Chapter Text
The night air at Mount Hua was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and the distant hum of cicadas. The stars spread like a tapestry above the quiet sect, their light illuminating the tiled roofs and ancient stone paths that crisscrossed the mountain. For once, there was peace in the disciples’ quarters.
Inside his modest room, Chung Myung crouched by his writing desk, his wooden sword propped against the wall and his familiar mask lying beside him. He dipped the tip of a brush into ink, scribbling a note with the flourish of someone who had written countless excuses before.
“Gone for a walk. Don’t wait up. If you’re thinking of looking for me, don’t bother. Focus on being useful instead.”
He blew on the paper to dry the ink and then slapped it onto the low table with satisfaction. Standing up, he grabbed his mask, slid it over his face, and adjusted the brim of his straw hat. The loose, nondescript black robe he wore hung from his lean frame like a shadow. He glanced around the room, noting how pitifully bare it was. A few training manuals, an empty wine gourd, and a threadbare blanket were all that marked his presence there.
“What a miserable existence,” he muttered, slinging his wooden sword onto his back. “Not a drop of wine, no snacks, and constant nagging. If this is reincarnation, someone owes me an apology.”
Sliding the door open, he crept out into the hallway with the silence of a cat. The dormitory was still, the muffled snores of disciples filtering through the thin walls. As he passed one of the rooms, a particularly loud snort made him pause.
“Jo Gul…” he muttered with a grin, recognizing the obnoxious cadence of his fellow disciple’s snoring. “You’d think someone who talks so much during the day wouldn’t have the energy to sound like an ox at night.”
He moved on, slipping past Yoon Jong’s door and then Baek Cheon’s. The latter’s room was suspiciously quiet, as always. Baek Cheon was likely meditating in his sleep, the insufferable model student that he was.
By the time Chung Myung reached the outer gate, the thrill of escape was already coursing through his veins. He glanced back at the sect, his sharp eyes taking in the darkened windows and still courtyards.
“All of them snoring away without a care in the world,” he said to himself. “What would they do without me? No one else has the guts to shake things up around here.”
He stepped beyond the gate, his movements swift and deliberate. The forest greeted him with its earthy scent and the soft rustling of leaves. The moon was high now, its light casting long shadows across the winding path.
The night was perfect for causing trouble.
Back at Mount Hua, Jo Gul stirred in his sleep, rolling over with a groan. He kicked out once, then twice, before abruptly sitting up, his hair a disheveled mess.
“Why do I feel like something bad is about to happen?” he muttered groggily.
From the other side of the room, Yoon Jong groaned. “Go back to sleep, Jo Gul. It’s the middle of the night.”
“I’m telling you, I have a bad feeling,” Jo Gul insisted, running a hand through his hair. “Like something’s… off.”
“What’s off is your brain,” Yoon Jong replied, pulling his blanket tighter around himself. “If you don’t get back to sleep, I’ll make you run laps tomorrow.”
Jo Gul frowned, glancing around the room. The silence felt heavier than usual, and for a moment, he considered waking Baek Cheon. But the memory of the senior disciple’s wrath stopped him short.
“I’m just imagining things,” he muttered, lying back down. “Probably just a weird dream.”
Baek Cheon wasn’t sleeping.
He sat cross-legged in his room, his eyes closed and his breathing steady. But even as he meditated, his thoughts kept drifting. The sect had been unusually calm lately, and that calmness unsettled him. It was like the quiet before a storm.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
“Baek Cheon.”
It was Yoon Jong, his voice low but urgent. Baek Cheon opened his eyes, immediately sensing the tension.
“What is it?”
“I think… I think Chung Myung’s gone.”
Baek Cheon’s brow furrowed. “Gone? What do you mean?”
“He left a note,” Yoon Jong said, holding up the scrap of paper. “Jo Gul found it when he woke up.”
Baek Cheon snatched the note, his frown deepening as he read the familiar scrawl.
“Gone for a walk? At this hour?”
“It’s Chung Myung,” Yoon Jong said helplessly. “Do we ever know what he’s thinking?”
Baek Cheon stood, his movements swift and purposeful. “Wake Yu Iseol. If Chung Myung’s sneaking out, it’s only a matter of time before something ridiculous happens.”
Chung Myung wandered through the forest, his steps light as he hummed a jaunty tune. The thrill of freedom filled his chest, the mundane worries of sect life left far behind.
“I wonder if the tavern in the next village is still open,” he mused. “Or maybe I should visit that bandit camp I heard about. It’d be a shame if they had all that stolen wine and no one to drink it.”
He paused at a fork in the path, considering his options. But just as he was about to take the left trail, a strange sensation washed over him.
The air felt… wrong. Heavy, almost.
Chung Myung’s hand instinctively went to his wooden sword. He scanned the shadows, his sharp eyes narrowing.
“Looks like the fun’s coming to me tonight,” he muttered.
In the distance, faint voices carried through the trees. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was clear—tense and hurried.
Grinning, he adjusted his mask and began to move toward the sound.
What he didn’t know, however, was that this time, things wouldn’t go as planned.
The forest was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves in the cool night breeze. Chung Myung moved through the trees with the fluid grace of a predator, his senses sharp. He’d followed the faint voices for a few minutes now, growing increasingly curious about who could be wandering the woods at such an hour.
As he crept closer, the voices became clearer, and the first thing that struck him was how absurdly mismatched they sounded.
“Listen, you absolute idiot! You can’t just yell at people that we’re selling the ‘Secret Elixir of Immortal Health.’ You need subtlety!” The voice was high-pitched, nasal, and filled with exasperation.
“Why not? It worked last time, didn’t it? They bought the bottles, didn’t they?” This second voice was deeper, slower, and far too confident for its own good.
Chung Myung’s lips twitched into a grin. He crouched behind a bush, peering through the branches at the duo who had stumbled into his path.
The first man was skinny to the point of looking malnourished, with sharp features and a face that practically screamed schemer. His wiry arms flailed about as he berated his companion. The second man was his complete opposite—chubby and round-faced, with a calm demeanor that suggested he rarely took anything seriously.
“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you,” the skinny one groaned, slapping his own forehead. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find good marks? If you keep scaring them off, we’ll be eating grass by tomorrow!”
“Grass isn’t that bad,” the chubby one replied, shrugging. “You just have to boil it right. Add a little salt if you can find some—”
“For the love of—!” The skinny man grabbed his companion’s collar and shook him, though the effect was less than intimidating given their size difference.
Chung Myung, still crouched in the shadows, chuckled to himself. “Con artists? In this forest? Now this is interesting.”
The skinny one released his grip with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Since you clearly can’t handle the talking, I’ll do it. Just stand there and look… useful.”
“Got it.” The chubby one saluted, looking pleased with himself.
Before they could continue their bickering, Chung Myung stepped out from the shadows, his wooden sword slung casually over his shoulder.
“Well, well,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of mockery. “What have we here? Two lost souls wandering the forest at night? Or should I say… two rats looking for crumbs?”
Both men froze, their eyes snapping to the masked figure emerging from the trees.
“W-who’s there?” the skinny one stammered, his voice cracking. “Show yourself!”
Chung Myung tilted his head, letting the moonlight catch the edge of his mask. “Isn’t it rude to ask for someone’s name without giving yours first?”
The chubby man squinted at him. “Why’re you dressed like that? You going to a festival or something?”
The skinny man smacked his arm. “Don’t antagonize him! He could be a bandit!”
“Me? A bandit?” Chung Myung barked a laugh. “Now that’s rich. If I were a bandit, you’d already be begging for mercy.”
The skinny one swallowed hard, his sharp eyes darting around as if calculating an escape route. “L-listen, friend, there’s no need for violence. We’re just humble merchants, traveling from village to village. Nothing illegal, I swear!”
“Merchants?” Chung Myung’s grin widened under his mask. “You mean to tell me those bottles of ‘Secret Elixir of Immortal Health’ are perfectly legitimate?”
The chubby one scratched his head. “Wait, how’d you know about that? Did we sell you some?”
The skinny one’s face turned pale. “Shut up, you idiot!”
Chung Myung took a step closer, the wooden sword tapping against his shoulder in a lazy rhythm. “I’ve met my share of swindlers, but you two? You might just be the most entertaining yet.”
Meanwhile, back at Mount Hua, the sun was beginning to rise, casting a golden glow over the sect. The disciples were already stirring, gathering in the training courtyard for their morning exercises.
Jo Gul yawned loudly, stretching his arms as he joined the others. “Another day, another round of beatings… I mean training,” he said, earning a chuckle from Yoon Jong.
“Don’t act like you don’t need it,” Yoon Jong replied. “If anything, you should be working twice as hard.”
“I’d work harder if I didn’t feel like collapsing by the end of the day,” Jo Gul shot back.
Baek Cheon, standing at the front of the group, cleared his throat. “Enough complaining. Let’s get started.”
As the senior disciple began leading the exercises, Yu Iseol stood silently to the side, her expression as calm and unreadable as ever. She moved with precision and grace, her focus unwavering even as the others grumbled and stumbled through the forms.
“Isn’t it weird that Chung Myung hasn’t shown up yet?” one of the junior disciples whispered.
“Not really,” another replied. “He disappears all the time. Who knows what that lunatic’s up to?”
Baek Cheon sighed, overhearing the exchange. “We’ll just have to make do without him. Focus on what he’s already taught us and stop relying on him to fix everything.”
Jo Gul snorted. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to spar with him every other day.”
“You’ll survive,” Baek Cheon said dryly.
The training continued, though there was a noticeable lack of the usual chaos that accompanied Chung Myung’s presence. For the disciples, it was both a relief and a strange void.
Back in the forest, the tension between Chung Myung and the two con artists had reached its peak.
“You’re not going to rob us, are you?” the chubby one asked nervously.
Chung Myung raised an eyebrow. “Rob you? With what? Those bottles of snake oil you’re carrying?”
The skinny one’s eyes darted to his satchel, which was indeed full of suspicious-looking bottles. “H-how about we make a deal? You let us go, and we’ll give you one for free! No charge! A gift, even!”
Chung Myung burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the trees. “A gift, huh? Alright, I’ll take you up on that offer. But I want to see you drink it first.”
The chubby one blinked. “Wait, what?”
“You heard me,” Chung Myung said, stepping closer. “Drink it. Prove it’s as miraculous as you claim.”
The two con artists exchanged panicked looks, realizing they had bitten off far more than they could chew.
“Uh… you see…” the skinny one began, but Chung Myung cut him off, his wooden sword pointing directly at the satchel.
“Drink,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
The chubby one gulped, his hands shaking as he reached for a bottle. “W-we’re dead, aren’t we?”
The grin under Chung Myung’s mask widened. “Oh, not yet. But you’re about to wish you were.”
The skinny man rummaged through his satchel, his hands trembling as he pretended to look for the elixir. The chubby man stood frozen, his round face shiny with sweat. Chung Myung, arms crossed and wooden sword resting on his shoulder, watched them with the kind of patience that was infinitely more dangerous than anger.
“Any day now,” he drawled, tilting his head slightly. “Or are you two con artists even worse at lying than I thought?”
The skinny one yanked out a bottle and held it up triumphantly, the liquid inside a murky brown. “H-here it is! The finest, most potent elixir you’ll ever find!”
Chung Myung raised an eyebrow beneath his mask. “Looks like you scooped it out of a muddy river.”
“It’s, uh… aged! That’s why it’s so potent!” the chubby one chimed in, his voice breaking slightly.
Chung Myung leaned in, his presence suddenly suffocating despite his deceptively slight frame. “Drink it.”
The skinny man sputtered, holding the bottle out like a shield. “O-okay, fine! We’ll drink it! No problem at all!”
Just as he was about to unscrew the bottle’s cap, his hand brushed something small and cool at the bottom of the satchel. He frowned, pulling out a strange black amulet strung on a simple cord.
“Hey,” he muttered, holding it up to the chubby man. “Where’d this come from?”
The chubby man blinked. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know! It wasn’t here before…”
Chung Myung, who had been watching with growing amusement, squinted at the amulet. Its surface was polished obsidian, unnaturally smooth, and it seemed to shimmer faintly even in the dim moonlight. There was something about it that made his skin crawl—though he wouldn’t admit it.
The skinny man’s nervousness seemed to evaporate as his con artist instincts took over. “It must be valuable,” he whispered to the chubby man. “Look at how fancy it is. Maybe we can distract him with it.”
The chubby man scratched his head. “You think he’ll want it?”
The skinny man turned to Chung Myung, his voice suddenly syrupy sweet. “You seem like a man of taste and refinement. How about a gift? As an apology for the, uh… misunderstanding earlier?”
Chung Myung tilted his head, the exaggerated features of his mask making him look even more amused. “A gift? For me? How thoughtful.”
The skinny man held the amulet out, forcing an awkward grin. “Yes! It’s, uh… a protective charm! Wards off evil and ensures good fortune. A man like you needs all the good fortune he can get, right?”
Chung Myung stared at the amulet, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Something about it felt wrong, but before he could voice his suspicion, the chubby man jumped in.
“It looks great with your outfit, too!” he said. “Really ties the whole mysterious masked warrior thing together.”
Chung Myung hesitated, his instincts warning him against taking the thing. But then, his pride kicked in. These two buffoons thought they could trick him? Him? The Plum Blossom Sword Saint?
“Fine,” he said, snatching the amulet. “But if this thing explodes or curses me, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
The skinny man laughed nervously. “Of course not! It’s completely safe!”
Chung Myung slipped the cord over his head, the black amulet settling against his chest. The moment it touched his skin, a sharp, icy sensation shot through him. He froze, his breath hitching.
“Hey,” he muttered, his voice low
The skinny man, who went by the name Hwi, stepped back, watching with wide eyes as the strange black amulet seemed to sink unnaturally against Chung Myung’s chest. His companion, the chubby and deceptively shrewd Dumok, scratched the back of his head with a puzzled expression.
“Uh… is it just me, or does he look… different?” Dumok asked, his voice uneasy.
“Different how?” Hwi snapped, his nervousness returning in full force.
“I don’t know! Just… look at him!” Dumok gestured wildly at Chung Myung, whose entire posture had changed.
The wooden sword that had hung casually over his shoulder now dangled loosely at his side. His head tilted downward, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face. Most alarming of all, his eyes—once sharp and full of mischief—had gone blank and colorless.
“Hey… uh… buddy?” Hwi ventured, waving a hand in front of Chung Myung’s face. “You alright?”
Chung Myung didn’t respond. He just stood there, eerily still, the faint breeze rustling his robes.
Dumok frowned, his usually slow thoughts picking up speed. “You think we broke him?”
“What do you mean ‘broke him’?!” Hwi hissed. “He’s not a toy, Dumok!”
“Well, you told him to put the weird amulet on!” Dumok shot back.
“I didn’t think it would actually do anything! It was just a distraction!”
Their bickering was cut short when Chung Myung finally moved. His head lifted slightly, and though his face was still hidden behind the mask, the way he turned his head toward them felt unsettlingly deliberate.
“You,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of its usual sharpness. “What is your command?”
Both men froze.
Hwi blinked. “Uh… what?”
“You put the Amulet of Subservience on me,” Chung Myung said, his tone unnervingly calm. “I am bound to your will.”
“Amulet of Sub—what?!” Hwi stammered, looking at Dumok in a panic. “What is he talking about?”
Dumok, for once, looked equally confused. “I don’t know! I thought it was just a fancy necklace!”
Chung Myung stood silently, waiting.
Hwi stared at him, his mind racing. “Okay, hold on. Are you saying… you’ll do whatever we tell you to do?”
“Yes,” Chung Myung replied, his voice empty of emotion.
Hwi’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Dumok, on the other hand, was already grinning.
“Whatever we tell him?” Dumok repeated, his tone slow but filled with growing excitement.
Chung Myung nodded.
Hwi, still half in disbelief, nudged Dumok. “Okay, this is weird. Like, really weird. We should just—”
“Use him!” Dumok interrupted, his eyes lighting up. “Hwi, don’t you get it? This guy’s a swordsman! Did you see the way he was holding that sword earlier? He’s good. Really good. We could use him to…” Dumok leaned in, his grin widening. “Make some money.”
Hwi blinked. “You mean… rob people?”
“Obviously! Think about it—he’s like the perfect partner in crime. Strong, fast, follows orders… and we don’t even have to split the loot with him!”
Hwi hesitated, glancing at Chung Myung, who stood eerily still, waiting for their instructions.
“This feels… wrong,” Hwi muttered, though his greed was quickly overtaking his apprehension.
“Since when do you care about wrong?” Dumok snorted. “Come on, Hwi. When are we ever going to get an opportunity like this again?”
Hwi’s shoulders slumped. “Alright, fine. But if something goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”
The two con artists quickly tested the limits of their newfound power. Their first target was a lone traveler heading toward the nearby village. The man carried a heavy pack, and his finely tailored clothes hinted at wealth.
“Alright, uh… Sword Guy,” Hwi said, still feeling awkward about the whole situation. “Go take that guy’s stuff.”
Chung Myung nodded wordlessly and stepped forward.
What happened next left both Hwi and Dumok speechless.
Chung Myung moved like a shadow, his speed almost impossible to follow. Before the traveler could even register what was happening, Chung Myung had disarmed him, tripped him, and neatly tied him up with his own belt. The pack was tossed to the ground at Dumok’s feet, its contents spilling out to reveal gold coins and expensive trinkets.
“Holy…” Dumok breathed, staring at the pile.
“That was… amazing,” Hwi said, his tone a mixture of awe and terror.
Chung Myung returned to their side, his expression blank. “It is done. What is your next command?”
“Uh… give us a minute,” Hwi said, trying to process what he’d just witnessed.
Dumok knelt by the loot, grinning like a child on their birthday. “We’ve hit the jackpot, Hwi! This guy is unstoppable!”
“Yeah, but…” Hwi glanced nervously at Chung Myung. “Doesn’t it bother you how… creepy he’s acting? It’s like he’s not even human anymore.”
“Who cares?” Dumok replied, stuffing gold coins into his satchel. “As long as he does what we tell him, I’m not complaining. This guy’s a gold mine!”
Meanwhile, back at Mount Hua, the disciples were growing restless.
“Where’s Chung Myung?” Jo Gul asked, breaking the silence as they took a break from their morning training.
“Does it matter?” Yoon Jong replied, wiping sweat from his brow. “He disappears all the time. He’s probably off drinking or gambling or… whatever it is he does.”
Yu Iseol, sitting cross-legged beneath a tree, opened her eyes and looked toward the mountain path. She didn’t say anything, but her expression was tense.
Baek Cheon frowned, the unease in his chest growing. “Normally, I’d agree with you, but something feels… different today.”
Jo Gul snorted. “Chung Myung doesn’t exactly follow a schedule. How are we supposed to tell when something’s off with him?”
“Even so,” Baek Cheon said, his voice firm, “we need to stay focused. He wouldn’t want us slacking off just because he’s not here.”
“Unless he comes back and yells at us for doing everything wrong,” Jo Gul muttered.
Baek Cheon sighed. “Let’s just get back to training.”
The disciples returned to their drills, but an unspoken tension hung in the air. For all his antics and unpredictability, Chung Myung was the heart of Mount Hua—and his absence, though not unusual, felt heavier than it should have.
Hwi paced back and forth, his bony fingers tapping nervously against his chin as Dumok sat on a nearby rock, inspecting the coins they had taken from their latest victim. The chubby man’s face lit up with a grin as he held a particularly large coin up to the moonlight, his greed outshining any concern he might have had for their situation.
“I’m telling you, Dumok, this is getting weird,” Hwi hissed, casting a glance at Chung Myung, who stood eerily still a few paces away. His mask hid most of his face, but his eyes—blank, colorless, and dull—looked like those of a man too exhausted to care about the world.
Dumok waved a hand dismissively. “Weird? Who cares if it’s weird? Look at what he can do! Did you see how fast he took that guy down? Like—bam! He didn’t even flinch!” Dumok mimed an exaggerated version of the encounter, complete with terrible sound effects.
Hwi stopped pacing long enough to glare at him. “Yeah, I saw! That’s exactly why I’m worried! No normal person can fight like that. Did you see how he moved? He didn’t even hesitate! What if he’s some kind of… of… demon or something?”
Dumok chuckled, his chubby cheeks wobbling. “A demon? Really, Hwi? This guy? Look at him! He’s just a really, really good swordsman.”
Hwi glanced again at Chung Myung, shivering despite himself. The young man stood as still as a statue, his wooden sword dangling loosely at his side. His breathing was so quiet it was almost imperceptible, and those deadened eyes made Hwi’s skin crawl.
“I don’t like it,” Hwi muttered. “There’s something off about him. What if this amulet thing wears off and he decides to kill us?”
Dumok sighed, pocketing the coin. “Then we don’t let it wear off. Simple. Until then, we’ve got the best weapon in the world—and we didn’t even have to pay for him!”
Chung Myung’s flat voice interrupted their argument. “What is your next command?”
Hwi jumped, clutching his chest. “Could you not sneak up on me like that?!”
“I’ve been standing here the entire time,” Chung Myung replied, his tone devoid of emotion.
Dumok laughed. “See? He’s harmless.”
“Harmless?” Hwi gestured wildly at him. “He’s an emotionless killing machine! That’s the opposite of harmless!”
Chung Myung waited silently, showing no reaction to their argument. Hwi finally groaned, throwing his hands up in frustration.
“Fine, fine! But when this all goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you!”
Dumok grinned, slapping Hwi on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s see who else is wandering the woods tonight.”
Their next target was a small caravan heading toward a nearby village. A pair of merchants sat atop a rickety wagon, their goods covered with tarps. They chatted amicably as their horses plodded along the uneven path, completely unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows.
Hwi and Dumok crouched behind a boulder, peering at the caravan with greedy eyes.
“That looks promising,” Dumok said, licking his lips. “Bet they’ve got something valuable under those tarps.”
Hwi nodded reluctantly. “Alright, but we do this quick. I don’t want to stick around in case someone comes looking for them.”
“Quick and easy. Got it.” Dumok turned to Chung Myung, who was waiting silently nearby. “Alright, Sword Guy. Go take care of them. Don’t kill anyone—just scare them off and bring us whatever they’re carrying.”
Chung Myung nodded wordlessly and stepped onto the path.
Hwi watched nervously as the young man approached the caravan. “You sure this is a good idea? What if they fight back?”
Dumok snorted. “Did you see what he did to the last guy? They won’t even get the chance to fight back.”
As it turned out, Dumok was right.
Chung Myung moved with an efficiency that was almost mechanical. Before the merchants even realized they were being attacked, he had disarmed them, cut the reins to the horses, and tipped the wagon over, spilling its contents onto the ground. He dragged the goods back to Hwi and Dumok, his expression as blank and unreadable as ever.
“Mission complete,” he said flatly, dropping the bundle of goods at their feet.
Hwi stared at the pile, his heart pounding. It wasn’t just the speed or precision of Chung Myung’s actions—it was the complete lack of hesitation, as if he were moving on pure instinct.
“This guy…” Hwi muttered, shaking his head. “He’s not human.”
Dumok, however, was already rifling through the goods, his eyes gleaming as he uncovered bolts of silk and small pouches of silver coins.
“Jackpot!” he crowed, holding up a coin pouch. “See, Hwi? I told you this would work out!”
Hwi didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on Chung Myung, who stood silently, his wooden sword resting against his shoulder.
“Who is this guy?” Hwi muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Where did he even come from?”
Dumok shrugged. “Who cares? All that matters is he’s ours now. As long as we’ve got that amulet, we’re set for life.”
Hwi wasn’t so sure.