Chapter 213: Sleeping on Brushwood, Tasting Gall (1)

Yeon Hojeong came out through the inn’s back door and spoke to Mo Yonggun.

“It’s fine for the first time, but from the next time on, I won’t be able to come in person that often.”

Mo Yonggun nodded.

“If Yangcheon likes you that much, he’ll plant eyes on you that will be hard to shake.”

“He already has. Today I caught him off guard, but I don’t know if a trick like this will work again.”

“Even if it does, don’t push it. From what I’ve heard, Yangcheon doesn’t seem like an ordinary fox either. Don’t do anything pointless that draws suspicion.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Can we use the Beggars’ Union for contact?”

“That’s the safest way.”

“Understood. Good luck.”

“You too—”

That was when it happened.

In Yeon Hojeong’s eyes, a back alley came into view—far to the northwest from the inn.

And in the middle of that alley, a single person wrapped in a pitch-black cloak.

...!!

Yeon Hojeong’s expression changed in an instant.

It wasn’t an emotion he could crush down with willpower. Surprise surfaced in his eyes on its own.

Mo Yonggun’s eyes sharpened.

His gaze turned along with Yeon Hojeong’s.

...?

In the dim alley, there were only a few beggars slumped against the wall.

Mo Yonggun asked,

“What is it?”

“...Nothing.”

Yeon Hojeong forced himself to keep a calm face.

A strange glint flickered through Mo Yonggun’s eyes.

Oh?

It was the first time he had seen it—Yeon Hojeong acting to hide fluster.

Of course, Yeon Hojeong must have acted countless times in their clashes. But Mo Yonggun had never once seen an expression this awkward.

That peculiar look in Mo Yonggun’s eyes—Yeon Hojeong realized he’d been read.

Damn it.

For a moment, he’d shown an opening. No amount of expression control mattered now.

But he couldn’t openly show how shaken he was, either.

“Then I’ll be going.”

“Fine. Take care. Once the information is complete, contact me immediately.”

“Then.”

Yeon Hojeong started walking. He could feel Mo Yonggun’s gaze following his back.

No choice.

Mo Yonggun couldn’t be allowed to take interest in that direction. But Mo Yonggun wasn’t ordinary, and he would try to dig into this opening Yeon Hojeong had shown.

Smoothly.

Yeon Hojeong blended into the flow of passersby.

And soon after, his presence vanished.

Mo Yonggun’s mouth curved.

“An astonishing stealth technique.”

He hadn’t used Inner Qi to kill his presence, nor was his martial art an assassin’s art specialized for stealth.

He had simply hidden his energy little by little—then dissolved into the crowd and disappeared. It was one of the highest-grade stealth techniques, one that toyed with human perception itself.

“Where in the world did you learn tricks like that? I’m truly curious. The insight and martial arts that don’t match your age, too.”

Mo Yonggun kept smiling as he watched the northwest alley, then spoke.

“Muyeon.”

A low voice answered from inside the inn.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You saw it too, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Muyeon was the Mo Yong Clan’s—more precisely, Mo Yonggun’s—greatest stealth specialist.

Within the Alliance of the Martial World, he wasn’t someone you could deploy easily. There were too many experts; the moment he was discovered, this side would obviously be questioned.

But once you stepped out into the wider world, there was no one more useful than Muyeon.

“Yeon Hojeong noticed your presence too. He just didn’t say it out loud.”

“......”

“But if you move carefully, how could even the greatest rising prodigy under heaven pierce your stealth technique?”

The laughter vanished from Mo Yonggun’s eyes in an instant, replaced by a blue-cold chill.

“Follow him.”

WHOOOOM.

A gust of wind swept in and fluttered Mo Yonggun’s sleeve.

Mo Yonggun realized that the moment his order fell, Muyeon had already vanished.

He could sense it only because he knew Muyeon’s existence in the first place. Even so, in an open space like this—if Muyeon committed to stealth—there were plenty of times Mo Yonggun himself forgot Muyeon was there.

No matter how capable Yeon Hojeong was, he wouldn’t be able to notice Muyeon’s tail. Mo Yonggun believed that without doubt.

“Hahaha. People really do need to breathe the air of the mundane world once in a while. You get to feel fun you never expected.”

Mo Yonggun went back into the inn with a grin.

Now it was time to work hard. If he worked hard, who knew? He might receive a gift he never expected.

“What a fine day!”

*****

Smoothly.

The black-cloaked man’s walk was peculiar.

Of course, that was something only a person with deep mastery of martial arts and strong discernment could notice.

To the eye, it seemed ordinary, but the tips of his crossing feet touched the ground in a strange rhythm.

It was the footwork of an expert who could explode into movement at any moment. But his steps were so light, and the loose cloak covered his entire body, that no gaze lingered on his walk itself.

A gloomy appearance, if you called it that. But wandering martial artists dressed like this were far too common in the martial world.

Distinct—yet not conspicuous at all.

He said ten li southwest from here, didn’t he.

He left the crowded center of Changsha and entered the outskirts.

Even the outskirts had plenty of people. But more than people, the open scenery and elegant mountain ridgelines stood out.

The black-cloaked man’s eyes trembled.

Mount Yuelu!

Mount Yuelu wasn’t very tall. Maybe that was why. It was a mountain that felt unhurried—plain, relaxed.

That plainness, that ease.

Its quiet form, holding the history of the Central Plains—and beyond that, the martial world itself—sent ripples through the black-cloaked man’s heart.

FSSSS.

A dangerous energy stirred around his body.

It was a rough, brutal wave of force. He was forcing it down, but an unbearable upheaval fanned killing intent higher and higher.

...

The black-cloaked man clenched his teeth and turned away.

The surging Killing Intent quickly settled. He had failed to endure a moment of turbulence and leaked Killing Intent—but it was only for an instant.

I’m sorry, Father.

If only he had been stronger than this.

No—if he had listened to his father and learned the Gate’s greatest secret technique first.

Then, before catching the enemy commander, he could have cut down those underlings and eased even a ten-thousandth of this rage.

Mother, please wait just a little longer. I will kill the enemy, so the road you two travel won’t be harsh.

Tears finally spilled from his eyes.

The one who had killed his parents and siblings—an enemy whose grudge reached the heavens.

He had vowed and vowed again that he would shed these tears only after killing the man he could not share the same sky with.

But how could a human heart be nothing but hard? When he thought of his dead parents and siblings—when he realized the misery of knowing where the one who killed them was hiding, and still being unable to step forward—his despair reached its peak.

Still, I saw it once. That’s enough.

He had come on purpose, shaking off his subordinates’ attempts to stop him.

It was to steady his heart. Some might say it was nothing, but to him, it was something he could not yield by even an inch.

He remembered his father’s words.

You must see to know, hear to understand, and feel to make it your own. That truth isn’t limited to martial arts alone. When you go out into the world someday to do what you intend to do, you must prioritize seeing and hearing with your own eyes and ears—and beyond that, you must do your best to hold what you saw and heard in your heart, so you can truly feel it.

Now that he thought about it, every lesson his father gave had been too important to neglect.

Drunk on his natural talent, he hadn’t practiced a large portion of those teachings. His growth had been fast even without following them precisely.

Only now did he understand.

His father’s teachings, his mother’s counsel—those were treasures talent could never replace. For a martial artist, regardless of talent, they were precious lessons to engrave into the heart and carry out, always.

I’m sorry.

He was following those precious teachings only after losing his parents.

It was bitter. And that bitterness grew his hatred for the enemy exponentially.

I’ll come back. The day I return and draw my sword, I’ll tear down everything you’ve piled up.

Grinding his teeth, the black-cloaked man moved toward Changsha’s eastern outskirts—heading back to where his subordinates were.

How long did he walk?

He pushed through the forest and entered the mouth of a small valley.

...

The black-cloaked man stopped.

CHIRP. CHIRP-CHIRP-CHIRP.

Birds sang. A trickle of water offered clean freshness.

A cool breeze was perfect for settling the mind. The weather was good, and the scenery was fine.

But the black-cloaked man felt it—fierce malice focused on him.

Like the stench of a predator, sharp Killing Intent rode the wind.

CLICK.

His left hand gripped the sword hilt at ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) his waist.

“Come out.”

CHIRP. CHIRP-CHIRP-CHIRP.

When Killing Intent is strong, beasts react first. Birds shouldn’t be chirping.

But the black-cloaked man could tell.

Even this birdsong was part of a false performance.

Smoothly.

He lowered his stance.

It was a posture that could unleash the sword in any direction, at any time. And the stance was so stable it felt like he could endure in that low crouch for days.

Then a voice came.

“Just as I thought.”

Step. Step.

A man approached through the northern brush, admiration on his face.

“They said you’re the greatest genius in Ghost-Iron Sword Gate history—and you really did read the Killing Intent.”

The black-cloaked man, Kang Ryang, asked,

“Did you come from Ink Dragon?”

“...Ink Dragon?”

The man’s smiling face turned expressionless in an instant.

That rapid change sent a chill down Kang Ryang’s spine.

Had the earlier smile been a mask? The shift was so abrupt it felt like he had peeled off a layer of skin.

A face and gaze that were hard to read.

From that expression alone, Kang Ryang knew the man was a heavy opponent.

“The name Ink Dragon is spoken only to those who are permitted to hear it. If someone without permission dares to put Ink Dragon’s name in his mouth, only death remains.”

“Bullshit.”

Smoothly.

His expression changed again—now a broad smile.

There was no transition between expressions, no in-between at all. Like a face-changing act.

He wasn’t exposing Killing Intent, and his eyes weren’t particularly sharp—yet he gave off a bizarre sense of wrongness. He didn’t even feel human.

“But don’t worry. If you kneel obediently, I won’t go as far as killing you.”

Kang Ryang’s body gave off a brutal sword aura.

The birds were silent now. Instead, masked figures in black uniforms revealed themselves from all around the forest.

Every last one wore a sheep’s face. The black sheep masks were strangely chilling.

The man—Black Elder—said,

“Kneel.”

Kang Ryang bit his lip.

“Just one question. That traitor—no, Yonghwa Myeong—where is—”

“Last offer. Kneel.”

No room for compromise. No intention of giving information.

Then there was only one thing left.

A fight.

A vicious Killing Intent poured from Kang Ryang’s eyes.

“Then I’ll make my last offer too. Come all at once. I don’t feel like going around chopping off heads one by one.”

Black Elder’s gaze spat fire.

“Kill him.”

SHRAAAAK!