A Bottle for the Cult Leader
“Brother Dong. Who is the highest person in this place?”
The question came so suddenly that Yeo Chang-dong did not answer at once. He simply stared at Yoo Eunhyeon for a moment, blank-faced. Something calculating flickered briefly through eyes still hazy with drink, yet he recovered almost at once and asked back as if nothing were amiss.
“The highest person? Why do you ask?”
“To tell the truth, I still have one more bottle of Doyakju left. If the chance ever arose, I would like to offer my thanks to the higher-ups as well… but I am rather ignorant of such matters, so I wanted to ask you first whether it would even be proper to present it.”
Yoo Eunhyeon spoke carefully. It was the first time since coming here that he had revealed any of his true intent. Yeo Chang-dong let out a short breath, studied him a moment longer, then burst into hearty laughter.
“Hahaha! Excellent! A truly proper frame of mind! Working for someone worthy of respect is a joy greater than anything else.”
The words were a little exaggerated, perhaps from the liquor, yet a strong current of sincerity still ran beneath them. Seizing the opening, Yoo Eunhyeon pressed on with quiet care.
“Then where should I deliver it? Would it be the Heokryeon Sanghoe, after all?”
He deliberately avoided any mention of the Demonic Cult and named the Heokryeon Sanghoe first. Given that everything that had brought him here had come through that merchant alliance, the choice sounded natural enough.
“Hardly. The Heokryeon Sanghoe only built these farms and manages them. The one who ordered them made is someone else entirely.”
“And who is that person?”
Yoo Eunhyeon asked, watching the other man’s face.
“This place is ruled by the great Cult Leader of the Demonic Cult himself—the Thousand-Year Dark Demon. Even you must have heard the name of the Thousand-Year Dark Demon, Hyeon.”
“Of course. I have heard he is an extraordinarily formidable man.”
Hearing the answer he wanted, Yoo Eunhyeon cheered inwardly. The praise was a touch overdone, yet every word of it was genuine. He was simply voicing, without the least pretense, the impression Sa Unsik had left on him.
“I would like this Doyakju delivered to the Cult Leader… but would something like that ever reach a person so high?”
He let his expression cloud with quiet gloom. Yeo Chang-dong, face flushed a little redder, clapped him on the shoulder.
“Don’t you worry. I have been here longer than you, Hyeon. I will put in a word.”
“You will? That eases my mind a great deal.”
Yoo Eunhyeon was not foolish enough to ask how the bottle would be delivered. Once the promise had been given, digging any deeper would only invite suspicion.
Anyway, has the goal been reached already? If so, there is no need for infiltration or escape. I can just farm at my leisure for the rest of the term and go home.
Things had gone more smoothly than expected, and Yoo Eunhyeon felt a weight lift from his chest. Yeo Chang-dong clearly had other business of his own, yet Eunhyeon decided it had nothing to do with his purpose.
And so the drinking session for that night came to an end. Yoo Eunhyeon handed over the last bottle of Doyakju and saw Yeo Chang-dong off with a light heart.
“You look rather drunk, Brother Dong. Will you make it back all right?”
“Don’t worry. This much liquor is nothing.”
He looked every bit the reeling drunkard, yet his pronunciation remained surprisingly clear and his voice barely wavered. Only after Yeo Chang-dong had vanished from sight did Yoo Eunhyeon close the door.
Ssshhh.
The rain had eased a little, yet still fell in thick, heavy drops. Yeo Chang-dong walked on, umbrella held a little unsteadily, then suddenly lowered the canopy that had been shielding him.
And in that instant something astonishing occurred.
Fwoosh.
Smoke rose from the wooden tip of the umbrella; a moment later fierce flames leapt up. An umbrella catching fire in a downpour would have made any ordinary person leap back in fright. Yet the blaze reduced the whole thing to ash in the blink of an eye and vanished as though it had never been.
The heat must have been tremendous, for a sudden cloud of steam billowed out and hid Yeo Chang-dong from view. The pouring rain soon washed the vapor away, and his figure reappeared.
“Doyakju, is it…”
The face now revealed held not the slightest trace of the drunken flush that had been there only moments before. Looking almost amused, he flicked the remaining handle of the ruined umbrella in time with a private rhythm. Humming under his breath, he cut a strangely chilling figure against the endless rain.
“A fine liquor. Wine made from flowers… it deserves to be called flower wine. But flowers are destined to wither. If they are to leave their fragrance even after they fade, they must stand facing the sun—even if it means they dry and shrivel.”
Recalling the scent of the Doyakju he had shared with Yoo Eunhyeon, Yeo Chang-dong smiled faintly. He turned and cast one brief glance toward the distant, dimly lit quarters where the young man lived.
“I wonder what choice he will make.”
The next day the rain continued until nearly noon.
Thanks to that, Yoo Eunhyeon could set work aside for a while and enjoy a rare stretch of leisure.
“Perhaps I should head out soon.”
A farmer to the bone, he grew restless if he sat still too long. The moment the rain showed signs of letting up, he naturally wandered out to the nearby fields to take stock.
“Not as bad as last time, thankfully. A little attention to the drainage should be enough.”
The previous storm had lasted far longer; this one, mercifully, had not. After surveying what needed doing with a practiced eye, Yoo Eunhyeon lifted his gaze to the freshly cleared sky.
I rested all morning, so maybe I can start a little early.
He returned to his quarters at once, left the umbrella behind, and set off toward the laborers’ area.
“Hm? Something feels restless…”
People who worked with their bodies usually grew quieter as morning advanced. With a full day of labor ahead, there was no sense in wasting strength on raised voices at dawn. Today, however, the air was different. Voices carried from a distance; the place was decidedly noisy.
Yoo Eunhyeon walked toward the commotion and found a crowd of strangers bustling about with purposeful haste.
“Hurry up! The road must be laid before the sun is fully up!”
Between the cultivated fields ran the usual farm paths—narrow tracks that kept people and loaded carts from trampling the crops. Because they were not heavily used, they were often left rough and neglected.
Not today. Men were picking stones from the surface, packing the earth flat, and even scattering fine straw they had somehow obtained, grooming the path until it looked almost ceremonial.
“What on earth…”
Every face was new. Laborers had clearly been brought in from elsewhere for the work.
“Team Leader Yeo Geumhyeon. Perfect timing.”
Byeon Ak, who had been directing the frantic effort, spotted Yoo Eunhyeon standing there and strode over. Eunhyeon bowed at once in greeting.
“What is all this about? Is there anything my team can do to help?”
“No need. It is nearly finished. What work do you have scheduled today?”
“Today and tomorrow we planned to harvest the wheat.”
“Good. Team Leader Yeo, I would like the work done especially cleanly today. Can you manage that? I will see that your daily wage is increased by half.”
“We will see to it.”
“Excellent. You have done very well so far; I trust you.”
With that, Byeon Ak returned to directing the workers. Having missed the chance to ask what was truly going on, Yoo Eunhyeon could only tilt his head in puzzlement and head toward the lodging where the others had gathered.
“Something like this just happened. Does anyone know what it means?”
Before work began he described the scene to the men loosening up in front of the quarters. Mo Cheol-dong and a few of the more experienced hands let out short sighs.
“Has half a month already passed?”
“With everything that has happened this time, the days seem to have flown by.”
Their reaction made it plain that something regular was afoot. Meeting the curious eyes of Yoo Eunhyeon and the others, Mo Cheol-dong spoke slowly.
“Once every half month, people come to watch us farm.”
“Pardon? Who?”
“They never tell us who. But one thing is certain—they are people who have trained in martial arts.”
“Martial artists?”
Given who already lived and worked here, the answer was obvious enough.
“Most likely high-ranking figures of the Demonic Path. Even the people from the Heokryeon Sanghoe grow nervous around them.”
As Mo Cheol-dong said, the Heokryeon Sanghoe surely had its own martial artists, yet the tension Byeon Ak had shown earlier was of a different order entirely—the unmistakable strain of receiving honored guests. Yoo Eunhyeon asked, still puzzled.
“Why would Demonic Path martial artists come just to watch people farm?”
“That we do not know either. All we know for certain is that every half month a group of young people who look as though they have trained in martial arts appear, watch us work for a long while, and then leave.”
“Young people? No older ones among them?”
“They look about twenty to thirty years of age. The faces change every time, but they are always young.”
Mo Cheol-dong finally shook his head, still at a loss. Yoo Eunhyeon felt the same.
The rising talents of the Demonic Path? But why would people like that come to watch farming?
Something hovered just at the edge of understanding, yet the thread still eluded his grasp.
In the end Yoo Eunhyeon forced the thought aside and set off toward the wheat fields.