Salmak, "Killing Veil"
"Pack your things."
"We're leaving right away?"
"Yes."
Goiyi was a man who cared little for the eyes of others. But even he had no intention of lingering in Jewon, treating Baek Hyang-a at Baek choo-seo's side.
Of course, he had every desire to finish her treatment. The problem was simple—he feared he might unconsciously draw his sword and lop off Baek choo-seo's head.
Baek Hyang-a had already escaped death. All that remained was to take medicine steadily for a month or two and recuperate slowly, suppressing the Severed Meridian Syndrome. There was no problem entrusting the follow-up to Physician Seop instead of treating her directly.
So Tang Mujin and Goiyi placed the unconscious father and daughter back in the Jewon Baek Family's main hall and left instructions for her medicine at Physician Seop's house.
Before dawn had broken, under the cover of darkness, the three of them departed Jewon.
***
Baek choo-seo woke later than usual.
Shifting uncomfortably, he noticed Baek Hyang-a lying beside him. At once, the events of the previous night surged back to him in vivid detail.
His heart pounded in his temple as though it had moved there, and a crushing weight pressed against his chest.
He exhaled heavily, tried to begin circulating his qi, then froze. If he attempted ungijo-sik now, he would surely fall into deviation.
Instead, he reached toward his sleeping daughter. Not from lust—he had never harbored such desires for her. It was simply as a father, as the clan lord of the Jewon Baek Family, wanting to check her condition.
He placed his hand gently on her abdomen and infused a trickle of internal energy.
His control wasn't as delicate as Goiyi's or Tang Mujin's, but he could at least gauge the amount of qi within her.
The yin energy has weakened.
And at the same time, he sensed inner force, unrooted, drifting through her body.
Its amount was astonishing—comparable even to his own, cultivated over decades.
If she gradually dissolved the residual yin and anchored this force into her dantian, she would accumulate a vast reservoir of power. With steady effort, the results would be remarkable.
A pang of loss stabbed him. But greater than that was the swelling joy in his chest.
She would never match the fame of the Sword King in his prime, but if Baek Hyang-a became a proper martial artist, the Jewon Baek Family could rise to the ranks of middle-tier sects.
Everything was going to be fine. That was what Baek choo-seo told himself.
"Mmm…"
Baek Hyang-a stirred and let out a faint groan, beginning to wake.
She slowly rose, half-lidded eyes roaming until they landed on him.
He sat there as if nothing was different, but her eyes trembled for an instant—raw rejection and fear.
Though her expression quickly returned to normal, Baek choo-seo knew. She remembered everything.
"You're awake?"
"…Yes. It seems your condition has improved. That's good."
He forced his tone into calmness. Yet his chest tightened harder, his heartbeat even rougher.
He couldn't bear to meet her gaze. With desperate composure, he stood and left the room.
He thought she said something behind him, but he didn't hear.
He walked aimlessly, beyond the Jewon Baek Family gates, until he found a place free of footsteps and eyes.
Her eyes haunted him—the eyes that rejected him.
His chest roiled. Fear gnawed at him.
Could he really trust that swordsman, Lee Gyun, to stay silent? Even if he did, the incident itself would not vanish. At the very least, Baek Hyang-a would remember.
Every time she saw him, she would recall his vile decision. Their bond would never return. The once-strained but warm relationship of father and daughter was gone forever.
Perhaps that was why, for the first time, Baek choo-seo could separate himself from her, and from the Jewon Baek Family.
Even if Baek Hyang-a restored the clan through her martial path, it would not be his achievement.
He was still incompetent. Still a selfish, wretched father who had accomplished nothing.
Regret struck him.
If only he had remained quietly useless, as always.
Or if only he had succeeded in his plan without being discovered. Hyang-a might have suffered, but she would have kept his secret.
He collapsed to his knees, palms pressing into the earth, gasping raggedly.
Hatred for Lee Gyun burned within him, endless, but aside from that, his mind slowly calmed.
He didn't realize that this alien calm was the first step into heart-demon.
Rising, Baek choo-seo set his steps eastward.
Toward a plain tavern named Jowolru.
When he arrived, the doors were closed—it was too early for business.
But he was not dismayed. He slipped behind the building into a small warehouse.
The warehouse connected to a secret chamber within. That chamber was a hideout managed by the Salmak—the Killing Veil, Jewon's assassin network.
Ordinary folk had no idea such a place existed. But a long-standing local like Baek choo-seo knew, willingly or not, how to contact the underworld.
Inside, a man in black sat waiting, staring coldly at him.
Baek choo-seo only vaguely guessed the man was from Salmak, but the branch leader recognized him immediately.
"Well, if it isn't the esteemed Lord Baek. What brings a man of such reputation to the den of villains?"
"Who are you?"
"You may call me the Branch Leader."
Though a righteous sect leader had appeared without warning, his tone remained relaxed. Hypocritical martial men seeking assassins were nothing new.
"I've come because there's someone I want dead."
"And who might that be?"
Goiyi Choong.
Baek choo-seo remembered the last words Lee Gyun had thrown at him, echoing in his skull:
'A dream isn't excessive only when it's grand. If your ability is meager, even an ordinary dream can be excessive.'
It was the cruelest thing he had ever heard in his life—more painful than losing an arm.
"There's a physician who came to Jewon ten days or so ago. Name's Lee Gyun. Just over fifty, graying at the temples."
Two others had been behind him, but their faces were blurry, unworthy of memory. Servants, at best. He felt no killing urge toward them.
Yes, the true enemy was Lee Gyun. The rest were beneath notice. He was a righteous, magnanimous martial man, after all.
The branch leader, however, looked unimpressed. What profit was there in killing a mere physician?
"A physician? Surely you don't need Salmak for that."
Baek choo-seo's eyes turned cold.
"He's no ordinary physician. That's just a disguise. In truth, he's a martial artist. His skill is equal to mine."
In reality, he had been suppressed after only a few exchanges. But Baek choo-seo would never confess that before a wretched black-path assassin.
The Branch Leader's mood shifted.
If Baek choo-seo wasn't killed or crippled, then the man's strength must indeed match his own.
No need to move personally—his branch members could handle it.
And he liked that the client spoke so highly of the target. Such men rarely quibbled over the price.
"Yes. Understood. And the payment?"
Baek choo-seo pulled out a gold ingot, slightly larger than a thumb, from his robe and tossed it to the branch leader.
It was already a sufficient price for the commission, but Baek choo-seo promised an even greater reward.
"Think of it as a deposit. When the job is done, I'll pay the rest."
The gold was no loss to him. If he could only see Lee Gyun's severed head, no price was too high.
The branch leader smiled with deep satisfaction.
"Very well. I'll have results for you within three days."
***
Not long ago, Goiyi had managed to visit the Sima clan in Luoyang and return within just two days.
But that had only been possible because he moved alone, employing his body-lightening arts.
Tang Mujin's lightness skill was still far below Goiyi's level, and to make matters worse, their party also included Dan Seol-yeong, who knew nothing of martial arts. So the three of them trudged on foot toward Luoyang.
"Later, when there's time, should I teach you some body-lightening techniques?"
"Really?"
Hearing Tang Mujin and Dan Seol-yeong's chatter, Goiyi clicked his tongue.
"Bah. Who are you to teach, when your own comprehension is so shallow?"
"Still, it's better than knowing nothing at all, right?"
"That's not exactly wrong…"
In the end, the group failed to reach Luoyang by nightfall.
Worse, between Jewon and Luoyang there wasn't even a village to lodge in, so they had no choice but to sleep under the open sky.
If it were when they had traveled with Hong Geol-gae, they would have just thrown down a straw mat and collapsed. But Dan Seol-yeong was more meticulous and proactive.
"Since we're resting anyway, let's go over there. The soil's softer and there'll be fewer biting insects."
"How do you know?"
"There are dragonflies. Where there are dragonflies, there aren't many mosquitoes or gnats."
It wasn't far, and as she said, there were no bothersome insects at the spot she chose.
Dan Seol-yeong then cleared the small stones from the ground and even spread fallen leaves over it.
She didn't look like she was forcing herself—it was simply in her nature to be diligent.
And she didn't stop there. Climbing a nearby tree, she pulled and tied down branches, and in no time at all, had crafted a simple shelter overhead.
It wasn't much to look at, but it would be enough to ward off the night dew.
Goiyi cast a sideways glance at Tang Mujin.
"It just struck me—if I had met Dan Seol-yeong back in Seongdo or Jueul Village instead of you or Hong Geol-gae, things might have gone much better."
"Well, isn't that funny. I was just thinking how nice it would have been if you'd taught me to do things like that."
The three of them lay beneath the makeshift shelter, idly staring at the stars peeking through the branches.
Goiyi lay down with his eyes closed and began circulating his qi—lying meditation (Wagong).
Tang Mujin wanted to practice in such a comfortable posture as well, but Wagong was far harder than it looked.
And besides, Goiyi had no intention of teaching him. The reason was simple: who in their right mind would practice cultivation sprawled in front of their elders?
Beside them, Dan Seol-yeong fiddled with twigs and leaves, fashioning little trinkets. Tang Mujin watched her hands move busily.
He himself sometimes whittled things when he had spare time, but his creations were nothing like hers.
Tang Mujin's works were delicate but static—wooden figurines, carved landscapes.
Dan Seol-yeong's, by contrast, were about movement.
Sometimes a palm-sized bow that could shoot twigs, sometimes a little toy that spun round and round once released.
They never lasted long—at most, two breaths of motion once freed from her hands.
But creating something that could move even briefly without being touched was no small feat.
Watching Tang Mujin carve a figurine, Dan Seol-yeong mused aloud:
"If I had hands as skilled as yours, I'd make all sorts of things."
"Like what?"
"Too many to count. Endless, really."
"Want to do it like when we made the wooden automaton? You tell me, I make it."
"Deal!"
As they talked and laughed, Goiyi suddenly opened his eyes and sat up.
"Guests are coming."
"Guests?"
"Clad in black. Dan Seol-yeong, up the tree."
Without protest, without saying something foolish like 'I can fight too!', Dan Seol-yeong scampered up a tree like a squirrel and hid. She wasn't stupid enough to cling to pride in a situation like this.
Soon after, six black-clad figures appeared.
The last group of masked men they had met had at least exchanged a few words. These six said nothing—only faint, stifled breaths seeped out from behind their masks.
They didn't seem pleased with the situation either. Goiyi drew his sword with a sneer.
"What, you thought no one would notice black shadows sneaking about at night?"
No answer came.
Tang Mujin braced himself, expecting them to charge with blades drawn.
That was how every battle had gone until now.
But the black-clad men did not approach.
Instead, all six hurled poisoned daggers in unison.