Quiet Morning in Katon
Isilite slipped back into the annex, ducking the lingering stares of the townsfolk. She pulled off her hooded robe and let out a long, heavy sigh.
Beside her, Hwanin quietly removed his own robe. She stole a glance at him and swallowed hard.
Master’s expression hasn’t changed at all.
Ordinary human souls had been one thing—she’d seen enough of those at his side to manage—but when that blackened woman’s soul had flared several times, her heart had hammered so violently that even the tip of her urethra had tingled with tension. She’d nearly lost her composure.
Yet Hwanin’s face remained utterly unmoved. As expected of Master, she thought, and carefully took the robe he had discarded. She studied his face again.
He looked a little tired…
Even Master must be worn out after handling something that big.
Master liked bathing. He’d just finished a major ordeal, so he was tired. Doing something he enjoyed would ease the fatigue. Therefore, a bath would restore him.
The simple chain of associations formed in Isilite’s mind. She asked in a small voice,
“Master… shall I prepare a bath?”
Hwanin had already been thinking he wanted to sink into water—cold or hot, it didn’t matter. He looked at Isilite, whose amber eyes blinked as if gauging his mood, and gave a slight nod.
“Please do.”
“Yes, sir!”
She answered crisply, set the robes inside the room, and began preparing the bath with brisk efficiency. Perhaps because this was the annex of the village’s leading figure, a circulating hot-water heater was installed here as well. The steaming bath was ready in ten minutes. A quiet sense of accomplishment swelled in Isilite’s chest—she had contributed to Master’s rest.
If I keep doing things like this, someday I’ll become a truly excellent maid for Master.
The only regret was that ever since the bathroom incident in Maestig village, attending Master during his baths had become unbearably embarrassing, shameful, shy, and mortifying. She couldn’t bring herself to knock on the door.
Standing outside the bathroom where Hwanin was already half-submerged, Isilite waged an internal war—go in, don’t go in—until his voice came through.
“Good work. You should wash up and rest as well.”
“……Yes…”
By the time her hesitation ended, he had already finished and stepped out. Her shoulders slumped.
After roughly three hours of sleep, morning arrived, and the village was as noisy as it could possibly be.
“Hey there, Lord Hwanin! Are you awake?”
Hwanin had been receiving a shoulder massage from Isilite when Luararda’s shout reached him. He opened the side window and found himself looking at the bird-kin’s sly, “heh-heh” grin.
“Did I interrupt a pleasant moment? My apologies. Haha.”
“Not at all. But Luararda, are you leaving the village?”
A small pack was strapped across his back so it wouldn’t hinder his wings, and a belt pouch rode at his waist. Both looked like high-efficiency weight-reduction subspace bags.
“Hm? Ah, yes. After losing one after another to you, then to Lady Isilite, and even to Lord Emergency Food, I realized this is no time to be lounging around. More importantly!”
He laughed awkwardly, then suddenly barked, “This isn’t the time for that!”
“Last night a Soul Master came and turned the whole village upside down! We can’t just sit here—shouldn’t we go see what happened?”
“Isilite and I were present at the scene last night. There was enough commotion that it would have been impossible not to notice. But it seems you, Luararda, slept through it.”
“……The spots where Lady Isilite and Lord Emergency Food hit me… ahem.”
Regeneration wasn’t free. Hwanin, who regularly used blood-red Phase Stones, knew that better than anyone. Luararda had clearly collapsed from recovering the damage taken while sparring with Emergency Food and Isilite.
Mumbling past the point, Luararda pressed again whether they weren’t going to look.
“I’d like to rest a little more leisurely this morning.”
“Hohoho. I hear you also shared a tender time with the beautiful proprietress of the magic-tool shop? As a man, I can’t help but envy you. Well then, I’ll go check it out alone. See you later!”
Hwanin watched Luararda leap into the air and fly off. Only then did he notice that Isilite’s hands, which had been kneading his shoulders, had stopped.
When he turned his head, she hastily hid her sulky expression and resumed massaging as if she had never paused.
“…….”
“…….”
Isilite tried to keep a calm, composed face, but under Hwanin’s steady gaze the façade began to crack. Her eyes wavered like a puppy that had just been caught misbehaving. Hwanin gave a short chuckle and closed the side window.
“I’ll rest alone for a while. Go down into the village and take the pulse of the atmosphere.”
“Yes… I’ll be back soon, Master.”
Her face flushed scarlet as though her inner thoughts had been laid bare. She left the room. Hwanin waited until the door shut and her footsteps faded, then exhaled a long breath.
He looked down at his open palms, closed his eyes, and clenched both fists.
Warmth and chill flowing along his spine responded to his concentration, sending energy into his hands. A faint heat and cold condensed around his clenched fists. When he opened his eyes, both arms had turned black—exactly like the blackened woman’s soul from the night before.
Rolling up his sleeves revealed the darkness spreading all the way past his elbows, as though he had dipped them in ink. His left hand was veiled in a hazy shimmer of heat, his right in a soft mist of cold, each radiating its respective energy.
“…….”
Chirp—tweet-tweet.
Birdsong drifted through the light-filtering paper window. No human presence nearby.
Hwanin stepped outside, picked up a small stone at his feet, and flicked it. The pebble struck a little bird perched on a branch and brought it down. As the bird flopped on the ground, he covered it with his left hand—the one wreathed in cold. It gave a single convulsive twitch, then went still, beak slightly open, panting shallowly.
When he covered it with his heat-wreathed right hand, the bird sprang up as if it had never been winded and fluttered away.
Vital energy absorption and release.
The technique he had gained after absorbing the light orb left behind by the woman’s soul that had turned blue the previous night.
It required no soul orbs to use. Like hearing the voices of souls or soul vision, it was a passive skill that could simply be switched on or off.
The method was simple.
To absorb vital energy, touch with the hand holding cold. To release it, touch with the hand holding heat.
There was no distinction between left and right—any contact would do.
Hwanin blackened only his right hand, filled it with cold, and laid it against a white tree.
So it doesn’t work on plants.
A quick experiment taught him that vital energy could be taken only from living, moving creatures—excluding plants. It was also a different energy from the spiritual essence women carried in their chests and bellies, and different from the warmth flowing through his own body.
Vital energy absorption merely restored stamina when he was tired. Release simply shared his own physical strength.
Useful enough.
Absorption did consume a little of his warmth, but not a large amount.
Blood-red Phase Stones also restored stamina and energy, yet they expended the body’s own vitality. This ability, by contrast, stole vital energy from others, so its applications were broader.
He could drain an enemy’s strength until they could no longer fight, or plunder someone else’s vitality when he himself was exhausted.
The exchange rate between his warmth and absorbed vital energy still needed testing, but it didn’t seem poor. With frequent use the ratio would improve as he grew accustomed to it.
If only I could absorb from a distance…
The need for physical contact was the sole regret.
Word had already spread that the Soul Master who visited the village had resolved the murder-and-secret-burial case and departed at once.
Even so, the village atmosphere remained unsettled.
It wasn’t because four thugs had died. Those men had caused nothing but trouble day after day, irritating the townsfolk; some people even spat and said it was good riddance.
What truly disturbed the village was that the youngest son of the Freehold Apostle—who had devoted decades of service to the community—had been involved in the crime and lost his life as well.
The Apostle’s youngest son had not been a bad person by nature.
In a kind light he was simple-hearted, unable to refuse others’ requests. In a harsher light he was indecisive and easily swayed.
That very trait had made him a target for the thugs.
They had used his personality to drag him into their gang, and whenever they committed wrongs they leaned on his status as the Apostle’s son so that serious punishments were reduced to light scoldings.
The Apostle and his wife had suffered greatly because of it. Recently the boy had finally cut ties with the thugs, and they had begun to hope he had come to his senses…
“That’s why the mood is so heavy. Freehold Apostle seems ready to resign his post and return to Parhist.”
None of that concerned Hwanin.
A crime had been committed, the perfect cover had failed, and the truth had come out. Punishment was the natural result.
“Has interest in the Soul Master died down?”
“Yes. Everyone believes he left at dawn. Even the maids in the main house showed no sign of suspicion.”
Isilite shared a similar view.
In fact, when she thought about what the youngest son—Aint—had done, her old bandit-leader temper threatened to flare, and she had to struggle to keep it in check.
Aint had begun distancing himself from the thugs right after he raped and murdered that woman—exactly when the villagers’ whispers started.
What did it mean that he only pulled away after killing someone? That the shock and fear of murder had finally driven him to put distance between them?
Idiot. If you thought you’d done wrong, you should have run straight to the patrol post and confessed, or used your father’s influence to fix it somehow.
Did he really believe that if he just kept his mouth shut the deed would vanish?
Unpleasant feelings threatened to show on her face, so Isilite quickly rubbed her cheeks. In front of Master she wanted to keep only a pretty expression…
“…….”
“…….”
…but the vigorous rubbing left her face a complete mess, and Hwanin caught her at it.
“……If you’re tired… go inside and rest.”
“Ah, no, I’m fine…”
She lowered her hands sheepishly, shedding tears of blood inwardly. Unable to remain presentable in front of Hwanin any longer, she blurted, “I’m going to learn leather-tanning!” and bolted from the annex.
Hwanin could not quite understand why she was acting that way.
Lately there were moments when he could no longer read what Isilite was thinking.
Just now, why had she scrubbed her face so roughly with both hands?
Physical fatigue? Given her stamina, that was nearly zero. Mental fatigue? That was the kind of exhaustion least suited to Isilite.
He gave a small shake of his head and set off toward the village himself.
At the pavilion in front of the main house, Mundo and Storey were sitting. He inclined his head slightly; they returned the gesture.
Luararda left Katon village after breakfast.
Kantwi regretted the early departure, but Luararda soothed him by saying he had keenly felt the inadequacy of his training and was returning to train further, promising to visit again if the chance arose.
Not long after, Asen also left the village, following almost the same reasoning.
“Seeing you, Hwanin, made me realize I can’t be satisfied with the present. I want to reach Parhist a little earlier and run the labyrinth at least once more.”
“With that mindset you’ll perform above average wherever you go.”
“You don’t give empty, feel-good encouragement, do you… Well, that does sound like you.”
Asen chuckled, shook Hwanin’s hand, and departed.
Two guests had left, yet Kantwi showed little regret. More accurately, he was too busy to display any.
Because of the night’s events, the village merchants’ association had convened at dawn, and several major agenda items had poured out one after another.
From overhauling the village security system, to intensifying patrols so such an incident never recurred, to blanketing the village in ilail flowers, to scrutinizing every outsider more carefully…
After more than three hours of meeting, Kantwi had briefly returned to prepare an extravagant breakfast for Hwanin once he learned the man was a Soul Master. The moment the meal and the farewells to Luararda and Asen were finished, he hurried straight back to the association.
“…….”
What lingered in Hwanin’s mind was the reaction Kantwi had shown before leaving.
“We are taking every possible precaution so that your identity remains hidden, Lord Hwanin. Please conduct your business at ease.”
Kantwi’s demeanor had been excessively deferential—almost like a Catholic believer standing before the Pope.
No matter how I look at it, my abilities seem alien to the ordinary ranks of Soul Masters.
He understood the reaction stemmed from being known as a high-ranking Soul Master. Yet his spiritual powers themselves had barely grown.
The offensive power of his techniques improved little by little through steady training, but beyond that there was almost nothing.
Nevertheless, people’s evaluation had shifted from “ordinary Soul Master” to “extraordinary Soul Master.” In other words, his abilities simply ignored the ranking system this world’s Soul Masters used.
“…….”
After a brief consideration Hwanin dismissed the thought.
Irregular awakeners existed in this world as well—hybrid classes such as Magic Warriors who mixed mage and warrior, or Martial Artists who mixed warrior and striker. If he simply claimed his class was a hybrid of Soul Master and something else, nine out of ten people would accept it and move on.
More important was…
No one knows anything about a brown fox-kin man named Marte.
Kantwi had mobilized the patrol using the facial sketch Hwanin had drawn, yet so far not a single villager claimed to remember Marte.
A cautious bastard. Finding him will take time.
That did not mean Hwanin intended to let the matter drop. He would find the man and eliminate him without fail.
Listening to the clusters of people still discussing the previous night, Hwanin arrived at Yurpa’s magic-tool shop. He stared at the sign hanging on the door.
CLOSED FOR THE DAY
She wouldn’t be doing this just to mess with him…
Come to think of it, she said she was donating a huge sum to the village prosperity fund. Maybe she was summoned to the merchants’ meeting.
He turned to leave when rapid footsteps pounded inside the shop. The door flew open and Yurpa, wrapped in a blue-gray French robe, leaned out.
“Come in, quickly!”
She practically dragged Hwanin inside, then poked only her head out to scan the street before slamming the door shut. Her palm brushed the doorknob and released it. Blue lines like veins spread across the door from the knob, flashed once, and vanished.
The effect was immediate. Every sound from outside was perfectly sealed away.
A soundproof barrier?
“Now we won’t be disturbed.”
Yurpa slipped her arm through his and led him deeper into the shop, smiling sweetly. She rested her head lightly against his shoulder and murmured with open satisfaction,
“Mmm~. Your height is just right. Not too tall like a beanpole, not too short.”
Her voice was thick with excitement. Hwanin remained silent for a moment, feeling the soft, full press of her breast against his elbow, then spoke.
“……Do you have any idea what happened last night?”
“Hm? Something happened?”
He was almost speechless. The riverside where the interrogation and public condemnation had taken place was right near the magic-tool shop. From the window one could see the very spot. Crowds had murmured and shouted, the thugs had screamed and howled—yet she claimed not to know?
Reading his incredulous expression, Yurpa cupped one cheek in embarrassment and muttered,
“You held me so fiercely last night… After you left I tried to brew a few potions and just passed out. When I came to it was already dawn.”
She confessed shyly that she had washed, dressed, and waited for him. A faint floral scent rose from her carefully arranged hair.
“So what exactly happened at night?”
“A Soul Master purified an evil spirit and uncovered the criminals who had raped and murdered a woman. By the time the punishments ended, nearly the entire village had gathered.”
“What? Punishment? For rape-murder it would be hanging at the very least. Did they use a guillotine?”
“No guillotine—only the gallows. Afterward the bodies were quartered and discarded outside the village.”
“Ahh! Ahh… I missed a chance to obtain high-quality grudge blood. What a shame.”
“So the blood of executed prisoners is used in crafting magic tools as well.”
“More precisely, plants that grow by feeding on blood steeped in resentment become ingredients for magical reagents.”
As she spoke they reached a bedroom of about ten pyeong that seemed to be hers.
A large canopy bed occupied a full quarter of the room. Shelves holding modest art pieces, a vanity crowded with cosmetics, and several small cabinets lined the walls. Everything—walls, ceiling, floor, furniture—was done in warm amber tones, with a deep-red carpet covering the floor, giving the whole space a cozy feel.
“It’s a little dark.”
“Do you prefer it bright?”
Yurpa snapped her fingers. The glass chandelier on the ceiling flared to life, flooding the room with light.
Then she shrugged off the French robe that looked like a bathrobe, revealing an utterly lewd string lingerie set.
It completely ignored the fundamental purpose of underwear, shamelessly exposing the deep valleys of her breasts and the cleft between her thighs.
Yurpa pinched one nipple hard between thumb and forefinger, then released it with a snap. The bud stiffened visibly under the sharp stimulation. Catching Hwanin’s gaze fixed on it, she smiled with pure carnal allure.
From a colorful, girlish pouch by the bedside she began pulling out bottles one after another.
Faintly glowing red, yellow, and blue potions.
High-grade general recovery, high-grade general vitality, and high-grade general phase-force auxiliary potions lined up on the nightstand by type. Forty bottles in total.
“How’s this? With these you can enjoy yourself for five full hours and not a single abnormality will appear in your body.”
“……You’ve prepared thoroughly.”
Dozens of potions, each worth gold coins, laid out for a single stretch of pleasure.
“For us of the Heupjeong-jok, sex is a means of restoring vital energy, a way to share pleasure, and a joyful playtime that reaffirms our very essence and identity.”
She kneaded her own breast and let out a short, breathy moan. Climbing onto the bed, she drew a green booklet and a yellow booklet from the same pouch and held them up.
“For the next five hours—until lunch—if you hold me, I’ll diligently teach you everything I know about constitution improvement and talent training methods. Just so you know, no matter how rich you are, if you lack status or aren’t a high-ranking mage, you can’t even get your hands on these.”
She gave the green and yellow booklets a little shake, then tucked them back into the pouch and slipped it under the pillow.
The condition was neither vague nor ambiguous; it was crystal clear. Hwanin could accept it.
“Very well. For five hours I’ll make you howl like a bitch in heat.”
Yurpa felt her clitoris stiffen at the beast-like glint in Hwanin’s eyes and let out a soft, panting moan.
From this moment on, it was time for instinct.