Chapter 74 After returning to the room, the real trouble began—peeling off the outer robe that had stiffened with blood.
It's too quiet.
If Yonghwang Yuse had truly struck the Murim Alliance, the marketplace could not possibly sound this peaceful.
Had Jin Myo deceived her and Bang Woo?
But if that were the case, Bang Woo has been gone far too long….
Riiip—
All the effort she had spent trying not to tear the cloth proved meaningless. With one rough yank, the sleeve was shredded.
As if plucking weeds, Jin Cheong-ak tossed the left sleeve onto the floor and said in an exasperated tone,
"You said you were going to meet Wolgeom Ilsal. If you waste time like this, it'll take forever. Don't you think?"
Yeo Il almost replied that she had wanted to preserve the clothing intact, just in case. But it was already ruined—what was the point?
"I told you to take him to Seol Serin. Did you hand Jin Myo—Cheonmyeon Magwi—over already?"
"Of course. I sprinted back the moment I threw him at Seol Serin's feet. How could I miss something this entertaining?"
The faint floral scent suggested the cloth he used—now damp with tea—had clearly been taken from Seol Serin. He lifted Yeo Il's left arm and scrubbed at the softened bloodstains without ceremony.
"So, Yeo Il. Any sense of who Wolgeom Ilsal might be?"
"..."
"That man Jin Myo seemed to have ties to you. If someone's imitating you as Ilsal, the chances are high it's someone you know."
Probably.
No face came to mind immediately.
Cheonmyeon Magwi had Jin Myo, who could be called his foremost follower, but that did not apply to her or Jeokryong Heukdo.
Still, something troubled her.
[The sword shone. It shone bright like the moon, just as the rumors said. And with that sword, they cut people down without hesitation….]
An assassin wielding a sword that shone like the moon.
There was only one Wolgeom in this world.
Yet Wolgeom was not the only blade that emitted light.
There was exactly one other sword that radiated an equally strange brilliance.
But that sword….
At that moment, a sharp pain throbbed through her left arm, enough to crease her brow. Jin Cheong-ak pressed firmly near the wound and calmly wiped away the fresh beads of blood that welled up again.
"How happy I would be if my esteemed master paid full attention to this lowly servant."
With one hand, he scooped a generous amount of ointment and began smearing it thickly over the wound.
"If you knew their identity, you wouldn't be bothering to confirm things like this."
Yeo Il replied coolly and pulled her arm away. As she began to change clothes, Jin Cheong-ak—who would usually step aside with visible displeasure—remained planted behind her.
"Is that so? Then what about Ye So-gun?"
"..."
"How do you know that name? The deceased heir of the Ye clan—the one you asked me about."
It was about time he brought that up.
She had mentioned the name to determine whether the beggar who abducted Seol Serin belonged to Yonghwang Yuse or to the Demonic Cult. Jin Cheong-ak had been present; he could not have missed it.
Before she could respond, he continued.
"Ah… perhaps Namgung Soyo's true surname is Ye?"
Yeo Il was inwardly startled but kept her hands moving.
Does he already know?
She could not be certain, so she answered as indifferently as possible.
"Is that likely?"
"Who knows. It's not impossible."
As she untied the ribbon to remove her skirt, he let out a deep sigh. This time he likely turned his back, holding back whatever comment he had nearly made.
He sighed twice more, muttering nonsense.
"Why so silent? Are even such trivial details between us to remain secrets?"
As always, she ignored him once.
"Ah, when will Yeo Il ever trust me?"
Twice.
"To fail to recognize such devoted affection."
Even thrice could be endured.
"To dedicate this body to a sinful woman is no easy task."
But not four times.
Fully changed, Yeo Il shot a cold glare at his shameless back and rebuked him.
"You expect my trust? You, Jin Cheong-ak? I know full well your constant visits to the Namgung Clan weren't for those two fools, yet you dare speak of trust and devotion?"
Beomjung and Dang Hong, was it?
When she had asked if he had been meeting them for days, he had failed to answer properly. Meaning Jin Cheong-ak had been up to something behind her back.
She had noticed long ago but had not pressed.
Yeo Il was responsible for Jin Cheong-ak. The old man's sole dying wish—and burden—had been him.
Keep him leashed, but not tightly bound.
Do not pry deeply into the private life of the Demonic Cult's Second Young Master.
Respect a minimum of personal matters.
Though they had never sealed it with a pinky promise, that was her standard of respect toward him.
Thus, trust had never been expected. She had never confronted him out of dissatisfaction rather than warning—until now.
After a moment of silence, Jin Cheong-ak turned with a peculiar expression. The straight line of his lips curved upward.
"Hmm… so that's what bothered you? I didn't realize you'd kept it in your heart this whole time… I see, so you had it in mind all along…."
His grin, feigning remorse, did not please her. He studied her icy gaze as if savoring it and covered his mouth.
"Shall we make a deal, Yeo Il? We each reveal one answer the other desires…."
"Get lost."
"Or perhaps I alone could tell the truth—"
"No need."
Despite her curt reply, his irritating smile remained.
"So decisive? Weren't you curious?"
Judging by his reaction, a few well-timed prods later would likely draw the truth easily.
She was not in the mood to indulge him now.
She could hear it another time.
After fastening her veil and leaving the inn, she noticed Jin Cheong-ak trailing behind, now wearing an unfamiliar item—a gaudy mask like one used in ritual exorcisms.
"Where did you get that?"
He merely shrugged.
Apparently he intended to conceal his identity and keep silent.
Clad entirely in black from head to toe and now masked in bright colors, his tall figure exuded an ominous aura.
As a result, from front or back—
We look suspicious beyond measure.
Telling him to remove it or disappear would accomplish nothing.
Yeo Il shook her head and headed toward the Murim Alliance.
"Victory. Namgung Hui-myeong!"
A thunderous cheer erupted.
"Namgung Hui-myeong!"
"As Namgung Jeok-myeong's younger brother, I had high expectations—he didn't disappoint!"
"Isn't he not even twenty yet? It's beyond impressive—life is so unfair. My son ran away at that age because he didn't want to inherit the family trade."
Moving slowly amid the excited crowd, Yeo Il heard a whisper at her ear.
"What a pity. If we'd hurried a bit, we could have watched the youngest young master's match."
"No time for that."
"But these people seem to have plenty."
Jin Cheong-ak was right.
Just as at the inn, the Murim Alliance was filled only with the fervor and tension of the martial competition.
There was no sign whatsoever of turmoil from a Salmak assault.
Yeo Il looked up at the clear sky, as if the recent storm had been a lie.
White clouds drifted slowly before the sun.
Thud… thud….
All around was peace.
Yet the ominous tremor of her heart grew faster and faster.
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