Chapter 30

—I trust you, so I’ll entrust this mission to you, Yeon-ah.

Lee Yeon, a first-generation disciple of the Mount Hua Sect, tightened the sash holding his scabbard, his mind churning over his master’s whispered commands. Fear gnawed at his gut, leaving his fingers trembling with a violent, uncontrollable rhythm.

Escape was not an option.

Things had spiraled into the “worst-case scenario” his master had warned him of, and he was the only one left to act.

If I fail the task he entrusted to me…

The mere thought sent a sickening throb through his chest.

He could already see his master’s face—the crushing weight of disappointment, the cold withdrawal of all expectations. Without that approval, Lee Yeon knew he would simply cease to be.

“You must succeed, Yeon-ah. The very fate of Mount Hua rests in your hands.”

And so, he had to do it. He would protect his master’s precious sect, no matter the cost.

The raucous din of the ground-floor tavern bled into a hollow hush as the patrons finally retreated to their rooms.

Seizing the absolute silence, Lee Yeon slipped through his window and out into the night. Clad in the black stealth suit he had prepared in secret, he was nothing more than a passing shadow. It was all thanks to his master’s foresight; the man had recognized Lee Yeon’s natural aptitude for stealth early on and personally instructed him in the art of the silent step.

His feet met the earth without a sound.

Merging with the jagged shadows cast by the buildings, he began to move. He was a natural at suppressing his presence, but tonight, his aura was sharpened by a desperate, almost tragic resolve.

Upon reaching his destination, Lee Yeon scaled a nearby roof to survey the path ahead. Twenty warriors stood guard over the storehouse, their silhouettes stark against the moonlight. He had no other choice. If they drew any closer to Sichuan, his mission would be a total failure.

He waited, holding his breath until the guards began their rotation. It was an earlier shift change than he had anticipated, but he didn’t hesitate. He vaulted over the roof, flowing through a small window above the door with the grace of water, caught a crossbeam to steady himself, and dropped silently to the floor.

Though the infiltration was flawless, his heart hammered against his ribs with such violence he feared it might burst. Cold sweat slicked his spine and soaked his underarms. Swallowing hard, he crept further into the gloom, the air thick with the stifling scent of dust, flour, and ancient fabric.

There, in the center of the room, sat Baek Ho-cheol. The man was bound tight, his eyes wide and bulging with a mixture of fury and helplessness.

Unlike his fellow disciples, Lee Yeon knew the prisoner’s true name. His master, possessing the foresight to see through the fog of the future, had warned him that such a man would appear. He had informed Lee Yeon that Baek Ho-cheol was a monstrous villain who led the Green Forests bandits in the slaughter of innocent civilians, and that he deserved no mercy.

It’s all right. He is the perfect target for my first kill as a man of the Way.

Rationalizing the act to soothe his conscience, Lee Yeon drew his sword.

He intended to drive the blade through the man’s throat in a single strike, leaving a wound that would reveal nothing of his sect’s specific techniques. Veins throbbed across Baek Ho-cheol’s forehead and neck as he strained against his bonds, his eyes fixed on the impending, hollow death.

Lee Yeon gripped his hilt with ice-cold hands and lunged. Fear of the killing stroke forced his eyes shut on reflex. He felt the tip of the blade quiver, yet he was certain it remained sharp enough to end a helpless man.

Go back quickly. My clothes will be stained with blood, so I’ll strip, roll them up, and bury them in the inn’s backyard. No—better to shove them deep into the hearth and wait for the chef to light the fire at dawn.

As he methodically planned the cover-up, the timid disciple steeled his heart and slowly opened his eyes. He expected to see a man gasping his final breaths through a severed windpipe, his lifeblood pooling on the floor.

Instead, he found a nightmare.

“Gah—!”

Lee Yeon gasped, stumbling back as the air left his lungs.

Illuminated by a sliver of moonlight, a face as waxen and pale as a corpse grinned at him from behind Baek Ho-cheol. The figure parted his lips, revealing a jagged fissure beneath a mask of artificial joy. His voice, filled with terrifying cheer, echoed through the room.

“Young Daoist, once we cross Angang and traverse the Daba Mountains, we’ll finally be in Sichuan.”

The words made no sense.

Lee Yeon had been caught in the middle of a clandestine assassination attempt for the sake of his sect, yet Nan Wi-jeong was standing there talking about their destination as if they were discussing the weather. The merchant was clearly, fundamentally broken.

Lee Yeon spun around, his only instinct to flee. But the storehouse door, which had been closed when he entered, was now wide open. Standing in the threshold was a wall of men in martial robes.

He recognized them.

They were the caravan guards who had protected the porters during the mountain crossing. But the atmosphere they projected was entirely different. They exuded an aura of coldness and unyielding strength, their skills so terrifyingly precise that one could stab them and expect no blood to flow.

In that instant, a realization struck Lee Yeon like a bolt of lightning.

They were lying from the start.

An organization capable of fielding such high-level masters—warriors who could perfectly mask their true strength—had been playing the Mount Hua Sect for fools. And in Sichuan, only one such organization existed.

The Tang Clan.

Nan Wi-jeong, who had pulled Baek Ho-cheol back at the last possible second, stepped forward with soft, rhythmic footsteps. Lee Yeon stood paralyzed, his mind too shattered by failure to even concoct an excuse. Nan Wi-jeong placed a gentle hand on the disciple’s shoulder and leaned in.

“And so… I believe we no longer require the ‘overwhelming’ assistance of such busy Daoists.”

(Get the hell back to your mountain and stay hidden.)

“Great Hero Gu has fallen into a deep sleep after our little drinking session,” Nan Wi-jeong continued, his tone light. “It won’t harm him, though I doubt he’ll wake before the day after tomorrow. I imagine the Fragrant Willow Swordsman is enjoying a similarly peaceful rest as we speak.”

(I’ve already dealt with your naive, incompetent brothers.)

“I’ve provided far more than the ten silver taels I promised upon our arrival. This should be more than enough for you to enjoy a few days of luxury here. After all, it’s a rare outing for you, isn’t it?”

(I don’t intend to expose you yet. We’ll pretend you escorted us all the way to Sichuan, so keep your mouth shut.)

As the merchant’s polite words flowed over him, each one masking a predatory threat, Lee Yeon’s breathing grew ragged, verging on a sob. It was the final mercy granted to a cornered animal.

Nan Wi-jeong took Lee Yeon’s trembling hand and pressed a heavy silk pouch into his palm. The silver taels inside clinked with a clear, mocking sound. It was a stark reversal from the desperate man who had claimed to have nothing and promised to pay the rest in Sichuan.

With a single nod from Nan Wi-jeong, the warriors guarding the door stepped aside with disciplined precision. Nan Wi-jeong gave Lee Yeon’s back a soft, encouraging shove and whispered one last time.

“Go now. Quickly.”

(If you understand, run and don’t look back.)

His mind a white void, Lee Yeon bolted from the storehouse. He collided with one of the warriors at the door, but he didn’t stop. The terror of his failed mission, the crushing guilt of shaming his sect, and the looming fear of being abandoned by his master weighed on his immature heart.

Hot tears blurred his vision as he ran.

He was a pathetic creature, a man whose life and thoughts had long since been stolen by another, now plummeting into his final ruin.

Nan Wi-jeong watched the boy’s retreating figure and let out a long, weary sigh.

“I wanted to handle this quietly, but I suppose one can’t raise a proper assassination squad under the guise of Taoism,” Nan Wi-jeong mused. “But hiring another killing house would just mean giving someone else leverage. I suppose this was the only compromise—teaching a ‘proud disciple’ of Mount Hua such amateurish stealth.”

“His mental state seemed far too fragile for a killer,” Jo Woo-il added, emerging from the shadows. “He could have easily claimed it was a personal grudge, yet he broke instantly.”

Nan Wi-jeong offered a dry chuckle and grabbed Baek Ho-cheol by the collar, dragging him back to his original spot. “That is the nature of brainwashing. It prevents a person from functioning as a human being; it narrows their vision until they can see nothing else.”

“…He didn’t look like a man who had been brainwashed.”

“Restricting one’s freedom or implanting loyalty isn’t the only form of brainwashing, Warrior Jo. The invisible kind is far more insidious.”

Baek Ho-cheol, realizing he had been deceived and used as bait, glared at Nan Wi-jeong with murderous intent. But with his pressure points sealed and twenty-four fine needles driven into his major meridians, he was nothing more than a statue.

“What if that Daoist goes straight back to Mount Hua and spills everything?”

“There is almost zero chance of that. Children facing a scolding will always try to hide and cover up their mistakes, even when they know they’ll be caught eventually. And even if Great Hero Gu tells the truth, we already hold the leverage. We have Mount Hua’s weakness in our hands.”

Nan Wi-jeong patted Ho-cheol’s shoulder affectionately and turned to leave. With a single gesture, the disciplined line of warriors relaxed and dispersed toward their quarters.

“We no longer need to drag Mount Hua into Sichuan, but it seems I’ve picked up a much larger explosive than I planned. I’ll have to prepare for a severe scolding from the Clan Head.”

Nan Wi-jeong stepped out of the storehouse and looked up at the brilliant full moon.

“Still, having the Immortal Healer with us makes my heart feel quite steady. It feels like I could get away with almost anything,” he chuckled to himself.

It was a perfectly delightful night.

Meanwhile, not far away, Cho Yoon stood hidden in the shadows, his jaw dropped in shock.

He had overheard the entire exchange.

The realization struck him like a physical blow to the back of the head.