Chapter 61 Yeo Il surveyed her surroundings.
If the bridge had collapsed long ago, word would already have spread to the Murim Alliance.
Yet until arriving here, she had heard nothing at all. Considering the speed at which they rushed over, not even half a day had passed since the bridge was severed.
"They won't be far."
Not long after beginning their search nearby, they discovered a carriage standing abandoned.
Even at a glance, it was a carriage of excellent quality. The interior was empty. Even the horses were gone.
Which meant there had been plenty worth stealing—raising the likelihood that it was Seol Seorin's carriage.
But the situation was unfavorable. Because the rain had intensified, every footprint had blurred away.
Though perhaps that was fortunate in its own way.
"They bled quite a lot."
A red pool of blood had collected toward the forest off the road. They followed the trail. Before long, a corpse appeared, fallen among the grass.
Jin Cheong-ak bent one knee and quietly examined the back of the head before speaking coldly.
"He's dead."
Yeo Il flipped the corpse over with the tip of her foot.
Jin Cheong-ak inspected the wound and muttered softly,
"Not an ordinary level of skill. Let's see… At this degree… he couldn't even resist and died instantly, it seems."
A clean sword wound marked the neck without excess damage. Most likely, life had been cut off in a single stroke.
An instant death would not have allowed him to move this far.
"Someone moved the body here."
Further inside the forest, another red pool remained—as if guiding them.
It was a deception that would be exposed with even slightly careful investigation. It seemed the culprit possessed considerable pride in his own skill.
One could imagine a formidable expert moving about alone with composure—much like the Blood-Seeking Sword Ghost had done.
And Seol Seorin must have been carrying quite a bit of silver as well…
Yeo Il turned her steps in the direction opposite the pooled blood.
Jin Cheong-ak asked casually,
"Where's the second destination?"
"The inn."
They were not returning to the Murim Alliance.
Following the road in reverse from where the carriage must have traveled, a small village appeared.
Within the tranquil darkness, a single inn remained lit. It seemed merchants who could not cross the river had gathered there; faint shapes of soaked carriages could be seen.
"Welcome! This is the Gangpung Inn!"
Despite the late hour, the inn servant greeted Yeo Il energetically.
He moved between the kitchen and the tables as if attending to many guests, yet in truth only three tables in the inn were occupied.
The reason was clear.
One table was piled high with such a variety of dishes and bottles of wine that it would not have been strange if it collapsed.
Occupying that table was a single old man, soaked and shabby. He stuffed food into his mouth without pause, while the servant continuously delivered plate after plate before him.
"Hehe. There are still plenty of dishes yet to come, sir. Please enjoy at your leisure!"
A merchant reads people well.
If an unremarkable old man suddenly appeared and ordered that much food and wine, suspicion would normally come first.
Yet the fact they served him everything means he paid first.
Seated at the farthest table, watching the old man, Yeo Il extended her hand toward Jin Cheong-ak.
"Money."
Jin Cheong-ak let out a hollow laugh, looking dumbfounded.
"Money? Why would you hold out your hand to a pitiful bodyguard who has none?"
"Put it on Chwihyang Pavilion."
As if he had been waiting, two silver coins dropped into her palm.
Yeo Il raised her hand and called the servant.
"Yes, miss! What would you like to order?"
She handed one silver coin to the servant. The boy stammered in visible fluster.
"…Uh, th-that is… are you perhaps also ordering dishes according to the amount…?"
"Also?"
At her question, the servant glanced toward the farthest table and whispered,
"Yes. As if today were some special day, that old gentleman over there also paid first."
"How much?"
"Three! Three whole silver coins! Enough to serve food and wine for several days!"
He won.
But Yeo Il avoided wasteful spending.
"This isn't for food."
"Pardon? Uh… if not for food…"
"Repair costs."
"…"
"Any shortage, put it on Chwihyang Pavilion."
The moment she finished speaking, she rose.
All eyes within the quiet inn fixed upon Yeo Il.
With rainwater dripping from her steps, she stopped before the old man's table.
The white-haired old man, who had been enjoying a surprisingly refined meal despite his shabby appearance, lifted his head.
Wiping his greasy fingers, he poured himself wine and drank it down without hesitation. Then, while examining Yeo Il's veiled face, he narrowed his eyes.
"Hm. Judging by the jawline, an unusual beauty."
His voice was steady and robust—rather than unpleasant, it carried a strange calm.
"There's nothing more fragile in this world than a beauty soaked by rain. If you're hungry, why not sit there? If this too is fate, I'll treat you."
The old man pointed to the chair opposite him.
Even beneath his fingernails, not a speck of dirt could be seen.
Without a word, Yeo Il sat.
"Boy! Another wine cup here!"
"Y-yes? Ah… yes!"
"At this hour, those gathered in this inn are all in the same situation. Do you also need to cross the bridge, young one?"
When she merely sat without answering, the old man poured wine into her cup.
"It may be improper to say this upon first meeting, but your bone structure—even at a glance—is closest to the most perfect martial frame I've ever seen. Were you planning to enter the Murim Alliance's martial tournament?"
"…"
"It must be regrettable that things went awry. But what can one do? The will of heaven is unknown to all. This too must be your fate—accept it humbly."
A boastful and talkative old man.
Clack.
With a dull sound, the object in Yeo Il's hand pushed aside the plates and settled atop the table.
It was nothing special—a common longsword.
Yet the white-haired old man, who had been rambling as if to a grandchild, fell silent at once.
A gaze far colder than when he poured wine swept over the sword. From the worn hilt to the scabbard, his eyes examined it in order before returning to Yeo Il.
"Heh. How rude."
"…"
"To place such a filthy sword upon the dining table. Were you not taught that throwing down a sword at mealtime is improper?"
The old man began to emit an unusual aura.
Yeo Il rose as if flustered and bowed her head.
"…My apologies. I did not expect to encounter such an extraordinary expert. My heart moved ahead of my mind."
He does not recognize the Blood-Seeking Sword Ghost's sword?
Then not one of the Eight Ghosts. At most, a comparable expert from the Unorthodox Faction or the Demonic Cult.
After performing a cupped-fist salute, she spoke each word clearly.
"I wish to apologize for my rash behavior, unable to restrain my bloodlust. May I know this elder's honored name?"
The white-haired old man snorted.
"An ill-mannered wench. Reveal your own name first."
Yeo Il flicked her eyes briefly toward Jin Cheong-ak before answering.
"My name is Ye So-gun. The eldest daughter of the Ye family."
There was no particular reaction from Jin Cheong-ak.
Yeo Il sharpened her hearing and waited for the old man's response.
"Ye? A surname I've never heard. Which Ye family?"
His voice carried no interest at all, as if it were trivial.
Not the Demonic Cult.
Eliminating possibilities left only Yeonghwang Yuse.
"Our family is humble and unworthy of mention. Might I now be qualified to hear this elder's honored name?"
After downing another cup of wine, the old man spoke in a deep voice.
"Open your ears and listen well."
"Yes."
"I am—"
Not missing that instant, Yeo Il flicked out the Blood-Seeking Sword Ghost's sword and unleashed sword qi toward the old man's face.
From not far away, Jin Cheong-ak's lament was heard.
"Tsk tsk. Fooled again, fooled again."
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