The city didn't feel like home anymore.
Daewon greeted them with a funeral wind and a new set of stares. Not the curious ones Sim had grown used to the ones that weighed you, judged you, maybe even feared you.
These were different.
They were quiet.
Hunters' eyes.
Measuring how fast your throat could be slit.
---
They reached the tavern before dusk.
Baek-Ha called it "safe."
It was a three-story wooden inn with half a roof missing and stew that could strip paint.
Sim didn't argue.
Inside, the innkeeper blinked at the sight of them, then mumbled something about "coin first, trouble later."
They paid.
Got the smallest room.
One window.
One bed.
---
Baek-Ha kicked off her boots and dropped her pack.
"This was the last place my father ever stayed in the city," she said, voice low.
Sim turned to her. "You want to leave?"
"No," she said. "I want to make new memories here."
Then she climbed into bed and turned her back to him.
---
The bed was too small.
Their backs pressed together.
Silence stretched like warm cloth between them.
Sim didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't dare.
Then Baek-Ha whispered:
> "I don't care how strong you get. I'll still make fun of you if you snore."
He smiled.
"Fair."
She paused.
"You're not scared of dying, are you?"
He thought about it.
"No," he said honestly. "I'm scared of dying before I do something worth the pain."
She nodded once, like she understood.
Then reached behind her.
Took his hand.
Held it.
No tension.
Just there.
They slept like that.
No kisses. No confessions.
Just heat and silence and the understanding of two people who had nothing else left to lose but each other.
---
The next morning, a dagger was buried in the tavern doorframe.
No message.
No signature.
Just a mask. A plain white porcelain face with one black dot over the right eye.
Sim pulled it free.
Baek-Ha stared.
"That's from the Thousand Masks Guild."
"They're real?" Sim asked.
"They don't take contracts for money. They take them to erase things. People. Secrets. Names."
"Who hired them?"
"No one," she whispered. "If they marked you… they did it for free."
---
They left the inn immediately.
No time for breakfast. No time for hiding.
By the time they reached the outer square, Sim saw him.
The Masked Man.
Plain robes. Bare feet. Thin frame. Mask with a long red slash from forehead to chin.
He stood in the middle of a crowd, completely still.
Watching.
Then, slowly, he bowed.
And vanished into smoke.
---
That night, word spread.
Not a bounty. Not posted in a guild. Not shouted on street corners.
Just a whisper.
> "Kill Sim Gwan. No coin. No favor.
But you'll never be hunted again."
A bounty with no price.
Only freedom.
And that was worth more than gold.
---
In the shadows, allies began to fold.
One tavern owner refused them entry.
An old beggar who once passed them messages now wouldn't meet their eyes.
Even some low-tier sects pulled their scouts out of the city, hoping to avoid association.
Only one person stepped forward.
Mistress Seo.
She met them in the back of a ruined tea house.
She looked tired. Furious.
"You should've died at Black Hollow Lake."
Sim raised an eyebrow. "That's one way to start a greeting."
"You don't get it. You think surviving makes you special. But in this world, surviving makes you visible."
She handed him a sealed pouch.
"A single-use identity seal. Carved by a real ghost scribe. You'll use it once. Burn the name Jin Mu. Take another."
Baek-Ha stepped forward. "He already left Jin Mu behind."
Seo looked at her carefully.
Then nodded once.
"You've got three days before the first real attempt comes. And it won't be amateurs next time."
Sim asked, "Why help us?"
She didn't answer.
Just said, "Three days. Run. Or become bait."
Then she left.
---
They spent that night in a warehouse loft above a butcher's shop.
Same bed. Same silence.
But this time, Sim lay awake.
Baek-Ha rolled over, eyes open.
"You think we'll make it?"
"No."
"Then why keep going?"
He turned to her.
And said:
> "Well for the first time in my life…
I'm someone I'd actually follow."
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then leaned in.
Pressed her forehead to his.
Whispered, "Good."
And they fell asleep like that.
---
Across the continent, the Demon-Wreathed Sect began to move.
The Elders gathered. Names were spoken. Flames flickered across red scrolls.
Sim Gwan's name written in ash was pinned to the wall of the Trial Chamber.
And the Sect Leader spoke, voice soft as rot:
> "Let him come.
If he survives us…
Then perhaps the age of monsters can begin again."
---