Myeongsin emerged from the Iron Chamber and arrived at a market street some distance from the Geumryong Family.
The street, lined with a couple dozen buildings on either side, was the entirety of the village. It was the sort of place that served as a rest stop for travelers between villages.
Walking down the unlit street, Myeongsin arrived at a shabby tavern.
The tavern had closed for the night, and a man who appeared to be the owner was wiping down the tables with a cloth as he cleaned up.
The tavern owner was a thoroughly ordinary man. His appearance, his height, his features—all of them. He had the kind of face one might encounter at least once in a lifetime. Whether one met him as a merchant, a waiter, or even a martial artist, one would likely just think, “I suppose that’s what he looks like,” and pass him by. He had no moles, scars, or distinguishing features.
When Myeongsin entered the tavern, the owner, who had been wiping the table, said,
“Guest, we’re closed for the night.”
“I’d like to have a quick bite and a drink before I go.”
The owner looked troubled as he examined the man’s appearance. Apparently deciding that his guest was not a martial artist, he relaxed.
“Judging by the look of you, you seem to have skipped a meal. What were you doing that you couldn’t even eat until this late at night?”
“I was struggling to make a living, and it turned out that way.”
The owner set down the cloth and gestured for him to come in.
“Thank you. I’ll eat quickly and be on my way.”
When Myeongsin sat down by the window, the owner went into the kitchen and brought out some liquor and a few simple dishes.
“They’ve gone cold, but they should still be edible.”
“Thank you.”
After serving the liquor and food, the owner picked up his cloth and resumed wiping the table he had been cleaning.
Then he suddenly asked,
“How was anything awkward?”
At the unexpected question, Myeongsin answered,
“It was perfect.”
The owner put down the cloth and looked at Myeongsin.
“It’s been a while since I played the owner of a tavern. When was the last time?”
“Four years ago, when I killed the Jeongmu Samgaek.”
“Ah, right.”
Amazingly, this tavern owner was none other than the Salwang—the current head of the Myeongbu, and the man who would later become the King of Assassins.
A man who had reached the pinnacle of extraordinariness within ordinariness.
The Salwang was a man who could imitate a hundred different lives and become each life itself. Today, his life was that of a tavern owner.
The Salwang began wiping the table again, swish after swish. This way, then that way. He was astonishingly studying and practicing, trying to determine what would look natural.
“As you predicted, Geom Mugeuk came.”
“What was he like in person?”
“He was a remarkable man, just as I had heard.”
“In what way?”
Myeongsin recalled the moment Geom Mugeuk had strode over, taken his hand, and pulled on the handle. He remembered those clear, deep eyes that had looked at him then.
“Confident, cheerful, and free.”
“The Young Cult Master scored quite a few points with you.”
The Salwang looked at Myeongsin and smiled broadly.
One might wonder whether such a smile suited him, but the Salwang was a man of many expressions. His emotional displays were just as abundant. When he saw something sad, he could shed floods of tears, and he could shout and rage like a man consumed by fury.
But Myeongsin knew. Every one of those emotions had been practiced. Manufactured.
There was only one word that could express the man Myeongsin believed the Salwang to be.
Emptiness.
There was nothing inside him. No longing for slaughter, no vulgar greed.
No—perhaps it was more accurate to say that he had been born with an interior that nothing could fill.
He was like an ice cliff. Anything that entered his heart simply slid down. Down into the darkness below, where no end could be seen.
That was why Myeongsin believed that the man before him would one day become the King of Assassins.
Because no matter the situation, no matter the moment, he would never hesitate.
Myeongsin looked around the tavern. Devices for ambushes had been prepared everywhere. The wooden container holding chopsticks in the corner, the old noren hanging at the kitchen entrance, the pig figurine in front of the counter, the hole in the broken wall…
And countless other things were all devices meant to kill people. Since none of them carried the metallic killing intent characteristic of mechanisms, an ordinary person could never have noticed them. Most of them had been made by Myeongsin himself.
“Are you really going to kill the Young Cult Master?”
In truth, there was no need to ask.
This tavern was not the only place where preparations were under way.
Myeongsin’s gaze shifted toward the building across the street.
The interior was visible through its windows. Men were wiping blood from the walls.
When a cart arrived in front of the building, assassins carried corpses out and began piling them onto it.
The man standing on the roof with his arms crossed was Hyeolla, the most promising young assassin in the Myeongbu these days.
He had made no mistakes in thirty-nine assassination missions. Of the masters he had killed, most were men whose names alone were enough to make anyone recognize them.
He was Myeongsin’s direct junior, but his eyes held none of the regard one would expect from a junior looking at his senior.
Corpses were also being carried out of another building.
The masked man standing in front of it gave him a slight nod.
He was not an assassin of the Myeongbu.
Eop-hwa. A special-grade assassin of Salcheon.
For this operation, the Salwang had even borrowed the finest assassins from other organizations.
In the building beside it, two assassins were looking up at the sign of a cloth merchant’s shop and speaking to each other. They were the Heukyeong Ssangs al, the twin assassins of the Black Shadow, who were not tied to any organization yet had recently achieved the greatest fame.
The entire street had been massacred today.
Now, these finest assassins would take their place.
An assassination operation involving dozens of assassins whose names alone were enough to identify them.
Never before in the history of assassins had there been an operation on such a scale. Whatever the outcome, it would remain in the annals of assassination forever.
“If we kill the Young Cult Master, we’ll all die too.”
“Are you afraid of dying?”
Myeongsin said nothing. He simply watched the cart carrying the corpses depart.
Then the Salwang shouted,
“Wait!”
The Salwang strode out to the roadside.
He walked over to the cart piled with corpses.
With an indifferent gaze, he grabbed one of the corpses by the neck. At that instant, the corpse opened its eyes. He had not yet died. Even from the building some distance away, the Salwang had detected that faint trace of vitality.
Crack-crack-crack.
The sound of neck bones breaking echoed through the quiet night street.
The Salwang returned inside and continued what he had been saying as though nothing had happened.
“If we die, wouldn’t it be nice to see all the people we’ve killed until now? Don’t you want to see them?”
After a brief pause, Myeongsin answered,
“I see them every day.”
The Salwang’s eyes shone white. The coldness of them made the hairs on the back of Myeongsin’s neck rise.
“The decision has already left our hands. Those above have made their decision. So we’ll kill only the Young Cult Master and get out.”
Myeongsin spoke worriedly.
“What could those above possibly be thinking? The Heavenly Demon won’t simply let the loss of his son go. He’ll chase us to the ends of hell.”
“We’re not in hell. We’re here in this world. If we wish to hide, they’ll never find us.”
Yes. The Salwang could do that. He was the kind of man who could even live undetected as the very pursuer sent to hunt him.
“Why me?”
Myeongsin’s role was to bring the Young Cult Master here.
There were assassins who specialized in such tasks—those who lured the target of a contract to the place of execution. Yet the Salwang had entrusted the task to Myeongsin.
The Salwang gave an unexpected answer.
“The Young Cult Master resembles you.”
Myeongsin turned to look at him.
“I heard he imitates the righteous sects despite being a fiend?”
Myeongsin knew the words were meant as a reproach toward him, but he could offer no rebuttal.
Despite being an assassin.
He did not kill children. He did not kill those who had never learned martial arts. He did not kill those who were not evil.
Those were the conditions Myeongsin had imposed on himself throughout his assassination career.
The Salwang slowly walked over and stood beside Myeongsin.
“Sin-ah.”
“!”
It was a name he had not heard in a long time.
“Stop putting on an act of hypocrisy. If you keep assigning meaning to killing people for money, you’ll only make things harder for yourself.”
Myeongsin said nothing. No—he could not say anything.
“If we weren’t friends, you would have died long ago.”
Myeongsin was now naked and clinging to the Salwang’s smooth ice cliff. If he tried to force himself away, the skin of his entire body would be torn off.
Even so, he was the one and only person whom the Salwang had allowed onto that cliff.
“I’ll be going now. It probably won’t be easy to bring him here.”
At Myeongsin’s farewell, the Salwang once again began wiping the table with his cloth.
“Would killing him really be easy?”
Myeongsin turned and left the tavern. The gazes of the assassins standing nearby naturally focused on him.
From the building across the street, Hyeolla said to the Salwang,
“How much would the contract pay to kill an assassin who no longer likes killing people?”
He was speaking of Myeongsin. Recently, rumors had been circulating that Myeongsin was avoiding contracts. There were even rumors that he wanted to retire.
The Salwang stopped wiping and answered quietly,
“If an assassin no longer wishes to kill people, then isn’t he already a dead man?”
At the Salwang’s answer, Hyeolla burst out laughing.
It was at that moment.
Whoooosh!
With the Salwang’s outstretched hand, Hyeolla, who had been standing on the roof of the building across the street, was sucked toward him in an instant. It was a display of divine might backed by tremendous internal energy.
Even when the Salwang seized him by the neck, Hyeolla did not dare resist.
“P-Please, forgive me!”
Despite his pleas, the Salwang drew a dagger without hesitation and cleanly sliced off his tongue.
Splash!
Blood sprayed in every direction from the severed tongue.
Hyeolla did not dare scream and staunched the bleeding himself.
The assassins of the Myeongbu, as well as those from the other organizations, held their breaths.
Myeongsin and the Salwang, standing in the street, met each other’s gaze.
Myeongsin silently turned and walked away, while the Salwang looked for a rag.
“Our Young Cult Master likes drinking in shabby taverns.”
The Salwang crouched down and began wiping the blood from the floor with the rag.
“So we should send him off from a place he likes.”
* * *
When Geom Mugeuk returned to his residence, Geum Arin was waiting for him.
“Where on earth have you been wandering around this late at night?”
She had rushed over after hearing that assassins had entered Geom Mugeuk’s residence, only to find that he had gone out. She came again and again, but he was never there. In the end, they met this late at night.
“Did you get hurt anywhere fighting the assassins?”
“No. It seems they sent assassins who cost less than my own bounty.”
Judging by his unchanged jokes, he seemed to be fine.
“Whose doing was it?”
Geom Mugeuk did not answer her honestly.
“I don’t know. I have so many enemies, after all.”
Geum Arin wondered whether the one who had placed the contract might be her own family. No matter how many enemies he had, would they really have ambushed him while he was in the Geumryong Family?
“Don’t die. You have to keep the promise you made to me, remember?”
When she reminded him of his promise to make her his successor, Geom Mugeuk suddenly asked,
“Can you kill your older brothers?”
“!”
The unexpected question left Geum Arin flustered.
“Do you think your older brothers will easily give up the position of successor? If they refuse to surrender it even at the cost of their lives, I’m asking whether you can take those lives.”
It would be a lie to say she had never thought about it.
But when Geom Mugeuk actually asked her, no easy answer came. Neither “I can’t” nor “I can.”
After a long while, she said,
“I don’t know.”
With her head lowered, she failed to see Geom Mugeuk’s faint smile.
She did not know that, because she was the kind of person who answered that she did not know, Geom Mugeuk considered her the best of the three by far.
“Think about it seriously.”
It was no longer time to gaze at the stars. It was time to look at the ground beneath her feet.
Whether that ground would be solid earth, a filthy sewer, or a thousand-foot precipice depended on her choice and her fate.
Geom Mugeuk let her leave, then stood in the courtyard for a while, gazing up at the night sky.
Then he heard Hwi’s voice behind him.
“You missed a chance to leave your name in the history of the martial world.”
He was referring to the bounty story from earlier.
Geom Mugeuk laughed and answered,
“I may be the embodiment of a desire for fame as much as I am of a desire for wealth, but I’ll pass on having my name appear in the history of assassins.”
Hwi smiled and walked over to stand beside Geom Mugeuk.
“The assassins are behind this incident.”
Geom Mugeuk told Hwi that his suspicions had become certain.
It was something Hwi needed to know before his father, who was sleeping at the moment.
Once the enemy was confirmed to be assassins, a fierce light flashed in Hwi’s eyes before disappearing.
“The threat that they would place a bounty on you didn’t sound like a mere joke. If they choose a target, they’ll probably choose me.”
They would not dare consider attempting to assassinate his father.
“You asked me to tell you about assassins, didn’t you?”
There was something he absolutely had to tell Geom Mugeuk.
“When you think of assassins, what comes to mind?”
Geom Mugeuk answered without hesitation, listing whatever came to him.
“Ambushes, sneak attacks, cowardice, suicide, poison, viciousness, despicability, the greatest bounty in history, and what a shame it is that I didn’t receive it. Things like that.”
Hwi smiled and answered the same question.
“When I think of assassins, these are the things that come to mind.”
And not one of them was among the things Geom Mugeuk had mentioned.
“Patience, planning, investigation, preparation, and study.”
Until now, Geom Mugeuk had never thought of these things first when he thought of assassins.
“It’s easy to think that assassins are impulsive and emotional, but that’s not true at all. There are no people more rational and methodical than assassins. They are people who endure, study, and prepare. That is how they overcome differences in ability.”
This was the crux of what Hwi wanted to say.
“They will have finished investigating everything about you, Young Cult Master. What kind of personality you have, what you like, how you react in certain situations, and what you say in others. What food you prefer, and whom you care about. They may know you better than you know yourself.”
As Geom Mugeuk listened, a thought suddenly occurred to him. Perhaps those who did not know themselves well were the ones most likely to be killed by assassins.
“All of an assassin’s investigation and preparation exists solely for this one moment.”
“What moment is that?”
The moment everyone knew existed, yet forgot for a single instant.
“The moment you let your guard down.”
Hwi’s eyes gleamed as he asked calmly,
“When is the moment you are most off guard, Young Cult Master?”
The Absolute Regressor
Chapter 483