Chapter 202

Chapter 202: Facelifts and Cosmetics (1)

Deep into the darkness, following a grueling day.

Step.

The subtle echo of his boots, consistent as always, signaled to Dong Bongsu that he had arrived back at his quarters.

Furthermore.

Jeon Rahwa was nodding off, cross-legged on the dirt of the Training Ground positioned right before the main entrance of the Hero’s Sect.

It appeared she had resolved to make this her permanent resting spot, given the neatly folded quilt resting in the corner of the Training Ground.

Responding to Dong Bongsu’s silent command, an invisible aura of the Super True Qi Field spread across the premises, and under his mental direction, the quilt floated forward as if tugged by invisible threads, draping itself over Jeon Rahwa’s shoulders.

An invaluable asset must be kept from deteriorating.

Swish, swish.

Dong Bongsu moved toward the structure designated to become the [Alchemy Workshop]—the place where he could sense the aura of Dongmun Mutoe—while mentally categorizing the day’s developments.

In essence, every move had been a preliminary step to elevate the market worth of the Hero’s Sect.

There were three core components.

· Cosmetics

· Facelifts

· Generating Demand

To command a premium, one needed to project an illusion of grandeur, whether through physical alteration or superficial enhancement.

Transforming the public perception of an organization like a Murim sect.

The method is remarkably straightforward.

[Sect Leader. Conducting a Sect Opening Ceremony in a mere forty-eight hours is preposterous. If it were that simple, any common rogue, beast, or stray would have established their own order.]

[Incorrect, it is not an actual Sect Opening Ceremony.]

[Then for what reason are you staging a Sect Opening Ceremony?]

[We merely need to put on an appearance.]

[An appearance…?!]

Without delay, Bae Dal-pae deployed every operative within the All-Knowing House to deliver formal ‘missives’ to the surviving factions across the River Capital.

To be precise, scheduled for two days from now.

Dong Bongsu had also made personal rounds to various Murim sects in the vicinity of the River Capital.

He had even paid a visit to the local Government Office, securing cooperation from Yo Han-myeong.

Expanding the market demand was equally uncomplicated.

[Pardon?! Are you implying that you will welcome absolutely any clientele?]

[Should an entity offering its services be overly exclusive about who pays the bill?]

[…….]

[Conflicts are not waged in isolation. Alongside the Orthodox Faction, there exists the Unorthodox Faction and the Demonic Path. Is that not the foundational paradigm of the Murim?]

[Are you suggesting… that you intend to align with the Dark Rakshasa Way?]

[That is out of the question. We must align ourselves with righteousness, must we not?]

[What? Then what is the meaning behind your strategy?]

[Not just yet. We do not belong to the Orthodox, the Unorthodox, or the Demonic.]

[Ah!]

Naturally, such an enterprise could never be finalized within a forty-eight-hour window; the logistics required to even establish a proper dialogue would demand an immense amount of time.

The River Capital sat completely outside the territorial reach of the Dark Rakshasa Way.

Even so, it remained a potent piece to brandish on the board.

The denizens of this realm were likely ignorant of imaginary numbers, yet in human intellectual progression, the conceptualization of imaginary numbers completely altered the landscape.

They would successfully inflate their own valuation simply by referencing the ‘imaginary factor’ represented by the Dark Rakshasa Way.

Creak-.

He pushed open the entrance to the uncompleted [Alchemy Workshop].

Dongmun Mutoe was crouched on the floor within.

Observing him single-mindedly scribbling notations on parchment despite his current predicament, Dong Bongsu mused that had this man been born in a different realm, he would have likely been remembered as a pioneer in the realms of mathematics or physics.

“You are permitted to speak.”

Caught off guard momentarily by Dong Bongsu’s abrupt announcement.

“Ah, you’ve returned?”

Dongmun Mutoe looked up swiftly, fixing his eyes on Dong Bongsu with a broad smirk.

“The date hasn’t changed yet, so my daily inquiry option is still valid, correct?”

An inquiry option.

He was referring to the singular daily query he was permitted to pose.

“Pose it.”

“What constitutes ‘Faith’?”

The man possessed a sharp intellect.

He had clearly deduced that convoluted queries would merely squander his daily allowance, prompting him to compile a sequence of elementary questions instead.

His strategy was to stack these basic inquiries, gradually constructing a complex web that would force the exact explanation he sought.

Dong Bongsu contemplated the concept.

Faith.

What did Faith signify within the context of What is Hero?

“A bridge connecting myself to the realm that places its trust in me.”

“A bridge linking the realm… and myself? What does that imply?”

“I am not answering a follow-up.”

“Come now. Is that not incredibly stingy?”

“You ought to have formulated a superior inquiry.”

“No way! What could possibly be more precise than that? Well?”

“Regardless, that concludes our business for today.”

Dong Bongsu dropped into a crouch directly in front of the grumbling Dongmun Mutoe.

“Now, the roles are reversed.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Uncertain of what was coming, the young man winced and shifted backward.

Smack, Dong Bongsu clamped a hand firmly onto Dongmun Mutoe’s shoulder.

“As a disciple of the Hero’s Sect, your sole obligation is to respond to my inquiries with absolute sincerity.”

“Ah. Of course. Unbelievable, honestly. I receive a single turn per day, whereas he…”

“Would you prefer to be silenced?”

“I am granted one per day, while the Sect Leader… sir, enjoys an unlimited supply.”

“Such are the prerogatives of leadership.”

“Just one additional clarification…”

“Would you prefer to be silenced?”

“Understood, Sect Leader. Pray tell, what is your inquiry?”

Dong Bongsu posed it without delay.

“You claimed status as one of the Eight Trigram Masters from the Formation Tower, correct?”

“Indeed.”

A smirk.

This physical form proved highly advantageous under these circumstances.

He could project any desired facial expression at a moment’s notice.

“Pay a visit to the Formation Tower immediately.”

“Pardon?”

“With the utmost urgency.”

● ● ●

Creak, thud-.

Dong Bongsu exited the [Alchemy Workshop].

Dongmun Mutoe was already bound to the Hero’s Sect regardless.

Every available asset had to be deployed.

He looked skyward.

The crescent moon remained suspended in the heavens.

Based on the intelligence provided by Bae Dal-pae, the emissaries representing the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect were roughly forty-eight hours away.

Since twelve hours had already elapsed, that window had likely shrunk to a single day’s travel.

‘Sang Gwanhwi.’

That was the identity passed down by Bae Dal-pae.

An individual entirely absent from the recollections of Kim Rae-won.

Whoosh-.

Dong Bongsu’s form vaulted upward as if aiming to eclipse the lunar orb.

The cosmetic modifications and facelifts on his end were largely set, meaning the opposing party now needed to get ready.

After all, the laws of commerce dictate that an unappealing patron must endure a steeper fee.

● ● ●

The southern emissaries of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect made camp late in the twilight at a rustic Slash-and-Burn Village situated upon a low incline.

The tilted terrain was far too steep to reasonably qualify as arable farmland.

An anonymous settlement nestled against the mountain base, where a handful of households scraped by by cultivating millet and sorghum.

It was a settlement so destitute that even in a chaotic land, no raider would bother to plunder it.

“Halt.”

Sang Gwanhwi hoisted his arm.

Upon his utterance, the thundering rhythm of equine hooves ceased simultaneously.

“We shall recuperate over there.”

He indicated the settlement with a nod of his chin.

Despite its ragged nature, it surpassed spending the night exposed to the elements.

The subordinate officer bowed his head low.

“As you command.”

The company entered the perimeter immediately.

The spectacle of their immaculate white garments catching the breeze was so synchronized it mimicked the illusion of thirty-one white herons descending upon a marshland.

Alerted by the unfamiliar commotion, the residents began peeking out one after another.

Through the gaps in their wooden doors.

From behind the corners of their plots.

Their gazes locked onto the outsiders.

A blend of apprehension, terror, and understated inquisitiveness.

“Wh-who might you be?”

An elder, presumably the village elder, stepped into view.

His spine was curved like an arch, bearing the frame of a lifelong laborer, and his visage was etched with deep furrows.

By all metrics, he appeared entirely divorced from the realm of martial combat.

The settlement’s condition had already hinted at this, but the elder’s demeanor solidified the impression.

This was a location where they could slumber peacefully without maintaining a vigilant guard.

“We represent the Patrol Sword Corps of the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.”

The subordinate officer bellowed.

He peered down at the locals with a detached expression.

“Th-the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect?!”

The village elder’s gaze intensified.

The Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.

A titan among the preeminent factions of the Central Plains.

To a provincial laborer such as himself, they were entities residing in the heavens, a legendary title he had only encountered in rumors throughout his existence.

The village elder lowered his already curved spine to an extreme angle.

It appeared as though his bones might snap under the strain, yet he persisted.

Because necessity demanded it.

“Such distinguished visitors… in a pathetic hamlet like ours…”

“We require lodging to recuperate for a period.”

The subordinate officer declared.

It was not a request.

It was an edict.

“Is this acceptable?”

Nonetheless, he inquired out of courtesy.

Courtesy.

That was the public facade maintained by the Orthodox Murim.

“W-without question!”

The village elder nodded his head frantically, resembling a bird pecking at grain.

“Without question. It is meager, but we shall exhaust our resources to accommodate you.”

The village elder spun around hurriedly, barking out various directives.

Prompted by his words, the residents began scurrying about in frantic preparation.

They recognized the gravity of the situation.

A defining peril of their lives had arrived at their doorstep.

In short order, the residents, working like diligent insects, painstakingly arranged the quarters to receive their guests.

Whinny-.

Sang Gwanhwi dismounted from his stallion with practiced poise.

He stood motionless, arms crossed over his chest, surveying his surroundings.

Dilapidated shacks, thatched roods on the verge of collapsing, fractured clay walls, woven mats serving as entryways, and a crowd clad in tattered garments.

Just as it appeared from a distance—no, it was even more profoundly destitute upon closer inspection.

Yet.

Sang Gwanhwi’s focus locked onto a specific area.

Positioned behind the village elder.

Within the obscuring shadow of a shack, individuals were monitoring their movements intensely.

Three females.

A female in her mid-forties, presumably the elder’s spouse.

Her face bore fine lines, imperfections, and skin weathered by agricultural labor, yet her bone structure was remarkably defined.

The contours of her jawline and the slope of her nose carried a distinct grace.

The two figures positioned behind her were youthful.

Her offspring, undoubtedly.

They had clearly inherited their mother’s aesthetics, as their visages were quite striking.

The elder sibling appeared to be roughly twenty.

The younger was perhaps seventeen or eighteen.

Their gazes, entirely unexposed to the wider world, gleamed with a fascination unexpected for provincial maidens.

Naturally, they had likely never encountered individuals of such refinement in their entire existence.

Three sets of eyes were directed toward his position.

Concealed, yet possessing eyes that failed to mask their intrigue.

Inevitably, their gazes intersected with Sang Gwanhwi’s.

For a brief second.

The siblings, panicked, swiftly lowered their heads.

The edge of Sang Gwanhwi’s lips involuntarily twitched upward.

Gradually.

With deliberate slowness.

Smirk-.

A grin.

Yet his gaze remained entirely cold.

“Village elder.”

Sang Gwanhwi spoke.

His tone was as smooth as fine fabric.

“Yes, yes! My lord!”

The village elder rushed forward frantically.

“It appears we shall be inconveniencing you for the evening.”

Sang Gwanhwi rested a palm upon the elder’s shoulder.

As though comforting an old comrade.

“We trust in your hospitality.”

“Ah, goodness! The privilege is entirely ours!”

The village elder lowered his torso further still.

At this point, he was bent so low his face nearly brushed the dirt.

Sang Gwanhwi maintained his pleasant expression.

It was the quintessential expression of a noble and honorable Great Hero belonging to the Orthodox Murim, visible for anyone to admire.

And yet.

His gaze, devoid of genuine warmth, remained anchored on the females standing behind the elder.

The mature woman’s shapely chest.

The elder daughter’s narrow waist.

The younger daughter’s slender ankles, peeking out from beneath her garment.

Sang Gwanhwi’s tongue inadvertently brushed past his lips.

‘The coming night promises to be quite entertaining.’

The sun dipped completely below the horizon.

Obscurity enveloped the settlement.

● ● ●

In the dead of night.

Within the confines of the shack.

A flickering lantern cast a dim orange glow.

Silhouettes shifted across the partition wall in rhythm with the flame.

Before long, a perspiration-covered Sang Gwanhwi arose in a sluggish manner.

Droplets of moisture rolled down his well-defined shoulders and upper torso musculature.

He released a lengthy, contented exhalation.

“On occasion.”

Sang Gwanhwi cast a cold glance back at the mattress before standing up.

“An diversion like this serves as an excellent treat.”

He adjusted his disheveled locks by raking his fingers through them and smoothly donned his garments.

As though nothing out of the ordinary had transpired, he resumed his spotless, noble presentation.

The prodigy of the Orthodox Murim.

One of the Three Swords of Vast Heaven, Sang Gwanhwi.

He unlatched the shack’s exit.

And stepped out into the open air.

Whereupon.

“……”

He froze.

The vista unfolding before him.

The entirety of the settlement had been reduced to ruins.

Nearly all of the structures lay demolished.

An orange and crimson blaze crackled through the night, illuminating scattered remains across the dirt.

Among the carnage lay two segments of a torso featuring a curved spine.

No, it comprised a single entity.

A solitary individual severed cleanly down the middle.

“I cautioned you, village elder. For what reason did you compel this master to adopt the role of a villain? How much simpler it would have been had you complied when I requested it amiably?”

Sang Gwanhwi’s focus shifted smoothly, scanning across the perimeter of the settlement.

The casualties and the debris.

His eyes remained as detached as if he were observing a mundane, everyday occurrence.

“Corps Leader.”

The subordinate officer advanced.

His previously pristine white attire was now drenched in crimson spots.

Naturally, the fluid did not belong to him.

“The matter has been resolved.”

“Excellent performance.”

Sang Gwanhwi offered a nod.

“To think you individuals indulged in the amusement entirely without me. You merit a reprimand…!?”

Splat-.

Sang Gwanhwi abruptly ceased his speech and executed a rapid roll along the dirt.

Warm fluid erupted adjacent to his position as the severed torso of the subordinate officer who had just been delivering his account collapsed heavily to the earth.

● ● ●

Dong Bongsu snapped his blade, clearing the contaminated fluid from the steel.

[Sudden Event] The Afflicted Settlement:

The realm is perpetually populated by those who suffer injustice.

In practical terms, you are incapable of rescuing every victim.

Yet, should you become aware of their plight, is it not the obligation of a champion to right the wrongs, even in a minor capacity?

․ Overcome the exceptionally sadistic Sang Gwanhwi and his contingent representing the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.

├─ Status: 1/31

└─ Compensation: Hero History +3, A Connection will develop with the Vast Heaven Infinite Sword Sect.

Beneath the silver moonlight.

His gaze reflected absolute neutrality.

Not resentment.

Not sorrow.

Not righteousness.

Merely the equilibrium of a balance, calculating the value of his target, tilted without a sound.

My initial intent was simply to execute some facial modifications.

However, if they persist in demanding a deeper penetration of the blade, I am left with no alternative but to comply.