Into the Murky Current

Namgung Cheon left Yueyang Tower and followed the trace of the Soul Capturing Art without a moment's hesitation.

The energy trailed through streets where no sane person lingered at this hour, then bent into a stretch of gloomy reed beds — every step of it cunningly chosen to slip past the eyes of passersby.

This isn't the work of someone trying their hand at it for the first time.

Beyond the reeds, the view opened up into a wide, exposed space — an old ferry landing abandoned in a forgotten corner of Dongting Lake. Broken planks and a few rotting boats floated there like grotesque shadows on the water.

And there, seizing on the cover of darkness, figures in black were preparing to launch a boat.

"Hurry up."

At the low words of the man leading them, the other five heaved the leather sacks slung over their shoulders onto the boat. Each sack was just large enough to hold a single child.

Namgung Cheon's eyes narrowed.

That's where they are, then.

Five sacks in total. Which meant it wasn't just one child.

At least I'm not too late.

Shrring—.

Mukhon slid free of its sheath, its ink-black blade drinking in even the moonlight. Namgung Cheon walked slowly out of the darkness, the demonic sword in hand.

Thud. Thud.

At the sound of his footsteps, the men in black turned as one. The sight of him standing with the moonlight at his back filled their eyes.

Ordinary men would have shouted — who goes there — before anything else.

These men were different.

Shring!

Without a flicker of hesitation, they drew their weapons in unison. Their leader leveled a curved blade while the rest took up straight swords, spreading into a semicircle around him — a coordinated formation that covered every blind spot in perfect harmony. Not a single word passed between them through the entire sequence.

A faint gleam of interest entered Namgung Cheon's eyes.

That's beyond what mere training can produce.

These were movements honed through countless real battles.

His gaze flicked toward the sacks stacked on the ferry boat. From the way they swelled and shifted at steady intervals, the children inside had to be sedated.

Which meant—

"Good. I can kill you without holding back."

Before the words had even finished leaving his mouth, Namgung Cheon's form vanished.

Pwat!

"Kgh!"

In an instant, the man on the far left clutched his throat and crumpled. Not one of them had seen even a flash of the blade.

And yet, even as their comrade fell, the enemy did not waver. Instead they seized the opening, five blades converging on Namgung Cheon all at once.

Clang! Shing!

He swept his sword and knocked the attacks aside. The internal force transmitted through their steel was surprisingly heavy and keen.

They're no ordinary rabble after all.

Swae-ek—!

In that instant, another storm of sword strikes came rushing in. Tak!

Namgung Cheon shifted his footwork, slipping past them with ease — and then, Puk!

He pierced another man clean through the chest.

Only then did their eyes begin to shake.

"Heup!"

The leader charged forward with a short burst of breath, and crimson sword qi erupted from his curved blade — a turbid, sticky energy, the classic demonic qi so often seen in Gal Mu-seong of the Blood Sword Gang and the other masters of the unorthodox path.

And yet.

Swae-ek—!

Namgung Cheon evaded the attack lightly, his brow furrowing.

The internal force is unmistakably of the unorthodox path — but the sword's trajectory is different.

The unorthodox style favored trickery, hunting only for an opponent's openings and vital points. They would ruthlessly abandon form and orthodoxy in the name of efficiency.

But this man…

The force flowed from his toes to his waist, from his waist to his shoulders. His footwork was precise, his balance rooted; his blade traced a textbook arc as it drove straight in. These were, beyond any doubt, the hallmarks of orthodox martial learning.

A grotesque dissonance — as if demonic qi had been forcibly poured into a swordsman of the righteous sects.

Alien. Wrong.

Even in his memories of having devoured every martial art under heaven, he had never encountered anything like it. Just what in the world were these men?

Namgung Cheon's eyes flashed cold.

Swae-ek—!

The leader's sword came rushing in again. Namgung Cheon did not meet it head-on; he simply twisted his body a fraction. Shuk—.

The man's blade brushed past the hem of his robe — and in that narrow sliver of an opening, Namgung Cheon's sword flashed. Puk.

It buried itself deep in the man's side.

"Keok!"

Blood burst from his mouth, soaking through the cloth of his mask. Chwa-ak—.

When the blade withdrew, the leader dropped to his knees and pitched forward.

Without sparing the fallen man a glance, Namgung Cheon slowly turned his head to face the rest. In the eyes of the remaining men in black, no fear had risen — only venomous, murderous resolve. They gripped their swords anew, settling into stances that spoke of a willingness to perish together with their foe.

Saying nothing, Namgung Cheon leveled the point of Mukhon at them.

Tip. Tap.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Clear beads of blood ran down the black blade and stained the ground.

At the entrance to Yueyang Tower, Mujin and Baek Heon stared into the darkness, unable to hide their mounting anxiety.

Only after Namgung Cheon had gone did Mujin belatedly grasp the true meaning of his words — and so he had hurriedly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠left the woman waiting inside the tower and kept vigil for his young master ever since. But with nearly four hours gone by and no sign of him, the face of Baek Heon beside him had grown stiffer and stiffer. He struck his own thigh with his fist, cursing himself.

"This is my failure, young master. No matter how many times you told me you'd be fine, I should have stayed on your heels to the very end…"

"There's no need to blame yourself. He told us to wait — that's all he said before he left."

Mujin tried to soothe the man, but his own insides were burning all the same. The woman had carried a faint yet deeply alien energy — unmistakably the residue of a sorcerous art. The young master had sensed it and gone off in search of the child, he was certain. But hours had already passed.

Tracking the enemy's movements from a trace of energy that faint? And alone?

Impossible without formal training in tracking arts.

Worse, they had no idea who these people were or how many of them there might be. Mujin bit his lip, sick with worry for Namgung Cheon's safety.

"I'm going to search for him myself. Right now."

Baek Heon could bear it no longer; he gripped his sword and stepped forward.

At that moment—

"Hold on."

Mujin caught his arm in urgent alarm. Namgung Cheon was walking toward them — with an enormous bundle slung over his shoulder.

Six leather sacks bound together with thick rope. Even at a glance, the bulk was far too much for one man to carry. Mujin and Baek Heon rushed to take the load from him, but Namgung Cheon shook his head lightly, then set the sacks down on the ground.

"What in the world is all this?"

In answer to Mujin's question, Namgung Cheon only pointed at the sacks.

"See for yourself."

His voice was colder than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠usual, sunk low. A sense of dread washed over Mujin as he undid the knot of the topmost sack with trembling hands.

"…!"

His eyes went wide. Baek Heon sucked in a sharp breath.

Inside the leather sack, the small, sleeping face of a child looked up at them.

"Good heavens…"

Mujin tore open the rest of the sacks in a rush. One, two, three… All six held children.

"Not one — this many…"

In that instant, a memory surfaced in Mujin's mind. The atrocities Namgung Cheon had described to him on the road to Heukho Fort — and the notorious name said to stand at the center of them all.

"Don't tell me… the Ghost Mask Pact?"

At Mujin's words, Namgung Cheon nodded silently. He gazed down at the children for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a moment, then spoke to Mujin and Baek Heon.

"Take the child from earlier back to her mother. Hand the rest over to the magistrate's office, or somewhere else they'll be safe."

"Understood. But young master… what will you do now?"

Mujin's voice was heavy. The Ghost Mask Pact. Now that he had seen their handiwork with his own eyes, this was no longer a matter that would end with saving a few children. And yet they could hardly stand against the organization without knowing anything of its reach or numbers.

Instead of answering, Namgung Cheon began to walk. His footsteps carried him straight back toward Yueyang Tower, and Mujin and Baek Heon followed his retreating figure with bewildered eyes.

At length, standing before the entrance awash in brilliant lamplight, Namgung Cheon gave his answer in a low voice.

"Starting now, I intend to find out."

Everything about those fiends who had committed acts that cried out to heaven — and the surest way to slaughter every last one of them without exception.

Yueyang Tower was still burning bright, a city of night unto itself. Namgung Cheon cut through the clamorous hall and headed deep into the tower's interior, coming to a stop before the treasury — the counting desk that managed every coin the tower earned.

The treasurer looked up from his ledgers, flustered by the sudden visit.

"Young master, is there some request I can help with? If the wine falls short—"

In answer, Namgung Cheon drew a small jade tablet from his robe and set it down before the man.

Tap.

The instant the jade tablet touched the table, the treasurer's eyes trembled violently. He looked back and forth between the tablet and Namgung Cheon's face, swallowed dryly — then closed his ledger and spoke in a low voice.

"…So, a most honored guest has come."

The treasurer bowed deeply and gestured for Namgung Cheon to follow. "Allow me to escort you inside."

Namgung Cheon gave a slight nod and went after him.

Their destination was a storage house behind the rear courtyard, worlds away from the tower's ornate pavilions. The reek of dried fish drifted down from stacks that reached to the ceiling.

"So this is where you hide it."

At Namgung Cheon's quiet question, the treasurer answered with a wry smile.

"The more splendid the establishment, the safer it is to keep the filthiest things in the dirtiest corner."

He made his way to the wall where the wine jars stood, seized the lid of one particular jar, and turned it. Guuuung—.

The wall itself slid back, revealing a narrow, dark stone stairway descending beneath it.

"It's down here."

The treasurer lit a candle and went first. A damp, chilly draft breathed up from below. The stairs gave onto a cramped corridor, at the end of which a heavy iron door barred the way. The treasurer knocked.

Guuuung—.

With a deep, ponderous sound, the iron door swung open.

Within the hidden chamber, a woman was waiting — bewitching eyes, full crimson lips, a beauty that announced itself at a glance.

"Hongyeon, branch head of Hao Gate's Dongting Lake branch. It is an honor to receive you, Young Master Namgung."

"Dongting Lake branch head, is it."

Namgung Cheon took his seat and continued. "I was given to understand your gate operates by province."

Hongyeon parted her lips with a radiant smile.

"Less an exception than a privilege, you might say."

With a soft rustle, she gracefully filled Namgung Cheon's cup and went on.

"This is where all the waterways of the world converge, and where every manner of desire entangles. To govern such a vast and turbid current — surely one pair of eyes and ears is not enough. You need the eyes and ears of an entire province."

She fixed him with a steady gaze.

"And yet — for one so distinguished to have come seeking a place soaked in that very filth… I take it the young master is searching for something that was swept away by it."

At her razor-sharp observation, Namgung Cheon's hand paused midway to his cup.

"Quick to read a room, aren't you."

"The ferry landing was loud. So loud that a mother's weeping for her lost child could be heard all the way here."

Namgung Cheon set his cup down. There was no need to explain further — the woman already knew.

"I need information on the Ghost Mask Pact."

Hongyeon regarded him for a long moment before speaking.

"I suspected you might already know of it, but hearing it from your own mouth is a different feeling entirely."

Her eyes drifted to Namgung Cheon's waist — to Changcheon, sheathed in its white scabbard.

"I know you possess extraordinary martial might. But should something happen to the young master after hearing what we tell you…"

Her gaze hardened.

"Then not only the Ghost Mask Pact — our own Hao Gate could suffer destruction in retribution."

Namgung Cheon's eyes narrowed.

"The Namgung Clan answers for its own choices. Even if the price is my life."

"The eyes of parents who have lost a child see none of that."

Hongyeon continued in a quiet voice. "If harm comes to you, we become nothing more than merchants who drove a precious son into the jaws of death. And there are few in the jianghu who could withstand the fury that would follow."

At those words, a faint smile touched Namgung Cheon's lips.

Her intentions were as legible as an open palm. So in the end, she means to keep me out of danger. Follow this thread to its end, and she would inevitably offer up only the information that carried no risk — because refusing to give him anything at all was not truly an option.

And those words, too, are just preparation for steering me.

In that case—

Then let me shatter that delusion of hers — the fantasy that she can control me.

Drreak—.

Namgung Cheon rose from his seat.

"Young master?"

"If you won't give me the information, then I'll simply go at it bare-handed."

Tucking the jade tablet from the table into his robe, he added in a low voice, "And once this affair is settled, I'll have to pay a visit to your sect master myself. To tell her that the tablet she gave you was worth absolutely nothing here."

Namgung Cheon strode straight for the door. His broad, unhesitating steps looked for all the world as if he would leap into the jaws of death that very instant.

But Hongyeon could not see it — the cold smile that had settled on the lips of the man turning his back to her.

Now, choose.

Stop me here and now — or face the sect master's rebuke. And if neither of those—

Then watch everything vanish before the wrath of the finest sword in the land, robbed of his child.