Heaven's Seamless Garment (3)
"I'm truly, truly sorry. This is everything I have. If you could just take this and find it in your hearts to forgive me…"
The man held out his entire fortune as he spoke. Naturally, it was a drop in the ocean compared to the sum he and his crew had taken from Mok Cheon and Mok Yeon-hwa.
Mok Cheon, disgusted by the sight of a man crawling in with a pittance and begging for forgiveness, refused the money and threw him out.
"Enough. Get the hell out of my sight."
"Please—if you would only accept my apology…!"
"If you want me to accept an apology, bring back every coin you stole from us—or leave this city forever."
With that, Mok Cheon seized the man and hurled him outside. He may have been beaten by Rex's crew, but he was still a trained martial artist. Subduing a single grown man was nothing to him.
After flinging the man out of the dojo in a single motion, Mok Cheon turned back to Mok Yeon-hwa.
"Scatter salt. Salt."
"We don't have money to waste, Father."
"Hmph… Still, what the devil was that about."
Clicking his tongue, Mok Cheon turned the incident over in his mind. It smelled like another trap. The man claimed he had come to apologize—but how was he supposed to believe that?
Accepting that scrap of money and that hollow apology could be twisted into proof that they had accepted the apology of Rex's entire crew.
Absolutely not.
After everything they had endured to get this far, he would not throw away their chance like that. Until a proper apology was offered, he had no intention of forgiving any of them.
If it were up to him, the whole damned city would—
"Master, good morning."
At that moment a boy stepped into the dojo. Mok Cheon cocked his head and looked at him.
"And who are you?"
"Ah—pleased to meet you. My name is Evan. I enrolled at this dojo a month ago."
"…Mok Cheon. I'm the master of this place."
"Oh. So you're Master's father?"
"That's right."
Mok Cheon eyed the politely greeting Evan with open suspicion. He was beginning to form a rough idea of who the boy the apologizing man had mentioned must be.
He didn't press Evan immediately, though—partly because everything the boy had done had ultimately been for their sake, and partly because he simply could not believe that this child had defeated Rex's crew when he himself had not been able to.
"Then starting today, will the Headmaster be teaching me instead of Master?"
"Hmm. You said you've been here a month? Then you're not ready for my instruction yet. Yeon-hwa's teaching should be more than enough…"
"Master said the day before yesterday that she had nothing left to teach me."
"What?"
Mok Cheon turned to Yeon-hwa as if to ask whether that could possibly be true. Meeting her father's gaze, Mok Yeon-hwa nodded without a flicker of hesitation.
"See for yourself, Father. There's no need for words."
"…Very well. If you say so."
At her words, Mok Cheon stepped forward with a wooden sword in hand, tossed another to Evan, and spoke.
"No need to warm up, I take it?"
"I'm fine either way. What about you, Headmaster?"
"I already loosened up earlier. Then—"
Cheonbong-ryu.
The Silken Stance.
Mok Cheon settled into the posture said to be usable only by a true master of the Cheonbong style, grinned, and gave a slight nod.
"Come."
"I'm coming."
At the signal, Evan swung first.
And in the next instant—
Mok Cheon understood just how finely woven the garments of heaven truly were.
"You piece of shit—!"
Crash—!
Rex hurled the glass in his hand and stood trembling with rage, roaring at the top of his lungs.
The subordinate beside him kept his mouth shut, crushed under the weight of the atmosphere.
"What? They're so scared of that little brat they want to leave the city? Have you ever seen such worthless bastards—!"
"…What should we do? Chase them down and drag them back?"
"You know where they went? And if we all go after those bastards right now, who's going to finish the dojo job that's almost done?"
"That's…"
With nothing to say, the subordinate clamped his mouth shut. Only two or three men had slipped out of the organization so far—but catching even two or three would take three or four times that many people.
Considering how small Rex's party actually was, peeling off ten men was already hard enough. And even if they somehow scraped together ten, another problem remained.
There would be no one left to put on the dojo job that was nearly finished.
Shit. And this isn't something we can just hire outside mercenaries for…
This was an adventuring operation he had started years ago with trusted brothers who had been with him for a long, long time. Even with them, things had gone this wrong. If he brought complete strangers into the job?
What they were doing was illegal no matter how you looked at it. Any mercenary or adventurer with a normal sense of right and wrong would raise objections. In the worst case, they might report everything straight to the guild or the lord's castle.
Something might happen that the one or two staff members they had bribed—or the power of the person backing them—could not cover. That, above all, had to be prevented.
"…No choice. Hey—how much money is left in the warehouse?"
"Huh? Ah, yes. We spent a little of the two hundred thousand Elso we received recently, so about a hundred and eighty thousand left."
"…Half. No—bring me a hundred thousand Elso."
"Boss, that money is—"
"I'm going to see that person. And I need someone among you who can play the part of a patient. Anyone? I'll give you ten thousand Elso."
"—I-I'll do it!"
One of the party members who had been quietly listening to Rex and the lieutenant shot his hand up the moment he heard "ten thousand Elso."
Rex nodded and looked at his subordinate.
"You said you'd do it?"
"Huh? Y-yes, sir—"
Rex immediately swung his blade and severed the man's left arm. The subordinate stared blankly at his own severed arm, not understanding what had happened—then, a beat too late, clutched the stump and screamed.
"Gyaaaaaaah—!"
"Don't worry. I won't stiff you on the money."
"Aaaargh! Fuck, fuuuuck…!"
Hisssss— Rex poured a potion over the cut surface to regenerate it, then made a low sound in his throat as he eyed the uneven, swollen flesh.
"Should I take a leg too? This doesn't have quite enough impact."
"Th-that, please, no…!"
"Come on, did I say I was going to kill you? A leg makes it twenty thousand. How about it? You're already a cripple with one arm gone—what's one more leg?"
"Forgive me, please forgive me…! I was wrong…!"
"Anyone listening would think I forced you into this. You piece of shit."
Crunch—! Rex stomped the man's leg and broke it, then rose as if that would be enough and gave his orders.
"Bandage this bastard up and bring him. I'm going ahead."
"Y-yes, sir!"
The lieutenant let out a long sigh as he looked at the subordinate screaming with both arm and leg ruined.
He ordered the remaining men to support the one-armed subordinate, then spoke to the man himself.
"That's what you get for embezzling."
The other subordinates let out delayed sounds of understanding. They finally grasped that Rex had known about the embezzlement and cut the man down for it.
A tyrant who swung his blade with a reason was an object of fear—but also someone you could feel safe around. All the more so if you could clearly see how you might end up the same way.
"Get him out of here."
"Yes, sir."
"Idiot. That's what you get for being greedy."
Considerably more at ease, the subordinates dragged the one-armed man away. The man with the ruined arm and leg clamped his mouth shut and shook with pain.
The lieutenant watched them go, then casually pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
"Bastard really did embezzle, huh."
Once the cigarette was finished, the lieutenant left the building and headed for the dojo—the Mokcheon Dojo, where Rex had ordered him to bring the maimed subordinate.
A duel between swordsmen trained in the Cheonbong style tended to unfold as follows.
True to a school built around deflecting an opponent's blade and countering, both fighters refused to expose openings while also refusing to attack, and the match stretched into a long war of attrition.
Evan did not fight that way.
Whoosh—! Mok Cheon deflected the swinging wooden sword and flowed naturally into a counter. Evan deflected that blade even more naturally and drove his own sword straight at Mok Cheon.
There was no exchange of counters after that. The completed secret art of the Cheonbong style carried, in the same motion as the deflection, the power to completely neutralize an opponent.
"…I lose."
"That's ten to zero. Want to go again?"
"Do I look like a man with that little shame?"
Mok Cheon gave a bitter smile and shook his head. He would have liked nothing more than to keep fighting—but after ten consecutive losses, it was not something he could say.
Setting his sword down, Mok Cheon turned over in his mind the divine technique Evan had just displayed, and sank into thought.
"…How did you deflect the blade like that at that moment? How on earth—"
He did not sink into despair over the fact that a boy who had studied the sword for a mere month had grasped the secret art of the Cheonbong style.
If his training had been lacking, he might have broken his sword, shaved his head, and entered a temple—or harbored murderous intent toward Evan. But Mok Cheon was a martial artist who had walked the path for more than thirty years.
That meant he did not feel inferior when someone surpassed him, nor superior when someone fell short.
"…Thank you. With this, I can push myself further."
"Not at all. You're welcome."
Evan looked at Mok Cheon with mild wonder. He had met people who envied and resented him—but this was the first person who had ever thanked him.
Realizing that the man himself was simply a good person, Evan found the thugs who had pressured him even more distasteful.
To betray and threaten a man like this… those guys really were the worst.
Learning that they still had not apologized, Evan sharpened his resolve to show them no mercy the next time they met.
"Hmm… By the way, Evan, was it? Do you intend to stay here any longer?"
"What do you mean by that?"
"I'm sorry to say it, but honestly, I have nothing left to teach you. How am I supposed to instruct a swordsman greater than myself?"
Mok Cheon's words were reasonable. Evan was a swordsman beyond him—perhaps even beyond the sect master of the Cheonbong main school where Mok Cheon himself had trained.
There was no way such a person could be taught. And yet Evan shook his head at the man who claimed he had nothing left to give.
"Master told me something. Teacher and student are one body—that a student should serve his teacher as he would his own parents. Is there a child who abandons his parents because he has nothing left to learn from them?"
"You…"
Hearing Evan's words, Mok Cheon was struck by a profound shock and let out a low sound.
Then he looked at his daughter, Mok Yeon-hwa.
"Do you have a sweetheart, young man? What about my daughter? She's cut her hair short for now, so she looks a bit rough—but grow it out and she's a real beauty…"
"F-Father!? What are you saying!"
"You're offering me Master? I'll gratefully accept."
"E-Evan!? You too…?"
Evan, who had taken the offer of Yeon-hwa as a joke, answered in kind—yet for some reason Mok Yeon-hwa's face began to flush.
"I'm joking."
"R-right? You don't make jokes about your Master."
"It's funny, though."
As they bantered, Evan realized that something like warmth had begun to bloom inside the dojo.
Once we get that apology, this will all be over…
"Mok Cheon, master of the Mokcheon Dojo—come out here!"
At that moment a booming voice rolled in from outside the dojo. Mok Cheon's expression hardened slightly as he stepped out.
Evan followed, and found knights surrounding the dojo, a fat middle-aged man, and thugs with their arms and legs wrapped thickly in bandages.
When Mok Cheon appeared, the middle-aged man at the front stepped forward and shouted.
"Mok Cheon, master of the Mokcheon Dojo! You stand accused of aggravated assault and solicitation of murder! Surrender at once!"
"…What are you talking about? To a man who has been lying in a sickbed all this time."
"Don't play dumb! Do you not see this man!"
The middle-aged man pointed at the figure swathed in bandages from head to toe. The face was familiar.
Evan realized it was one of the men he had attacked not long ago. The problem was that he had not injured the man badly enough to warrant bandages over his entire body.
Mok Cheon, who of course recognized the face, curled his lip in a sneer and shrugged as if to ask what of it.
"Why is it my fault that that bastard got hurt?"
"Hmph. Still playing dumb to the end. This man was attacked not long ago by a member of your Mokcheon Dojo. He lost an arm. His leg was crushed beyond even holy power to mend. And that member of yours tried to kill him, failed, and fled! Do you understand your crime now!"
"…Those bastards wiped out every student of our dojo. How could one of our members do any such thing?"
"Then if it wasn't one of your members wearing those barbaric monkey robes of yours and using your dojo's sword style, what was it!"
"Ridiculous. Those trash stole our dojo's techniques and have been teaching them on street corners for pocket change—and you still call him one of ours? In the first place, our dojo has no—"
He had been about to say they had no members left. Then, struck by a sudden suspicion, Mok Cheon looked at Evan. Evan, who had in fact carried out the attack, casually averted his eyes.
While Mok Cheon, left without a word, glared carefully at Evan, the middle-aged man bellowed.
"You insolent dog! Still denying your crimes to the end! Fine—I will try your guilt right here!"
"And who are you supposed to be?"
"How dare you! This man is the city's magistrate—Baronet Rushwaltz! A man like you does not address him so casually!"
Watching Rex roar beside the man, Mok Cheon roughly grasped how the situation had come about.
So that was why the thug had tormented his dojo so relentlessly—it had been at the behest of this pig of a man.
Of course. No one could harass a single person for so long on mere fleeting, temporary emotion alone.
This is bad.
The problem was that a pair of father and daughter with no connections in this city, already discriminated against, had no way of defeating a local magistrate.
If the man had come alone, Mok Cheon might have beaten him with a sword and fled—but the magistrate had brought a full company of knights in plate armor precisely for such a contingency.
There was no way to escape unharmed. Mok Cheon looked at his daughter and at Evan with apology in his eyes.
"…I've brought trouble upon you."
"—No."
Evan stepped past Mok Cheon and walked forward. When a random child appeared in front of him, the magistrate cocked his head.
"What is this brat…"
"I'm the dojo member who attacked those men."
"Evan!?"
"Oho—so you're the criminal who assaulted people! I thought as much! You there—arrest that boy at once—"
"I have one question. Roughly how high is a local magistrate?"
"L-Lord Rushwaltz holds the rank of baronet! Don't even think of attacking him!"
Rex, who knew Evan's skill, answered the question just in case.
No matter how strong someone was, they wouldn't touch a noble. Roughing up back-alley thugs and laying hands on a noble were worlds apart.
But Evan had never intended to draw a sword against them in the first place. There was no need.
I didn't want to use this…
He had wanted to resolve everything with the dojo's strength alone—with the power of the Cheonbong style that Mok Cheon taught.
Once he brought this out, the matter would be settled far too easily. Not by the strength of the Cheonbong style, but by nothing more than his own whim.
"Local Magistrate Rushwaltz—hear me."
Evan drew the Sword Saint's seal from his coat. Rushwaltz frowned and peered at the token—then, recognizing what it was, began to tremble.
"Th-that is…?"
"In the name of the Sword Saint, I decree."
Ignoring the bewildered stares of father and daughter, Evan delivered his judgment.
"You are dismissed."