Chapter 73
Chapter 73
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 73
Chapter Title: Grudge
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Dang Mujin hoisted Gwi-ui's corpse onto his back and headed for Hoju. He wanted the old man to rest peacefully beside his family rather than in some nameless corner of Qinghai Province.
It was far from a comfortable journey. The distance was one thing, but even as winter waned, the weather was bitterly cold.
As he walked in silence, his fingers and toes would go numb from the frost, so he had to circulate his internal energy even while on the move to ward off frostbite. He never imagined the footwork he'd learned before would prove useful in this way.
Yet despite the discomfort, Dang Mujin was grateful for the cold.
Warm weather would cause the body to decay. It might hold out for two or three days, but if the corpse started to break down, that would be a serious problem.
Better to battle the chill while traveling than face that.
Carrying a corpse also made it tricky to run into people, so Dang Mujin stuck to deserted paths.
As a result, his bed each night was the snow-covered ground. He didn't even light a fire while camping outside the village. He worried that any warmth might worsen the corpse's condition.
Of course, he could have built a fire and kept Gwi-ui's body at a distance, but if that were the case, he wouldn't have camped outside at all.
Dang Mujin didn't want to leave Gwi-ui's corpse in the cold while warming himself alone. It felt like a betrayal.
He figured now was the time to be stubborn, so he stubbornly endured.
Sitting before Gwi-ui's body, chewing on cold, hard rations, all sorts of thoughts flooded his mind.
He half-expected Gwi-ui to sit up at any moment, grumbling.
"Damn, it's freezing. What, you eating alone?"
He could almost hear it. Sometimes it even felt like hallucinations.
But when he snapped out of it, Gwi-ui lay utterly still.
And so Dang Mujin walked alone for twenty days.
*
By the time he reached Hoju, Dang Mujin looked like a perfect beggar.
To be objective, he was far filthier than Hong Geolgae had been when they first met. Unlike Hong Geolgae, who at least washed in streams now and then, Dang Mujin hadn't bathed once during the long trek.
He waited until darkness fell, then climbed the hill where walnut trees grew. Two graves, large and small, awaited their husband and father.
Dang Mujin settled beside them and dug into the earth with his bare hands.
His arms had seemed decent enough when he'd unearthed the Compendium of Ten Thousand Illnesses in autumn, but now the frozen soil barely budged, leaving only cuts on his fingertips. The winter frost was part of it, but hunger and exhaustion made it worse.
He drew his sword and stabbed the ground with the scabbard tip. Better than his hands, but at this rate, who knew how long it would take to finish the grave. The scabbard might break before he did.
In the end, Dang Mujin slipped down to the village and stealthily borrowed a usable shovel.
After digging deep and laying Gwi-ui to rest, night was fading, and the eastern sky began to lighten dimly.
Filthy with dirt, Dang Mujin lay beside the grave, staring blankly at the morning star.
He'd thought burying Gwi-ui's body would bring relief, but it didn't. His heart still churned with turmoil.
Dang Mujin pondered long what this emotion was.
Anger toward the assassins? Regret for Gwi-ui, who had left so casually only to die pointlessly?
No. This was self-reproach.
He fiddled with the Structuring Poisons Manual he'd found on Gwi-ui's body.
True to its name, the book recorded knowledge about poisons.
Methods to mix poisons into something deadlier. Ways to enhance a poison's effects. Techniques to neutralize them.
Just skimming the contents made it clear: this was the work left by the Poison Demon Physician.
The Poison Demon Physician had always said his talent for killing outshone his skill at healing.
In other words, Gwi-ui had successfully obtained the Poison Demon Physician's medical text. Whether peacefully handed over or taken by force after killing him, Dang Mujin couldn't say.
Yet on his way back, having achieved his goal, Gwi-ui had encountered the assassins and been slain.
'Was it Baek Chuser who hired them?'
Not certain. But the odds were high.
Put another way, if Baek Chuser had been killed in time, Gwi-ui likely wouldn't have been targeted.
'What if I hadn't stopped the old man from killing Baek Chuser?'
Gwi-ui probably would have survived.
Everything had gone wrong because of that one decision. Dang Mujin bit his lip, thinking it over.
'If I'd kept him from sparing Baek Chuser, I should at least have gone with the old man.'
He recalled the assassins' corpses he'd found in Qinghai, and the one he'd killed himself.
Out of six assassins, Gwi-ui had taken down five. The lone survivor had been the scout, uninvolved in the fight. Meaning Gwi-ui had held his own against five-to-one odds.
What if, instead of facing five alone, Gwi-ui had Dang Mujin's help—two against five? He might have lived.
Dang Mujin had let Baek Chuser live, dooming Gwi-ui to pursuit. And knowing the assassins were after him, he'd let Gwi-ui set off alone, complacently thinking, "The old man can handle it."
He'd sabotaged a simple resolution, then dumped the aftermath and risks on Gwi-ui.
Yes. My foolish thinking led to this.
Dang Mujin sat blankly for a long while, then rose and headed southeast.
*
The line between seasons is subtle.
Some declare spring's arrival with a single warm breeze, while others wait for melting snow and green sprouts.
Opinions still varied on whether it was winter or spring, but Baek Chuser had decided long ago that spring was here.
The harshest, coldest period had passed—winter was over, wasn't it?
Last year, Baek Chuser's winter had begun earlier than most.
The day ruffians disguised as physicians stormed in, kidnapped Hyanga, and plotted their scheme. Winter had started then.
No one died or was seriously hurt, but it didn't feel like living.
Each time Hyanga, whom he'd raised with such care, showed subtle distance, his heart sank.
He even thought returning to the days before he knew of her blocked meridians—when her health was poor, when she was slowly dying—might be less painful.
Worse, Gwi-ui's parting insult lingered in his mind.
"If your abilities are lacking, even ordinary dreams can be too much."
It drove him mad whenever it resurfaced.
Just seeing his sword recalled it, hands trembling so badly he skipped his lifelong daily practice for nearly ten days.
But both issues resolved before long.
The problem with Hyanga solved itself by separation.
Muryangja, leader of the Kongdong Sect and an old friend of his father's, had recognized her talent and taken her as a disciple.
No more face-to-face awkwardness.
A recent letter from Muryangja even said that, beyond her vast internal energy reserves, her martial talent was exceptional.
Considering Muryangja's stinginess with praise, it confirmed Hyanga could revive House Baek.
The haunting insult was settled months ago when the Salmak Yejeon Branch Chief visited.
"Patriarch Baek, about that failed commission last time."
"What makes you brazen enough to show your face? Think you've got dirt on my weakness?"
"No. I reported to headquarters, and that man wasn't ordinary. Yi Gyun wasn't his real name."
"Then?"
"It was Gwi-ui Yi Chung."
"Gwi-ui Yi Chung! So what of the commission? Calling it off?"
"No. Headquarters happened to be gearing up to kill Gwi-ui anyway, so they assembled five peak-realm assassins. No way he survives."
"Excellent!"
"But there will be extra costs. Is that alright?"
"No issue."
Scraping together payment for Salmak had left the household short on funds, but that was minor.
Baek Chuser had never been extravagant, and the servants could be counted on one hand.
The remaining money would last years. After that, Hyanga would manage.
Hardships mature a person, they say. Once worries lifted, everything started going right.
His stagnant training of over a decade suddenly showed progress.
Not some dramatic leap, but a steady forward creep.
Once Salmak reported Gwi-ui's death, momentum might carry him to the peak realm's wall. With luck, beyond it.
'With luck, I might reach the peak before Hyanga.'
Today too, Baek Chuser trained his Baek Family Swordsmanship enthusiastically before returning to his quarters.
As he moved to lie down, he sensed a faint presence. Scanning the room, he spotted a black-clad figure in the corner.
Anyone else would have startled and drawn their sword, but Baek Chuser beamed with joy.
He'd been waiting neck-deep for Salmak's word.
Ears perked for the news he craved, he listened quietly.
The black-clad man spoke.
"The commission is complete. Gwi-ui is dead."
Baek Chuser felt a thunderbolt of joy pierce his head.
Training in this mood, he could shatter the peak realm's wall in one go.
"Excellent! Where's Gwi-ui's head? I need to see that face to pay the balance."
The man paused before replying, a beat late.
"...You'll see it soon enough."
"I can't wait. Hope it's before it rots away."
Baek Chuser wasn't disappointed.
With multiple backers pooling for the hit, the head would pass through hands before delivery—he'd expected that.
When the Salmak Yejeon Branch Chief mentioned numerous sponsors for Gwi-ui's assassination, Baek Chuser had felt secretly pleased.
It reaffirmed Gwi-ui as no good soul, but a villain who'd earned widespread grudges.
And that was just those connected to Salmak and able to pay.
How many more couldn't afford it?
Commissioning the hit even filled Baek Chuser with a smug pride.
Like a righteous sect hero, avenging the weak and helpless by slaying the wicked.
A noble act—using dirty Salmak hands was no sin.
No, borrowing Salmak made it better. Using the wicked to punish greater evil. Using a thief to catch a thief. Brilliant method, brilliant result.
'I hope Gwi-ui and Salmak's assassins all drop dead together.'
Then the black-clad man asked.
"Where is Miss Baek? I need to report the mission's success to her too."
The unwelcome question startled Baek Chuser.
He'd convinced himself the commission wasn't shameful, but his daughter knowing was another matter.
"What nonsense? Why tell her? Speak that to Hyanga, and you won't get the balance even with Gwi-ui's head!"
At Baek Chuser's sharp rebuke, the man muttered.
"So you commissioned it, and Miss Baek knows nothing."
A clear wrongness hit Baek Chuser. Salmak knew the client.
"...What? You're from Salmak, right? Where's the branch chief?"
"Branch chief? No idea."
The man removed his hood, revealing a young face.
Faintly familiar, not fully erased from memory.
The lackey who'd seemed Gwi-ui's underling. Baek Chuser gasped.
Dang Mujin glared at him with blazing eyes.
"You'll cough up where that branch chief or whatever is hiding now."
The moment Dang Mujin's words ended, venomous killing intent surged from all sides like waves, enveloping Baek Chuser.