Chapter 885

Naturally, there was no moving reunion beyond that.

We’d only been apart for a few days, and we couldn’t exactly acknowledge each other here.

There’ll be a chance soon enough.

I crossed the vast grounds of the imperial palace, taking in the layout of the buildings, the Imperial Guards posted everywhere, and the outsiders brought in to prepare for the banquet.

That was when I noticed something unexpected.

What’s that?

I stopped and narrowed my eyes at a group carrying boxes about ten paces ahead.

“Hold on. Take that this way.”

“One, two. Hup!”

“Those are offerings from Grandee Guanglu.¹ They’re worth more than all your lives put together, so handle them carefully.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

Their clothes were clean but old and mended in places. Hardship had etched lines into their faces.

Sweat poured off them as they bowed and smiled at a man who looked like a low-ranking official, then went straight back to hauling the mountains of goods. They looked like ordinary laborers living from one day’s wages to the next.

But…

They’re different.

I could feel a faint wrongness about them. It was an instinct honed through countless real battles and brushes with death—so subtle that I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t reached my current realm.

They’re not ordinary laborers.

I couldn’t sense any internal energy from them, but one thing gave them away.

The stench of blood.

It was like a brand no amount of washing could remove. The sour smell of sweat and the mustiness of old clothes couldn’t quite cover it.

Martial artists?

Were they martial artists who’d voluntarily taken Energy-Dispersing Poison to hide their internal energy? Or was it just my imagination, brought on by the fact that I had to be sensitive to everything happening around me right now?

I’ll know if I check.

I started toward them for a closer look—or tried to.

A cart, unable to bear its load, tipped toward me.

Crack. Crash!

Wooden splinters flew. Silver yuanbao² and all kinds of ornaments spilled from the boxes, and the official clutched his head.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I-I’m sorry. I loaded the cart wrong, and…”

“You stupid old fool! Forget apologizing and pick it all up! If even one thing is damaged, you’ll pay dearly!”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

An old man bowed so low he looked ready to snap as the official stormed off. Small and gaunt as a tree that had lost all its life, he limped over and looked up at me with frightened eyes.

“Are you all right, sir? This old man’s mistake didn’t hurt you, did it…?”

A mistake. Sure.

“I’m fine. Not a scratch.”

“Phew. Thank goodness.”

“It gave me a fright, though. That cart looked perfectly sound before it suddenly fell over.”

He saw my smile and bowed again, flustered.

“I apologize once more, sir.”

“Don’t worry about it. Want some help? Looks like there’s a lot to pick up.”

“Oh, how could I ask that of you? It’s more than I deserve that someone of your standing would speak so politely to me…”

“I’m not someone of high standing. You know that already, don’t you?”

For an instant, something shifted among the laborers coming over to clear the mess. In a pause too brief for anyone else to notice, the old man slowly opened his mouth.

“If you’d help us, we’d be very grateful.”

“Then that’s settled.”

I nodded, crouched down, and began gathering the scattered goods. I worked in silence as though picking them up had been my only intention, but I kept my eyes on the old man.

He broke the silence first.

“How did you know?”

I let out a quiet laugh at the admission.

“You gave that up fast.”

“I hate wasting time. Especially when I’m an old man without much of it left.”

“Are you a martial artist? Who do you belong to?”

“Answering a question with a question is rude. Remember that.”

“What does that—oh.”

“How did you know? I was sure no one would notice.”

His eyes gleamed now, the frightened laborer gone as if he’d never existed.

“The stench of blood,” I said.

He didn’t look surprised. He frowned, sniffed at various parts of himself, and smacked his lips.

“My nose must be failing with age. All I smell is old-man stink.”

“That’s there too. Since you brought it up, could we put a little distance between us? I’m having trouble breathing.”

“I thought you were just skilled in martial arts, but you’ve got a hell of a nose, too.”

“You know me?”

“Of course. Information is essential in this line of work. But even without being told about you, I’d have known right away.”

“How?”

The stench of blood.

That shut me up. The old man went on.

“Didn’t you know? You reek of it yourself. Enough that no one would blink if they called you a Killing Ghost instead of a Divine Dragon.”

“……!”

“No need to look at me like that. I mean it as a compliment. You know what they say.”

He grinned, releasing a terrible stench from between his blackened, yellow teeth.

“Kill a hundred and you’re a Killing Ghost. Kill a thousand and they call you a hero. Kill ten thousand and you become… a king.”

My mouth felt gritty, like I’d been chewing sand. I stared at the old man, whose breath stank right in my face.

What the hell is this?

Something about him felt wrong. Just facing him sent a chill down my spine. Even in Murim, with every sort of person roaming it, you rarely came across someone like this.

“Who are you? No—who are all of you?”

“You address a Senior of Murim as ‘you’? Does your master know his Disciple has such poor manners?”

“Someone I met recently told me it was rude to answer a question with a question.”

The old man stared at me, eyes wide, then burst out laughing.

“Well, you got me there.”

“Finished laughing? Then answer me.”

“Why ask when you already know? Those children and I are martial artists. Not so different from you.”

“I’d say you’re very different. Am I imagining it?”

“There’s no need to worry. We may not belong to the Murim Alliance, but we’re in the same boat.”

“What does that…”

I trailed off as a thought struck me.

“No way…”

“Eunuch Ma. Is that answer enough?”

“……!”

“Everyone has their own place and role. Go back and wait for the right moment. Any more attention will only make things troublesome.”

The old man rose and bowed to me.

“We can manage the rest, sir. You needn’t trouble yourself any longer.”

It was a clear dismissal—and a performance for whoever might be watching us. No, calling it a performance almost did him a disservice. He was an old laborer, every movement perfectly in character.

“Please get back safely, sir. Then this old servant will be off…”

Step. Step.

I watched him limp away carrying a box, and at last I thought I knew what the people disguised as laborers were.

Even in all of Murim, only a few sorts of people could hide themselves and move about so completely. Add that stubborn stench of blood, and only one word came to mind.

Assassins.

Even martial artists, surrounded as they were by lunatics and people with no sense of self-preservation, had certain sorts they preferred to avoid. The same few always made the list.

Killing Ghosts. Fiends. Mysterious old men. Beautiful women in veils.

Like Japan’s legendary first-string team, they weren’t easy to find. But martial artists with a shred of sense and dreams of retiring to a village for the elderly someday knew to steer clear.

Why? Simple.

Even messing with them—and sometimes just being near them—made a sense of doom creep over you.

And right up there with Killing Ghosts and fiends, among the three most avoided professions, were assassins.

The three kings of utter bastards.

Nobody argued with the list. Plenty of people even put assassins at the top. Someone close to me had once given me much the same advice.

His sobriquet was the Slaughter Saint, which made it a little ironic.

Actually, that’s well past ironic. It’s practically black comedy.

I kept walking as I muttered to myself. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t know where this road led. But that thought was quickly buried by the conversation with the Slaughter Saint that came to mind.

“A Killing Ghost or a fiend would be better. But whatever you do, stay away from assassins.”

“Why? Aren’t they all the same kind of lunatic?”

“Your head is a solid lump of rock, so let me give you a simple example. Say you’re eating at an inn and a Killing Ghost or fiend suddenly walks in. What do you do?”

“That’d be fucking awful. I’m trying to eat.”

“Well… you’re not wrong. But think a little harder before answering.”

“You just called me a blockhead. I don’t want to think. Can’t you tell me?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I can break rocks with my fist. A head made of stone is no exception.”

“I spoke too soon. May I have a moment to think?”

“You’ve gotten a little smarter.”

“Thank you. Hmm. First, I’d watch the Killing Ghost or fiend, then carefully…”

“Yes. Your first priority is to carefully get out of there.”

“No. I’d hit them first.”

“……What the hell did the Fire King teach you?”

The Slaughter Saint had looked up at the sky and sighed. Then he’d hit me on the head a couple of times with that rock-breaking fist before continuing.

“To put it more simply, Killing Ghosts and fiends are no different from madmen who don’t think about the consequences.”

“Ow, my head. Doesn’t that make them more dangerous? Like you said, if I met one at an inn, the whole place could turn into a sea of blood.”

“But you’d still have a good chance of surviving.”

“Well, sure, if your martial skill is high enough…”

“It has nothing to do with skill. You can never predict people like that. They kill or spare people on a whim.”

“They really are crazy.”

“But what about an assassin?”

“An assassin… Oh.”

“Now you’re beginning to understand. They aren’t merely madmen. They’ll do anything to kill their target. That’s how an assassin can kill a master a level or two above them.”

“They’ll do anything to assassinate their target…”

“That’s why you must be most wary of assassins and keep your distance. Understood?”

“Yes. Understood.”

“They’ve lost their place in the world, so you won’t find many these days. Still… what are you doing?”

“Packing my things.”

“Why?”

“You told me to stay away from assassins.”

“……!”

“Oh. Does that not include former assassins?”

Man, I got beaten up a lot that day.

Then again, that was why I remembered the advice so clearly. And now I’d run into those very assassins in the middle of the imperial palace.

If Ma Sanbao was going to bring in martial artists, why bring assassins into the imperial palace?

Just as a question I couldn’t answer right away rose in my mind—

“Stop.”

A clear, bright voice pierced my ears.