353 - Childhood Friend of the Zenith

When I think of white hair, I usually picture the distinctive silvery-blue hair of the Namgung family. It's a hallmark feature, slightly tinged with blue, representing the changes brought on by their martial arts training, a characteristic of their style. However, the person standing before me now had hair that was even whiter—pure white, not the kind that turns white with age. Though he seemed to be somewhere between his thirties and forties, that white hair suggested something more. A gaze reminiscent of his white hair meets mine. "What…" His eyes were definitely focused on me, yet the sensation of making eye contact seemed faint and almost elusive. How should I describe this feeling? Although he was indeed standing right in front of me, it was as if my mind couldn't fully comprehend his presence. This wasn't the kind of perception gap common among martial artists due to differences in skill levels—it was more like the pinnacle of strangeness. Just as an incomprehensible unease began to build up inside me, reaching up to my throat— Smoothly. The man also seemed to notice my stare and suddenly pulled an unknown object from his robe, covering his face. It was a mask, a type seen almost anywhere, yet this one was peculiar because it was only half a mask. I wondered why he was putting it on, but the answer became evident the moment he donned it. Hissss… "...!" The moment the man put on the mask, his dazzling white hair began to turn black. The change was instantaneous—within mere seconds. And it wasn't just his hair that changed. "I can see now." The previous haziness that obscured everything except his hair and eyes vanished. "Recognition" had started to take place—I could now see the man's eyes, nose, and overall facial features. What on earth was this? Was the mask the source of this strange power? An artifact, perhaps? Those kinds of items were usually considered artifacts of immense value and mystery. Additionally, something about his appearance seemed oddly familiar. Where had I seen it before? "Ah…!" It clicked. I recalled where I had seen that half-mask. That was the same type of mask worn by Jegal Hyuk, known as the brain of the demon cult—Cheon Yulang! He wore a similar mask to cover the scars on his face. "Why does this man have it?" It was likely not the exact same item, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow related to the one Jegal Hyuk used to carry. Did that mask have such a feature? "Hey, kid." The man took the opportunity while I was fixated on his transformed appearance to speak up. "Were you planning to keep staring?" "... I'm sorry. I didn't realize." "It's alright. It's just unusual for anyone to look at me." Saying so, the man brought a cup of water to his lips. A water cup? Was he holding a cup of water all along? I hadn't even noticed that. If he hadn't been wearing the mask, I wouldn't have noticed anything at all. Realizing this, a chill ran down my spine. For a martial artist to be unable to perceive another's presence meant one thing—death could be imminent without a whisper of a warning. "..." I had reached such a level, yet why was I feeling this way? Who was this man? "That's an interesting expression." "...!" "It's a good habit. Keep honing it." "..." The man had caught onto my attempt to gauge his intentions and sense the danger he posed. Despite realizing this, his reaction was calmly conversational, as if the exchange had just ended. "Who are you?" Who on earth was this man? To be someone who could instill such tension in me, yet be a complete stranger... I may not know every renowned fighter in the martial world, but I thought I was familiar with most. However, I knew nothing about this man at all. Facing my question, the man slightly lifted his head to look at me. When his eyes were white, I couldn't tell, but now that they were black, I could discern more. Deep eyes that revealed nothing of emotion or life—a trait often found in those beyond even life and death, those who had nothing left to bind them to life. Or... “Because they’ve killed so many…” Those who had taken countless lives bore such eyes. This only heightened my curiosity about the man's identity. "To be asked about my identity... it's been a long time since I've heard such a question." "Is that so?" "Yes, usually people are dead before they get the chance to ask." Well, that’s certainly terrifying. "Introductions, huh... It’s been ages since I’ve introduced myself to anyone." His gaze met mine—eyes that were hard to hold for long. Continuing to look into them felt as if my insides would be completely exposed. "But." Then, his voice pierced my ears, different from before. Though the tone and pitch were the same, there was a heavy undertone, something compelling. Unconsciously, my mouth filled with saliva as if urging me to swallow quickly. "Kid, you seem to already know, yet insist on hearing it from my lips. Is that it?" "..." His words brought a frown to my face. Indeed, he was right. I had already begun to suspect his identity. Asked when it all began— "Since I saw his eyes." The pieces began to fall into place from the moment I met his gaze. Such eyes and this indistinct presence were characteristics often found in assassins. I had encountered many such assassins across my past lives, all of whom I had burned to death by my own hand. Meeting an assassin and surviving meant one simple thing: you kill, or you’re killed. "This man." Boldly I declare, had I faced the man behind the mask in a lethal confrontation, I wouldn't win. Pride and assumptions aside, the certainty stemmed from a survival instinct. "How did he manage that?" To such an extent, could one's presence be made so imperceptible? It was a different level of distinction than the one from the Heavenly Demon—it wasn’t about feeling an overwhelming disparity. What this man possessed was different: he concealed his existence so expertly that even while engaging in conversation and making eye contact, his presence was virtually undetectable. "Can anyone actually do that?" Well, it might be feasible. If I were dealing with ordinary civilians with no martial training, I too might manage something similar. Though I am a martial artist who has reached the level known as Hwakyung, surpassing the pinnacle once referred to as the graveyard for martial artists, I number among the few in the Central Plains. In a realm teeming with countless martial artists, being among less than a thousand is a rare achievement. Ah, thinking about it makes me a bit embarrassed… I can feel my ears heating up just from the thought. Anyway, the fact that someone could exert such a level of aura against someone like me—is that even possible? The world is vast, after all. And indeed, there were assassins capable of such feats, even if scarcely known. There's one assassin in particular, well-known across the Central Plains, who does not fit the typical unknown profile. Or rather, to be precise, he's the most representative figure among such assassins. The most famous among the circles of assassins is the Cheolyeosal Sudae—the Iron Night Assassins. The Iron Night Assassins are famously known as a gathering of the most skilled assassins. Their leader is hailed as the king of assassins and is known by the ominous title, the King of the Night. "…Amwang (Dark King).” The man’s lips curled into a faint smile, seemingly pleased with my answer. Why was this King of the Night, whose identity was a mystery to all, here in this place with the Sword Queen? ****************** By the time the chaos was being managed after the incident had occurred, "We're short by a thousand…!" the busiest place was undoubtedly the medical division. "Damn it… The bleeding won't stop." "Senior…!" The smell of blood and screams filled the air. Even with the doctors moving frantically, the number of the wounded was simply too overwhelming. Not to mention— "Where's that new recruit who came in last time…?! We're drowning here!" "...He died earlier today while protecting another disciple." "…Damn it. Who does he think he is, a martial artist? I kept telling him we’re healers, not fighters…" "…" Despite raising his voice, internally he was breaking apart. "Senior… I think we need more bandages." The resources to staunch the bleeding were running scarce. Despite the urgency, several people had already succumbed to their injuries. Once someone's reached that state, not even their master could save them. It was hell, plain and simple. The man, his hands never ceasing movement, bit his lip. He had escaped the medical division of the main headquarters to avoid witnessing such scenes, watching promising youths cut down as time ticked by. The doctor, hiding his trembling hands, continued his efforts, but the bleeding refused to stop. The sword wounds were deep, meant to kill, thus they had to be. It seemed like over ten people who couldn't be saved had already died. "Bring me another brush. Rekindle the fire before it goes out…." As a white hand passed by the busy doctor’s side, reaching unperturbed to touch a bloodied body, the doctor gasped in shock. "Who are you! What do you think you're…!" The doctor froze mid-yell, because staring back at him were eyes as blue as the heavens, exuding a subtle chill. The aura of coldness wasn't off-putting due to the woman's naturally frosty appearance. The doctor recognized her as well. She was part of the Murong family, one of the Four Great Clans, and occupied a prominent position among the future generations of martial artists. The Snow Phoenix, Murong Hiah. With a gentle hiss, cold energy emanated from Murong Hiah’s outstretched hand. Mixed with her internal energy, the blood that had been spurting out and the cries of pain began to subside gradually. "What on earth…." "What are you doing?" As the doctor was about to express his confusion, Murong Hiah’s icy voice pierced through his thoughts. "You need to do your work. Are you just going to stand there and watch?" "…!" Hearing her words, the doctor snapped back to attention and hurriedly resumed his work. There was no time for hesitation. Time passed. Murong Hiah blended in naturally as if she had been there all along, using her unique cold energy and internal ki to aid in treating the wounded disciples. It was only after a while when the chaos had somewhat calmed that the doctor approached her. "…Thank you." Murong Hiah acknowledged the thanks with a slight nod. Neither side was in great shape. Her fine garments, appearing quite valuable, were soaked with blood, and her meticulously groomed hair was a matted mess. The bloodstains on her pale cheeks were, if anything, a starkly haunting sight. "Stop staring." At Murong Hiah’s words, the doctor quickly turned his head away. "I apologize." "I'm somewhat of a taken woman. It makes me uncomfortable to be looked at that way." "What?" The doctor, puzzled, sought clarification with his expression. Murong Hiah spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. "Usually, those who stare at me like that end up falling for me." "…" "I prefer not to deal with the complications that arise from that. Please be mindful." Though her words were audacious and arrogant, coming from the Snow Phoenix, they carried a definite ring of truth. Indeed, the doctor himself found it perilous. "Hearing that, I suppose I'm not dead after all…" "Pardon?" "Why doesn't it work on that guy…." She muttered, seemingly dissatisfied. Indeed, Murong Hiah had whispered to herself like that. A woman aware of her own beauty inherently possessed a certain allure. In that regard, Murong Hiah was imbued with an overwhelming charm. Even amid such chaos, the doctor thought as much. 'Does she have a fiancé?' He couldn’t be sure, but amusingly, he found himself momentarily envious. Setting that aside for later, he expressed his gratitude once more. "Thank you again for your assistance." "My pleasure. They're clansmen I've managed to gather, and it would have been inconvenient for me to lose them, plus having a favor owed in such a manner doesn’t hurt either." "…" The doctor's smile at this was slightly bitter. "Even so, your help was invaluable." "I’m sure. My dantian's empty thanks to this." The mingling of her cold energy had significantly aided the treatment. Beyond mere hemostasis, Murong Hiah’s knowledge of medicine suggested she wasn’t only familiar with basic first aid. Regardless of her reasons, the fact remained that she had saved people who would otherwise have died. For the doctor, it was enough to be content. Watching him, Murong Hiah suddenly asked, "It's you, isn't it?" "...Pardon?" "The one who’s said to be a disciple of the Divine Doctor." "..." Her words caused the doctor's eyes to widen. How on earth did she know? It was supposed to be a secret that no one knew—his being a direct disciple of the Divine Doctor. "…That's…" "I trust you'll count what I did today as a debt," Murong Hiah said with a sly smile as she walked away, leaving the doctor with a rueful smile. So even this was part of a calculated move? The thought was frightening yet, at the same time, it amplified her considerable charm. Such a brief encounter left a deep impression that would take a long time to erase. Unexpected emotions sprouting within him were likely to linger, and thus he couldn’t help but envy the one she spoke of as her match. Trudging along after a long day spent in ceaseless motion, Murong Hiah finally let out a held breath. "Haa." It was only then that she could release the breath she had been holding back. "…It was harder than I thought." Her weariness fully set in only now. "Maybe it's the price of neglecting my training?" It was likely the result of having stopped her energy cultivation to focus on healing. She had even used the cold energy she tried to avoid employing, which only added to the fatigue. "Really, for what kind of worldly gain..." Murong Hiah chuckled to herself, wondering what she was striving for by putting herself through such hardships. "Is he playing hard to get, saying he's here but not bothering to see me?" She felt a pang of irritation at the man who hadn't even shown his face despite being around. While she was running around enduring all sorts of difficulties, he had merely glanced at the injured women and left without a word, leaving her seething. "If it was going to be like this, I should’ve gotten hurt too." Should she curse her own undamaged state? Even as that thought crossed her mind—a notion completely at odds with her nature—she found it ridiculous. She bit her lip. "…I hope he didn't get hurt." Despite cursing him, she worried about his safety. News of his deeds had spread far and wide; it wasn’t as if she couldn’t know about it. How did things end up like this? Just thinking about the situation gave Murong Hiah a headache. "This is not good." It wasn't just the attack itself, though that was part of it. Much more concerning was what lay ahead. The Shinryong Pavilion, filled with the heirs of prestigious families, had been attacked, resulting in the death of numerous disciples. Despite the Wulin Alliance's current silence, she doubted they were aware of the full issue. "If they knew, they wouldn't be sitting idly by." Once the situation became widely known, it would be a crisis—a crisis for the Wulin Alliance itself. Contemplating the inevitable future, Murong Hiah frequently ran her fingers through her hair, grimacing at the feel of solidified blood clinging between her fingers. Even more pressing than her own disheveled state was the first action that would likely unfold given the situation. "This will certainly result in..." Though she could visualize most of what would happen to the Wulin Alliance and the Shinryong Pavilion, she knew an even more critical event was looming. That was: "My father will come…" The head of the Murong family, Baekcheon Geomju, would have to intervene directly.