“Ten Thousand Years!”

From every house, windows and doors flew open, and flower petals rained down onto the streets below. Children dashed about, gathering wildflowers to toss into the air. Impoverished scholars from the neighborhood academy climbed high pagodas, tearing paper into shreds and scattering them down, met by resounding cheers from below. Seeing the surging crowds, paper merchants willingly sold their stock at low prices.

“Grand Young Master, Ten Thousand Years!”

The people of Luoyang didn’t know where the cheers had begun. They didn’t even know the Grand Young Master’s face. Many had no connection to the House of Benevolence, nor did they follow the Fairy Cult faith. Since the Grand Young Master had no direct bearing on their daily lives, plenty had no particular reason to join the cries.

“Ten Thousand Years!”

But for those who had spent the night sleepless, hearts pounding with fear amidst the cannon fire, they needed a sign. A sign that the terror was over, that life was returning to normal. They needed a celebration.

“Ten Thousand Years!”

Caught in the throng shouting “Ten Thousand Years!”, showered with the paper scraps and flower petals raining down from the rooftops, the young shop clerk who had first cried out the Grand Young Master’s name looked around, his face overcome with emotion. He came from the slums. He had only survived to adulthood thanks to the House of Benevolence’s aid. Everything he had, his ability to stand on his own two feet, he owed to the Grand Young Master he had never even seen. He felt his eyes grow hot, his cheeks dampening.

“Ten Thousand Years!”

“Ten Thousand Years!”

His chest swelled with emotion, and he shouted louder than anyone else in the street.

“…Grand Young Master, Ten Thousand Years!”

Until recently, the news that the Luoyang Sword Clan’s Grand Young Master had broken his seclusion and returned held immense political significance for those in high positions. However, for the common folk, neither destitute nor upper class, it remained a distant tale, mere fodder for gossip and amusement.

However…

“Ten Thousand Years!”

At least now, in this moment, all of Luoyang was truly feeling the impact of Yeon So-hyeon’s return.

“Outta the way! Shit!”

“What’s so great you gotta yell Ten Thousand Years?!”

Large men roughly shoved aside the cheering people. An old man, hurrying through the gap they created, chided them. “I told you not to draw attention…!” Even as he spoke, the old man didn’t slow his pace through the crowd, his eyes constantly darting backward.

The reason was simple: he was one of the leaders of the Council of Six, the group that had dominated the unorthodox with the backing of the Second Young Master’s faction.

“We need to move quietly, without being noticed…!”

“Yes, Elder.” His burly guards nodded and continued using their bodies to plow a path through the throng.

Reaching their intended alley, hidden from the main flow of people, the old man and his entourage finally let out a breath.

“Any pursuers?”

The old man’s bodyguard, his most trusted subordinate, a Unorthodox martial artist, shook his head. “Nothing tripping my senses, specifically.” The man, who had built quite a reputation hunting people in Hebei, added, “And I’ve been keeping a close eye on the faces nearby. No one followed us this far.”

“Really…?” The old man’s face brightened momentarily, but he pressed again, “…Any chance they’re following us concealed?”

“None.” The Unorthodox martial artist shook his head firmly. “Unless they’re ghosts, they couldn’t have escaped my eyes.”

“…Good.”

Trying to secretly track someone through this chaotic flood of people pouring into the streets would be incredibly difficult. He wanted nothing more than to tear apart every single person shouting the Grand Young Master’s name with his bare hands, but for now, their celebration was actually proving helpful.

“Let’s hurry.”

The old man and his men navigated the complex back alleys. The narrow, filthy passages seemed particularly offensive today, and he scowled.

“The others…?” he asked, referring to the other leaders of the Council of Six.

“…Given the circumstances, reliable information is scarce, but…” the sole executive who had survived alongside him replied, “…it seems we are the only ones who managed to escape.”

“…I see.”

This was why thorough preparation in all matters was crucial. The moment the Luoyang Sword Clan’s War Department had appeared, the old man had immediately retreated to a nearby underground space he had prepared in advance, hiding himself away. He had waited there, barely breathing like a dead rat, until this city-wide “Ten Thousand Years” chaos erupted, using it as cover for his escape.

“We’ve arrived.”

A dead-end alley. His burly subordinates cleared away a haphazard pile of junk, revealing a hidden iron door. The Unorthodox martial artist, formerly a man-hunter, meticulously inspected the door first. “No sign of it having been opened.”

This was the old man’s safe house, his emergency shelter, hidden away long ago for just such a contingency.

“Check it.” True to his thorough nature, the old man sent his subordinates inside first. Only after receiving the all-clear—“No issues.”—and performing one last scan of the surroundings himself did he finally enter.

The stench of rot and mold assaulted his nostrils, but the old man welcomed it. It meant no one had opened the door since his last inspection.

“…What should we do now?” Until this point, they had been focused solely on escaping with their lives, but now, safely inside, expressions of dejection were hard to hide. Most of their organization was dead or captured. With their backers, the Second Young Master’s faction, crushed, their entire power base in Luoyang was effectively gone. It was only a matter of time before the name ‘Council of Six’ faded from memory in the city.

“What do you think?” The old man smiled.

A smile, in this situation? As everyone stared in confusion, the old man walked to a corner and pulled on a loose chain hanging amongst the clutter.

Gurrrung—. With a low rumble, a hidden safe was revealed.

“Is that…?!”

The old man opened the safe, exposing stacks of gold, silver, jewels, and bank notes piled high within.

“This is the secret fund of the Great Immortal Merchant Guild that I was managing.”

…It was a portion of Grand Matron Ouyang’s hidden assets. Normally, the old man, acting merely as the safe’s keeper, wouldn’t have dared touch it. But now? Now was different.

“With this much, starting a new organization in another city won’t be a problem.”

The executive, mentally calculating the value of the treasure, nodded vigorously. “This is more than enough! It’s an overwhelming amount!”

“Oh my, it certainly is. Quite a fortune.”

The response came in a woman’s lilting voice.

“…?!”

Everyone froze, utterly bewildered. There were no women in their group.

“I was bored to death, but patiently following you all this way was certainly worth it.”

We were followed. Realization dawned on the old man’s face, quickly replaced not by shock, but by fury.

“Didn’t you say no one followed unless they were ghosts?!” he snarled at the Unorthodox man-hunter. But instead of an answer, only gurgling, bloody foam spilled from the man’s lips.

“Kreuk, kek, kek…”

Ududuk. With an unidentifiable, sickening sound, his eyes rolled back white in their sockets. He died instantly, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

“..?!”

As the Unorthodox warrior fell, the figure of a woman standing behind him was revealed in the lantern light. Dressed in impossibly expensive palace attire with vibrant, elaborate makeup, her presence was so striking it begged the question of how they hadn’t noticed her before.

“Oh my, don’t tell me…!” She feigned surprise, then shrugged with an air of disbelief. “Did you really think you’d succeeded in escaping Grand Young Master’s grasp?”

Her tone was openly provocative, but no one present paid it any mind. Crack, Crack. All eyes were fixed on the thick segments of bone she was casually rolling between her snow-white fingers.

“…V-Vertebrae?”

She smiled bewitchingly, brightly. “That’s right. Spinal bones. Pretty, aren’t they?”

She was Twin Sala Trees[1]. Seorim Cheong. The Grand Young Master’s assassin. The woman who had assisted the Crescent Moon Pavilion Mistress, Se-ah, for so long had reappeared here.

“U-Uwaaaaa…?!” The executive was the first to break, screaming as he scrambled to flee. But as he passed through the basement entrance, he wasn’t greeted by morning sunlight.

Thud—!

An unnaturally long hand shot out from the narrow gap between the buildings, grabbed his head, and slammed it into the ground. With the sound of a skull shattering into tiny pieces, pulped brain matter oozed between the gruesome fingers.

“Insects, with their tiny heads, always think the small view they see is the whole world, that their judgment is always correct.”

Seueuk. A spider-like figure emerged from the impossibly narrow crevice between the buildings, a space no normal person could navigate. “That’s also why insects breed so well everywhere.” It was a grotesque figure, with a slender torso and unnaturally long arms and legs. “And it’s also why people like this seat, who specialize in pest control, are necessary in this world.”

The worst assassin produced by the Sichuan Tang Clan, and one of the Fourth Young Master Yeon Bi’s closest confidants. Bizarre Grotesquire . The Silencer of Sichuan.

“Ten Thousand Years!” “Grand Young Master, Ten Thousand Years!”

The faint screams emanating from the back alley of back alleys were swallowed by the cheers from the street, vanishing into nothing.

***

Somewhere in a corner of Luoyang. A Crescent Moon Pavilion safe house.

“A report from Seorim Cheong and Bizarre Grotesquire. The hunt is over.”

Crescent Moon Pavilion Mistress Se-ah delivered her report, bathed in the faint sunlight filtering through the blinds covering the window. “Word has also arrived from the Sichuan Tang Clan. Deputy Head Tang Gwi-ho is personally transporting the Emei Chief Administrator Reverend Abbess.”

From the darkness, a question came from the figure seated cross-legged in the seat of honor. “…The situation at the main clan estate?”

Despite the chill induced by the thick Demonic Qi clinging to the voice, Crescent Moon Pavilion Mistress Se-ah’s reply was immediate. “The Elders from the Second Young Master’s faction have been taken into custody. Grand Matron Ouyang is under house arrest. The Second Young Master is currently en route back to the main estate, escorted by warriors dispatched by the Sword Clan.” She lowered the documents she was reading and managed a faint, forced smile. “Everything is proceeding perfectly, exactly as you wished, my Lord.”

In the darkness, her master, the Grand Young Master Yeon So-hyeon, nodded. “…Continue monitoring the situation and report.”

Even someone less perceptive than Se-ah could hear the immense pain underlying his voice.

“My Lord. Please, now, you must at least perform energy circulation breathing and rest…”

Even while battling Demonic Qi on the verge of rampaging, Yeon So-hyeon had been meticulously overseeing every detail, orchestrating the final stages with a precision bordering on madness.

“No.” His voice, starkly firm despite the obvious strain, accompanied the shake of his head. The white mask, now seemingly fused to his face, appeared to waver in the air. “Rest can wait until everything is finished. That will be sufficient.”

“But—.”

“Thank you for your concern.”

At her master’s gentle words, Se-ah could press no further. She bowed deeply and left the room.

“Ten Thousand Years—!”

As she walked down the corridor, the distant sound of cheers reached her. Did those people know? Did they know that the architect of this victory, the Grand Young Master Yeon So-hyeon, her master, was enduring unimaginable agony right now? Biting her lip, she continued on her way.

Moments ago, sunlight had clearly filtered through the blinds. Now, the room was plunged into pitch darkness. The Demonic Qi Yeon So-hyeon had suppressed for Se-ah’s sake had erupted, warping reality itself.

[Foolish one, Fated One.] A voice echoed directly within his mind, tearing through all mental defenses. It was the collective voice of the Fated One who had kneeled and submitted to the Scripture that Commands the Dark and Quakes the Heavens. [How long do you, a mere mortal, think you can suppress this rampage?]

But, even as cold sweat poured down him like rain, even as his cross-legged body trembled minutely, what hung on Yeon So-hyeon’s lips beneath the white mask was undeniably a smile.

And that smile seemed to say:

I was waiting.

This wasn’t the expression of someone reaching their limit while suppressing a rampage. This was the expression of a hunter who had successfully lured their prey into the very final trap.