Chapter 1018

“He was burning a secret letter alone, without anyone knowing.”

The words slipped from my lips in a low murmur.

Jeok Cheongang’s gaze, fixed on me, had grown dark and still.

“Could Namho have been mistaken?”

“That…”

I fell silent instead of finishing the sentence. Jeok Cheongang let out a quiet sigh.

“Damn it. So it’s true.”

At first, I’d thought the whole thing was a simple misunderstanding. A minor incident we could clear up by calling Sama Pyo over and talking to him directly.

But…

“Elder Nam was certain by the time he told me.”

“I thought so. If he’s only just brought it up, he must have spent all this time thinking it through.”

“Yes. At first, even he wasn’t sure. He didn’t have any solid evidence to back it up, either.”

Growing old meant your senses grew dull. Namho had said he’d gone over it again and again.

Was the smell that had lingered in Sama Pyo’s room the same kind he’d encountered so many times as an agent of the Hidden Shadow Pavilion? Or were his dulled senses leading him to suspect them for no reason?

And after more than seven days and nights of worry, this old Hidden Shadow Pavilion agent had reached only one conclusion.

“It was definitely the smell of oiled paper burning. I’m certain now.”

Oiled paper—paper treated with oil.

It was customary to oil the paper used for missives so it wouldn’t get wet or tear easily. Naturally, it smelled different when burned than dry paper did.

“Another reason to oil paper is that it burns easily. The less you want a letter discovered, the faster you need to destroy the evidence.”

Namho had spent a lifetime as an intelligence agent. Though he’d found no trace of anything beyond the faint smell of something burning in the room, from that moment on he never let go of his suspicions about Sama Pyo and Taishan.

“I watched them from the day we left Shanxi Province. But until just a few days ago, I still couldn’t be sure whether it really was oiled paper I’d smelled—or, if it was, who had sent it and from where.”

There was one reason above all that Namho had hesitated to trust his judgment.

“He said the smell was unusual.”

“The smell? You mean the burning paper?”

“Yes. He said it was quite different from any of the burning smells he knew.”

“Burning paper smells like burning paper. What does that—”

“I’ve heard every region has its own customs and food. Even the animals they get their oil from are different.”

At that, Jeok Cheongang suddenly furrowed his brow.

“Wait. Could it be?”

“Elder Nam said there’s an animal found only in Gansu and Qinghai. Is that right?”

“Camels…!”

Jeok Cheongang gave a muffled gasp and nodded.

“So that was the source of the unusual smell.”

“Elder Nam’s spent his whole life in the Central Plains and Nanman.¹ It wouldn’t have been easy for him to recognize it.”

“Right. Those odd-looking beasts are hard to come across. They live only in Qinghai and western Gansu.”

Besides, in Murim these days, people usually made animal oil from cows, horses, sheep, and pigs.

But on the day we first entered Gansu Province, Namho had been taking a break with the other Fire Dragon Pavilion members when he stumbled upon an unexpected clue.

“An incredible coincidence, really. I had no appetite, so I was sitting alone, lost in thought, when I caught a whiff of a smell I’d encountered before. I asked what it was. Camel meat, they told me.”

That clue had finally given Namho the certainty he needed. He told me Sama Pyo had received a secret letter, and that it must have come from Gansu or Qinghai.

As for who had sent it, everyone who knew about the letter had a vague idea already.

Qinghai was only a possibility Namho had raised alongside Gansu. There was just one person who would have sent a secret letter all the way to Shanxi Province, thousands of li² away.

“The Black Night King, Sima Gong…”

At my murmur, which sounded almost like I was talking to myself, Jeok Cheongang spat roughly.

“You’ve gotten bold. You really have.”

“What do you think the letter said?”

“Do you have a guess?”

“I do.”

“Then tell me.”

“At the very least, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t ‘Is my son eating well?’”

A vein bulged at Jeok Cheongang’s temple.

“You call that an answer? Even that Taishan—or Gangsan, whatever his name is—could tell you that.”

“Taishan might not.”

“……Honestly, I can’t argue with you on that one. Speaking of that oversized fool, how was he on the way here?”

“Elder Nam said he was acting strange. The closer we got to Gansu, the more he picked at his food, and he moped around all day.”

Of course, “picked at his food” was a slight—no, a considerable—stretch. He was still stuffing his face five times a day. How was that picking at his food? He was eating until he was full.

But considering how much Taishan usually ate, five meals a day was practically intermittent fasting.

And the closer we got to Gansu, the more miserable he looked. There was no shortage of things that seemed strange.

Knowing Sama Pyo, he might’ve kept it from Taishan, too.

Whatever the case, only one thing mattered right now.

While they were still in Shanxi Province, a secret letter had passed between father and son. It contained something they wanted hidden, and whatever it was, it couldn’t be good news for us.

I didn’t want to think about it, but if the worst really did happen…

“Hmm.”

I shook my head, trying to force the thought away. Jeok Cheongang had been watching me. Now he spoke without warning.

“Worried?”

“About what?”

“That you might have to cut down Sama Pyo and Taishan with your own hands.”

“……!”

Step.

I stopped without realizing it.

I’d been walking almost mechanically, but now I stood stock-still, staring silently at Jeok Cheongang.

“You look like you have a lot to say.”

“……”

“Since you’ve gone quiet, let this old man tell you an interesting story.”

I didn’t answer, and Jeok Cheongang didn’t wait for one.

“During the Great Faction War, when the world was going up in flames, I met a man called the Junzi Saber.³”

We started walking again. My voice came out troubled.

“That’s quite a title.”

“Like hell it is. At first, I didn’t care for it much. The title was so embarrassingly grand it made my fingers curl up—and nearly break. But after spending some time with him, cutting down Demonic Cult bastards, I found he was a pretty useful fellow.”

“Useful how?”

“As a person and as a martial artist.”

“That’s quite a compliment, coming from you, Old Master.”

“Others thought even more highly of him. He came from a distinguished martial family, though it had fallen on hard times. He was an exceptional fighter with a strong sense of justice. No matter how dangerous things got, he led the way and never backed down.”

He’d been the very model of a chivalrous hero. First to charge, last to retreat, willing to give his life for others.

But I already had a feeling how this story, which had come out of nowhere, would end.

“Why are you talking about him entirely in the past tense? You sound like you regret what happened.”

A bitter smile crossed Jeok Cheongang’s lips.

“You’re a sharp one.”

“Was he a traitor?”

“Yes. He was a Demonic Cult lackey. But he hadn’t been one from the beginning.”

“You mean…”

“Do you remember what I told you about the Junzi Saber’s origins?”

“Yes. He was from a distinguished martial family in Qinghai.”

“In truth, the family had been destroyed in a war with another sect. ‘Torn apart’ would be more accurate than ‘fallen on hard times.’ The only family he knew was an old retainer who’d raised him from infancy by begging women to nurse him.”

The only family he knew.

Suddenly, I thought I understood why a chivalrous hero whose name and face I’d never known had gone over to the Demonic Cult.

“There was a surviving relative.”

“His eldest brother, apparently. He’d been the Lesser Family Head, yet somehow survived the destruction of their family. An extraordinary stroke of luck. With that luck, and an even greater thirst for revenge, he crossed the desert and sought refuge with the Demonic Cult… You’re sharp enough to guess what happened next.”

Why did I feel as though I could see the Korean flag waving before my eyes?⁴

A classic movie I’d seen long ago came to mind, but only for a moment. I’d cried my eyes out watching that movie. This story would have a different ending.

And the meaning of that ending must be why Jeok Cheongang had dredged up such an unpleasant memory.

“The Junzi Saber died, didn’t he?”

Jeok Cheongang answered quietly.

“Yes. I killed him myself.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret it? What do you think you’d do in my place?”

“……!”

“If Sama Pyo and Taishan are plotting something on Sima Gong’s secret orders—and those orders have something to do with Dark Heaven… what would you do?”

I fell silent.

Only a year. It wasn’t long enough to form a deep bond. We’d lived in different circumstances, and we had different personalities.

So why couldn’t I answer?

My lips stayed pressed together, though this was a question I should have answered without hesitation.

What would you do?

Jeok Cheongang’s question echoed in my ears, colliding again and again without end.

Around the time the three thousand troops, after several days of nonstop marching, reached the Qilian Mountains and were taking a brief but sweet rest—

Elsewhere, in a pitch-black secret chamber where not a ray of light entered, three people faced one another.

“Things have gone wrong. Very wrong.”

“The Fire King—that damned old monster—what’s he doing here?”

The two voices came at the man in the seat of honor the moment he sat down. He answered them.

“What’s done is done. The situation has changed, so I asked you both here to work out a new plan.”

“Things have gone badly from the start, yet you’re brimming with confidence without offering a single excuse.”

“This time, Sect Leader Sima, you’ll have to convince us.”

“……Convince you.”

The eyes of the man in the seat of honor—the Black Night King, Sima Gong—suddenly gleamed.

He stared into the darkness at the two old Daoists facing him.