Eun Manor Escort Request (2)
The Eun Manor transport caravan that had set out from Gangseo Province. Its destination was exactly as the owner of the Wandering Swordsman Inn had said—their main family home.
Danmok Family.
A white path righteous clan rooted in Jeolgang Province.
But one key thing to note here: not just any family gets called a "sega."
There are countless white path families in the murim world. Among them, the ones with the deepest history and greatest influence are what we call sega.
The Danmok Family was no different.
It wasn't on the level of the Five Great Segas, the untouchable pillars of the white path, but it was a major clan right below that tier.
In any case, it was a long haul from Gangseo Province to Jeolgang Province.
"What a damn long way."
It was a ridiculously distant road.
The caravan had been traveling for two full days already, and we hadn't even left Gangseo Province yet, let alone reached Jeolgang.
This fucked-up terrain, blanketed in treacherous mountains, looked pretty but drove people insane in practice.
Especially for me, who had to escort the carriages while keeping my nerves on edge all day long.
Limited visibility meant enemies could pop out from anywhere, anytime.
On top of that, this commission felt fishy as hell, separate from the fact that I'd accepted it. I'd crawled out here for the money, but I wasn't about to let my guard down mentally.
What, with all these Eun Manor warriors, what's there to worry about?
Honestly, even to my eyes, any ordinary raiders would take one look at this procession and hightail it.
But what worried me were enemies beyond the ordinary—ones that a clan like Eun Manor would hire outside peak experts for, shelling out a fortune.
If I didn't want to end up like that Bone-Breaking Ghost or your run-of-the-mill black path scum, I had to keep my shit together.
As I trailed the caravan slowly, tension unbroken, killing time that way, the sun had climbed to midday before I knew it.
"Let's take a short break here!"
The caravan's overall leader, the middle-aged warrior, halted the procession.
It couldn't have been a more perfect time for a rest. Gangseo Province was humid as fuck by default.
Move even a little, and sweat poured like rain—now with the sun high overhead. Even Eun Manor's trained warriors were drenched.
And I, who prided myself as something of an expert, was no exception.
"I'm dying here."
I plopped down a bit away from the Eun Manor group. Of course, it was a break, but I couldn't fully relax my vigilance.
This was what they were paying me five gold taels for, after all.
Drip.
As I caught my breath, sweat gathered at my chin and dropped like beads.
What, surprised that an elf sweats?
Elves are pretty, sure, but that doesn't make us overpowered cheater characters who transcend racial limits. Sometimes we're even worse off than humans.
Sweating like this was no different from those Eun Manor folks over there.
Plus, look at my outfit.
Not to brag, but my body's got some serious curves. My own damn fault for customizing it that way.
To hide them, I wore this thick, baggy changpo robe. Soaked in sweat, it felt even heavier.
Think of it like strolling around in a warm long coat in midsummer.
The inside of my black bamboo hat was a nightmare.
Cotton fabric lined every side, trapping the heat with nowhere to escape. Sweat kept flowing, but I couldn't take it off—who knows who might see.
Couldn't even flutter it a bit. One slip, exposing the inside, and it'd be a total disaster.
No way was I toppling a tower I'd built over a year just because it was hot.
Sure, it's just a face—why make a fuss if someone glimpses it?
Yeah, it might seem like over-self-consciousness, and I admit that.
But first off, I'm not human, I'm an elf. And judging from my experiences in the murim world so far—
This was no fuss.
As I flailed to cool off somehow, the Eun Manor warriors had already started eating by then.
Eating, my ass—it was just dried meat and dumplings, preserved rations.
As I eyed them, someone approached me.
"Young lady, anything troubling you?"
The caravan leader, the middle-aged warrior from Eun Manor.
Honestly, we'd only known each other two days, but he seemed pretty likable.
Calling me "young lady" every time, treating me not as some shady black path female assassin but as a Haomen gold token ronin.
Maybe it's standard for white path righteous folk, but after rubbing shoulders with black path human trash, it hit different.
Before I could respond, the middle-aged man held out a small pouch.
"You've seemed to be eating lightly, so I packed some rations. Eat as much as you like."
Damn, white path righteous again. Praise the righteous path.
The world has white path, black path, demonic path, all sorts of ways. But somehow, all the decent heroes flock to the white path.
"Thank you."
Curse with cursers, speak kindly to the kind.
I took the ration pouch with a voice and posture that shed as much of my ronin scum vibe as possible.
Peeking inside, it was packed generously.
Horse meat, pork, venison, beef—variety too. Is this righteous face-saving?
Separate issue: I couldn't eat them, so I politely tucked it away.
Thankfully, the middle-aged man just shrugged.
"So, anything troubling you? I don't think I got an answer earlier."
He was kind too, asking twice.
"Troubles...?"
Sorry to say it to him, but yeah, plenty. Couldn't pretend otherwise.
From keeping my senses razor-sharp all day to the weather and humidity. But the worst was something else.
"I could use a wash."
It'd been two days without touching water to my body.
For even a minimal bath, we'd need to head to a village, but the caravan was rushing through mountains for two straight days—what was the hurry?
Maybe dodging someone.
Anyway, my body might be murim-adapted, but my modern soul still hated feeling grimy.
Even modern folks might scoff at fussing over two days, but factor in my changpo soaked through with sweat non-stop.
Plus, pre-murim, I showered two or three times a day—obsessed with bathing.
Even after landing here, I'd somehow kept up daily baths.
For a second, thoughts of my pouch fattening up with commission pay brought a refreshing breeze.
...Five gold taels. Gotta endure.
Dig a hole in the ground—see if even one silver tael comes out.
Unlike my flipped mood, the middle-aged man nodded like he got it.
"I was fixated on your gold token and forgot. High-level martial arts, but a woman's body. Our lady back at Eun Manor loves baths too."
Woman, so OK.
It was meant kindly, but it grated. Hey, I am like this now, but I used to be a guy.
Felt like my inner masculinity got stomped.
Suddenly depressed. The middle-aged man, who'd seemed all likable, started annoying me.
Oblivious, he continued.
"Thinking back, she didn't bathe that often. We're stopping at a village tomorrow for resupply, but two days should be fine, no?"
"Personal preference."
My tone turned curt, like dealing with black path scum, without thinking.
"A taste ill-suited to a ronin. Frankly, I thought you were some noble young miss from a famed house."
He didn't seem fazed at all.
Hmph. That magnanimous air made me feel like I'd lost, pissing me off more.
Why act buddy-buddy all of a sudden? Past two days, he hadn't said a word beyond escort orders.
Ugly thought, but there it was.
Suddenly hotter, I exhaled heavily from the stifling cotton-lined hat.
"Why wear that? Even I'm getting claustrophobic watching."
He kept probing relentlessly.
Like he'd decided to grill me. No clue why the sudden interest.
"Personal preference too."
"Your tastes are firm. Sweating that much without a hint of disorder."
I tensed—how'd he know I was sweating?—but yeah, fluids dripped from under the cotton like tears.
Damn hot, huh.
"Time to move. Have to trouble you again, young lady."
"Was planning to anyway."
Mood aside, I'd taken the money—had to do the job.
Otherwise, I'd be no better than black path trash.
The middle-aged man stood.
"Haomen sent a proper person. We'll be seeing each other often, so ask if you have questions."
Questions? Perfect timing. The big one.
As he prepped the caravan again, I said,
"Mind telling me what's hidden so carefully in those carriages? Haomen said top secret."
Probably why the five gold taels.
Not off-base—his face hardened.
More precisely, a faint crack appeared in the mask of the middle-aged man, who'd balanced mature coolness and white path archetype.
"That is..."
I never heard his answer.
Shing.
The middle-aged man and I drew swords simultaneously. No need for words.
Inside my bamboo hat, my hidden pointed ears perked up.
The middle-aged man, face composed again, shouted,
"Raiders! Everyone, form up!"
Experts' senses always precede sight. Especially in fog-shrouded mountains like this.
As we drew blades and Eun Manor warriors braced—
The raiders appeared.
Five in total.
"...Mountain bandits?"
At least, that's what they looked like to me.
Who else blocks a caravan on a mountain path in broad daylight, black masks and all?
Only bandits after the carriages.
If you could call five guys raiding a procession guarded by thirty-plus elite Eun Manor warriors "bandits," that is.