When I thought of white hair, I usually recalled the distinctive hair of the Namgung family.
Bluish-white hair, tinged with a faint blue.
It was the hallmark transformation brought about by the Mind Art.
‘Completely white.’
However, the person before my eyes possessed hair even whiter than that.
It was not the white that came with old age.
The man’s age seemed to lie somewhere between thirty and forty, yet—
That white hair held something more.
Pale white eyes, much like it, turned toward me.
‘What?’
His gaze was clearly fixed on me, and yet—
The sensation of meeting his eyes was hazy.
How should I describe this feeling?
He was definitely right in front of me,
yet I could not perceive him clearly.
It was different from the feeling born of an extreme gap in realm.
Could I call it the very pinnacle of otherness?
Just as an incomprehensible nausea rose from within to the tip of my throat—
Swish.
Perhaps having noticed my gaze, the man suddenly withdrew an unidentifiable object from his bosom and covered his face with it.
I wondered what it was, only to realize it was a mask.
The kind one could see anywhere.
If there was anything unusual about it, it was that it was not a complete mask, but half of one.
I questioned why he would suddenly don such a thing, but the moment the man put on the half-mask, I understood.
Sssss…
"…!"
Putting on the mask caused a change.
The instant the man donned the mask, his white hair—which had seemed to radiate light—began to dye black.
The change was instantaneous.
A matter of mere seconds.
And the change was not limited to that alone.
‘…I can see him.’
The haziness that had allowed me to see only his hair and eyes disappeared.
I was beginning to ‘perceive’ him.
The man’s eyes, nose, and features finally registered in my sight.
What?
Was that the mask’s power?
‘…An artifact?’
An object capable of such a phenomenon was, without a doubt, some kind of artifact.
Moreover, there was something—
‘His appearance is somehow familiar.’
Where had I seen him?
Where had I seen that half-mask? It evoked an inexplicably uncomfortable feeling.
Where had I felt this before?
‘Ah…!’
I remembered where I had seen that half-mask.
That was—
‘The one Jegal Hyeok wore.’
Cheonyurang-a Jegal Hyeok, who had been called the brain of the Demonic Cult.
The mask he’d worn to hide the burn scar on his face had possessed the same shape.
‘…How? How does that man possess it?’
It was highly unlikely to be the same item, and yet—
For some reason, the thought that this half-mask was the very one Jegal Hyeok had carried refused to leave my mind.
Had that mask possessed such an effect?
"Little one."
In the time I had spent staring intently at the man,
he opened his mouth to me.
"Do you intend to keep staring?"
"…I apologize. I did so without realizing."
"It is fine. It is simply that I am unaccustomed to another looking upon me."
Speaking thus, the man brought the cup in his hand to his lips.
A cup.
Had the man been holding a cup?
‘I had not even noticed that.’
Had he not worn the mask, I would have perceived nothing at all.
Realizing that sent a chill down my spine.
For a martial artist, being unable to perceive another meant precisely this.
That one was all but certain to die without even a mouse or sparrow knowing.
"…Who are you?"
Who on earth could this man be?
To think an individual who made me feel such tension was a face I had never seen before.
Though it was not as if I knew every renowned expert of the Central Plains,
I had believed I knew them to some degree.
Yet regarding this man, I had not the faintest idea.
Hearing my question, the man raised his head slightly and looked at me.
When his eyes had been white, I had not known—
but now that they had turned black, I felt I understood them better.
Deep pupils in which not a hint of light or shadow could be felt.
Those who dwelled nowhere between life (生) and death (死) often possessed such eyes.
Most had such eyes because they harbored no attachment to life.
Or—
‘Because they had killed far too many people.’
Those who had taken lives beyond counting often wore such eyes.
That only made me more curious.
About this man’s identity.
"A question of identity—truly, it has been ages since I last heard such words."
"…Is that so?"
"Indeed. Usually, they are all dead before they can ask me such things."
Now *that* was a terrifying reason.
"An introduction… It has been truly long since I introduced myself to anyone."
The man’s gaze turned toward my eyes.
They were eyes difficult to behold for long.
Continuing to meet them gave the feeling that my innermost self was being laid bare.
"However."
At that moment,
the man’s voice stabbed into my ears.
It was different from before. The tone and pitch were the same, and yet—
something viscous was palpable. Saliva pooled in my mouth unbidden.
As if urging me to swallow.
"Little one, it seems you already know. Must you insist on hearing it from my own lips?"
"…"
His words made my brow furrow.
Yes, the man was right.
I had already been forming a guess regarding his identity.
If asked where I began to piece it together—
‘…From the moment I saw his eyes.’
From the moment I met the man’s eyes,
I had begun to fit the pieces together bit by bit with the situation.
Such eyes and this hazy presence were traits usually possessed by dark guests (暗客).
In my previous life, I had encountered many dark guests,
and every one I met had burned to death by my hand.
Surviving an encounter with a dark guest meant exactly that.
Kill,
or be killed.
‘This man, however.’
If I dare say, had I faced this man with his mask off in a deadly sense,
I would not have been able to win.
Pride be damned—it was a conviction born of the survival instinct.
‘How on earth did he do it?’
How could one’s presence become so hazy?
The disparity in level I had felt from the Heavenly Demon, the gap that made sensing its very existence impossible—
What this man possessed was different from that.
He was concealing his existence so that it could not be felt.
So exquisitely and meticulously that even as he conversed with me before my eyes, even as we met gazes, he could not be perceived.
‘He can do that?’
It was possible, of course.
If I faced an ordinary civilian without an ounce of internal energy, I could do such a thing as well.
However, I was a martial artist who had reached the Hwagyeong.
I had surpassed the Pinnacle, known as the grave of martial artists.
Among the martial artists of the Central Plains, too many to count, I had reached a level where my peers would number fewer than a thousand.
Ah, I feel a bit embarrassed thinking that myself…
My ears feel like they’re turning red on their own.
Anyway.
‘To reach such a level against someone like me.’
Could such a thing be possible? If one thought so, the Central Plains were far too vast.
And.
There certainly existed ‘those who could’ among dark guests.
Was it not all too well known?
Casting aside the intrinsic trait of an assassin—whose identity must never be revealed no matter how exceptional—
there was one killer known throughout the Central Plains.
No, not exactly one; it would be more accurate to call him a representative figure.
The most famous group of assassins known in the Central Plains.
The Cheolya Assassin Squad.
A place said to gather the most outstanding assassins to ever grace the Central Plains.
And the leader of that place was called, dare I say, the King of Assassins—
and was bestowed the name the King of the Night.
"…The Dark King (暗王)."
As if pleased with my answer,
the corners of the man’s mouth rose infinitesimally.
The King of the Night, whose true identity no one knew—
why on earth was he here of all places, together with the Sword Empress?
******************
By the time they had barely reached the stage of handling the aftermath of the incident,
"We are short on cloth…!"
the busiest of all was naturally the medical corps.
"Damn it… The bleeding won’t stop."
"Senior…!"
The smell of blood and screams ran rampant.
The physicians moved about urgently, yet—
the number of patients was too great.
Moreover.
"Where did the new recruit from before go…! We’re crazy busy here!"
"…That friend died protecting another hall disciple during the day."
"…Damn it. What kind of martial artist is he!? We’re healers, not people who go around protecting others. I told him that."
"…"
He shouted, but his heart was withering.
"Senior… I think we need to bring more cloth."
What they used to wipe blood was gradually running out.
Even amidst this, several had already breathed their last.
At that level of injury, not even my master could save them.
It was a living hell.
The man who had been working without rest bit his lip.
He had fled the Alliance’s medical corps because he couldn’t bear to see this,
and now the promising young disciples were dying one by one as time passed.
The physician hid his trembling hands and continued to move. The bleeding wouldn’t stop.
The sword wounds were deep.
They were wounds inflicted to kill; they had to be deep.
He couldn’t make the wounds close.
It seemed that more than ten had died because he couldn’t save them like this.
"Bring another heated blade. Before the fire goes out, relight it—"
As he passed such a physician, a pale hand reached out.
It touched the blood-soaked flesh of a martial artist without hesitation.
Seeing that, the physician cried out in alarm.
"Who is it! What are you—!"
The physician, about to shout, stopped in an instant.
Because he met blue eyes that seemed to hold the sky.
What faintly emanated was coldness.
She was a woman so coldly beautiful that the chill did not feel strange.
She was someone the physician knew as well.
A blood descendant of the Moyong family, one of the Four Great Families,
and a rising star who occupied one of the seats of the Six Dragons and Three Phoenixes.
Seolbong (雪鳳) Moyong Hui-a. It was her.
Sssss.
Coldness spread from the hand Moyong Hui-a had extended.
Mixed with that coldness was clearly internal energy. Thanks to that, the gushing blood and screams gradually subsided.
"…What…"
"What are you doing?"
Just as the physician was about to express his bewilderment, Moyong Hui-a’s cold voice drove down like a stake.
"Shouldn’t you be doing your job? Are you only going to watch?"
"…!"
Coming to his senses at her words, the physician urgently moved his hands.
There was no time to ponder.
Time passed.
Moyong Hui-a naturally blended in among them, as if she had always been there.
Using her unique coldness and internal energy, she began helping treat the hall disciples.
As time passed and a moment finally arrived where they could catch their breath,
the physician sought her out.
"…Thank you."
Moyong Hui-a nodded slightly at the physician’s gratitude.
Neither of them was in a particularly good state.
Her obviously expensive clothes were soaked in blood,
and her neatly combed hair was matted with blood and in disarray.
The bloodstains on her pale cheeks looked strangely bewitching, but—
"Stop staring."
At Moyong Hui-a’s words, the physician had to turn his head.
"I apologize."
"I am, in my own way, a woman with a partner. Being looked at like that is rather uncomfortable."
"Pardon?"
When the physician asked what she meant,
Moyong Hui-a spoke in an indifferent voice.
"Usually, people who looked at me like that all fell for me."
"…"
"It becomes troublesome. Please be careful."
It was truly an ill-mannered and arrogant thing to say,
but because the one saying it was Seolbong, it was quite persuasive.
The physician himself had thought it dangerous.
"Seeing this, it seems I’m not dead after all…"
"Huh…?"
"Why doesn’t it work on that man…"
She muttered, displeased.
Moyong Hui-a had clearly whispered those words.
A woman who knows her own beauty tends to be charming by that alone.
In that regard, Moyong Hui-a was a woman of overwhelming charm.
The fact that she could make the physician think so even in this miserable situation proved it.
‘Did she have a fiancé?’
He didn’t know the details, but for a moment, he foolishly found himself envying him.
Setting that aside for now,
"I thank you once again for your assistance."
The physician expressed his gratitude to Moyong Hui-a.
For a blood descendant of a renowned family to help until she was in such a state was unprecedented.
He had heard that Seolbong, like most figures of the Moyong family, was cold and calculating,
but was she actually a warm person?
"There is no need for thanks. It would be rather troublesome if the blood descendants of the merchant families I had gone to such lengths to recruit died. And it wasn’t bad to have them owe me a debt like this, so I did it."
"…"
The physician smiled bitterly at her words.
"Even so. You were of immense help."
"Of course I was. Thanks to that, my dantian is completely empty."
The internal energy mixed with coldness had been of considerable help in the treatment.
Moreover, Moyong Hui-a herself seemed to have some knowledge of the healing arts; she hadn’t simply used it to stop bleeding.
Whatever her reasons, she could save those who would have died otherwise.
As a physician, it was something to be satisfied with.
Looking at such a physician, Moyong Hui-a suddenly asked,
"It is you, isn’t it?"
"…What?"
"The one said to be the Divine Physician’s disciple."
"…"
At Moyong Hui-a’s words, the physician’s eyes widened.
…How did she know?
It was something no one should have known.
The fact that he was the direct disciple of the Divine Physician.
"…That is—"
"I trust you will count everything I have done as a debt owed."
Watching Moyong Hui-a leave with a short laugh, the physician let out a hollow laugh.
Did that mean even this had been a calculated move?
If so, she felt terrifyingly formidable, yet at the same time, an extremely amplified charm was felt.
To think a brief encounter could lead to this state.
It felt like it would take a long time to erase the budding emotions.
That was why the physician was envious.
Of the partner she spoke of.
Thud, thud.
Moyong Hui-a, leading her exhausted body after sitting and moving about all day,
"Haah."
was finally able to exhale the breath she had held.
‘…It was harder than I thought.’
Only now did her tired and weary body truly feel it.
‘Is this the price of neglecting my training?’
It must have been the price of halting her internal energy training for the treatment.
She had even used the coldness she had meant not to use, so the fatigue would be all the greater.
‘What wealth and glory am I even chasing after, truly?’
Moyong Hui-a had to let out a hollow laugh as she walked.
Wondering what she was suffering like this for.
‘You shamelessly said you were coming, yet you don’t come to see me?’
Just thinking of the man who hadn’t shown his face even once made her angry.
Here she was running around and suffering like this,
and he had only glanced at the injured women and left. How infuriating.
"If it were going to be like this, I should have gotten injured too."
Should she curse her own uninjured body?
Moyong Hui-a was incredulous at her own words.
They were thoughtless words unbecoming of her personality.
Then, she pursed her lips.
"…He isn’t injured, is he?"
Despite having cursed him to her heart’s content, she worried for his safety.
There was no way she didn’t know what he had done, for rumors had already spread everywhere.
How had such an incident occurred?
Moyong Hui-a had to feel her aching head as she recalled the situation that had unfolded.
‘…This isn’t good.’
It wasn’t about the raid.
Of course that was included, but since it had already happened, she set that aside.
The problem was what lay ahead.
The Shinryong Hall, where descendants of famous sects and families had gathered in great numbers.
An attack had occurred there, and dozens of hall disciples were dead.
For now, the Martial Arts Alliance was taking no countermeasures, perhaps because they didn’t know—
‘They probably don’t know. That’s why they’re like this.’
If the situation became known later,
this would be a crisis.
A crisis for the Martial Arts Alliance.
At the future that involuntarily drew itself in her mind,
Moyong Hui-a had to repeatedly push her hair back.
Her expression furrowed at the sensation of congealed blood catching between her fingers.
Amidst it all, a thought came to her.
If the situation had come to this, the very first thing that would unfold.
More than her own filthy state,
she was at a point where that concerned her more.
It couldn’t be helped.
"If it comes to this, surely."
While Moyong Hui-a had already mapped out in her head what would become of the Martial Arts Alliance and what would become of Shinryong Hall going forward,
the most important matter in that situation was something else.
It was—
"Father will come…."
The Patriarch of the Moyong family, the White Heaven Sword Lord (白天劍主).
It had become a situation in which he had to move personally.