Chapter 107 - Reunion (2)

Yet she had no way of knowing what the man strolling beside her was thinking, or whether he was falling for her act at all.

'Hehe. This variable is the real thing.'

One of the two “variables” who had entered the Murim Alliance yesterday seemed to be genuine.

“Might I have the honor of asking your name, young master?” Namgung Hye asked.

“Jong Jihang. Probably...”

It was a name she had never heard. It appeared nowhere in the register of martial artists stored in her head.

Namgung Hye smiled radiantly once more.

Most of the young martial artists watching her staggered as though they might collapse. The image of the Fairy of the Murim, combined with the beautiful shell called Namgung Hye, held a powerful allure for these young men.

The closer they came, the stronger her influence inevitably grew. Thus, as she and Jong Jihang advanced, the crowd parted sharply to either side.

Yet Jong Jihang merely walked quietly beside her, apparently uninterested in those subtle currents.

“If it would not be an imposition...”

“Then don't. If it would be.”

Insolent.

So Namgung Hye gave another faint smile.

The young fools swooned all over again, without even knowing why she was smiling.

Idiots.

An insolent bastard and a pack of idiots.

She found the former far more interesting. And when he was so overwhelmingly stronger, was there even any need to elaborate?

Even as he merely walked beside her, the presence of this man called Jong Jihang squeezed her heart until she could scarcely breathe. He seemed far stronger than all the scarecrows around them put together, those ignorant fools swooning over the mask called Namgung Hye.

Perhaps...

'He might be about equal to that formidable fellow standing in line over there.'

Namgung Hye's gaze turned to a man who had been at the head of that long queue and was just now entering the hall serving as a temporary registration office for the All-Under-Heaven Youth Sparring Tournament.

A man in close-fitting black clothes, with a distinctive blade scar across his left cheek.

She did not know what name he used in the Central Plains, but she knew his original name—or should she call it his sobriquet?—very well.

'Mad Cloud.'

Seong Hwi.

Letting the commotion outside go in one ear and out the other, Mad Cloud wrote the two characters on his application.

He had thought he had forgotten everything since becoming Mubon's Eighteenth Cloud... but apparently he had not forgotten it all.

Seong Family Manor of Gansu.

In the empty space below his name, he wrote another three familiar characters.

The warrior handling registration took his application and opened the register of affiliated sects sitting at the corner of the table. After searching it several times, he tilted his head.

“Seong Family Manor of Gansu? Are you sure this sect is affiliated with the Murim Alliance?”

Mad Cloud's left cheek twitched. The hideous, long gash writhed like a dragon, making for a rather threatening sight.

There was something fierce about his bearing. The warrior swallowed hard and searched the list of affiliated sects again.

After a lengthy search, he finally found the words “Seong Family Manor of Gansu.”

Yet something still seemed amiss, and he spoke with his head tilted.

“Ah! Here it is. But there's a red line through it...?”

A red line signified death. A red line through a sect's name meant the death of that sect—its annihilation. That was why he had ignored the crossed-out entries in his initial search.

That was also why he was puzzled. This was the first time a successor of an annihilated sect had applied to participate.

“Is that a problem?” Mad Cloud asked.

His voice was horribly grating, like sand scraping a wall, yet it carried a peculiar weight.

The warrior glanced up at Mad Cloud and spoke cautiously.

“No, no. The Seong Family Manor of Gansu's seal recorded here, and its signature technique... Hmm? This is rubbed out. I can barely read it.”

Just as the warrior said, the name of the signature technique that would prove his affiliation with the Seong Family Manor of Gansu had been almost entirely erased and was difficult to make out.

But Mad Cloud seemed to recognize it, for he spoke in his rough voice.

“The Eight Forms of the Seong Family.”

Looking again after hearing Mad Cloud's words, the warrior thought the characters looked roughly—no, definitely—like that. He nodded.

“Ah, so they do. Now stamp your seal here and demonstrate the Eight Forms—actually, never mind the Eight Forms of the Seong Family. I wouldn't recognize them anyway, so there's no need to perform them. The fact that you could read those words as the Eight Forms of the Seong Family is enough to prove you're a successor of the Seong Family Manor of Gansu, isn't it? Hahaha.”

Knowing the Eight Forms of the Seong Family. That alone made him a successor of Seong Family Manor...

It was a deeply humiliating remark, but the warrior had no idea what a blunder he was making.

For an instant, a terrible killing intent burst from Mad Cloud's body, then vanished. Yet no one here detected it. No, no one could have. There was no expert skilled enough.

Without a word, Mad Cloud took an old seal from inside his clothes and stamped the bottom of the application. He received his registration slip for the All-Under-Heaven Youth Sparring Tournament from the warrior, then turned and left.

After he was gone, the warrior grumbled under his breath.

“... Bastard from some fallen sect, putting on such a fucking intimidating act. What an asshole.”

He carelessly folded Mad Cloud's application and tossed it onto the large pile of other forms.

Then he spoke irritably.

“Next.”

Standing behind the bustling crowd, Yeon Youngha wore a wide, childlike grin, smiling with innocent delight. It was not merely because of the intense killing intent she had sensed a moment ago. Simply standing here, in this filthy, polluted place, was immensely enjoyable.

“Old Uncle. There are so many fascinating people here. That's the Central Plains for you! In Yunnan, it's hard to find even one lunatic, but here they're everywhere.”

Madness ran rampant everywhere. Desire seethed like an active volcano, and greed spilled unfiltered from bodies that could no longer contain it.

Good, good! Absolutely wonderful!

Like her, the Cursed Killing Intent was in a frenzy over the lunatics' raw emotions.

“Ahh, what a wonderful scent. It makes me...”

“Want to kill them all. It really does. Heh.”

Playful words. But the tall old man standing like a shadow behind her knew better than anyone that they were no joke.

“There are too many people today. Why don't we return tomorrow?”

The old man's voice was as low and shadowed as his gloomy face.

“Oh, come on, Old Uncle. Didn't I just tell you? The lunatics are everywhere. Even if I can't register right now, let's stay a little longer and enjoy the smell. Mmm, the air here is so fragrant, isn't it?”

“Besides, he'll be somewhere around here too. Maybe he's watching me even now. That...”

Colorless, tasteless, odorless human. Yet... a dangerous human too.

The Ghost Among Ghosts, Dong Gwangcheon.

At the thought of him, Yeon Youngha's eyes began turning pitch-black again.

“Miss... You must return at once...”

Seeing that, Old Uncle hurriedly bowed as he addressed her. His fingertips were trembling, so great was his fear of what might happen.

Old Uncle's reaction told Yeon Youngha exactly what had happened to her eyes.

With a little chuckle, she gave his side a light tap, brushed past him, and walked toward Martial Harmony Gate.

“Oh, all right. All right. Not yet. It would be so boring to set things off already. Go on, go. Let's head back. But bring me some proper prey. Those things last night tasted awful. Find me something tasty. Otherwise... I might eat you this time, Old Uncle.”

“... Yes. Understood.”

Of course, she was not joking this time either, and Old Uncle knew that all too well.

TAP-TAP, TAP-TAP.

“La-la-la~”

With light, jaunty steps, one-two, one-two, she passed out through Martial Harmony Gate, like a little child who had acquired a new toy.

One pair of eyes was watching her.

While everyone else focused on Namgung Hye and Jong Jihang, those unwavering eyes alone watched her. No—to be precise, they were watching everyone.

His gaze passed over Namgung Hye, Jong Jihang, Mad Cloud, and Yeon Youngha, encompassing all of Central Avenue.

People's features and clothing flowed into his eyes as though he were taking photographs. All those images seemed to be sucked into his mind, imprinting themselves there as data.

“What are you staring at so intently?”

“People.”

Prey, quarry, and...

Those who excited him enough to make his flesh tremble...

“Why? Seeing those fellows has you interested in this All-Under-Heaven Youth Sparring Tournament, or whatever it's called, too?”

Lunatics.

Dong Bongsu had always been interested in them, and he always would be.

Why?

Because without them, life had no meaning. Because a hunter was born to hunt.

“I'm not looking down on you, but passable external martial arts alone won't make you a match for those fellows down there. Are you all right with that?”

Dong Bongsu turned his gaze to the Weapon Monster. Behind him were Hwa Yeji and Ha Seonhyang, though he did not know when the latter had crossed over. They, too, were listening closely, apparently interested in his answer.

Humans really were strange.

They took an interest even when he did nothing. In truth, he had not been making much effort to camouflage himself lately. Perhaps this was fairly close to his true self, with his instincts removed.

He was out of the ordinary even when he did nothing. In any case, this was the first period of his life when that had not been unpleasant or bothersome.

That did not mean he had removed his mask completely. The instant he did, they would realize he was utterly different from them.

“They aren't passable.”

“Then isn't that even more of a problem? If they aren't even passable, how can you expect to accomplish anything in a sparring tournament with every extraordinary talent under heaven taking part?”

Turning back toward Central Avenue, Dong Bongsu spoke indifferently.

“If they were merely passable, I would never have made it this far.”