demon nodded with a pleased smile spreading across his face.
“Hahaha. Rise.”
His master had always been affectionate toward the followers, but today he seemed especially gentle, a fact not lost on Wi Jin-hak.
“Is there some good news, Master?”
“A letter has arrived from the youngest.”
“From the youngest disciple?”
He had only heard the word “youngest,” yet a pleased smile already crept onto Wi Jin-hak’s lips.
“Hahaha. I’m truly curious what brilliant feat our clever youngest is accomplishing this time, Master.”
“Hahaha. Indeed. I was quite surprised when I read the letter.”
As the two disciples smiled contentedly,
‘Wonder what aftermath the youngest young master is going to bring this time…’
Only the Silver Shadow Pavilion Lord hid his worries behind a mask of stoicism.
Those two were in positions to give orders, so Il-mok’s clever changes seemed ingenious to them.
But from the perspective of those being ordered around, the youngest young master’s mouth was the root of all disasters.
The Demonic Education Hall was in the worst shape, but everywhere else suffered just the same from the sparks Il-mok had ignited.
Starting with the Black Ghost Squad, now stuck living in the changed Peach Blossom Ridge handling dementia-stricken elders full-time, to the martial squads endlessly shuttling over the Shin River to escort children traveling between the academy and their hometowns.
With some squads pulled for child escorts and Shin River management, the remaining squads were short-staffed and patrolling nonstop.
On top of that, the An Clan and the Eight Trigrams Hall sorcerers wandering aimlessly along the Shin River all day surveying ley lines for some Shin River greenbelt development project.
And the other institutions stripped of manpower for the Demonic Education Hall or martial squads were buried in work just the same.
At least the Silver Shadow Pavilion, close to the Heavenly Demon’s direct guard, was spared such woes—a true blessing.
Those who once dismissed it as mere errand runners now desperately wanted in.
And today, the letter from the culprit of all these disasters reached the Heavenly Demon’s hands.
“Hahaha. The youngest is preaching the Divine Cult under the false name ‘Maitreya Divine Cult’ in Goro County, recruiting new followers.”
“A false name?”
Wi Jin-hak, who had been smiling softly, responded with a somewhat uneasy tone.
“No matter how clever the youngest is, hiding the great Divine Cult’s name doesn’t seem right, Master.”
At Wi Jin-hak’s point, the Heavenly Demon shared the letter’s contents.
“When people first encounter unfamiliar foreign food, they’re bound to shy away from it. So Il-mok plans to disguise it as familiar Central Plains fare to help them adapt to our teachings.”
It was the so-called “food theory” Il-mok had used to persuade Dan Bin and Jin Ha-yeon.
He also revealed the methods Il-mok used for proselytizing.
Combining “Do you know the Way?” with honey traps, even executing villains to save the masses.
“Master, shouldn’t we spread these proselytizing methods to all our Central Plains branches?”
Deeply moved by these unprecedented methods, Wi Jin-hak suggested it, and the Heavenly Demon nodded in satisfaction.
“That is the plan. But things must be done in order. The youngest aims to seize Gansu Province starting from Nanju, so we should send reinforcements there first.”
“Already targeting Nanju, the provincial capital? Just like him.”
The two smiled, anticipating how the youngest would claim Nanju and what proselytizing tactics he’d use.
* * *
A few days later.
Dozens of Heavenly Demon Divine Cult followers, secretly selected, began crossing the Shin River toward Gansu Province.
Il-mok’s activities in Gansu were top secret, known only to the Heavenly Demon, his disciples, the Silver Shadow Pavilion Lord, and a few key figures.
Within the Cult, it was merely said he’d left headquarters on a special mission.
Which made sense—they had to assume the Central Plains were gathering intel through branches just as the Cult did via its own.
And as the Heavenly Demon predicted, Martial Alliance spies operated throughout the Shin River area.
Some, as always, quietly observed the Cult’s movements.
“Everyone seems so much brighter these days.”
Others were a bit more proactive.
“Oh, that’s all thanks to the Eighth Young Master.”
A middle-aged man laughed brightly as he said it, prompting the Martial Alliance spy to compose his expression and probe.
“You don’t say. Haha. The Eighth Young Master has done so much for us.”
“Wells in the village mean no more dying of thirst, and the kids are learning to read—what more could we want? Haha.”
“Such a fine man, and I’ve never even seen his face. Truly a shame.”
“Well, that’s a pity. I’ve glimpsed him from afar.”
At the middle-aged man’s reply, the spy’s eyes flashed.
These proactive few were under special orders from the Flying Dragon Pavilion Lord.
Gather any intel on the Eighth Young Master, no matter how trivial.
“Could you describe what he looks like? Might run into him someday, and I’d want to thank him properly.”
“Hahaha. For that, sure, no reason not to tell you.”
Such conversations buzzed quietly across the Shin River region, and the spies compiled the info to sketch the young master’s likeness.
Staring at the finished sketch, they wore grave expressions.
“His mouth is generous, always beaming a hearty, refreshing smile; skin like white jade; jaw sharp as a blade; nose bridge lofty as a mountain. And above all, eyes brimming with spirit and heroic aura, naturally dominating those around him.”
That was their verbal description of the sketch.
Anyone who knew Il-mok’s real face would have made a subtle expression upon seeing it.
His eyes? Best case, indifferent; worst, hazy with life’s tedium—the classic dead-fish stare.
His jaw was “somewhat” sharp, not blade-like; nose somewhat high, not mountainous.
He wasn’t the type to grin broadly, so the mouth was off too.
Eyes, nose, mouth, face shape—all similar yet subtly different.
Those subtle differences made it a completely different person overall.
Il-mok’s face was decently handsome, at worst.
But the dead-fish eyes made him look less like a hero and more like a mildly good-looking local loafer.
The massive discrepancy arose for a simple reason.
People see what they want to see.
Those who’d actually seen him distorted their memories, overwhelmed by his great deeds, viewing him through tear-glazed eyes.
‘Our Eighth Young Master can’t look like that!’
‘Of course! His eyes sparkle with spirit!’
That’s how nonexistent spirit and heroism etched into his eyes.
Plus, rumors grow exponentially with each retelling.
His overflowing feats meant Shin River tales of the Eighth Young Master endlessly amplified.
“An incredible hero and peerless beauty, it seems.”
Before long, Il-mok’s face was rumored to be one that’d make a fortune-teller prostrate and cry, “He’s destined to be emperor!”
“Is there really a face like this in the world?”
The spies initially doubted the absurdity.
“But everyone says the same. One or two, maybe coincidence, but everywhere it’s consistent—so even if not exact, it must be close.”
With universal agreement, the spies had to believe.
“Damn. Impossible to miss if we cross paths.”
“A Demonic Cult bastard with that face.”
Just walking the streets, women would line up for such a face—and envy and rage flamed in the spies’ eyes.
“With a face like that, he’s surely a lecherous demon!”
“Before he preys on women, we must report to the Pavilion Lord.”
“Exactly! He’ll take action for sure!”
The spies burned with bizarre zeal.
* * *
A few days later.
In a modest manor in Nanju, Gansu Province, a man born with an unparalleled heroic visage awoke.
“Yawwwn.”
The hero stretched languidly upon waking, then sat up.
Still perched on the bed with only his upper body raised, he sat blankly with hazy eyes.
‘Should I just sleep more?’
Il-mok pondered like the loafer his eyes suggested.
Over twenty days since the assembly where he’d bantered with the Beggar Clan leader.
Il-mok had no pressing tasks.
Precisely, there were plenty of chores, but others handled them—no need for him to step in.
A few days after giving beggars work and pay, even those who’d initially refused started joining the Maitreya Divine Cult one by one.
Now, twenty days later, most of Nanju’s beggars worked construction at the Nancheon Society manor.
The holdouts were Beggar Clan members or those too infirm for labor.
In any case, he’d heard days ago that progress had doubled with the new hands.
With ordinary beggars—who’d begged and gathered intel—gone, Beggar Clan intel in Nanju had gotten tough.
The Hao Gate seemed to be lying low too, heeding his warning.
‘Well, can’t stop rumors among Nanju folk, so whatever.’
Holding assemblies every ten days inevitably spread word.
And those rumors boosted attendance each time.
It might get harder to manage, but Il-mok showed no concern.
‘It’s about time they arrive. Things’ll get busy then, so rest up today.’
As he rationalized heading back to bed, a voice came from outside.
“Did you cough, Young Master?”
“Young Master, people from headquarters have arrived.”
Realizing today was the day, Il-mok sighed deeply.
“Good times are over.”
Wearing his world-weary face, he got out of bed, yawned again, and sorted his thoughts.
He pondered how to use the arrivals from headquarters, but it wasn’t deep.
He’d already planned the big picture.
He needed to dump the work on them quick to reclaim his peace.
“Bring in the representatives.”
After his order, the door opened, and several entered the hall.
Spotting a familiar face, Il-mok sighed unwittingly.
“Delighted to see you again, Young Master!”
The man entered like he owned the place, clutching ink, brush, and paper.
‘Sigh. Why do the crazies keep multiplying?’
It was Seo Jae-pil of the clinic.
