The full moon was bright in a cloudless sky. It was a night that made one want to sit before a brazier, grilling flatbread, or to sip wine with the moonlight as a side dish until drunk. Won Seo-gang and Mok Saryong had no time to enjoy the charms of the moonlit night.
They stood in a desolate, empty lot where a cold wind blew, staring at each other without moving an inch. Though they were about ten paces apart, both were tremendous masters, and a single moment of carelessness would be the end. I thought they would draw blood the moment they met, but surprisingly, a conversation ensued.
The distance was too great to hear clearly. Consuming my precious inner energy to enhance my hearing, their voices became distinct.
“…That human-skin mask of yours is as creepy as ever.”
At Won Seo-gang’s sharp taunt, Mok Saryong snorted with a cold smile.
“Hmph, your face seems to be rotting away day by day as well.”
“What are you doing here?”
“This is an event for our sect.”
“What is it you want?”
As if not wanting to waste words, Won Seo-gang got straight to the point.
“Where is Ban Ho-yang? I have something to receive from him.”
“He’s dead.”
Mok Saryong’s eyes, fixed on Won Seo-gang, gleamed eerily. His scholar-like face was as pale as wax in the moonlight.
“If he is dead, then the Left Guardian will have to pay the price.”
“What price?”