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Chapter 61 - Chapter 61 – Shadows on the Riverbank

The inn sat quietly beside the winding river, its lanterns flickering like patient fireflies. Inside, the warmth of roasted chestnuts and dumplings filled the air as Sun-Ho's party gathered around a modest table. Their cloaks steamed gently from the earlier drizzle, and for the first time in days, there was no talk of ambushes, sect politics, or corrupted clans.

Ji-Mun stuffed a dumpling into his mouth and groaned. "Why does real food taste illegal?"

Ma-Rok, already halfway through his third bowl, raised a brow. "Because Ji-Mun, you eat like someone who robbed a temple pantry."

Yul-Rin sighed and stirred her soup. "Please don't tempt fate. We've made enough enemies without adding hungry monks."

So-Ri leaned toward Yeon and gently placed a bowl of greens and cabbage dumplings in front of him. "Try those. Mild and not bitter."

The boy glanced at the plate, then at her. A flicker of hesitation, then he picked one up and nibbled quietly. A heartbeat later, he reached for another.

Sun-Ho, seated across from him, didn't miss the movement. He smiled faintly, pleased.

Ji-Mun raised his cup. "A toast—to surviving another day without one of us being poisoned, stabbed, possessed, or publicly declared a demon."

Ma-Rok clinked his mug against it. "Progress."

"Barely," Yul-Rin muttered. "We've stirred so many sects recently, it's a miracle no one's ambushed us mid-toilet."

So-Ri raised her brows. "That only happened once."

"And we don't talk about it," Ji-Mun added quickly.

Laughter circled the table. Even Yeon gave a small amused exhale—almost a laugh. Almost.

From the other room came Master Jang's voice: "Stop gambling over who's getting poisoned next! You sound like bandits on a lunch break!"

"We're eating vegetables!" Ji-Mun called back.

"Only if dumplings now count as vegetables," Master Jang retorted.

"Technically, there's cabbage inside!"

The old man's sigh rattled the paper door. "Your logic is the true poison."

The group chuckled again, warmth lingering longer than the firelight. For a few minutes, the burdens of destiny and war didn't hang so heavy.

But they couldn't linger forever.

The moon climbed above the misty ridgelines as Sun-Ho stepped out alone, boots crunching softly on gravel. The inn's glow faded behind him as he reached the water's edge.

The river whispered its secrets through the reeds. Sun-Ho stood there silently, arms folded, eyes on the ripples.

A familiar rustle behind him. Master Jang strolled up with a clay jug in hand. "Mind if I join your brooding session?"

"Depends," Sun-Ho said without turning. "Is it tea or wine?"

"Both." Jang poured two cups and handed one over.

They sipped in quiet. The silence between them wasn't empty—it was seasoned, thoughtful. Until finally:

"You recognized the footprint, didn't you?" Jang asked.

Sun-Ho nodded. "Someone from the past. Someone strong."

"A rival?"

"Not yet. But he's ahead of us… and wants what we're looking for."

Jang watched the river with narrowed eyes. "We're being drawn into something larger."

"We always were," Sun-Ho replied.

The wind shifted, bringing with it distant whispers—sect rumors, political shifts, the slow tightening of the noose.

"You know," Jang said, "the higher we climb, the more our shadows stretch. Your name's spreading fast."

"So is the White Mask's," Sun-Ho replied. "Too fast."

Jang chuckled. "You did kick in a vault door and humiliate Northern Ink scouts."

"They'll recover."

"But their pride won't."

Sun-Ho took another sip. "I'll be careful."

"No, you won't," Jang said, grinning. "But at least now you've got people to watch your back."

Sun-Ho looked back toward the inn. Through the window, warm laughter glowed.

He nodded. "They're worth watching over too."

The next day, the trail sloped into the deep heart of the ravine passes. Mist clung low, curling through ancient trees like memory.

Yeon kept close to Ma-Rok, drawing diagrams in the dirt as they walked. Ji-Mun shared gossip he'd overheard in the last village: rumors that the White Mask had once fought a dragon with a chopstick and won.

"Maybe don't let that one spread," Yul-Rin said flatly.

But even she had to smirk.

They stopped when Sun-Ho raised a hand. His eyes scanned the distant rise. "There."

A crumbling temple, half-hidden in ivy, crouched atop the ridge like a forgotten sentinel.

"The scouts weren't herding us randomly," So-Ri said. "That's the prize."

"Or the bait," Sun-Ho murmured.

Ji-Mun tilted his head. "So… we storming it?"

Sun-Ho turned to them, eyes gleaming behind his calm face.

"No. We're sending someone else."

He reached into his pack and pulled out the white mask.

So-Ri sighed. "Back to myths and monsters."

Ji-Mun cracked his knuckles. "I live for this part."

Yul-Rin tapped her wrist where her darts were hidden. "Just remember: we still want survivors."

Ma-Rok grinned. "I can manage 'mostly conscious.'"

As Sun-Ho secured the mask, the group shifted.

Not just warriors anymore.

Symbols. Rumors. Legends in motion.

And whatever waited inside that temple?

It was about to learn that legends can bite back.

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End of Chapter 61

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