Chapter 10: Chapter 10
– Demonic Cult, Wolha Village, Seventh Small Palace.
“Is anyone there?”
Creeak. A light push and the Seventh Small Palace door opened. Jang I-seo. Two days had passed, and he’d received his formal appointment as adjutant before returning here.
Dressed in black, reasonably well-groomed, his ordinarily plain face looked rather presentable.
“No shortage of ruins.”
Jang I-seo surveyed the interior and let out a shallow sigh. He’d felt it when he visited disguised as an envoy days ago, but the palace’s upkeep was a disaster.
The front gate’s latch was broken, unable to lock. Weeds grew waist-high in every direction.
“Is anyone there?”
Jang I-seo raised his voice slightly and stepped forward. Still no answer.
“He’s not proposing a game of hide-and-seek, I assume.”
Before long, he reached the main hall. Through the wide-open sliding doors, the interior lay fully exposed.
“What in the…”
Jang I-seo’s brow creased violently. A toppled wardrobe, shattered flower pots, a floor covered in dirt. Glass fragments and every manner of household item scattered about.
Identical to two days ago. Not a thing had changed.
“Did he leave the palace?”
No one could have lived in this state for two days.
Shff. Jang I-seo stepped inside. From somewhere deeper came the sound of steady, rhythmic breathing.
Was he asleep? The sun had already reached its zenith at noon, and he was still sleeping? And in this condition?
Shff, shff. Jang I-seo pressed deeper inside.
Here.
Seventh Young Master Mao was behind this door.
“Is anyone there?”
Jang I-seo asked quietly once more. Silence. The entire palace seemed to hold its breath.
“Seventh Young Master.”
He called out in a calm tone. The breathing stopped. Mao had clearly awakened.
More precisely.
‘Come in.’
Mao was crouched inside, lips curving upward, fist cocked and ready. A welcoming gift. A small token to teach the new arrival what kind of place the Seventh Small Palace was.
And then. The moment Jang I-seo’s foot touched the threshold.
CRACK! A white fist punched through the rice paper door. Mao imagined the sight of the bastard’s nose gushing blood as he crumpled, and laughter erupted involuntarily.
“Hahaha!”
But something was wrong. His fist should have connected with something. Instead, nothing but empty air. Clk! Instead, his wrist was caught.
“What the…”
What indeed.
“Argh!”
His arm was yanked hard. His body crashed through the door and was dragged forward. Simultaneously, a devastating impact slammed into his abdomen. A foot.
“Gah!”
Mao crumpled to his knees. Agony beyond words seized him, like being struck by lightning, his eyes bloodshot. Then consciousness frayed and snapped.
“Seventh Young Master?!”
Hearing that voice call his name as if nothing had happened… Thud. Out cold.
“Nice to meet you. I’m your big brother.”
His adjutant, Jang I-seo.
Had finally taken the Seventh Small Palace.
*
“Gah!”
Mao bolted upright. Cold sweat streamed down his face. The delayed pain in his abdomen made his whole body curl inward.
“You… son of a…”
Cursing, he surveyed his surroundings. A neatly tidied inner room. He was lying on a bed mat. That bastard. That bastard had kicked him and laid him out here.
“Where is that piece of shit!”
Mao shrieked and hurled objects as he stormed outside. He’d kill him. Daring to kick his master the moment he walked in? This lowborn squad leader trash.
“Come out. Come out, you bastard!”
He burst out of the room and scanned the corridor. Left and right. Impossibly clean floors, as if someone had tidied up. He couldn’t care less about that.
“In there?”
Clattering echoed from around the corner. He strode toward it with murderous intent. He whipped around the corner. No person. Just a long rope hanging down.
“What’s this.”
He looked up. A hole in the wooden ceiling. Too dark to see clearly, but the rope seemed to descend from above. Was he up there doing repairs?
“Come down. Come down right now, you bastard!”
Mao lost his patience and yanked the rope hard, shouting.
Then.
“Urgh!”
THUD! A massive flower pot plummeted from the ceiling and crashed into his skull. His mind went hazy. He staggered and crumpled.
“Seventh Young Master?!”
Hearing that voice call his name as if nothing had happened… Out cold again.
“You really should be more careful.”
And there stood Jang I-seo, watching with a grin.
*
“Gah!”
Mao bolted upright again. He touched his head. Bandages. Pain throbbing down to the bone.
“AAAAAAARGH!”
A scream laden with fury echoed through the Seventh Small Palace.
But this time, he didn’t jump up and rampage.
“What is this guy. What is he playing at.”
No matter how he thought about it, something was off. The first time, fine, maybe he genuinely hadn’t recognized him and it was an accident. But this time? Why hide a heavy flower pot in the ceiling? And deliberately hang a rope down to provoke his curiosity?
“An assassin?”
No. An assassin wouldn’t have tucked him into a freshly cleaned bed. This was a type he’d never encountered before.
“What the…”
He glanced sideways. A neatly folded letter sat beside him. Something that definitely hadn’t been there before. He snatched it up irritably, unfolded it, and read.
【You seemed exhausted, so I took my leave for today. I will return in two days for a proper introduction. Yes, please rest well. – Adjutant Jang I-seo】
“You crazy bastard! ‘Please rest well’?”
His body trembled. Leaving him in this state and saying what?
“This dog-shit squad leader bastard…”
Mao’s eyes flashed with killing intent. He crumpled the letter, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed.
“Jang I-su. Just wait. I’ll make you regret ever stepping foot in here.”
For the first time in ages, the Seventh Small Palace overflowed with burning heat.
Who would end up doing the regretting, however, remained to be seen.
*
“A little lower. Not there. Yeah, right there.”
Meanwhile, at that very hour, Jang I-seo lay blissfully on his back, head pillowed on the lap of the peerless beauty Chwi Hong-ran.
The way she casually cleaned his ears suggested it was an everyday affair.
“So you did all that and just left?”
Having heard the full story, Chwi Hong-ran furrowed her brow with the expression of a mother worried about her child.
He might be a good-for-nothing, but he was still the Seventh Young Master. Beating him unconscious. Twice. By any charge, that was treason. Death by a thousand cuts.
“Just a greeting. He’s not the type who’d listen to words anyway.”
Though it must have stung a bit.
Jang I-seo snorted as if it were nothing, sat up, and flicked his palms clean. Then he changed the subject.
“The investigation?”
“Yes.”
Clap, clap. Chwi Hong-ran clapped twice. The sliding doors rattled open, and women entered carrying a long scroll, which they unrolled against the wall. A relationship chart.
Chwi Hong-ran began her report.
“Name: Mao. Age: turned nineteen this year. Born to the Ma family, regarded as the foremost of the Demonic Cult’s three great noble houses.”
Mao. The one being stripped bare won’t be me. It’ll be you.
Grin. A smile settled on Jang I-seo’s lips.
*
The Demonic Cult had prestigious families that had placed generations of members, including elders, in key positions.
A silent dragon who had held the position of First Elder for four consecutive generations. First Elder Ma Il-seong’s Ma family.
A wise immortal who had mediated conflicts throughout Cheonsan. Second Elder Cheon O-san’s Cheon family.
A cruel military elder known for unwavering loyalty and unmatched valor. Third Elder Maeng Cheol-yong’s Maeng family.
These three houses were called the three great noble families of the modern Demonic Cult.
Aside from the Heavenly Demon’s own domain, there was nowhere their influence didn’t reach. Their power blanketed the land like morning fog at dawn.
And Seventh Young Master Mao carried the bloodline of one of these noble houses.
The foremost among them, the Ma family.
The son of First Elder Ma Il-seong, the family head.
“Such a man caught the Cult Leader’s eye by chance and was adopted as his son. To outsiders, it must have looked like a life showered in flower petals.”
Jang I-seo nodded at Chwi Hong-ran’s poetic phrasing. Nothing to dispute. On the surface, absolutely.
Good family. Good talent. Good looks.
A flawless life.
“But inside, it was the powder of a poisonous weed. The one in the Ma family who had desperately hoped to become the Cult Leader’s adopted son was his older brother, Ma Il-seong’s legitimate eldest son, Ma I-sin. The Seventh Young Master was an illegitimate son of low birth who happened to catch the Cult Leader’s eye while sweeping floors.”
The Ma family was thrown into panic.
Not a legitimate heir, with no proper martial training. A floor-sweeping bastard elevated to noble status overnight.
A complete reversal of the natural order.
It was like a slave stealing the land that even cousins fought bitterly over. How could they view that favorably?
The household atmosphere turned unbearably frigid.
“Officially, the Ma family rushed to package it as a family blessing, but those who needed to know already knew. Some said Cult Leader Jin U-gwang did it to keep the Ma family in check.”
When Jang I-seo added this, Chwi Hong-ran showed mild surprise. He was right, but people who knew this weren’t common. The Ma family had imposed strict gag orders, keeping the story from spreading widely.
‘Is there anything the Master doesn’t know about the Demonic Cult?’
The same question that arose today as always. She continued her explanation as if it were nothing.
“Yes, which means he’s essentially abandoned by his family. The fact that his father, Ma Il-seong, backs the First Young Master Cheon Mu-gi, who is connected to the Cheon family, tells you everything.”
Right. True.
Come to think of it, who would dare gossip behind the Seventh Young Master’s back, calling him a good-for-nothing? In the Demonic Cult, no less. If they weren’t drawn and quartered, they were lucky.
Yet such rumors persisted. That meant he had no ally willing to stand up for him.
If anything, he had enemies only too happy to spread the stories further.
‘And I’m supposed to make a man like that the Young Cult Leader. Maybe… the Pavilion Master has gone senile?’
Surely not. A chill ran through Jang I-seo and he shuddered, shaking his head.
“Anyway, that Ma Il-seong is a cold one. No matter what, it’s his own blood. The storehouse was completely empty too.”
Mapping the terrain was a spy’s bread and butter. Knocking Mao out had served to correct his behavior, yes, but also to scout the Seventh Small Palace.
And what Jang I-seo had seen was utterly barren. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have mistaken it for an abandoned house.
“But, Master…”
“Hm?”
“Must you become his adjutant? The Seventh Young Master not only keeps bad company, but he’s an empty vessel with nothing left but a dragon pattern on the outside. Whatever you intend to do, I worry for you.”
Chwi Hong-ran gathered her courage and voiced her opinion. Then immediately fretted that she’d been too forward, unsure what to do. That was her nature.
Jang I-seo smirked, flicked the back of her tightening hand, and spoke plainly.
“I know how you feel, but this time it has to be done. Understand.”
Otherwise his heart would burst. Cause of death: loneliness poisoning.
“Yes… Master…”
He turned away from her moved expression and surveyed the distant world beyond the window.
He’d received the mission, so he would do everything in his power to make the man Young Cult Leader.
But if possible, he didn’t want just any Young Cult Leader. He wanted to make him at least a decent human being.
That would be the last shred of conscience left to him as a man of righteousness hiding within the Demonic Cult.
And perhaps the Seventh Young Master was hoping for the same.
The more a life goes unrecognized, the more thorns it grows, the more resentment accumulates.
Hoping someone would approach, extend a kind hand, and guide him down a path where he could be respected.
Jang I-seo smiled and rose.
“Alright then. Let’s see what that troublemaker gets up to.”
Seeing is believing.