North Venerates Shaolin.

That was never an empty boast.

What happens if every warrior-monk gathered on Mount Song opens the Killing Precept?

A massacre would unfold—something you didn’t even want to imagine.

Shaolin wasn’t merely a group of warrior-monks.

If they designated something as a Public Enemy…

Then to that target, it was disaster itself.

And up to now, through generations, Shaolin had never once made an unjust Public Enemy designation.

Yet among the Public Enemies Shaolin had proclaimed, there was exactly one place—

A place that had survived to this day without being wiped out.

Because no one had ever found its base.

The Assassin Organization.

“Hall Lord. They definitely climbed Mount Song.”

“...I see. So that’s how it is.”

“What will you do?”

It was deep night.

Past the new moon—an even darker night with no moon at all.

A young Night-Heaven Guest knelt on one knee and reported to Byeoksa Gok.

To the sixty-year-old Night-Heaven Hall Lord, Byeoksa Gok.

“Let’s see…”

Hunched over, he let out a rasping giggle.

Shaolin.

They must have thought they’d be safe if they went inside.

The people here were the ones even the Namgung Clan treated like discardable pieces.

Not weaklings who propped their self-worth up on nothing but the identity of being Namgung warriors.

Night-Heaven Hall was no longer what it had been when the Sword Sovereign first created it.

Assassins who had completely abandoned the Namgung Clan’s martial arts had gathered here.

A second Assassin Organization.

Of course, he knew the name still wasn’t deserved.

Because Byeoksa Gok had come from the “real Assassin Organization.”

‘If these were comrades like the ones back then, we could’ve infiltrated Mount Song without trouble, killed them, and come back.’

But it wouldn’t hurt to test them once.

Byeoksa Gok excluded the ones who caught his eye, then chose one from the rest.

“Number Seventeen.”

“Yes, Hall Lord.”

A man with a long ponytail stepped forward.

A youth who had just turned twenty.

Byeoksa Gok knew exactly what kind of person he was.

A pointless softhearted fool.

“Go up, kill the target, and come back.”

“…Understood.”

“If you succeed, I’ll give you a single drop of Pure Clear Stone Oil to cure your sister’s Severed Meridian Syndrome.”

Number Seventeen’s eyes went wide.

Then he slammed his forehead to the floor.

“Promise. You must keep it.”

“Kehehehe. Have you ever seen me break a promise?”

“No. I haven’t.”

He was an interesting one.

Even his internal power was strange.

And he was someone who had endured every ugly thing just to treat his younger sister’s Severed Meridian Syndrome after they were cast out together.

More than anything—if it involved that sister of his…

This one would probably do anything.

The fact that this would be his first killing bothered Byeoksa Gok a little, but what did it matter.

He was being used as a discardable piece anyway.

“Good. Go. Your limit is two weeks.”

“I receive the Hall Lord’s command.”

*****

Number Seventeen held his breath.

He sank his internal power down as well.

He scattered his killing intent, his presence—everything—into something faint and thin.

Then, with primitive movements, he began climbing into Mount Song’s darkness.

An assassin’s job is to kill people.

So there was no need to show off martial arts.

Using only the bare minimum of internal power, he stepped into Extreme-Night Full-Shadow Steps.

—SSSLLLKKK.

His figure melted thickly into the dark.

A night with no moon at all.

By the Tiger Hour, low-level gate guards were bound to get drowsy.

Number Seventeen nimbly hopped over the wall.

—SSAHH.

Even the sound of his feet touching the ground scattered away.

He’d learned for only three years, but Number Seventeen had talent for Assassin Arts.

Because it matched what he’d been born with—something陰 and secluded in nature.

Number Seventeen emptied his mind.

He simply walked like a shard of ice drifting on water.

He drew the internal power from his lower core upward, following the verses of the internal method he’d learned.

His body temperature gradually lowered…

Until his presence all but vanished.

In that state, he slowly unfolded Extreme-Night Full-Shadow Steps and climbed Mount Song.

Half a month.

There was no reason to rush and ruin the job.

He could endure about half a month without eating by using the Turtle-Breathing Method.

Even water could be as little as the morning dew that formed at dawn.

Number Seventeen intended to wait for the best moment.

Soon, he reached the Guest Annex where visitors stayed.

A training ground cooled down to the bone.

The afternoon bustle that had filled it was gone somewhere…

And only a small girl sat alone on a tree stump.

‘…Small frame, thin body, long sword, a woman in white martial robes.’

The description matched.

Even if he ignored everything else, there would only be one “woman” on Mount Song.

Number Seventeen quietly held his breath.

He checked the surroundings.

There were still signs of people moving around nearby.

Half a month was plenty of time.

A perfect moment would come.

A moment when people on Mount Song thinned out—and even the young warrior-monks stopped moving…

That kind of golden opening.

*****

Shaolin’s daily routine wasn’t much different from Mount Hua’s.

Everyone rose at dawn, pressed their palms together before the Buddha, and ate.

They trained all morning, ate lunch, then trained all afternoon.

And around before dinner, they were finally let loose.

Because Soyak and Cheongak were from another sect, no one woke them in the morning.

There was no need to match schedules.

But Soyak woke every morning, drew water, and brought it to Cheonjeong.

By contrast, Cheongak slept sprawled out almost every day.

Until lunchtime.

He wandered around all afternoon, claiming he was sightseeing Mount Song, then came back around evening.

Then he’d spar again with the warrior-monks, full of energy.

Monk Gong-eop didn’t interfere much—as long as Seon-geung wasn’t stepping into sparring.

It was unclear why he forbade Seon-geung’s sparring with such strange strictness, but…

Neither Cheongak nor Soyak pried.

Tonight was another night like that.

“You’re still sitting here?”

“Ah, Cheongak. Why aren’t you going inside to sleep…?”

“Is Head Senior the only senior brother you’ve got? I’m your senior brother too. When you sit out here like this, I get worried.”

Cheongak dropped down with a thud beside Soyak.

Soyak and Cheongak were only a year apart.

Cheongak was only fifteen.

But he was already taller than her by a full handspan.

“But Head Senior is inside.”

“Who’s coming to kill him again? Why are you worrying so much?”

“…Maybe they will.”

Was it because they’d crossed life and death together?

Or because her face had grown familiar now?

Cheongak could feel Soyak’s manner of speaking toward him softening, little by little.

At first, it had been almost blade-sharp formal deference.

“Then this time, I’ll guard Head Senior for you, I guess.”

Cheongak said it with playful bravado.

Then he suddenly sprang up and drew the sword at his waist in a flashy arc.

“…You will, Cheongak?”

“What, are you kind of laughing at me?”

“It’s not that, but…”

Cheongak let out a snort of laughter and stopped.

He slid the sword back into its scabbard, then pulled a fan from his robe.

Sitting down beside Soyak again, he began fanning her gently.

“You must be tired…”

“You’re the one. You’re sweating cold right now.”

Soyak blinked.

She hadn’t expected Cheongak to be perceptive enough to notice that.

“I was worried, so I’ve been checking the flow of presence around us.”

“So you really were keeping watch because you think another assassin will come?”

“They failed once. Another assassin will come again.”

Cheongak tilted his head.

“Even if they kill someone, they’ll come to kill you, not Head Senior.”

“If I were the assassin, I’d take the injured Head Senior hostage.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s true. You’re smart…”

Soyak sat upright and stared into the darkness around them.

Still, she felt nothing.

But Soyak didn’t trust her own senses.

Even when an Assassin Arts killer had openly shown himself, she hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

“Then what are all these little rocks at your feet?”

“Watch, Cheongak. This is what they’re for.”

Soyak gently kicked a pebble.

With a trace of internal power on the tip of her foot.

—SSSWWWEEEK!!!

The stone shot into the bushes.

No sound came back.

Only after Soyak sent several more stones in different directions did she finally breathe out in relief.

“You… Don’t tell me…”

“An assassin wouldn’t hide in a way I could catch them.”

“You’re pretty thorough. Ah—right. So are you going down tomorrow with the others?”

“What’s tomorrow?”

Cheongak blinked.

Then he let out a heavy sigh.

“Tomorrow I said I’d go down the mountain with the others.”

“Go ahead, Cheongak. I’ll stay here.”

At fifteen, it was an age that loved to run around.

Soyak shrugged as she answered.

But she had no intention of going down.

“…You really plan to stay here?”

“Someone needs to stay by Head Senior.”

“Monk Gong-eop is taking good care of him.”

“Even so, don’t we need one person to run errands without making him uncomfortable?”

Cheongak thought for a moment, then nodded.

“Fine. Do that. Lately Head Senior has been walking around pretty well too.”

“Still… I’m worried.”

Cheongak understood.

Head Senior had thrown himself in for her, and taken a blade through his body.

The debt in her heart would be heavy.

He could bring back some snacks for Head Senior and Soyak on the way.

Thinking that, he rose.

“Then I’m going to sleep first, okay?”

“Yes. Have a peaceful night, Cheongak.”

And then Cheongak left, too.

When there were no signs of anyone near the detached quarters where Cheonjeong lay sick—

On a night when everyone went to bed early, waiting for tomorrow’s outing—

Number Seventeen silently drew a soot-blackened blade from within the bushes.

Chapter 57

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