Chapter 943

“You can’t be serious!”

The moment my brief explanation ended, Hyuk Mujin cried out, his face stiff with shock. Then he sighed.

“But… damn it.”

He said no more, but everyone here could tell he’d accepted reality.

“If you rush ahead with your eyes fixed on what’s in front of you, you’ll trip over a rock. I know how hard this is for everyone, but for now, this is our best course.”

Namho addressed everyone with a serious expression.

He might have sounded like a seasoned elder, too—if he hadn’t been tucked into Taishan’s arms like a baby kangaroo.

“…I’ve been meaning to ask. Why are you riding like that?”

“Because it’s the most comfortable.”

Namho answered with unnecessary firmness, then added, “If I ride behind him, my ass feels like it’s going to get crushed. If I sit on his shoulder, a branch smacks me in the face every fifteen minutes. An old man like me would die before we reached Shanxi Province.”

Taishan, whose thighs were softer than a genuine leather sofa, nodded.

“Taishan save Namho.”

Since when had those two gotten so close?

I was still wondering why Taishan looked downright solemn when Namho smiled with satisfaction and pulled something from his pack.

“Good lad. Open wide. Here comes the five-spice pork.”

“Oh! Five! Spice! Pork!”

“…”

Right. I’d thought something was off.

I shook my head and eased my horse’s pace for a moment before speaking.

“Elder Namho, please make contact with the Murim Alliance as soon as you leave Zhejiang Province. They’ll be making preparations of their own.”

“I intended to do that anyway. As things stand, I’d only be a burden. I’ll try to lead the reinforcements and follow behind you.”

There wasn’t a single martial artist to be found in Zhejiang Province, where the Imperial Capital stood—let alone a sect.

But Anhui and Henan, which lay along our route to Shanxi Province, were another matter.

Henan was home to the Murim Alliance headquarters, of course. And closest to our current position stood a great power: the Namgung Family.

“Ilseom. Ma Pyo.”

At my call, Song Ilseom and Sama Pyo rode over and answered in turn.

“I’m listening, Pavilion Master.”

“I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said this, but Sama is my surname, not my given name. Next time you call me…”

“I know. I’m doing it on purpose.”

At my firm reply, Sama Pyo muttered to himself, “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Enough. I trust you both know what you have to do.”

Song Ilseom and Sama Pyo were formidable martial artists despite their youth. Both nodded solemnly.

“Of course.”

“Trust us. Even if something goes wrong along the way, we’ll get everyone to Shanxi Province without a problem.”

I answered their determined assurances with, “Don’t fight each other.”

“…!”

“…!”

“Don’t start bickering in front of the Embroidered Uniform Guards. It’s embarrassing. Got it?”

“…”

“…”

“Answer me.”

The two of them stared at me with flat expressions, then let out quiet laughs. They both knew better than anyone that I was only joking.

“Understood.”

“I’ll try.”

“Did you hear that, Mujin?”

Hyuk Mujin, who’d been watching me in silence, nodded without a word.

He understood the situation and didn’t say anything more, but there was no hiding the emotions in his troubled expression.

He was hurt that I was leaving him behind without hesitation, and angry at himself for being nothing but a burden right now.

“Quit looking so miserable. Your face is ugly enough already—you’re making it worse.”

I let out a short laugh. Hyuk Mujin’s expression darkened further.

“Is that all?”

“Hm?”

“Why… haven’t you asked me to do anything?”

The smile I’d been forcing onto my face faltered.

His question caught me by surprise. I hadn’t expected him to think of it that way, and for a moment I didn’t know what to say.

After looking at him in silence for a moment, I answered calmly.

“Because you’ll do just fine without me asking.”

“…!”

“Shanxi Province is where you’ve lived your whole life, and the Jin Family of Taiyuan is your second home. I know how you must feel right now.”

Hyuk Mujin’s eyes trembled as he looked at me.

Crack.

Both his fists were turning white.

He glared at the reins clenched so tightly in his hands they looked ready to tear and muttered, “Captain, you wouldn’t understand. What it feels like to have something you have to protect, but not the strength to step in. To be left helpless, doing nothing but watch.”

“…What?”

“No, forget it. I said something stupid. You’re the one who has it hardest right now… I sincerely apologize.”

I silently watched him bow his head, his face red.

I wanted to tell him I understood that feeling, too. That I’d felt it all too clearly, down to my soul shattering and my bones breaking.

But I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

Sometimes, comfort from the strong can make the weak feel even more powerless and wretched.

And the cruel truth that there are things you can’t protect even when you have strength was something Hyuk Mujin couldn’t understand yet.

So all I could do for the man who couldn’t lift his head, weighed down by shame and guilt, was say one thing.

“I trust you. More than anyone.”

“…Captain.”

“I’ll see you in Shanxi. No—at the Jin Family of Taiyuan.”

Pat.

I patted his trembling shoulder in farewell, then spurred my horse forward.

The wind felt colder than before. As I tightened my grip on the reins, hoofbeats approached and a quiet voice reached my ears.

“Hyuk Mujin didn’t mean what he said.”

It wasn’t just the hoofbeats drawing closer. I caught the scent of flowers and managed a smile.

“I know.”

“Do you know something?”

“What?”

I turned, puzzled, and saw Ju Hwaran beside me, her expression calm.

“Some smiles can look almost precarious.”

“…!”

“I want more than anything to go with you, too, but I know I’d only be a burden, so I won’t complain. Still…”

Ju Hwaran smiled like moonlight spilling from the sky.

“When we meet again, let’s smile for real. Both of us.”

I watched her in silence, then spoke.

“We will. I promise.”

And in the next instant, I sprang from the saddle without a moment’s hesitation.

Whoosh!

Cold. The fierce wind whipped my hair around.

A weightless feeling swept through me as I leapt high into the air. Behind me, two pale figures cut through the dim moonlight in pursuit.

“Come on. Let’s hurry.”

At Jeok Cheongang’s low voice, the Bow Saint quietly nodded.

I—or rather, we—shot toward the rugged mountain range where no horse could travel.

Whoooosh!

“Well, that’s strange.”

At his companion’s sudden mutter, the bandit dozing against a tree opened his eyes to slits.

“What is?”

He’d just woken from a light sleep, so he was hardly going to sound friendly.

At the brusque voice of a senior bandit more than ten years his elder, his companion swallowed nervously.

“It’s nothing, sir. It’s just… the longer I sit here, the more something feels off.”

“Something’s off? I don’t see anything.”

The bandit tilted his head. His companion pointed at the sky.

“There aren’t any birds around today. It’s quiet as the grave. Doesn’t it feel a little unsettling?”

“Huh?”

The bandit’s eyes widened. Only then did he take a careful look around.

Now that he thought about it, it was true.

The sky was empty, and there wasn’t a single birdsong from the dense forest stretching in every direction, though the calls should have been constant.

What’s going on?

The question flashed through his mind, but his face soon settled into indifference.

What difference did a few missing birds make?

They might call themselves bandits, but they were only low-ranking lackeys. Their sole job was to watch their assigned stretch of mountain road until their eyes popped and contact the stronghold when travelers appeared.

“Maybe a hawk came around. Those birds don’t want to get snatched up and eaten in the blink of an eye, so they’re keeping their beaks shut.”

“Oh, come to think of it, I did see a few hawks fly by earlier.”

“Earlier? When?”

“About two hours ago, I think. Four or five of them, flying like arrows.”

The bandit must have missed them while he was asleep.

He stroked his shaggy beard and muttered, “That is a little strange. Hawks do whatever they please. I’ve hardly ever seen them travel in a flock.”

“Should I report it to the stronghold?”

“Report it? To the stronghold?”

“Yes. The deputy chief said to report anything unusual right away.”

“Not a bad idea. If you want to be chopped up alive.”

“…”

“The deputy chief’s probably fast asleep by now. Wake him, and you won’t like what happens. Disturb him over something like that and he might throw an axe at you.”

The bandit let out a long yawn and sprawled in the deep shade, stretching his arms and legs.

He still had a hangover from last night, and dozing against a tree had left his body stiff. This time, he meant to sleep until his back hurt.

He left everything to his younger companion, who still had plenty of enthusiasm.

“Quit trying so hard. Just watch for people. People.”

With the Double Ninth Festival¹ not far off, merchants weren’t the only ones hoping for a big score.

The bigger the rice cake, the more crumbs there were to collect.

If they picked the right procession—a sizable merchant group or Escort Bureau—the tolls alone would fill the stronghold’s storehouse.

Just like now.

“They’re—they’re coming!”

“What? What?”

Wham!

At his companion’s hushed cry, barely a moment later, the bandit sprang up as if something had launched him and grabbed his axe in a panic.

Any trace of sleep was gone. His eyes shone like a hawk’s as he stared down the shadowed mountain road.

“Contact the stronghold. Hurry!”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

The bandit glanced after his companion as he ran off, then narrowed his eyes at the road.

He could see them. Clearly.

A few flags, swaying slowly.

And he could sense dozens of people.

That idiot finally got one right.

The bandit studied the flags passing between the branches.

Then he read the helpful lettering on the dark blue silk and learned the identity of these mouthwatering guests.

The Great Namgung Family.

“…!”