Chapter 198

Chapter 198: The Bandit and the Prostitute (1)

A radiant, luminous moon lit up the evening sky above the River Capital.

The silvery light streaming from the full moon fell softly across the training grounds situated near the gates of the Hero’s Sect.

A graceful, slim figure was seated cross-legged, a blade positioned across her lap.

This was Jeon Rahwa, who had spent the entire day immersed in her practice, never allowing herself a single day of rest.

However, her head kept dipping forward.

Her eyes felt incredibly heavy, closing on their own, and her lips parted slightly.

Each time her head jerked downward, she would snap awake with a jolt and pull herself upright, only to slip back into a drowse moments later.

A fierce struggle against the Sleep Demon.

And the outcome was clearly favoring a complete triumph for the Sleep Demon.

Thud.

A muffled landing occurred right before her eyes.

Despite drifting off, Jeon Rahwa’s sharp intuition picked up the subtle noise.

She gradually raised her head.

Peering through heavy, narrow slits, she looked around to find who had arrived.

Dong Bongsu stood positioned before her.

The lunar glow radiated from behind his back.

He carried an object draped over his shoulder.

Flop.

Jeon Rahwa, struggling to keep her eyes open, examined the bundle.

“Yawn. You’re returning only at this hour…? Wait, what is that exactly?”

“A present.”

Jeon Rahwa squinted with deep suspicion through her exhaustion.

“A present? That object right there?”

Prodding the ‘present’ using a wooden staff, Jeon Rahwa shifted her gaze back up to Dong Bongsu.

“That is an individual… is it not? It is perfectly obvious.”

She gave the figure another poke, touching his nose and then his backside.

Without a doubt, regardless of the angle, it was a human being.

“Correct. A human.”

“…”

“Someone resembling a Star Candy.”

“What exactly is a Star Candy?”

“That guy.”

“No, that’s not what… Oh, never mind. In any case, you are telling me this individual is a present?”

“Correct.”

“A present meant for whom?”

“For our household.”

Jeon Rahwa silently scrutinized the unconscious Dongmun Mutoe.

He appeared rather slender and bore what looked like a boot mark across his face, yet by any standard, his features were attractive, and his complexion was exceptionally fair, nearly pasty.

One would easily assume he hailed from a high-ranking clan or a comparable elite lineage.

A human being serving as a present.

While treating a person as an object seemed entirely unequal, within the borders of the Great Yue Empire, such transactions took place far more frequently than most would assume.

In fact, Jeon Rahwa herself had been handed over as a birthday offering to someone in her past.

“You didn’t fetch him to serve as a slave, right?”

“A slave.”

Dongmun Mutoe was technically a ‘Subordinate.’

Though the terms might appear identical at first glance, from a precise legal and conceptual standpoint, it differed entirely from slavery.

Most importantly, maintaining a slave would be a permanent stain upon an organization such as the Hero’s Sect.

“Negative.”

“Then what is the meaning behind calling him a ‘present’?”

“At the moment.”

Lowering himself into a squat, Dong Bongsu fixed his eyes on Dongmun Mutoe’s countenance before responding.

“Let us simply consider him a member of the family for the time being.”

“Sigh. So you mean he is just an extra household member for the time being.”

“Indeed, for the moment.”

Jeon Rahwa cast another long look at Dongmun Mutoe before inquiring further.

“By the way, what line of work was this man in?”

“He possessed a talent for sketching artwork.”

“Oh, an artist then. The youngsters are going to enjoy his company.”

“Most likely.”

When Dong Bongsu pivoted to head indoors following that remark, Jeon Rahwa called out loudly to his retreating form.

“Hold on, where do you think you’re heading?”

“Where else would someone who has put in a long, grueling day of labor go during the middle of the night?”

“I find two distinct flaws in that sentence.”

“Name them.”

“The phrases ‘long day of labor’ and ‘someone’.”

“And why is that?”

“Since you merely went out for a casual walk, you were just amusing yourself, and I remain unconvinced that you qualify as a normal human being.”

“Have some confidence in me. Your trust in humanity is severely lacking.”

“Regardless, assuming that is correct, where are you off to?”

“To rest.”

“And what becomes of this individual?”

“He requires rest as well. Although he appears to be slumbering quite deeply already.”

“No, my point is, where is he supposed to rest?”

Scanning the surroundings, Dong Bongsu noticed a newly erected structure located roughly twenty zhang east of the front gates.

“Place him inside that pavilion.”

“But that is the workshop you instructed me to construct.”

This was evidently one of the trio of edifices Dong Bongsu had requested prior to his recent departure.

The medical clinic, the workshop, and the living quarters.

Even though she remained ignorant of what the term [Alchemy] mentioned by What is Hero actually entailed, this particular site was designated to serve as the [Alchemy Workshop] down the road.

“Flawless.”

“Pardon? There are living quarters situated right behind it, you realize? Though that building is also incomplete.”

“No, it matters not. Leave him in the workshop.”

“…You are absolutely certain he isn’t a slave?”

“Correct. He is not.”

“…Either he is or he isn’t. Why must you answer with such an ambiguous tone?”

“I would also lean toward him not being one, however—”

Dong Bongsu grinned, showing his pale teeth.

His sharp fangs shone with a bright white reflection under the moonbeams.

“He will make his own choice. Very shortly.”

“…”

In this manner, another companion joined the ranks of the Hero’s Sect.

● ● ●

His eyelids fluttered open.

‘Where…’

What location is this?

Dongmun Mutoe gazed blankly up at the ceiling overhead for a brief moment.

A ceiling constructed of timber.

He had never previously resided in any building made primarily of wood.

This environment was entirely foreign to him.

Rustle.

A small shower of dust drifted down from above.

Fragments of raw timber were strewn across the area.

Along one side, an empty window frame stood without any glass or screen, while the facing wall remained only partially assembled.

An overhead shelter existed, yet numerous crevices allowed the early morning sun to filter through like shimmering golden ribbons.

Debris of shaved wood and fine sawdust blanketed the ground, and tucked into a corner lay a woven mat of straw, apparently provided as an interim bedding option.

A half-completed structure.

It was glaringly obvious to any observer that this location was actively being built.

“Where on earth am I… Ow.”

The spoken query died instantly on his lips.

A sharp ache flared up in his right cheek, accompanied by a distinct flavor of iron in his mouth and a wave of soreness.

He instantly began sorting through his recollections.

The Eight Directions Avici Prison.

The individual he was pursuing.

Shattering the barrier.

And then…

‘What took place next?’

His recollection of the subsequent events remained clouded.

An event had undeniably occurred.

The sensation of his legs giving out beneath him.

The chilling contact against his skin.

He considered the possibility that it was merely an illusion, but it was undeniably reality.

Regardless, it was trivial.

A far more significant realization overrode everything.

‘I survived.’

This outcome caught him completely off guard.

To a person capable of shattering the Eight Directions Avici Prison, taking his life would have required no effort at all.

‘For what reason did he spare me?’

The target… though roles had clearly reversed by now.

Regardless, an intense inquisitiveness regarding that man began to swell within him.

His identity, his profession, and the source of his overwhelming power.

Naturally, an immense enigma that eclipsed such minor details overshadowed all his other inquiries.

‘In what manner did he manage to breach it?’

The seventh matrix, known as the Space-Time Turbulence Formation.

An array capable of bending the very fabric of space.

A mechanism from which escape should have been a logical impossibility.

Nevertheless, that individual had successfully penetrated it.

Perhaps it would be more precise to describe it as something far greater than a mere breach.

‘He claimed that he had never been ensnared from the start, so could it be?’

Faith.

Conviction.

It cannot be bent.

The entire concept baffled his mind completely.

‘I must find out.’

Dongmun Mutoe rotated his shoulders to test his movement.

He discovered no bindings, no iron links, and not even the typical wooden cangue fastened about a captive’s throat.

His physical form was unharmed, and his internal energy remained perfectly unblocked.

Effectively, he had been granted absolute liberty to depart if he so chose.

He merely needed to rise, pass through the entranceway, and utilize his lightness techniques to make a clean getaway.

Twitch.

Dongmun Mutoe gave a brief, subtle sniff.

‘For what reason should I flee?’

Should I choose to abscond, the answers will elude me forever, will they not?

The true nature of that man.

The method behind his breakthrough.

The true meaning of that ‘faith.’

The desire for understanding consumed him entirely.

No, that failed to capture the depth of it.

He yearned for this knowledge even at the cost of a hundred demises.

Brushing the debris from his garments, Dongmun Mutoe rose to his feet.

Screeech—.

Right at that instant, the entryway swung inward.

A young lad peered inside.

The child appeared to be roughly ten years of age.

“Oh! You are conscious! Sect Leader! The artist mister has opened his eyes!”

‘An artist… mister?’

Dongmun Mutoe’s gaze grew sharp and narrow.

An esteemed Trigram Master belonging to the elite Formation Tower.

One of the renowned Eight Trigram Masters.

Referred to as a mere artist? And a middle-aged mister to boot?

—Step out.

An unusual communication, whether executed via a Secret Sound Transmission or a variation of the Mind-Connecting Art, vibrated clearly inside his thoughts.

Typically, such telepathic transmissions, regardless of how flawlessly executed, convey a distinct point of origin… yet the source of this particular utterance remained entirely unmappable.

Even so, there was no mistaking that the voice belonged to that specific individual.

The spoken words, or more accurately, the projection of thought, carried absolutely no emotional tone.

Yet simply through the telepathic conveyal devoid of any vocal fluctuation, he was certain this was the identical entity he had previously encountered.

Dongmun Mutoe bolted upright.

His chest throbbed with a heavy pulse.

This sensation was not born of terror.

It was pure, unadulterated expectancy.

‘I must query him once more.’

He dashed swiftly past the threshold.

● ● ●

An expansive training field layout opened before him.

The initial sight that drew his attention was a gathering of youths.

There were ten in total.

Though their ages differed slightly, they were uniformly small, hovering around a decade old.

They had assembled together along the edge of the practicing area.

The subsequent detail he noted involved two figures positioned right at the heart of the grounds.

One was none other than the ‘target’.

He remained stationary, his arms folded over his chest.

In some manner, his demeanor contrasted sharply with his appearance within the Eight Directions Avici Prison.

During that encounter, he resembled a transcendent entity whose internal feelings had been completely wiped clean… whereas currently, he resembled a lone, upright blade.

A weapon crafted and polished so acutely that anything venturing too close would instantly be sliced apart.

Based on the youth’s exclamation moments ago, this man had to be the Sect Leader governing an important organization.

The aura he projected was formidable enough that it would surprise no one if he held command over one of the prominent Seven Great Demonic Sects or the esteemed Ten Great Sects.

Facing him was a remarkably striking woman who appeared to be roughly twenty-five years of age.

Her dark tresses spilled all the way down to her midsection, and her fingers gripped a slender rapier.

An unyielding, erect stance.

A solemn, intense expression.

Oddly enough, the look she directed at the man addressed as the Sect Leader contained absolutely zero reverence.

Only an intense desire for combat.

And furthermore…

Pure lethal intent!

Precisely as though she were confronting a mortal foe.

‘She is clearly neither an underling nor a pupil.’

Despite this, the atmosphere enveloping the space remained entirely serene and quiet.

A duel wherein murderous intent and profound stillness perfectly intertwined.

Such a phenomenon was entirely outside his knowledge and past experiences.

‘This circumstance alone is fascinating.’

He instinctively strolled closer to the martial grounds.

Scanning the surroundings as he advanced, the layout resembled any standard martial arts establishment.

The anomalous detail, however, caught his attention.

‘There is a complete absence of protective arrays.’

Within a headquarters housing a practitioner of such caliber, it would be standard procedure to implement at least a baseline perimeter ward.

Yet no such defense existed on these grounds.

Or rather, it was not a matter of absence.

‘Could it be that such barriers are simply superfluous?’

In truth, every single element here, from top to bottom, provoked deep fascination.

Both the individual himself and this anonymous organization.

He felt a strong urge to step forward immediately to resolve his lingering questions, but the heavy friction vibrating between the pair suggested he might be ripped apart if he dared disrupt their space at this moment.

He remained indifferent to the prospect of being slashed countless times, butchered repeatedly, or reduced to fragments, provided he secured his resolutions prior to his passing.

For the moment, patience was required.

Arriving at the edge of the practice court, Dongmun Mutoe lowered his weight into a hunker, balancing his elbow upon his knee while propping up his jaw with his hand.

From this vantage point, he carefully monitored the female combatant.

‘…What sort of power is that?’

A subtle aura was beginning to emanate from her physical form.

It carried a frigid, icy quality.

Reminiscent of the crisp frost accompanying a midwinter daybreak.

Yin-Cold Qi.

Without question, that particular brand of force, fused with the lethal malice she projected, was actively chilling the surrounding atmosphere.

It struck a note of recognition within him.

Simultaneously, however, it felt thoroughly alien.

He harbored a sensation of having encountered it in his past.

Yet it simultaneously felt as though he were experiencing it for the very first time.

‘What could it be? In what place did I cross paths with this?’

He searched through his recollections intensely, but no clarity emerged.

Right at that moment.

“Take my life.”

The flat, unfeeling declaration of the Sect Leader cut through the air.

“Should you fail, your evening meal is forfeit.”

In that exact split second.

Whsssshh!

An icy blast of power burst outward from the woman’s frame like a sudden detonation.

The entire vicinity was instantly transformed into a blanket of pure white.

The ambient humidity solidified immediately, drifting downward like a flurry of winter snow.

Concurrently.

Swoosh!

The woman’s physical presence vanished into thin air.