8. Please Just Let Me Go

Any attempt to compile the murim's record of great crimes must, without fail, name three organizations.

The Heavenly Demon Cult, the Blood Cult, and the North Sea Ice Palace.

The North Sea Ice Palace had largely been lumped in simply for being friendly with the Heavenly Demon Cult, and the Heavenly Demon Cult's infamy was closer to a matter of stubborn perception than fact. They hadn't been active in decades, but with the equation of demonic arts equaling evil drilled so deep into everyone's skulls, their name had never been laundered. In other words, both organizations were, to some degree, victims of circumstance.

The remaining Blood Cult, however, was a genuinely deranged organization that had earned its infamy through sheer weight of atrocities.

Blood Horse Head Number One, who brewed blood packs and drank them like strawberry milk back in an era before blood transfusion technology so much as existed.

Blood Horse Head Number Two, who abducted villagers and displayed them like dolls, all in the name of unlocking the mysteries of the human body.

And Blood Horse Head Number Three, a committed method actor of a psychopath who never actually drank a drop of blood — the concept was what mattered.

Would you believe me if I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠told you all three had been active in the same era?

Perhaps karmic buildup like that was why the Blood Cult's notoriety was truly fearsome. Even so, the cult had never been stamped out, for several reasons: it operated as a cell organization, and the current Blood Cult Leader was powerful enough to be counted among the Three Venerables of the Central Plains murim.

And Wi Sawol was an emotionless psychopath... no, a master assassin, kidnapped by that very Blood Cult and raised within its walls since childhood.

Her family home in Shaanxi had naturally been a Blood Cult front, and the White Snake Sword Art was a knockoff cobbled together by twisting the cult's own sword techniques — in truth, she had never even trained in it.

She hadn't been fond of the Blood Cult and its deranged ways either, but so long as her body was bound by their sorcery, rebellion was impossible.

The latest order handed down from the cult's upper echelons: infiltrate the Namgung Clan and extract information. Apparently the Namgung body was a gift from the heavens themselves, and tasted different, or some such nonsense...

In any case, from the standpoint of a first-rate Blood Cult assassin, Wi Sawol had to squat when told to squat, and obey every word if she wished to keep breathing. She held a personal grudge against the Namgung Clan besides. All things considered, it had seemed like a perfectly respectable assignment — and then—

"Hey, Cheonga."

"...Yes, my lady."

"Spread your legs for me, would you?"

"...I beg your pardon?"

She had well and truly tangled with a lunatic.

Honestly, Yujin had no idea Wi Sawol was from the Blood Cult.

Even with the words Crimson Blood Secret Manual written plainly across the cover, her knowledge of the murim was so rudimentary that the most she could sort anything into was orthodox, unorthodox, or demonic. There was no way she'd grasp anything about the Blood Cult or its ilk.

Anyone who truly understood how depraved the Blood Cult was would have summoned their guardian warriors on the spot to cut her down or put her to interrogation — but Yujin's head was already well past its expiration date.

Shock number one: waking up as a woman.

Shock number two: waking up in an unfamiliar world.

Shock number three: discovering how very well she was adapting to sitting down to pee.

She had weathered all three shocks on a healthy dose of her signature denseness and rationalization, but once boredom came calling, she suddenly found herself with far too much time to think.

"Ugh... ack... ugh..."

What happens when you're given the time to face reality? Yujin's sanity shattering was an appointment that had to come due eventually, and it was only natural for a person whose mind had shattered to go chasing short, sharp stimulation.

In a word: Yujin had picked Sawol up on a lark because her bullshitting looked entertaining, and she didn't have any particular plan beyond that.

Keep her around for a while, seduce her if the opportunity arose, and if she started causing trouble, just call for her sister or a guard. And yet...

She was too good at her job. Far too good.

Beneath a cold face that matched her sharply cropped bob, she churned out entertaining stories on demand, and her sharp eye for murim politics meant Yujin got to soak up all manner of information besides.

Sawol was also a gifted explainer, so even murim-illiterate Yujin could follow along with ease. Yujin seized the opportunity without hesitation, latching onto her arm and gazing up at her face.

"Cheonga, you're so clever. How on earth do you know all this?"

"...It was nothing."

"Huh?"

"...?"

"Did I... make a mistake just now?"

"No, my lady. Whatever do you mean, a mistake?"

"..?"

Strange personality aside, she possessed every skill a maidservant required, and came across like someone who'd received formal training somewhere.

Still, there were those occasional glances she would shoot Yujin that made the affinity bar stick squarely in her throat.

A smile clearly blooming on her face, and yet a gaze cold as a slab of ice pressed to your skin. The way she looked at Yujin like someone she would one day have to kill — that, Yujin wasn't used to. No matter how kindly she treated her, the affinity did nothing but fall.

Hmmm...

So she tried a different approach.

"Hey, Cheonga."

"Yes?"

"Why are you glaring at me like that?"

"Pardon?"

"You're looking at me like I'm a piece of shit, is what I'm saying."

"...My apologies, my lady. My eyes simply rest this way..."

Hm. And this time the affinity doesn't drop. What a strange woman.

Even after becoming a woman herself, the hearts of women remained a difficult puzzle. A month passed like that, and Yujin managed to pin down a few facts about Sawol — about Cheonga.

Fact one: this suspicious woman had no intention of killing her.

Out of fear of poisoning, Yujin refused to touch a single thing Sawol prepared. Poison was terrifying, after all! Even so, there were moments when Yujin let her guard slip completely, and every single time, Sawol showed not the slightest interest — she would simply tuck the blanket around her and vanish. If she'd wanted Yujin dead, she could have killed her a hundred times over. Nothing ever happened.

Fact two: Sawol liked Yujin's face.

Uncovering this one had taken heroic effort. Yujin, who couldn't feel at ease until she'd flirted with any woman in sight, had laid it on thick again and again. She'd leaned in feigning drunkenness, nuzzled close pretending to be sleepy. Since she was publicly the hopeless martial-arts-idiot Namgung Yujin, Sawol ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hadn't guarded against her much. No amount of seduction ever raised the affinity, but one night, after putting a pleasantly tipsy Yujin to bed, she had distinctly heard Sawol muttering to herself.

"Pretty... she's annoyingly, disgustingly pretty..."

Fact three: Sawol hated it when Yujin was kind to her.

Whether she found it hypocritical or bore a personal grudge, who could say — the affinity bar that never budged no matter how viciously Yujin cursed at her, or how casually she groped her chest, would plummet at every favor granted and every small kindness offered.

"Sawol, I brought this back because you came to mind."

"...Thank you, my lady."

"Sawol. What lovely weather today. Won't you take a walk with me?"

"...I'm busy."

??????

Seriously, what is it with her?

"Cheonga. When your betters tell you to squat, you squat. Do you want to die?"

"...I shall go, then."

See that? Didn't drop this time. She honestly could not get a read on the woman at all. The affinity that refused to budge no matter how savagely Yujin cursed her out would take a nosedive the instant Yujin smiled sweetly and did something kind. It was already sitting at -50.

Then, one day, while Yujin was still racking her brain over Sawol's affinity, the outburst she had been waiting for finally erupted.

"My lady—!"

"Mmmnngh."

Yujin rose at the sudden shout, yawning hugely, the very picture of a girl well-rested. Her hair was a sleep-mussed mess, but her beauty hadn't gone anywhere — if anything, she looked fresh as morning dew.

"What is it? You're being loud..."

"My lady, Cheonga has run away. Carrying off every treasure she could lay her hands on... and, it appears she stole a secret manual as well."

"I seeeeee..."

A secret manual was the beginning and end of a sect — the most precious of all its possessions. Judging from how she'd always been scribbling away alone, she'd surely copied out a fair portion of the Namgung Clan's teachings before fleeing.

"We've locked down the city, but if she stays hidden to the very end... what do we do, my lady?!"

Sibi could only stamp her feet in distress, while Yujin, despite the genuinely shocking news, pressed her face back into her pillow as though all of this had been foretold. Within the Namgung Clan, a full-scale search was underway and the situation was being treated with the utmost gravity — but to Yujin, it was nothing more than one entertaining development. Proof enough of that: even half-asleep, her body was already itching with excitement at the thought of the fun to come.

"I should get ready to go out. Ah — have my sister come too. I want to search for her together."

Yujin performed a rough cat-wash of a toilette, threw on her clothes, and clutched firmly onto the hem of Namgung Seol's blue robe.

"Sister, come out with me."

"Eep!"

"Hm?"

"N-nothing. I mean — you're awake. Yujin, whoever slipped out of the Namgung Clan in the dead of night may well be a trained killer. There's no need for you to search for her personally..."

"She was my maid. It's my responsibility."

"...!"

When did she grow up like this? Namgung Seol's eyes reddened for no good reason as she stroked Yujin's head pat-pat-pat and granted her request.

Carry me to the tallest pavilion. Somewhere with a good view of the market...

Namgung Seol's lightfoot art was utterly relentless, and she shot toward the tallest pavilion in Anhwi ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠City at breathtaking speed — the rooftop of the eight-story inn famous throughout the city, from which the fragrance of good food was already drifting up on the air.

Yujin, squinting around in every direction, thrust out a finger and shouted.

"Found her! Sister, over there—!"

"Hm!"

At her little sister's cryptic gesture, Namgung Seol simply nodded and launched straight off the pavilion, her lightfoot art carrying them down into the heart of the market. With a thud and a spray of dust, two women appeared, and the crowd began quietly stepping out of their path. Jet-black hair and eyes as deep as the blue sky itself; robes too luxurious for ordinary folk to even dream of touching; and swords engraved with the mark of the Firmament — there was not a soul present who failed to recognize them. As the onlookers slunk backward, Namgung Seol glanced around.

"But Yujin, where is this maid of yours?"

"There!"

Yujin looked around briefly, then pointed at someone without the slightest hesitation. Where her finger landed stood a person a little on the lean side, but unmistakably, indisputably male to any eye.

"Hm? But that is a man, is it not?"

"Nope. A woman. I can tell."

Sniff, sniff.

Yujin's nostrils fluttered as she closed in on the man. Status window or no status window, there was no mistaking the difference between a man's scent and a woman's.

"My lady, what nonsense is this... to say such a thing of a man..."

The man waved his hands, sweating with what looked like genuine indignation. It was a flawless performance. Which was precisely why Yujin played the one card that would force her to drop the disguise.

"You know me, Sawol."

As Yujin smiled and tilted her head, she watched the man's expression crumple like paper. Beneath the flawless mask, Sawol's true face was crumpling far harder still.

She already knows my name...?! Just how far does the Namgung Clan's intelligence network reach?!

"Tch...!"

Sawol's face twisted into an ugly scowl as she drew her flying dagger, and Namgung Seol bared her blade at a speed invisible to the eye. Unlike the two of them, Yujin simply smiled faintly and lifted a hand.

"Sister. I'll take this one."

Yujin pressed Namgung Seol's sword back down and slowly stepped forward. It was the stance of a sheltered young lady who had never once held a sword in her life — and yet, before anyone realized it, a strange and uncanny presence had begun to seep out of her.

The Firmament. The Sovereign.

Even within the murim — a world whose inhabitants adored slapping grandiose epithets onto everything — the Namgung sword had monopolized the most pompous descriptors of them all. And yet no one could laugh, and the clan held its seat among the Five Great Families with its head held high, for one simple reason.

It was no bluff.

The Namgung sword adopts, at a glance, a form that seems only slow and heavy. Everyone knows this — and knowing it, no one can evade it.

A true sovereign mixes in no falsehood, and is the one who carves a road where none exists.

No feints, no flourishes — a sword that charges, and charges, and only charges.

It crushes beneath sheer momentum, then cleaves the body from its path with the heavy blade.

...?! What—

Confronted with a presence from her little sister that rivaled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her own lifetime of achievement, Namgung Seol let slip a sharp gasp. When had she grown this much?

Of course, what Yujin was unleashing was Namgung Seol's very own martial art — but there was no way the girl could have known that.

"Sa— no, then. To toy with a maiden's heart and then flee. Hmmm. This I cannot forgive."

Wi Sawol, at the cusp of First Rate, Mid Stage, took no small pride in her abilities. She had been confident that, given an assassin's ideal conditions, she could put a blade in even an early Peak Realm master — and now her body had begun to tremble uncontrollably. The instincts honed through hundreds of real kills as a Blood Cult assassin. The crushing pressure one feels in the presence of something far stronger.

"Guilty—!!"

Hold on—!

Yujin threw back her head and shrieked the verdict at the top of her lungs, then smiled brightly once more and said, very quietly:

"Hey. Ready for your education?"

The Namgung Yujin before her eyes was drawing threads of light from the very blade itself — the realm of Sword Thread, as it were.

Yujin was unmistakably radiating the presence of a Peak Realm master, and directing at Sawol a killing intent that was entirely, sincerely genuine — enough to kill her where she stood.

Ding.

"....?"