Wol-ak (3)

For the people of Nong County, each day was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠its own agony.

Night after night, someone died. Days like a nightmare that refused to end.

The yamen had fought desperately to put a stop to it, but the results had been pitiful. The townsfolk prayed to the heavens that someone—anyone—would come and crush the murderer.

Amazingly enough, Heaven answered.

"Did you hear? The Taoists from the Kongtong Sect have come to our county."

"I heard it was the Zhongnan Sect that visited the yamen."

"Looks like both showed up. My nephew works at the office—he told me himself."

"Then… can they finally catch that damned killer?"

"If it's Magistrate Kang, he'll cling to their robes if he has to. He'll make sure of it."

Nong County sat on the frontier of Shaanxi, right beside Gansu. The names of the Zhongnan and Kongtong Sects were known in a vague sort of way, but they did not truly land. What the people trusted was their own magistrate—a man willing to stake his post to save ordinary lives. They hoped his virtue would be enough to bring the murderer down.

And that night, for the first time in a long while, was quiet.

No screams. No copper stink of blood on the wind. No hurried footsteps of constables racing through the dark.

Those who had sat awake with worry only realized it toward dawn: no one had died the night before.

Instead, with the first light of morning, many figures were seen running toward the yamen—Taoists of Zhongnan and Kongtong, and constables among them. They were carrying someone on a stretcher, and the person on it was soaked head to toe in blood. Anyone could see they had just come through a brutal fight. People naturally assumed something had gone wrong while dealing with the killer.

Before long, word of what had happened in the night spread through the whole of Nong County.

"The killer wasn't one person—there were many?"

"That's what I'm saying. Over a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hundred of them, maybe. The constables are still breaking their backs just clearing the corpses."

The revelation that the murderer tormenting Nong County had never been a single man left people stunned. It was hard to dismiss as exaggeration—anyone who went near the battlefield could see the constables still laboring over the bodies. Whether they liked it or not, they had to believe it.

And the surprises did not end there.

Even those living on the fringes of the martial world had heard the infamous name of one of the Four Great Evils.

"Wol-ak was here?"

"Came to deal with the impostors aping him, they say."

"Heavens… I've always heard that if a martial artist meets that killer on a moonlit night, nine out of ten lose their lives."

"Here's the thing, though. The damage from Wol-ak himself wasn't that severe."

"Wol-ak appeared and the damage wasn't severe? What are you talking about?"

"A single Taoist from the Zhongnan Sect stepped forward and held a duel with him for half a day—until dawn—so the killing never started."

"How does a man hold out for half a day against something like that?"

"Oh, come now. When have I ever spun you wild tales?"

Wol-ak's appearance, and the Zhongnan Taoist who alone held him back. It was hard to believe—but there were multiple witnesses, so they had no choice. Naturally, talk turned to what that Taoist had already accomplished before reaching Nong County, and the name of the Jade Light Sword, Cheonhwa, rose higher still.

"I hear the great hero Jade Light Sword is badly hurt."

"He fought Wol-ak for half a day. Of course he is."

"I hope he recovers soon."

He had no special ties to the place, yet he had freely lent his hand to rid them of the killers. The people of Nong County prayed that Cheonhwa would heal safely.

Meanwhile, Cheonhwa—carried into the yamen—lay on a sickbed after treatment. There was scarcely an uninjured place left on his body. Trauma salve had been spread over every wound, then clean cloth wound tight to stop the bleeding. For the internal damage, Yeonhwa would use Hyeoncheon-jingi and take her time restoring him, little by little.

When the first round of treatment was finished, Yeonhwa wiped the cold sweat from her brow and let out a long breath of relief. When they had first brought him in, he had looked ready to die at any moment; the care had barely pulled him past the crisis.

Worse than when he fought the master of the Twin Flower Gate.

Taking wounds, recovering, forcing himself back into the fight again and again—that had been fatal. At this rate he might not rise in ten days, or even fifteen.

If he sleeps too long, even with the pupil-breathing method his condition can still worsen.

Physically, he would stabilize within five days at the current pace. The problem was the mind. He had clearly pushed himself harder than against the Twin Flower Gate master; the drain would be just as severe. For that, there was nothing to do but wait for time to do its work.

It seemed Wol-ak did something for him at the end…

Of course, Wol-ak was also the one who had put him in this state in the first place—giving the disease and the medicine both. For now, all she could do was hope Wol-ak's final measure would take hold.

Wake up soon.

Yeonhwa held Cheonhwa's hand and prayed in silence.

About five days later, Cheonhwa sat up with a perfectly ordinary expression on his face—and the story that Yeonhwa then smacked him across the back for making everyone worry is a tale for another time.

While Cheonhwa was carried to the yamen and treated by Yeonhwa, Jeokhwa rested, then—with the magistrate's help—pressed on with the investigation.

We lost time dealing with the killers, and those two can't move. That means I have to work that much harder.

Fortunately, the Pseudo-Wol-ak band's rampage had the yamen clamping down on the region far more tightly than usual, so information came quickly. The merchant had last been confirmed at a private house on the outskirts of Nong County. Unlike the people who had crowded near the yamen out of fear of the killers, the location was suspicious in every way.

I've pinpointed the place, but going alone is far too dangerous.

Yet if she waited until Cheonhwa and Yeonhwa could move, it might already be too late. While Jeokhwa was weighing her options, the Kongtong Taoists stepped forward.

"If Taoist Cheonhwa had not held Wol-ak back, we would all be dead. We cannot fully repay a debt of that size—but we will help in place of the two of you."

Iryeop spoke for the Kongtong disciples. Five first-class martial artists would be a real help. The demonic-arts investigation, though, was best kept as quiet as possible, so Jeokhwa extracted a promise from them.

"I ask that you keep silent about anything you see on this inquiry—your own sects included."

"Why is that?"

"Because it is a matter that must not leak outward if we can help it."

Of course it could not stay secret forever. Demonic arts were not a problem confined to the Zhongnan Sect or to Shaanxi alone. The killer band that had crossed over from Gansu had used demonic arts as well; the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Nine Sects and One Alliance—and the entire orthodox path—would have to answer it.

But until a proper plan is in place, word of the demonic arts must be suppressed as much as possible.

Demonic arts were extremely dangerous, yet they granted enormous power—and the martial world overflowed with people willing to pay any price for strength. One misstep, and the whole Central Plains could be dragged into chaos by them.

"Until the investigation yields results, loose talk could only sow panic."

"So caution is required. Understood. We will follow Taoist Jeokhwa's lead."

Thankfully Iryeop grasped the heart of it and accepted without fuss. Jeokhwa and the Kongtong Taoists set out for the house under a constable's guidance.

"This is the place. It used to be an inn, but business failed and it has been used as a private dwelling since."

As the constable explained, the house they reached was larger than expected—too big for ordinary folk, too shabby for the wealthy, awkward in every direction.

"There was no sign of people living nearby on the way here. What happened?"

"Truth is, a plague swept through this area once. Even after it passed, people have been reluctant to come back."

"So it turned into an empty ghost village."

A reasonably spacious building in a deserted place—perfect for hiding something. Having already secured the magistrate's leave to investigate, Jeokhwa led the party straight inside.

No human presence could be felt within. A search turned up traces of many people coming and going, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but nothing else left behind.

The wagon that seems to have been brought from Tianyang County is still here—but no horses, no merchant, and none of the people he brought with him.

The merchant had clearly vanished long ago. The real question was what he had done with those he brought along.

I can understand the merchant fleeing. But what about the people he brought?

Given how many the merchant had taken through the Black Market Hall, moving them without a wagon was impossible. There had to be some trace somewhere.

"Let's look again. There must be a clue."

Combing the interior once more, they found a concealed entrance to a cellar in the floor. The moment they opened it, a stench of rot and blood hit them hard enough to twist the nose.

"Urgh—!"

One of the Kongtong Taoists, who had opened the door and taken the smell full in the face, could not hold it back and vomited on the spot. What in the world was down there to produce a reek like that?

Jeokhwa felt a chill of unease, steeled herself, and went down. Stone steps led into a cellar lit by night-luminous pearls set in the ceiling—and the full view opened before them.

Countless corpses lay scattered across the floor. Every face was twisted in hideous agony, still showing the suffering they had endured in life.

"Th-there—that one…!"

"What is it?"

The constable pointed at one body with a trembling hand.

"There's no mistake. That's a resident of Nong County—one of those who only left a few body parts behind after the killers struck!"

Among the mountain of corpses were people believed murdered by the killer band—and among them as well were the missing folk of Tianyang County whom the Zhongnan party had been searching for. Jeokhwa had already memorized the descriptions of the abducted; she recognized them at once.

What were they trying to do with this many people?

Any record at all would have been welcome, but the cellar held nothing but corpses. They must have fled in such haste that there had been no time to dispose of the bodies.

In the end, we couldn't save them.

With a bitter face, Jeokhwa was looking over the dead when she noticed a scrap of paper poking from one corpse's robes. From the crumpled state of it, the person had crushed it into a fist and shoved it into their clothes just before dying. Hoping it might be a clue, she carefully unfolded it.

Bloodstains made the full text impossible to read—but what remained was a blasphemous study on the use of human corpses.

Jeokhwa's brow furrowed, yet she did not stop reading. Her eyes caught on a single word written on the page.

Jiangshi. Don't tell me—the reason they said even the dead would do…?!

The instant she saw the word, Jeokhwa understood what this mountain of corpses had been for. They had needed the dead to research a forbidden art for raising corpses—and the killer band's string of murders had been nothing more than a cover for gathering research material.

Leaving body parts at the scenes was bait—so no one would realize the victims had been abducted.

In truth, they had been brought here alive, and turned into experimental subjects for research that spat on every human law.