The trip back was short.
On the way there, we had at least slowed down to exchange information. But in game terms, this was a deluxe party with no fewer than five Supreme Peak masters traveling together.
The distance that would have taken an ordinary person half a day to cover had shrunk to almost nothing.
“You’ve worked hard, Benefactor Jin.”
“And you must still be tired. Thank you for coming with us.”
As we neared the Sichuan Tang Clan, the two Sect Leaders turned to address me. I shrugged.
“It’s nothing. I didn’t really help much, anyway.”
“True.”
“He certainly didn’t.”
“…”
It was true that I hadn’t been much help, but wasn’t that a little harsh?
Cheongpung the Ancient Sword gave me a faint smile, then clasped his hands toward the Slaughter Saint and Jeok Cheongang.
“I’m grateful to both of you Seniors as well. I apologize for making you come all this way for nothing.”
The Slaughter Saint and Jeok Cheongang answered at the same time.
“It was indeed a pointless trip.”
“Next time, don’t do anything you’ll need to apologize for. Understood?”
“…Ah. Yes.”
That was exactly how I felt.
The Slaughter Saint continued, addressing the visibly uncomfortable Cheongpung the Ancient Sword.
“And… I hope you won’t come looking for me again.”
He wasn’t telling them to call on him less often because it was a bother. After briefly returning as the Slaughter Saint, he intended to go back to being Mungyeong, the young medical apprentice.
Everyone present understood what he meant.
The two Sect Leaders were the most flustered of all.
“S-Senior, that…”
“Benefactor, might you reconsider?”
Instead of answering, the Slaughter Saint gave them a dry look.
After a moment of silence, Cheongpung the Ancient Sword and Extinction Divine Nun sighed softly and nodded.
“…We will do so.”
“I shall respect your wishes. For now.”
For now.
The last two words were heavily emphasized. The Slaughter Saint’s quiet voice slipped between his lips.
“My decision has not changed. Coming this time was nothing more than a passing whim.”
It was a firm answer that left not even the slightest room for argument. The Slaughter Saint’s gaze shifted toward Jeok Cheongang and me.
“I trust you two understand that as well.”
Jeok Cheongang suddenly spoke.
“Are you going to pretend to be a medical apprentice again? It doesn’t suit you.”
“It isn’t an act. The Slaughter Saint no longer exists. Only a medical apprentice remains.”
“If a tiger drapes itself in goatskin, does that make it a goat?”
“If it hides its teeth and claws, even a tiger can become a goat.”
“But you revealed your claws in the end. Didn’t you?”
A shallow crease formed between the Slaughter Saint’s brows.
“You’ve grown more talkative with age. You owe me a debt, after all.”
“…Damn. I can’t argue when you’re not wrong.”
“I’ll take that as an answer.”
Having dismissed Jeok Cheongang, the Slaughter Saint glanced at me.
“And you?”
“Me?”
“Who else is left?”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Do I get a choice?”
“Of course. You have two.”
The Slaughter Saint spoke with an impassive expression.
“First, you can loudly announce that the young medical apprentice named Mungyeong is actually the Slaughter Saint, then be found dead without a soul knowing how. Second, you can keep your mouth shut so no one notices, treat me as you did before, and leave quietly.”
“…”
“Which will you choose?”
Wow. The choices were so difficult that I was speechless for a moment.
After swallowing hard, I opened my mouth.
“The second one.”
“A wise choice.”
“Yeah.”1
The Slaughter Saint had been about to nod at my prompt answer when he suddenly stopped.
“What did you just say?”
“Why?”
“What?”
“No, I mean, why are you acting like that? You told me to treat you as I did before.”
“…!”
“…!”
The two Sect Leaders stood there with their mouths hanging open. The Slaughter Saint was silent for a moment before asking Jeok Cheongang, who had begun chuckling.
“Is this fellow insane?”
“He’s always been like that. Gives you a headache, doesn’t he?”
“I want to smash his skull in.”
I bowed deeply before he could make good on that threat.
“Ah, I got confused for a moment. My apologies.”
“Not even a dog would believe that, but I’ll let it slide this once.”
Had it been too obvious that I was trying to mess with him while pretending it was a mistake? The Slaughter Saint glared at me with narrowed eyes before speaking.
“In any case, watch yourself from now on. Aside from those present, no one knows the truth about me. Ah, that boy Cheongpung is an exception. As is my Disciple, of course.”
“Cheongpung knew too?”
“Yes. Aside from him, everyone who saw me that day is dead.”
Now that was a thorough cleanup.
I finally understood why there hadn’t been a single prisoner at the Sichuan Tang Clan.
The Masked Slaughter Saint.2 Once the mask came off, panelists and audience members alike dropped dead.
The more I think about it, the stranger this feels. Mungyeong was the Slaughter Saint all along.
Memories flashed through my mind, from our first meeting on the Yangtze to the present.
Which of the sides he had shown me was real, and which was a lie?
The innocent young medical apprentice I had known no longer existed. All that remained was the greatest assassin under heaven, his eyes dry and emotionless.
Before I knew it, a question slipped out.
“Why are you so determined to hide who you are?”
The Slaughter Saint, moving toward the Sichuan Tang Clan now visible in the distance, stopped dead.
After a brief silence, he answered with unexpected calm.
“Because I’m sick to death of the Murim.”
“Is that why you left?”
“Yes. I swore to the heavens that I would never take another life.”
In this place—the Murim—assassins were despised.
Neither the orthodox factions nor practitioners of demonic, heterodox arts welcomed them.
They were seen not as martial artists pursuing higher realms of martial arts, but as people born solely to kill.
How much blood had one assassin spilled—and how deeply had he been stained by it—before earning the sobriquet Slaughter Saint?
I thought I understood how he felt, at least to some extent.
But…
“On the other hand, I’m a little curious.”
“What?”
“Why you came back to the Murim you hate so much.”
“…What nonsense are you talking about, saying I returned?”
The Slaughter Saint’s eyes sank deeper.
“I had no choice. It was unavoidable.”
“I don’t know. If that’s how you put it, I have nothing to say. But it seems like you made at least a few choices yourself. For example…”
I scratched the back of my head and continued.
“You asked to travel with some martial artists you met on the Yangtze because you were headed in the same direction. A few days later, you happened to run into them again and casually revealed your identity. Or you borrowed my name to order the Successor Beggar of the Beggars’ Sect to rescue Emei Sect, while you went to Qingcheng…”
“Enough.”
“Yes. I was about to stop anyway. Now that I’ve listed them one by one, there are quite a few.”
“What is it you want to hear? That I should have stood by and watched countless people—including you and your Master—die?”
“Of course not. I’m truly grateful, Great Hero.”
There was no sarcasm in my voice. I meant it with one hundred percent sincerity.
If he hadn’t stepped in at the right moment, countless people would have died or been injured.
Jeok Cheongang and I would certainly have been among them.
But the Slaughter Saint’s response to my words was as dry as desert sand.
“Don’t call me Great Hero.”
“Then what should I call you?”
The Slaughter Saint stared at me without speaking, then turned away.
He took a step toward the Sichuan Tang Clan, now no more than a large speck in the distance, and glided forward like a ghost.
The boy’s voice scattered on the wind.
“Mungyeong. That is enough.”
Was it really enough?
Only he knew the answer.
I shrugged and replied,
“Yeah, got it, Mungyeong.”
“…!”
At that moment, the figure walking ahead of us stumbled.
When I returned to the pavilion, two leeches latched onto me.
One was Hyuk Mujin, whom I could never decide was my right arm or my pinky. The other was a beggar whose skin had gotten a little whiter, as if he had started scrubbing off some dirt lately.
“Why is Mungyeong like that? He somehow seems a little gloomier.”
“That’s understandable. His Master, the Divine Physician, was injured, and there are so many patients waiting for treatment.”
“Oh, I see. But Captain, where did you go with Mungyeong?”
“Isn’t it obvious? He looked down, so the Captain took him out for some fresh air. Why are you so stupid?”
“Huh. In all my life, I never thought I’d hear that from a beggar. I may look like this, but I’ve read several hundred books. I’ve never been called stupid before.”
As far as I could tell, both of them were just stupid.
I swallowed the words Slaughter Saint hovering on the tip of my tongue. Those two would never discover Mungyeong’s true identity, even if they died and came back to life.
Then again, with acting skills like that, anyone would be fooled.
The instant people’s attention turned toward him, the Slaughter Saint returned to being Mungyeong.
No one suspected his identity just because the cheerful young medical apprentice seemed a little gloomier than usual.
No one could even have guessed.
“I’d give you credit if you’d read the Four Books and Three Classics,3 but all you’ve done is read martial arts novels nonstop. What books are you talking about?”
“I read romance novels too. Haven’t you heard of Gwiyeommi?”4
“Wait. Gwiyeommi? You mean the scholar who wrote The Temptation of a Young Prodigy, That Bastard Was Strong, and all those others?”
“Oh, you know him.”
“Of course I do. When I was a one-knot Disciple,5 I used the money I’d begged for to rent one of his books, and the beggar chief beat me black and blue. Damn, if I ran into that bastard now, I’d lay into him with the Dog-Beating Staff Technique. I’d—”
Whack!
“Gah!”
“Aagh!”
I kicked both idiots in the ass as they happily reminisced, drove them out, and slammed the door shut.
I already had more than enough to think about. Why had those bastards come here just to make a racket?
Finally, some peace and quiet.
Cheongpung was probably running all over the place by now, and I’d told Jeok Cheongang to rest for the entire day. No one would come looking for me for a while.
I lay down on the soft bed and decided to take care of something I’d been putting off.
Check unread messages.
Ding. Ding. Ding-ding!
System windows filled the air as an endless stream of chimes rang out.
This had happened a few times before, but this had to be a new record.
Momentarily speechless, I began checking the important messages one by one.
System
You have reached the Supreme Peak realm!
You defeated Lv. 170 No Gunbaek!
Quest Uninvited Guest successfully completed!
You have acquired a tremendous amount of EXP and Fame!
System messages have exceeded the limit. Acquired EXP and Fame are being totaled.
You have reached Lv. 120!
Your Fame has surpassed the threshold. You acquire a new sobriquet!
Through battles that brought you to the brink of life and death, you gained enlightenment on your own. The realms of all martial arts have risen greatly, and you can now use new martial arts!
Fire Gate Divine Technique has reached the eighth stage!
Flame Divine Palm has reached…
Fire Dragon Divine Spear…
Countless requests for handshakes—no, a veritable feast of messages.
My eyes started spinning just from skimming them.
“…Holy shit.”
What was all this?
I was almost stunned to discover that half the unread messages still remained.
Just as I scrolled down to see how many were left, something unusual caught my eye.
System
A new Item becomes bound to you.
Currently bound Items: White Flame, ???
This Item has not yet been given a name. If you give it a new name, it will become completely bound to you and can be summoned through your Inventory from anywhere.
“This pops up here…”
The Modern World and Murim inventories were separate. However, bound Items like White Flame weren’t restricted by space and could be pulled out and used anywhere.
I’d already felt that White Flame alone wasn’t enough, so this was quite a stroke of luck.
If they’re giving it to me, I’ll gladly take it.
I was just about to check my Inventory, brimming with anticipation, when—
Knock, knock, knock.
A knock sounded on the door, and someone poked their head inside.
“Captain. It’s me, Mujin…”
“Get lost.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Hyung’s6 busy. Go read some Gwiyeommi novels.”4
“Oh, Captain, you’ve read them too?”
“…You little bastard, seriously.”
This wouldn’t do.
Before cracking open the Item, I’d have to crack that bastard open first.
I shot up from the bed, and Hyuk Mujin hurriedly shouted,
“Henan! It’s Henan!”
“What?”
“An investigation team has arrived from Henan! They’re looking for you, Captain.”
“…An investigation team?”
I frowned at Hyuk Mujin’s completely contextless explanation.
Ding.
A familiar alert reached my ears.
Footnotes
-
The Korean reply eung is an informal “yes”; Jin deliberately uses a level of address too casual for the Slaughter Saint. ↩
-
This refers to King of Mask Singer, a Korean television competition in which masked performers reveal their identities before panelists and an audience. ↩
-
The Four Books and Three Classics are foundational texts of Confucian learning. ↩
-
Gwiyeommi (貴艶美) is a literary pen name meaning “precious, bewitching beauty.” ↩ ↩2
-
The Beggars’ Sect marks disciples’ ranks with knots; one knot denotes a low rank. ↩
-
Hyung is a familiar Korean term used by a man for an older brother or older male acquaintance. Here Jin uses it to refer to himself when speaking to Mujin. ↩
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