Chapter 114
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 114
Chapter Title: A Restless Night
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Clink.
Rimon filled an empty glass with ice.
Then, from the array of liquor bottles on display, he poured a generous measure of amber whiskey and settled onto the sofa.
As soon as the glass touched his lips, a rich aroma hit him before the taste even registered.
The whiskey's signature peat smoke—aged oak and earthiness distilled into a dense fog—mingled with the amber liquid lingering on his tongue, shattering into fragments that seeped into his body.
A thick, viscous taste of time itself, potent enough to intoxicate most people with its scent alone.
But it didn't faze him.
Because he was a superhuman Sword Master.
And because he had lived for so long.
The toxicity of alcohol and the weight of years melted away all too easily in his mouth.
"Not sleeping, Princess?"
That was why.
His voice rang clear as he addressed the black-haired girl who had silently appeared behind the sofa.
"I can't sleep."
"Why? Got insomnia?"
"No, I just couldn't drift off wondering why the Sword Duke hasn't gone to bed at this hour."
"Old folks don't need much sleep."
"If it were just age, you wouldn't be up specifically tonight."
Li Chingwei smiled faintly.
After a chuckle at her sharp observation,
Rimon took a sip of whiskey and spoke in a low voice.
"The night's stirring."
An out-of-left-field remark, if ever there was one.
But she didn't flinch.
She simply gazed at him with her obsidian eyes and asked calmly.
"The Sword Master's intuition?"
"Eh, more like the gut of an old soldier who's spent a lifetime rolling through battlefields."
Rimon shrugged.
Turning his head to peer out the darkened window, he continued softly.
"When you've lived your life tumbling through war zones, some nights just feel like this—the air gets restless."
There were no set omens.
The insects might fall unusually silent.
Or the fierce wind might die down.
The stars might shine too bright.
Or vanish entirely.
Or everyday occurrences suddenly felt strangely off.
Soldiers in the trenches couldn't quite define it, so they just called it a restless night.
"The funny thing is, on these restless nights, night raids or massive battles always kick off, and people drop like ants."
"A form of precognition?"
"Nothing that fancy. Just basic human instinct kicking in."
Storms hush the winds before they rage.
Animals freak out before quakes.
Rats flee sinking ships.
The world gives warning signs for everything; we just lack the senses to catch them.
But when death's on the line, even the dullest human sharpens up—that's biology.
Rimon scratched his cheek after his matter-of-fact explanation.
"Kids these days chalk it up to PTSD or whatever."
"Since the Iron Age dawned, folks have ditched vague hunches for clear-cut levels and skills."
"Hey, better than letting quack fortune-tellers peddle 'heaven's will' and run the country."
Rimon snorted.
In the end, a hunch was just that.
Even old-timers who predict rain from achy joints get it wrong sometimes.
Basing everything on personal vibes—swayed by mood or condition—is like all-in gambling every time.
Nail ninety-nine in a row, and one miss wipes you out.
"So that's why you're keeping watch without warning me or him?"
"If it can be stopped, I'm enough. If not, alerts won't help."
"No need to shoulder it alone, though."
"Shoulder what? It's not work—just nursing a drink till it passes."
"Fair point."
Li Chingwei nodded slightly.
Then, with a soft smile, she added,
"In that case, mind if I join you in killing time?"
"Might be nothing."
"Then I get some cozy alone time with my future husband."
Win-win for her, no matter what.
Rimon chuckled at her brazen innocence.
"Do as you like."
"Yes."
Whatever thrilled her so.
As she beamed and sat beside him, filling his glass with ice and whiskey, Rimon muttered inwardly.
'What a peculiar princess.'
From the Bronze Age to now,
Even for him, who'd dealt with Seven Dragon Society princesses aplenty, Li Chingwei was a first.
It wasn't just her casually pouring drinks—natural for someone of the world's noblest blood, raised in luxury.
Her piercing insight into his thoughts.
Her occasional unexplained kindness.
Her rock-solid trust, defying all reason.
Everything about her was downright odd.
'Eh, doesn't matter.'
But Rimon didn't pry into her peculiarities.
They were birds of a feather, after all.
As long as she didn't betray him, he had no reason to dig up her secrets.
As he lifted his refilled glass, resolving as much—
[Princess, a problem has arisen.]
[I have a report to make.]
their communicators buzzed with Youin's stiff tone and Wailing's urgent voice—two men not easily rattled.
But Rimon stayed unruffled.
He downed the rest of his whiskey.
Let her refill it.
Then swirled the glass slowly in his hand and murmured low.
"So it begins."
Meanwhile, back when Rimon poured his first drink,
others were burning the midnight oil, eyes wide open—not just him or Li Chingwei.
Youin, standing guard because his revered princess was awake.
Wailing, stuck late with work.
No, someone else had gone sleepless for days, for far graver reasons.
"Still nothing?"
"I said money's no object."
"No excuses. Find a lead on that freak by tonight. Absolutely."
Click.
The elegant mustachioed middle-aged man hung up irritably.
Wang Gineung sank into his chair.
And muttered softly.
"...Might already be too late."
From the night the black-cloaked monster crushed the strike team and Ryu Gangcheol was killed,
he'd pulled all-nighters handling the fallout.
But results were scant.
He'd boasted clan-wide about capturing Ryu alive for intel, propping up the family's crumbling rep.
Losing him before any info? Disaster.
'If we snag another culprit...'
Wang dismissed his own faint hope.
Over a month of scouring with Shanghai Wang Clan and Seven Dragon Society networks—zero leads.
'Where'd it all go wrong?'
Forcing the guy into torture?
Having Ryu beat by Rimon?
Trying to nab the monster himself?
Countless bad calls, but no clear answer.
Each was the optimal play for family gain, pure and simple.
That stack leaving the clan beyond saving? Ironic as hell.
Thud!
"...?"
Mid-sigh, Wang furrowed his brow.
His elite senses caught odd commotion outside.
"Bad enough I'm beat— what's the racket at this hour?"
Mumbling with suspicion, bafflement, and fatigue, he rose, hand on desk.
Footsteps to the door.
Bam!
Lightning-fast, he punched a gaping hole through it, clamping the ambusher's throat.
Perfect ambush on his end.
Devastating shock for the attacker.
"Eek?!"
The intruder's reflexes were sharp too.
Arched back to dodge the grip, kicked the door at Wang.
Wang recoiled from shards, letting the bloody-necked foe slip away by a hair, rubbing his throat with a tsk.
"Whew, that was close, huh? Thought I was a goner just sayin' hello."
"Huh?"
That instant,
Wang doubted his eyes.
Not just his two guards, corpses in the hall.
A familiar beady-eyed youth grinning with a bloody knife froze him.
"Ryu Gangcheol?"
"What's with the face? That shocked I'm alive?"
Savoring it,
Ryu Gangcheol grinned wide.
Twirled his knife cockily and boasted,
"No biggie. Life throws all kinda curveballs, y'know."
"..."
"Get it, though. Never figured I'd stroll back after you tied me up for that joyride torture."
"..."
"So now, buddy, you're up for my turn at the knife. Karma, right?"
"..."
"...Buddy? Say somethin', yeah?"
Back from the dead, but solo banter soured quick.
Irked, demanding response, Ryu stared.
Wang gawked blankly long moments.
Then slowly raised a hand.
Rubbed his eyes.
PINCHED his cheek.
Confirmed reality with every check.
"Ha, hahahahaha!!"
—burst into roaring laughter.
His gut-busting hysterics looked so unhinged,
Ryu—who'd mocked him gleefully seconds ago—gaped in confusion, unease, even worry.
"...Buddy? Why the sudden cacklin'?"
"No, no. Just... feels like a miracle."
"Miracle? What're you on about?"
Eyes screaming "you're nuts," blatant as day.
Wang felt no rage.
Grinned like he'd won the lottery, beaming at him.
"The golden goose I thought swallowed and gone just waltzed right back in. How's that not a miracle?"