Chapter 893

The reason everyone’s eyes had turned to Sama Pyo and the Divine Physician—including mine—was simple.

They were both closely connected to the assassin business.

“Wh-Why are you looking at me like that? I’m one of the good practitioners of demonic, heterodox arts.”

“I left that line of work a long time ago. I—No, I mean my Master…”

Of course, the two of them protested that it was unfair. Even so, there was no denying they had considerable ties to the world of assassins.

Especially in the case of someone whose Master had once been known as the terrifying Slaughter Saint.

“Now, now. I’m only asking, so calm down. Do you know anything? For example… an assassin group skilled and bold enough to sneak into the imperial palace?”

The Divine Physician looked around at us with darting eyes, then spoke as if he had no choice.

“How would I know something like that? It’s true my Master was involved with that world once, but…”

“Involved? He was swimming in it.”

At Jeok Cheongang’s mutter, I nodded without thinking.

“Whew. He was practically flying around back then.”

“Right. He flew around so much he eventually became a star.”

“You make it sound like he’s dead. He’s still a living legend in that world.”

“Of course. He rewrote history—with blood.”

“Still, he didn’t kill people for no reason.”

“That came later. When he was young, he was probably no different from the rest of those bastards. And when you’re young, you do what you’re told.”

The Divine Physician, who’d been listening to Jeok Cheongang and me go back and forth, gave us a look as cold as brine.

“If you’re going to talk like that, I won’t say another word.”

“Come on, don’t be like that. I’m only speaking loosely. You know how much I respect him.”

“You’re old enough to know better, yet here you are sulking. Say something. Surely you heard a thing or two from your Master.”

After I tried to coax him, the Divine Physician hesitated for a moment, then let out a deep sigh.

“My Master was always reluctant to speak about his past.”

I could understand that. The Slaughter Saint I knew regretted his bloodstained past.

That was why, right after the Great Faction War ended, he’d put everything behind him and started down the path of a physician.

Because he didn’t want to kill anyone anymore.

He wanted to wash away the stench of blood that no amount of scrubbing could remove—not by killing, but by saving lives.

And so the greatest assassin of all time became the Divine Physician.

“However…”

The Divine Physician trailed off, then let out the breath he’d been holding.

“There were times when even my Master spoke of his past. Very rarely. Most of it was regretful rambling, but he did tell me about other assassins.”

“Then, could it be…?”

“If they were assassins active in my Master’s time, I’ve probably heard of them at least once. Of course, given what assassins are like, it’s unlikely any of them are still active—”

“I’m glad we asked you first, sir.”

“Pardon? What do you mean?”

“The assassin I saw today seems to fit those conditions perfectly.”

“…!”

The Divine Physician’s eyes widened. I told him—and everyone else waiting for me to continue—everything I’d seen and sensed, from beginning to end.

Even allowing for a human-skin mask or a disguise technique, the man had looked well over seventy. I told them about his martial prowess, too, and how he’d revealed his connection to Ma Sanbao himself.

When I finished, Ju Hwaran spoke, her eyes wide.

“That old man was a Supreme Peak master?”

“Yes. I’m sure of it.”

“But how could an assassin… Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

The Divine Physician waved a hand at her apology.

“No, it’s all right. Though I’ve lived far removed from Murim, I know very well what it means for an assassin to reach the Supreme Peak realm.”

It was common knowledge in Murim, and easy enough to understand, that assassins didn’t reach the higher realms.

Even if you devoted yourself to a single path with a pure body and mind, setting foot in the Supreme Peak realm was like trying to pluck a star from the sky. What chance did assassins have when they had to learn all kinds of techniques just to survive and kill?

It’s like trying to master your major while having to take dozens of extra electives.

That was why, judged purely by their martial arts, assassins were considered the weakest among those who practiced demonic, heterodox arts.

The Slaughter Saint’s title as the greatest assassin of all time came from the same principle.

But the old man I’d met today had unquestionably been a Supreme Peak master.

He did have a slight physical disability, though.

“You said he walked with a limp?”

I nodded at the Divine Physician’s question.

“Yes. I took a close look just in case, but it didn’t seem faked. Besides, if he was disguising himself as a laborer carrying supplies, there’d be no reason to fake a limp.”

“If Young Hero Jin says so, I believe you. Your reasoning makes sense, too. Still… a limp.”

“Does anyone come to mind?”

The Divine Physician thought for a moment, then answered with a doubtful look.

“I can’t say for certain, but my Master did tell me about someone like that. An assassin who once dominated Qinghai. His epithet was, if I remember right…”

“The One-Legged Ghost Killer?”

Someone cut in, and we all turned.

Sama Pyo flinched as everyone’s gaze swung toward him, then spoke.

“I’ve heard of him. Though he was an assassin, his martial arts were so formidable that he sometimes killed his targets in life-and-death duels rather than through ambush.”

“How do you know that?”

“How do you think? I heard about it.”

“From who—Ah.”

That was a pointless question.

Who was Sama Pyo? He might be getting worked like a dog under me, but he was the foremost young prodigy of the unorthodox factions and the Young Sect Leader of the Black Dragon Demon Gate, which held sway over Qinghai alongside the Kunlun Sect.

And his father was none other than the Black Night King, Sima Gong.

The Black Night King Sima Gong was one of the Supreme Peak masters representing the demonic, heterodox arts. Despite his epithet, he wasn’t one of the Ten Kings. But he’d fought on the Murim Alliance’s side during the Great Faction War and built the Black Dragon Demon Gate into the formidable power it was today.

And since the Black Dragon Demon Gate’s stronghold was in Qinghai, it would’ve been stranger if its Young Sect Leader hadn’t heard a thing or two.

So, the One-Legged Ghost Killer.

“His epithet’s incredible. Just hearing it, he doesn’t sound like a good guy, does he?”

Sama Pyo nodded.

“He’s an assassin.”

“Why do you keep looking down on assassins? You practice demonic, heterodox arts yourself.”

“Even if you are the Pavilion Master, that’s harsh. I’m still one of the good, decent practitioners of demonic, heterodox arts.”

“What the fuck? Since when is there such a thing as a decent practitioner of demonic, heterodox arts? What are you, bright Dark Heaven?”

“…You really are too much.”

“Fine, I get it. You’re a decent guy. Whatever. Keep talking.”

Sama Pyo glared at Song Ilseom, who’d kept quiet until now but had started grinning like a lunatic the moment I laid into Sama Pyo, then spoke.

“They say the One-Legged Ghost Killer had a fearsome reputation throughout Qinghai even before the Great Faction War. His martial prowess was impressive, but his skill as an assassin was greater still. He was said to have killed an Elder of the Kunlun Sect who was a Supreme Peak master at the time.”

“He was that good?”

“At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“I see. All right. So?”

“So what?”

“Keep going.”

“That’s all. After the Great Faction War, I heard… his whereabouts became unknown.”

“…”

It felt like a fight had been going well until something came up and forced it to stop halfway through.

Fortunately, I had a walking encyclopedia of Murim beside me.

“Are you certain the old man you saw was the One-Legged Ghost Killer?”

Namho spoke up, rubbing his lower back.

“According to the information the Hidden Shadow Pavilion obtained, the One-Legged Ghost Killer is missing a leg. Of course, he usually wore a finely crafted prosthetic, so you’d need a keen eye to spot it.”

“You mean…”

“It means there’s a good chance you mistook him for someone else. Even if the man you saw really was the One-Legged Ghost Killer… for now, he’s an ally whether we like it or not.”

Namho’s last words rang louder than the rest.

An ally. An ally.

Just those two words left a bad taste in my mouth.

At the same time, I finally understood why the old assassin’s presence had felt like a thorn in my throat.

I must be repulsed by the thought of getting mixed up with people like him.

If someone asked whether I thought I was a good person, I wouldn’t be able to answer easily.

I’d taken countless lives myself.

Not monsters. Real people.

If I thought someone was an enemy, I killed them without hesitation. The faster I grew stronger, the easier killing became. I could have crippled them by destroying their dantian and severing the Sinews and Meridians in their limbs, but I couldn’t find a reason to bother.

No. I didn’t look for one.

I didn’t want to leave even the slightest chance of future trouble.

And I’d learned that the more I thought about it—the more I looked back at how I’d slowly changed—the more it hurt.

There were no truly good people in Murim.

Only people who took others’ lives and put their own on the line according to their goals and values.

That was why I couldn’t call myself a good person, either.

I was only trying to become a little better.

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

And that was what repulsed me most about the old assassin.

Killing without a reason. Without even an excuse.

An assassin had only one reason to take a job, one purpose: money.

The old assassin wouldn’t have tried to become a better person like the Slaughter Saint. He had killed, was killing, and would keep killing people for the numbers written on a bank draft.

Yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

And now, today, he’d become our dependable ally—a comrade who would fight back-to-back with us in the not-too-distant future.

Is this… right?

I found myself confused.

The two words Ma Sanbao had used—the great undertaking—weighed heavily on my heart. So did the image of the young king held captive in Qianqing Palace, dressed in splendid but cold clothes.

Just as I quietly smacked my lips at the bitter taste in my mouth, someone spoke in a calm voice.

“I once asked my Master why he’d ended the line of Salcheonmun, the sect where he was born and raised.”

The Divine Physician. It was him.

The old doctor, whose hair was snow-white unlike his Master’s, continued slowly.

“My Master said those who felt neither regret nor remorse for what they’d done deserved to die. And so he stained his hands with blood.”

“…!”

“Everyone has their own values, after all. My Master does. And so does Jin Taekyung.”

I couldn’t listen any longer.

I stood and headed outside.

I needed to see Ma Sanbao. I needed to settle this question: why had he brought them in?