Just then, it started to rain.
The drizzling raindrops extinguished the fire that had engulfed the village.
Most of the houses had already burned down and were no longer usable.
Fortunately, there were some that remained.
Houses where the fire had been put out early or had not spread much.
The village chief offered one of these houses to Cheon Soyak and Eunsong.
Separating the head from the body.
It might take some time to find it.
That idea came from Cheon Soyak.
Some might call her ruthless, cruel…
Having to hold a funeral without a head because Meng had taken the father’s head… there was nothing to say.
Eunsong lay down on a blanket on the floor.
The ground was hard and cold.
“…Will you really sleep on the floor, sir?”
Cheon Soyak, who had just returned from washing, blinked in surprise.
Her still-damp hair glistened in the light of the oil lamp.
She seemed quite startled.
“Then should I make my fourteen-year-old disciple sleep on the floor instead?”
“…Thank you.”
“Get some sleep. Once we return to Mount Hua, you should eat a lot. That way, you’ll grow taller.”
“I’m already fourteen, sir.”
That wasn’t wrong.
But having remained so small at this age, she probably wouldn’t grow much even at nineteen.
Would she barely reach five feet?
If she did, that would be fortunate.
Cheon Soyak lightly shook her head to dry her hair a little more before crawling under the blanket.
The cold strands of her hair tickled her neck.
The thought that, come morning, she would no longer have to hold rags or serve liquor still didn’t feel real.
‘I’m really escaping, for real.’
Though she had never actively tried to escape, her life had been full of resignation.
That place was the only one that had taken in a small and fragile girl like her.
She knew what kind of hell awaited at the end of this road, and she had chosen it anyway.
Even so, there had never been a time when she didn’t dream of escape.
Even those resigned to reality and compliant with the world still dream.
Because that’s what dreams are.
Just like how a butterfly cannot cross the sea, dreams that are unattainable feel natural…
And for some reason, tears welled up.
She tried to suppress the sobs that kept rising in her throat.
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, but the tears still leaked out.
In the end, she buried her face in the pillow, hiding it behind her dark hair.
“Hff… Hhic… Uuu…”
Eunsong had not yet fallen asleep.
Lying on the blanket on the hard floor, he listened to his young disciple sob.
There was no comfort he could offer.
More importantly, those were not tears of sorrow.
If anything, he felt relief.
That child… was still capable of crying.
The martial world was a place of clear grudges and revenge.
That was an undeniable truth.
Taking a life to settle a grudge…
It was natural.
‘If only she didn’t have to realize that at such a young age.’
Still, that child cried because she didn’t want to forget her parents’ faces.
She cried from the overwhelming emotions of escaping her miserable situation.
In the future, those eyes would likely never dry.
Even one born with the fate of a killer is not devoid of humanity.
And so…
Even after she takes the leader’s head and shatters this gilded world…
There would still be a place for her to return to.
‘I hope that place is Mount Hua.’
A sect is like a second home in life.
Those who spend their childhood there often cherish it more than their original home.
It was Eunsong who had chosen Cheon Soyak as the sword of defiance.
But he did not wish for her life to be filled with nothing but bloodshed.
Once everything was over, he hoped she would return to Mount Hua…
Yes, to experience love, to build friendships, to take on disciples.
To live not as one fated for slaughter, but as an ordinary martial artist of the Central Plains.
‘The road is long.’
At some point, Cheon Soyak had stopped crying and fallen asleep.
The sound of her soft, steady breathing reached him.
Eunsong quietly sat up and glanced at his young disciple.
At some point, she had kicked off the blanket, leaving her upper body exposed in her white sleepwear.
“She’ll catch a cold.”
A martial artist imbued with inner energy is naturally more resilient than an ordinary person…
But she was something of an exception.
Nine-tenths of her internal energy came from her father.
She had yet to fully make it her own.
And she had suffered through grueling training and scarce meals.
Gently, he pulled the blanket back up to cover her delicate shoulders.
Then he returned to his own spot and closed his eyes to sleep.
In just a few more days, they would reach Mount Hua.
Yes, things would be a little better then.
Of course, there would still be trouble.
But it would be better than spending the night in a burned village after killing the enforcer of blasphemy laws.
That was enough.
That night, Eunsong dreamed.
In an eternally bright blue sky, a black qilin came, bringing the night.
And he saw a moon so brilliant and beautiful—
One unlike any he had ever seen before.
★★★
Cheon Soyak, clutching her blanket, tossed and turned before opening her eyes.
She woke instantly.
Because she immediately sensed that she was alone in the room.
“…Sir?”
Uneasily, she glanced around.
Only her sword, leaning against the wall, remained.
“No… No way. It can’t be.”
She bit down hard on the left corner of her lower lip.
Still dressed in her white sleepwear, Cheon Soyak grabbed her sword and stepped out into the hallway.
She looked around anxiously, searching for the master she had known for only a day.
The sun had barely risen.
The sky was not yet fully bright.
Tears threatened to spill again.
At that moment—
A sharp sound sliced through the wind.
Saaaa—
There was no mistaking it.
That was the sound of a blade cutting through the crisp morning air.
It was a sound she had heard countless times as a child in the Huaeom Sect.
She headed toward the inner courtyard and saw Eunsong practicing the Nine Heavens Plum Blossom Sword.
With each stroke through the air, soft pink plum blossoms bloomed around him.
Sometimes slow, sometimes swift.
At times singular, at times manifold.
Nine forms completed their sequence.
Eunsong smoothly withdrew his sword and called out to her.
“You’re already awake, Soyak?”
“Ah…”
Embarrassed at being caught watching in a daze, she shrank her shoulders.
Her master simply smiled and gestured for her to come closer.
“Would it be a problem if a disciple watched their master’s training for a bit?”
“Ah… Thank you, my lord.”
“You really aren’t very cute, are you?”
Though those were his words, his eyes were filled with laughter. With his large hand, he gently ruffled the disciple’s dark hair.
“But this title has stuck with me.”
“I don’t mind it, but the people of Mount Hua might.”
“So, when I go to Mount Hua, I should call you ‘Master’?”
“That’s right.”
Master.
A word that combines “teacher” (師) with “father” (父).
Does it mean one should respect their master as they would their father?
“In that case, I’ll make sure to call you that when we get there.”
There was a teasing tone in the voice.
But Eunsong did not scold Cheon Soyak.
“Do as you please.”
They were master and disciple, yes, but they were also companions with the same goal,
the same enemy.
They were comrades in the same boat, only differing in their positions as teacher and student.
“Well then, go get dressed properly. We need to leave early.”
“Understood.”
Since Akseowon had not returned all night, by now, Akjupae must have sensed something was wrong.
If the 13th division of the Heavenly One Martial Army came in full force, they wouldn’t be able to handle it.
The villagers had already fled in the middle of the night.
“Then, I’ll go up, get dressed, and come back down.”
“Alright.”
“Ah, my lord. I have a request…”
Judging by the way her gaze subtly shifted to the side, it seemed to be a rather personal request.
“Tell me, and I’ll listen.”
“…Please don’t play hide-and-seek anymore.”
She must have been startled when Eunsong suddenly disappeared from his room earlier.
The way the disciple stole a glance at him was rather endearing.
Eunsong once again ruffled her hair, making a mess of it, and laughed.
“I will not leave your side. Don’t worry.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Now, go change your clothes.”
Cheon Soyak nodded and went back into the room.
It didn’t take long to get dressed.
But reminiscing about the past—that took quite some time.
She thought of her father when he first taught her martial arts.
Of her father when he passed on all his internal energy.
Of her father when he entrusted her with mother’s care…
“My father said the same thing.”
A quiet voice inside the room.
Eunsong wouldn’t have been able to hear it.
Yet, he silently gazed at the door Cheon Soyak had entered.
“I should have left a note…”
Please don’t play hide-and-seek anymore.
At the end of that sentence, he had heard sadness and the traces of unshed tears.
Before long, Cheon Soyak stepped out, fully dressed.
In her arms was an elegant longsword.
The sight of her hugging a sword as tall as herself was rather adorable.
“Let me see that sword for a moment.”
“The sword?”
Cheon Soyak’s eyes widened.
It was a good habit to be reluctant to hand over one’s weapon.
“I won’t take it. I promise.”
“Ah.”
Cheon Soyak handed over Nakhwa Jeonggeom.
Longer and lighter than a typical longsword.
Eunsong grasped the handle and pulled, but the blade did not come out.
As expected.
He took a long strip of cloth and tied both ends to the scabbard, then handed it back to Cheon Soyak.
“Wear it across your back like a bundle. It’ll be more comfortable.”
“Oh… It really is more comfortable, my lord.”
“Good. You’ll need to walk for a long time. Let’s go.”
Eunsong gracefully leaped toward the northeast.
Cheon Soyak followed right behind.
All that remained was a faint scent of plum blossoms.
Even that soon disappeared into the cold morning breeze.
★★★
At the heart of a village, its fires extinguished by the rain, reduced to ashes, a group of people dressed like Akseowon stood.
Among them, the most eye-catching was, without a doubt, Yeom Doje, Akjupae.
His rippling beard.
Eyebrows that burned like fire.
A middle-aged man with a rough and fierce countenance.
“Are you alright, Lord Cheonmangdae?”
“Be quiet. Just… be quiet.”
The sound of grinding teeth silenced the crowd.
No one dared to breathe too loudly.
One Sovereign above Three Emperors.
Three Emperors above Seven Lords.
There were few who would not tremble upon hearing his name.
Yet, he himself was trembling.
Not out of fear, but fury.
“…Seowon.”
At his feet lay a corpse.
His son—headless.
His chest was deeply slashed, split in two.
His severed neck no longer bled.
Yeom Doje bit his lip and clenched his fist.
A crimson flame of Yeomryong Do-beop flared from his grasp.
His seething rage caused his energy to boil over.
“Who… Who did this…?”
He spoke to his dead son.
But there was no answer.
Only a martial artist could kill a master of such caliber.
The clean cut left behind was proof of that.
But the real issue was—
“…Who did this—?!”
The traces left on the corpse did not match any martial arts he recognized.
Yeom Doje, Akjupae, did not know who had killed his son.
“Who… Who could have done this?!”
At the end of the day, he too was a man grieving a loss.
He was nothing more than a mere human.
Lil bro got offscreened.
But again burning the body and tossing the ashes would have been better. They may not recognize the martial art now, but there’s a chance he may see her before she is ready and crashout.