The mist had teeth.
It clung to the forest like a jealous lover, thick and breathless, wrapping around pine trunks and muffling every step. Baek Sun-Ho stood still atop a rocky outcropping, eyes narrowed as a cloaked caravan moved like shadows along the ridge below.
Wheee...
Wind hissed through the leaves like it knew something the rest of them didn't.
"Three guards per wagon," So-Ri whispered, crouched beside him. "I count at least twenty-five in total. None below Peak Inner Core Realm."
He gave a curt nod. "Then it's them."
The Crimson Ink Pavilion—assassins and archivists in equal measure. Their contracts were not on paper, but silk soaked in poison and bound with Qi. They kept records, not out of bureaucracy, but because names mattered in the world they built.
"They're camped near the gorge. If we move at dusk, we can corner the contractor," he said.
So-Ri handed him a rice ball, eyebrows raised. "You mean you'll corner them. We're just the side show."
"Don't be modest," Sun-Ho replied dryly. "You're the star distraction."
---
Campfire Briefing
Later that afternoon, the party gathered beneath a canvas tarp pulled between trees. Yul-Rin tossed dried herbs into a pot while Ma-Rok sharpened his blade so slowly it made a dull skkrrrk sound every few seconds.
"We strike at sundown," Sun-Ho said, sketching lines in the dirt. "Yul-Rin and Ji-Mun, disrupt their right flank. Use mist powder and poison fog. No casualties unless necessary."
Yul-Rin snorted. "Define necessary."
"If they stab first," So-Ri cut in.
"Fine. I'll let them stab Ma-Rok first."
The bulky man didn't even blink. "I'm fireproof."
"No, you're just slow," Ji-Mun muttered.
Sun-Ho continued, ignoring the jabs. "Master Jang and So-Ri hold the rear entrance. Ma-Rok provides front pressure. I'll enter the central chamber under my other face."
"You're using the Elementless Sovereign identity again?" asked Master Jang.
Sun-Ho nodded. "I need them to fear something greater than coin."
"Fear is a solid recruiter," Jang said, cracking his knuckles. Kwak.
---
The Pavilion Unveiled
As night fell, the Crimson Ink Pavilion's encampment glowed faintly under lanterns, red wax flickering like old blood. Screams echoed from the outer perimeter as Ji-Mun's chaos erupted with BOOM-THMP blasts of powder and whisssh of poison mist.
Sun-Ho—now the masked Sovereign—walked through the firelight.
His aura shimmered faintly, a twisting pulse of all five elemental energies coiled in balance, restrained to perfection.
Two guards moved to block him.
"Who—"
He flicked his wrist. Wind surged upward. Whhhump.
They collapsed, unconscious, not a drop of blood spilled.
Within moments, murmurs swept the pavilion like wildfire.
"The Sovereign…? Here?"
"He walks freely…"
The silk curtains to the main hall parted without resistance.
Inside, a woman sat atop a dais. Plum-robed, hair coiled with inked threads, a teacup hovering in her palm. The contractor.
"You're early," she said calmly.
"You've been busy," the Sovereign replied. "My student was targeted."
She lifted her cup. "We don't discuss clients."
"I don't discuss second chances."
He raised a hand. Flame licked from his palm. Fwoooosh.
Scrolls ignited on the walls, burning red contracts like they were nothing but dust.
She blinked. "Those were irreplaceable."
"So are lives."
Her composure faltered. "What do you want?"
"A ceasefire. And answers. Who paid for Yeon's head?"
She hesitated. "It was not from Murim."
"What?"
"The client was from beyond… the sect territories. South of the salt plains."
Sun-Ho's eyes narrowed. That was outside the influence of the Murim Alliance.
"More than coin flows beneath the earth," she added softly.
"I want an oath," he said. "No more contracts on anyone tied to me."
She raised her hand, cut her thumb with a nail, and stamped a silk ribbon with her blood. "Done."
---
Retreat and Reflection
Back at camp, Ji-Mun waved a contract in the air.
"Look at this thing! It's not even written in Korean. What is this? Old Qi Script?"
Ma-Rok grunted. "Tastes like ink."
"You licked it!?"
"I was curious."
So-Ri sat near Sun-Ho, watching him unroll another scroll taken from the Pavilion.
"What was she like?" she asked.
"Clever. Too calm. The kind of person who's always two moves ahead."
"Like someone I know," she said, bumping her shoulder against his.
Sun-Ho smiled slightly but didn't respond.
Master Jang returned, dragging a bound unconscious Pavilion agent behind him.
"Left a thank-you gift," he said. "Figured they'd appreciate the gesture."
"They'll appreciate not being turned into ash," Sun-Ho muttered.
Yul-Rin passed around tea, and the group fell into a surprisingly light-hearted silence. The danger had passed, for now.
---
A Word with Yeon
Later that night, as the fire died down and others turned to sleep, Sun-Ho sat beside Yeon, who was gazing at the flames.
"You did well, holding your strength in check," Sun-Ho said.
Yeon didn't speak, but nodded.
"You know," Sun-Ho continued, "your name, 'Yeon'—it means to connect, to speak."
The boy looked up.
"It's ironic, isn't it?" Sun-Ho smiled. "I named you that to tease fate. But I hope… someday, you'll grow into it."
The boy's gaze softened. For a moment, he looked like any other twelve-year-old.
"I had a student like you before," Sun-Ho said suddenly. "In a past life."
Yeon tilted his head.
"He couldn't cultivate. Everyone called him broken. But he had this light inside him, like wildfire refusing to go out. I gave him one piece of advice."
"What?" Yeon finally whispered.
Sun-Ho looked into the flames.
"Never let the world decide what you're worth."
---
End of Chapter 42