By Zephyria 
HF 12
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Ho-yeon, shrinking his stinging hands, stood on tiptoe and whispered urgently to Mu-gyeong.
“I only need four nyang. This isn’t helping me.”
“You lack such a pittance?”
It felt as if the unspoken words ‘Despite being the son of a Palace Lord?’ were hidden behind the question.
“Th-the owner of the clothes can change at any time.”
Ho-yeon muttered softly, pulling the long robe Mu-gyeong had draped over him away from his body.
If he sold it where Mu-gyeong wasn’t present, it might be fine, but it seemed impossible to bargain further against Mu-gyeong’s will here. Left with no choice, Ho-yeon told the shop owner that he couldn’t sell the clothes after all and wrapped them back in the cloth. Because the guardian’s presence was so overwhelming, the owner, though disappointed, did not try to stop him a second time.
“By the way, about the dragon spring silk embroidery…”
The owner, who had been hesitating to speak, stopped Ho-yeon as he was about to leave, his voice very cautious.
“Would it be possible to know where that skill comes from?”
Unable to completely ignore the desperate look in the owner’s eyes, Ho-yeon gave a vague answer.
“Eumbyeol Hall.”
“Eumbyeol Hall, I see.”
The owner nodded, saying he would remember the name.
“Do you happen to know who the artisan who embroidered it is?”
Ho-yeon put the bamboo hat back over his head.
“I don’t know the name; I only know they are of the Wi clan. Well then, farewell.”
Before the owner could say anything more, Ho-yeon closed the shop door. Only then did Ho-yeon let out a small sigh. He felt he shouldn’t feel this way toward his benefactor, but he resented Mu-gyeong just a little. In truth, since he had very little money, he had planned to sell this to sustain his life in the demon sect.
However, he couldn’t possibly explain in detail to Mu-gyeong—right in front of the silk shop owner—that he had become a beggar after losing everything from money to spirit medicine.
“Eumbyeol Hall?”
At that moment, Mu-gyeong asked, as if murmuring to himself.
“The owner has probably never heard of it. It’s where I lived in the ice palace,” Ho-yeon replied a bit mischievously, narrowing one eye. Eumbyeol Hall was the name of the place where Ho-yeon had brought and raised orphans; a mere silk shop owner would never know of it in his lifetime.
“A dragon spring silk embroidery artisan of the Wi clan staying at Eumbyeol Hall.”
Thump. As he tilted his head slightly, their bamboo hats bumped into each other.
“Is it Wi Ho-yeon?”
It was nothing more than a faint collision, yet Ho-yeon felt as if he had been struck by lightning. It felt as though the man’s voice was enveloping his entire body. Mu-gyeong shouldn’t have put internal energy into his voice, yet it was truly strange.
“I… I’m quite good with my hands.”
Though it only lasted a moment, Ho-yeon felt as if a vast amount of time had passed before he could manage an answer.
It might not seem fitting for the child of a Palace Lord, who had learned martial arts, to do embroidery, but Ho-yeon chose to be brazen. It was a fact that he had made a decent amount of money through embroidery. Moreover, he felt that the ever-indifferent Mu-gyeong would likely overlook something like this.
Then, tap, pitter-patter, raindrops suddenly began to fall one by one atop their bamboo hats. Perhaps because the area was so mountainous, the rain was unpredictable. Because Mu-gyeong’s voice—Is it Wi Ho-yeon?—kept echoing in his ears, Ho-yeon actually felt relieved to hear the sound of the rain.
Ho-yeon extended his oiled paper umbrella to cover Mu-gyeong as well. Even with a bamboo hat, a paper umbrella was more reliable for blocking the rain. However, Ho-yeon had to lift his arm much higher than he usually did when using it himself.
As he struggled to hold his arm up so as not to touch the other’s bamboo hat, Mu-gyeong took the umbrella from Ho-yeon.
“Is this also a result of your dexterity?”
Ho-gyeon did not deny it, as Mu-gyeong seemed to have guessed that he had made the umbrella himself. He also knew that a sword was hidden within the umbrella. The light drizzle soon turned into a downpour, further blurring their vision. Disturbed by the parts of their bodies that kept brushing against each other, Ho-yeon changed the subject.
“The umbrella is a bit small for two people.”
“Because the frame is large.”
Ho-yeon almost asked, Me?
“This younger brother.”
As Mu-gyeong continued, Ho-yeon’s mouth parted slightly. Although Ho-yeon spoke comfortably, he wasn’t sure if Mu-gyeong actually considered him an older brother. Thus, the word ‘younger brother’ coming from him felt very awkward.
Whether that was Mu-gyeong’s intention or not, Ho-yeon felt as if he were being teased. Especially given what he had said at the silk shop.
“Young Master Mu-gyeong is certainly larger than I am.”
Despite this, Ho-yeon straightened his back as if to show he wasn’t that small.
Seeing Ho-yeon obsess over his frame, Mu-gyeong found it somewhat amusing. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say that this mysterious being was quite interesting. After walking in the rain for a while, Mu-gyeong let out a low hum in his throat.
“Now, what to do.”
Mu-gyeong slowly rubbed his chin. Water droplets bounced off the blue oiled paper umbrella. Since they were under the same umbrella, Mu-gyeong’s face was clearly visible from below, unlike the blurred vision outside.
“What do you mean? I suppose greeting your father should come first, right?”
Ho-yeon, interpreting Mu-gyeong’s words differently, spoke abruptly. Ho-yeon’s blue-gray eyes were even more vivid in the rain.
“The right guardian, acting on behalf of the Cult Leader, entrusted my safety to you, Brother Mu-gyeong. So I thought that would be the order of things.”
Listening to Ho-yeon’s gentle voice, Mu-gyeong cast his gaze outside into the torrential rain. The ridges surrounding the main sect were even blurrier than when they were shrouded in mist. Since half his body was already soaked anyway, Mu-gyeong took off his bamboo hat and held it in one hand.
Ho-yeon glanced at Mu-gyeong, who remained silent, and voiced a thought he hoped wasn’t true.
“By any chance… is it uncomfortable for you to see your father?”
Perhaps Mu-gyeong wandered about because his father only adored his older brother, the successor. Ho-yeon had seen the children of elders in the ice palace who were in similar situations to Mu-gyeong many times.
“You don’t necessarily have to give your greetings. In truth, I didn’t come as a distinguished guest. The bond that brought you and me together like this is far more important.”
At that moment, a clap of thunder erupted, cutting through Ho-yeon’s voice. A vivid bolt of lightning etched itself across the heavenly demon palace, which had been cast in shadow, as if a roaring dragon had finally revealed itself.
For a moment, a red glint appeared in Mu-gyeong’s eyes, which had previously only held the sharpness of sword qi. As the blue light of the lightning flickered across Mu-gyeong’s face and then vanished, the red eyes seemed like a mere illusion.
Mu-gyeong’s gaze dropped to Ho-yeon.
A bond.
At that short repetition, Ho-yeon’s heart leaped once. He told himself it was likely because he was startled by the thunder.
* * *
Crash! In Blood Demon Valley, not far from the demonic cult headquarters, the sound of breaking liquor bottles was loud.
“Bring more liquor!”
The First Young Master, Cheon Beom-yeong, who was immersed in the red water of the bath, screamed until the veins in his neck bulged. The smell of blood permeated the air, yet the servants around him remained expressionless despite the sight.
Cheon Beom-yeong reached out and snatched a new bottle of liquor from a side table. He then gulped the liquor down, his throat bobbing. Along with the alcohol, the blood that had drenched his face and hands flowed down his throat.
Dozens of corpses lay strewn outside the bath. At that moment, Cheon Beom-yeong grabbed the scruff of a servant who had approached to place a new bottle of liquor. With a short groan, blood spurted from the servant’s mouth.
Cheon Beom-yeong choked off the servant’s breath and absorbed his vital essence. The servant’s skin shriveled instantly, as if he had aged decades in a heartbeat. The other corpses sprawled on the floor were in no different a state.
Cheon Beom-yeong tossed the lifeless servant aside carelessly. He then wiped the blood that had soaked his face with his hand. Far from being erased, he ended up completely smeared in blood.
The maids and servants attending to Cheon Beom-yeong remained expressionless. Their eyes, caught in dark arts, lacked even a clear focus. The only ones with clear minds in the room were Cheon Beom-yeong’s subordinates standing guard around the bath. Every one of them wore black clothes and masks.
“Useless things, unable to even slit the throats of those lowly North Sea bastards.”
Cheon Beom-yeong hurled a liquor bottle at one of his subordinates. The subordinate did not budge and took the hit squarely.
He had ordered all the ice palace inhabitants to be killed, yet he was told that a masked man had appeared from somewhere and saved the son of the Palace Lord. Furthermore, the martial prowess of the surviving son, Wi Ho-yeon, was said to be extraordinary.
Cheon Beom-yeong could not contain his rising anger. In the end, he killed all the servants attending to him and used them as a foundation for his internal power. However, the internal power that could be taken from ordinary people without internal energy was negligible; it was nothing more than a cruel vent for his frustration.