Chapter 3 Betrayal meant death.
It was a principle etched into bone, yet it felt newly vivid. Perhaps because Yeo Il—she herself—had now become the one bound by that principle.
"Yeo Il."
And yet, on the other hand… betrayal also felt like a fate that was only natural for her.
Especially in moments like this.
"Yeo Il, Yeo Il…"
Somewhere nearby, the thick stench of blood hung in the air.
The source was not far. After being hunted for so long, Yeo Il looked down at her left arm, now in tatters like a rag.
I never expected it would be easy to escape, but…
Still, it was as grueling as she had anticipated.
Of course it was. The enemy was Salmak. Those vicious assassins who would chase a name written in the Killing Register all the way to the ends of hell just to erase it.
And it was the group Yeo Il herself had belonged to.
What kind of place had Salmak been—the place she had served for so long?
An assassination force that caused unprecedented chaos in the Central Plains and became a public enemy of the Murim.
An organization that carved out a path drenched in blood, infamous for brutality without precedent.
"I told you, over and over, until my lips wore thin."
And Yeo Il, more often than not—no, always—stood at the very front of that bloody path.
"This elder brother treasures you greatly."
Countless people trembled at her sobriquet, her infamy, her atrocities—and Yeo Il felt not the slightest guilt.
It was only natural. She had been trained to be a killing doll.
"There are few children in this world as valuable as you."
Dim violet eyes pierced the oppressive darkness as they fixed on Yeo Il.
Behind the man standing against her, the space was empty and still.
But Yeo Il knew the truth.
The moment she so much as twitched a finger, other assassins who had devoted their lives to Salmak would pour down like rain and stab into her heart.
The man, as if granting mercy, coaxed her with an oddly gentle smile.
"If you return even now, I will pardon your sin."
"..."
"You know it as well. This elder brother does not speak twice with one mouth."
"..."
"Mistakes happen to anyone. Even Zhao Xiangzi of Qin forgave Yu Rang—so why would I be unable to forgive you for a small folly?"
He extended his hand.
From within a snow-white robe sleeve, a hand even whiter emerged beneath the moonlight. Then a dreamlike smile spread across his pale face.
"Take my hand, Yeo Il… Let us return together as if nothing happened. No one will dare speak of your crime."
Forgiving a traitor.
It was an outrageous assertion, yet the man possessed the authority and strength to make such a claim plausible.
But what did that matter?
Yeo Il spat onto his hand.
"Go to hell."
Then, without looking back, she unleashed her Lightness Skill and fled.
In the blink of an eye, the distance between them widened by more than ten jang, and roaring laughter burst into the night sky.
"Yes, yes—now that's you!"
Then the order came.
"Capture her alive."
Feeling presences begin to pursue her with ghostlike speed, Yeo Il suddenly fell into doubt.
Why am I running?
Would it not be better to simply die?
Yeo Il had no attachment to life.
In truth, the one who ought to fall into hell was Yeo Il herself. Her life until now had been hell already—so what difference would it make if she fell into hell after death as well?
But she was fleeing with everything she had.
It was probably because of the jade ring.
[Take this. It's the only thing I have.]
More than ten years ago—in that hell where over a hundred boys and girls had been kidnapped without even knowing why…
Because of the child who entrusted her with a small jade ring before leaving…
[If you ever meet my parents later, Yeo Il, give them my jade ring. Tell them I left peacefully… Tell them I lived happily without pain…]
The memory was still vivid.
The unfamiliar adults who committed violence and torture.
The moments they were forced into murder just to survive.
The days they filled their stomachs with poisoned centipedes.
The bodies that piled up like mountains with each passing day…
[Only you survived? Welcome to becoming a member of Salmak.]
From before she even came of age, Yeo Il lived as Salmak's doll. Obeying the Killing Register from above, she erased the names written there one by one.
Yeo Il was obedient.
An excellent assassin.
A useful tool.
Until the day she realized something was wrong.
"Hahah… No matter how exceptional your Lightness Skill may be, the number of assassins spread through this area like a net must rival a heavenly net and earthly snare. Do you really think you can escape me?"
The man's voice boomed from far away.
Just as he said, the presences that had been clustered behind her were now closing in from all directions.
When Yeo Il increased her speed, no one dared pursue directly from behind.
But she knew that, too, would only last for a time.
Should she slaughter them all so they could not follow? Yet for some reason, she did not feel like drawing her sword. Yeo Il ran on and on, endlessly, endlessly.
How many hours passed like that?
The sun rose.
The sun set.
Then the sun rose again—she felt as though it repeated several times.
One day… no, two… was it four?
Her legs no longer moved, as if she had reached her limit.
Soaked in sweat, Yeo Il staggered as though crawling—and finally collapsed to the ground.
She could not stop here.
They will find me soon.
No other thoughts came. She fumbled for the jade ring at her chest, and even that felt heavy, until she thought, So this is really it. I'm going to die.
I'm going to die.
It's finally ending.
Yeo Il closed her eyes and accepted death.
Some time later.
A black shadow fell over Yeo Il's back.
From the figure that approached, she sensed no presence at all.
An old man craned his neck to examine her, then clicked his tongue and shook his head with displeasure.
"Tsk. Damn unlucky. Why's there some rag-mat trash rolling around here?"
He clicked his tongue for a long while, then hoisted the sprawled body like luggage and walked off.
"Good grief. Guess I've committed plenty of sins—now I'm even picking up stray rag-mats that weren't in the plan."
Karma, karma.
His grumbling voice vanished into the silent mountain terrain.
Strangely, where the old man had passed, not even dust fell—let alone footprints.
She lived with the old man for four years.
As if picking up Yeo Il was not enough, he brought back the Seol siblings before even a year had passed, and the year after that he took in yet another troublemaker.
In an old estate little different from ruins in Xinjiang, five of them lived together, counting the old man and Yeo Il.
It was a time that felt long, if long—short, if short.
After the old man passed away.
She and Seol-yeong descended the mountain with a worn scroll no different from a last testament—only half a year ago.
Has it already been that long?
Inside the violently rocking carriage, Yeo Il unfolded the scroll, its edge torn raggedly.
Upon a faded painting of a waterfall, far darker ink filled the surface in dense lines. She skimmed the miscellaneous list, then chose an appropriate number.
Bequest No. 29.
If she remembered correctly, it was the most useless of the old man's bequests.
You should taste something sweet at least once. I've thought about it for a long time, and tanghulu seems best. It must be the one from Cheonju Mountain in Anhui Province. Leaving something like this as a last testament.
The content was ridiculous enough, but Yeo Il clicked her tongue at the old man's awful handwriting and rolled the scroll back up.
How many years has it been since I last came to Cheonju Mountain?
Back when Salmak was hunting her and she was hovering between today and tomorrow, she never imagined she would come all the way down to Anhui Province for nothing more than a single tanghulu.
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