Chapter 1004

Everything in the world has its own atmosphere.

A feeling that belongs not only to a person, but to a place or an object, too.

Ordinary civilians have a hard time reading it clearly. Martial artists are different. Life-or-death battles and grueling training have honed their five senses to their limits.

Jeok Cheongang, for instance, was watching me with a grave, searching gaze.

Why?

Before I could ask, the question vanished.

As we drew closer to the ocher-colored walls rising from the middle of the vast plain, I began to feel it too.

“Hmm.”

A low murmur came from nearby.

I turned and met the Wind-and-Cloud Sword Lord’s gaze. He had been staring at me.

“You feel it too?”

“Yes.”

I nodded, then watched the walls draw closer with every pounding hoofbeat.

“It’s quiet. Too quiet.”

Anything in excess had poison hidden in it.

That was the feeling coming from the small city, now barely a hundred jang¹ away.

The Great Nation’s flag flew above the walls, as it did everywhere, and below it stood a firmly shut iron gate.

But even setting aside the unusual desolation, something essential was missing.

People.

Civilians didn’t spend their whole lives inside city walls. Some worked the fields outside; others traveled the roads.

Yet the sun hadn’t set, and there were few signs of anyone.

No—not a single person was in sight.

No people meant no noise, making the place feel all the more eerie.

The Wind-and-Cloud Sword Lord had noticed it too. His voice grew heavier.

“Do you think it could be a trap?”

I fell silent for a moment.

According to the Lower District Sect member Wolhwa had sent, the Murim Alliance already had a tight surveillance network throughout the western region.

Could an entire city—not some small village—have been occupied without them knowing?

Besides…

It’s eerie, but that’s all.

I could see no signs of battle, and the wind carried not a trace of blood.

How much flesh and bone had I cut through by now? I knew the thick, cloying stench of blood wouldn’t vanish in a day or two. Not when taking a city would have spilled so much of it.

It’s not a trap.

Just as I reached that conclusion, Sama Pyo urged his horse up beside us. One calm remark turned my guess into certainty.

“There’s no harm in continuing on as we are. Nothing’s going to happen anyway.”

His voice was steady, his gaze just as calm.

A thought struck me.

“Could it be?”

“That’s right. It looks like they’ve prepared quite an extravagant welcome.”

At that moment—

Rumble.

Several dozen jang¹ ahead, the firmly shut iron gate began to slowly open.

As the enormous mass of iron, weighing over a thousand geun², parted, a cold-faced middle-aged man appeared in the gap.

He was slender but powerfully built. Though he was entering old age, his neatly combed, jet-black hair held not a single gray strand.

He reminded me of a black panther, and an epithet and name I’d only heard spoken flashed through my mind.

The Black Night King, Sima Gong.

Sect Leader of the Black Dragon Demon Gate, which stood alongside the Yangtze River Channel League and the Green Forest Alliance as a great power of the unorthodox faction. Together with the Kongtong Sect, it divided Gansu Province between them.

But as I recognized the father, I noticed something else.

For some reason, the closer he came, the more his son’s eyes darkened.

“This junior martial artist, Sima Gong, pays his respects to you, Senior.”

Sima Gong’s greeting to Jeok Cheongang was more than polite. It was almost excessive, especially given his standing in Murim and his own considerable age.

Jeok Cheongang, of course, didn’t care in the slightest.

“Spare me the ‘junior martial artist’ nonsense.”

He snorted so hard I worried a booger might fly out, then looked at Sima Gong.

“Are you that desperate to pretend you’re young, or do you wish you were young again?”

Sima Gong lowered his clasped hands and straightened.

“That wasn’t my intention, but embarrassing as it is to admit, I suppose both.”

“Your silver tongue hasn’t changed.”

“Nor have you, Senior. Though your appearance has changed quite a bit.”

“The shell may change, but what’s inside stays the same. Speaking of shells, yours has grown rather grand.”

Jeok Cheongang paused to survey the area.

The streets were empty of civilians—not even a rat was in sight—and around a thousand armed men filled the space by the city gate.

Their black martial uniforms left no doubt that they belonged to the Black Dragon Demon Gate.

“You brought plenty with you. Swarming around like a pack of dogs. Quite a sight.”

Displeasure filled Jeok Cheongang’s eyes and voice.

For the three hundred years since its founding, the Fire Gate Clan had walked the line between the orthodox and unorthodox factions. If pressed, though, it leaned a little closer to the orthodox side.

The Black Night King Sima Gong and the Black Dragon Demon Gate he led, on the other hand, were heirs to the tradition of demonic, heterodox arts.

And judging from the things I’d heard about Sima Gong in the time we’d spent together, Jeok Cheongang’s opinion of him had been poor ever since the Great Faction War.

“Things have been looking rather strange lately, so it came to this.”

“So you emptied your sect and came pouring over here because things are unsettled? Stirring up innocent civilians while you’re at it.”

“You seem to have misunderstood. Even with this many troops away, our sect’s defenses remain secure. The civilians left of their own accord. If they were frightened because of us, then there’s nothing we can do about that… but it isn’t necessarily a bad thing, is it?”

“What?”

Jeok Cheongang narrowed his eyes. Sima Gong smiled gently, an expression at odds with his cold face.

“I have no intention of being disrespectful to you, Senior. I only meant that, amid these signs, the civilians would sense a greater danger. That, too, could be a way to save their lives.”

“……!”

I had to admit one thing.

This guy can talk.

He could dress up word games and sophistry to sound convincing, then soothe the person listening with just the right manner and smile.

On top of that, he had martial arts that could rival the two Alliance Leaders of the Yangtze and the Green Forest. That was probably the biggest reason the Black Dragon Demon Gate was what it was today.

Like father, like son? They’re definitely alike in that respect. Sama Pyo was just like that when I first met him.

That was then, though.

At our first meeting, Sama Pyo had spoken and acted like a slippery eel. The longer we spent together, the more I realized he wasn’t actually much of a talker.

Was “keep your outside and inside different” something his father taught him?

I glanced between father and son—and met Sima Gong’s eyes.

“Oh, so that’s the young man. The rare genius you took in as a Disciple, Senior.”

He was speaking to Jeok Cheongang, but the interest gleaming in his eyes was directed at me.

It was already too late to pretend I hadn’t noticed his gaze and look away. I glanced at Jeok Cheongang, who was still frowning at Sima Gong. He nodded.

“I’m Jin Taekyung, of the Jin Family of Taiyuan.”

“I know. How could I not? There’s hardly anyone in Gansu who hasn’t heard of your fame.”

It was the same tired pleasantry people exchanged whenever they met in Murim. But he’d said it with a smile, so I had to answer in kind.

After all, the man before me was an ally—and Sama Pyo’s father.

“You’re too kind. I’ve heard a great deal about you too, Great Hero Sima.”

I clasped my hands politely. Sima Gong smiled and turned to Jeok Cheongang.

“Well, this is unexpected. I thought you’d never had a very good opinion of me, Senior.”

“Never had a good opinion of you? Me?”

“Was I mistaken?”

“Of course you were.”

Well, even Jeok Cheongang couldn’t spit in the face of a smiling man.

I gave Sima Gong a warm smile, as if to say, See?

Then Jeok Cheongang went on.

“It’s not that I have a poor opinion of you. I just don’t like you.”

“……”

“So I’ve talked behind your back a little.”

“……”

“Jin Taekyung there is lying through his teeth. ‘Heard a great deal about you,’ my ass. What kind of bullshit is—”

Whoosh. Thwack!

“Gyaaaah!”

The faint sound of something cutting through the air was followed by a sudden scream that swallowed Jeok Cheongang’s voice.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

At the same time, dazzling flashes of swordlight sprang up in every direction, and shouts rang out.

“Prepare for battle!”

“The Black Dragon Demon Gate, prepare for an enemy attack!”

“By order of the Sect Leader! Zhongnan Disciples, form the Moon-Shattering Sword Formation at once! …What are you doing?”

The Wind-and-Cloud Sword Lord had been ordering his Disciples to form a sword formation, but his voice trailed off in bafflement. Only then did everyone realize something was strange. Following the Wind-and-Cloud Sword Lord’s gaze, they all looked toward one person.

A homely-looking guy who’d fallen from his saddle with a thunderous scream.

No, Hyuk Mujin.

“Ugh, what the hell was that all of a—”

He groaned and staggered to his feet, then froze like a statue.

Countless eyes were fixed on him like spotlights. He blinked silently until he finally spotted me. The corners of his eyes twitched.

“Captain. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Everyone’s gaze shifted to me.

Sima Gong’s eyes in particular were fixed on me. I did my best to keep my expression calm as I opened my mouth.

“Don’t misunderstand. I don’t really know him.”

Sima Gong turned to Hyuk Mujin.

“Who are you? You don’t seem to be a Zhongnan Sect Disciple.”

“I’m Hyuk Mujin, of the Jin Family of Taiyuan,” he answered indignantly.

“So he says,” Sima Gong said.

Of all the times to be oblivious, you idiot.

I should’ve knocked him out in one shot. Since when did he get so sturdy?

Cursing myself for failing to land the Finger Qi properly, I said, “We’ve met a few times. I didn’t say I’d never met him.”

“So you do know him.”

“Hmm. I suppose I do.”

“Then what do you think caused that young man to suddenly scream and fall over?”

In the suffocating silence, I considered my options and gave the best answer I could.

“He’s always been a bit sick. He has a condition.”

Hyuk Mujin’s mouth fell open. Perhaps the pain had stimulated his salivary glands, because a translucent string of drool ran down his chin.

“See? He comes and goes a few times a day. This sort of thing happens as regularly as his three meals—”

“Wow, you’re really going to do this? You’re seriously going to do this? You want to take it all the way?”

At that critical moment, I sent a discreet Sound Transmission over Hyuk Mujin’s shoulder.

More precisely, to the quick-witted Hidden Shadow Pavilion agent behind him, whose eyes were darting in alarm.

Now!

Fortunately, Namho was nothing like Hyuk Mujin.

With speed and agility that belied his age, he stealthily dropped the strip of jerky in his hand onto the top of Hyuk Mujin’s head.

That tempting piece of jerky was enough to rouse the appetite of someone who’d gone a whole shichen³ without food.

“Nooo! Jerky!”

Whack!

A palm as big as a pot lid slammed down on Hyuk Mujin’s head. He collapsed, and a deathly silence followed.

It lasted until I, having barely dealt with the emergency, spoke up.

“Now, don’t mind him. Let’s all go inside.”

“……”

“……”

Why are they all looking at me like I’m a madman?