Chapter 8: The Supernatural Affliction (1)

Outside the sect leader's chamber, the First Madam of the Yeonmok Sword Hall, Lady Seok, stood rigidly, awaiting the arrival of the summoned sorcerer. As footsteps approached, she turned to see a middle-aged man with a goatee, dressed in tattered Daoist robes and carrying a wooden box filled with old books and tools on his back. This was the sorcerer she had called upon, known as Myosin.

Lady Seok scrutinized his appearance from head to toe, clicking her tongue in mild disapproval. The sorcerer, however, seemed unfazed by her judgmental gaze and instead adapted his demeanor to match her mood.

"Can I see the sect leader now?" Myosin inquired.

"Yes," Lady Seok replied curtly.

"That's good. The longer we wait, the worse supernatural afflictions tend to become," the sorcerer explained. "Please ensure that everyone within thirty paces of the main hall is cleared out. Being too close could allow them to be tainted by the negative energy surrounding the sect leader."

"It's already been done," Lady Seok assured him. She had no intention of allowing prying eyes to witness this unconventional treatment.

As the sorcerer made to enter the chamber, Lady Seok raised her hand slightly. "You remember our arrangement, don't you?" she asked in a lowered voice.

Myosin smiled knowingly. "Of course, madam."

"Good. I've heard you're quite talented. If you can discover the location of the sect leader's seal and secret manuals, I'll immediately provide you with three hundred silver taels as promised."

"Oh, thank you kindly," Myosin replied, bowing repeatedly in gratitude.

Lady Seok exhaled softly, watching the sorcerer's obsequious display. In truth, she had never put much stock in mystical arts and sorcery. It was only due to a recent incident that she had changed her stance, and even now, she harbored only the faintest hope that this would work.

As she gazed at the door to her husband's chamber, a look of resentment flashed in her eyes. 'If only you hadn't favored that child so much, none of this would be happening,' she thought bitterly. The idea that her husband would consider the son of a mere courtesan as his successor was unthinkable to her.

Meanwhile, on the path leading to the main hall of the Yeonmok Sword Hall, Go Chan walked alongside Mok Gyeong-un, frequently glancing at the young man with a mix of curiosity and wariness. 'What could he be thinking?' Go Chan wondered. He understood that Gyeong-un's life was directly tied to the sect leader's, but he couldn't fathom what the impostor hoped to achieve by seeing him.

'Surely he doesn't think he can save him?' Go Chan mused incredulously. Even if Gyeong-un possessed some unique knowledge of medicinal herbs, the sect leader's personal physician and every renowned doctor in the region had already given up. They had declared the ailment to be a supernatural affliction beyond their understanding – a diagnosis that essentially meant there was no hope for recovery.

As they walked, Gyeong-un's gaze fell upon a nearby building. "What's that place?" he inquired.

"That's the training grounds," Go Chan explained. He went on to describe how the Yeonmok Sword Hall had four separate training areas: one exclusively for the sect leader, another for the young masters, a third for the trusted retainers, and a fourth for the general martial practitioners of the sect.

"A place for training in martial arts..." Gyeong-un's eyes gleamed with interest, much to Go Chan's dismay. Given their precarious situation, any thoughts of learning martial arts seemed like a futile fantasy to the bodyguard.

Suddenly, Gyeong-un turned to Go Chan. "You know, every time I look at you, I can't help but admire how expressive your eyes are. The way they dart around is quite captivating."

Go Chan froze, a chill running down his spine as he met Gyeong-un's gaze. The young man's eyes seemed to bore into him, as if contemplating plucking out his eyeballs. "S-surely you jest, young master," Go Chan stammered, trying to maintain his composure.

"You should keep your eyes forward, Go Chan," Gyeong-un said, his tone unsettlingly playful. "Who knows what might happen if you don't watch where you're going?"

As they continued walking, Go Chan's unease grew. The more he interacted with this impostor, the more he felt like he was dealing with something beyond his understanding – something potentially dangerous.

Their path took them past one of the training grounds, where they spotted a shirtless young man performing a horse stance, sweat glistening on his well-developed muscles. Go Chan recognized him immediately as Mok Yu-cheon, the youngest of the sect leader's sons.

"That's the youngest young master," Go Chan whispered to Gyeong-un. "It would be best not to draw his attention. He... strongly dislikes the real Mok Gyeong-un."

"Oh? And why is that?" Kyung-un asked, his curiosity piqued.

After a moment's hesitation, Go Chan leaned in close and explained in a hushed voice, "Two years ago, the real young master Gyeong-un insulted Yu-cheon's mother, calling her a base courtesan. Yu-cheon beat him so severely that he was left crawling on the ground with broken ribs and leg bones."

"How interesting," Gyeong-un remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "He must have quite the gentle soul to have left him alive after such an insult."

Go Chan furrowed his brow, once again taken aback by Gyeong-un's unexpected reaction. Even though he was an impostor, shouldn't he show more concern about such a violent incident involving the person he was impersonating?

As they approached the main hall, Go Chan noticed something amiss. The entrance, usually guarded by the sect's security forces, was completely deserted. In fact, the entire area seemed eerily quiet, without a single person in sight.

'This is troubling,' Go Chan thought to himself. Due to the sect leader's worsening condition, even the young masters had been barred from entering the main hall on Lady Seok's orders. He had assumed they would be turned away at the entrance, but now it seemed they might actually gain access to the sect leader's chambers.

Inside the sect leader's room, the sorcerer Myosin had set up an intricate arrangement of red threads and silver coins around the patient's bed. As he examined the sect leader's bare chest, he couldn't suppress a gasp of surprise.

Unlike most cases where he was called to deal with supposed supernatural afflictions, this time the situation was genuinely dire. The sect leader's chest was a horrifying sight, with black blood vessels bulging grotesquely, all seeming to converge towards his heart.

'Impressive,' Myosin thought to himself. 'The man's inner energy must be formidable to have resisted the negative force for so long. Most would have succumbed already.'

After assessing the situation, Myosin concluded that even if he were to cleanse the negative energy, the sect leader's chances of survival would be about fifty-fifty. However, his true mission wasn't to save the man's life, but to extract information about the whereabouts of the sect's seal and secret manuals before he passed away.

Myosin began his ritual, drawing mystical symbols on a talisman with red ink and chanting incantations in a low voice. He placed the talisman on the sect leader's chest, directly over the center of the black, pulsating blood vessels. Almost immediately, the bulging veins began to recede.

As the sorcerer continued his incantations, forming various hand seals, the sect leader's body began to convulse. Steam rose from where the talisman was placed, and the man's throat began to swell, obstructing his airway and causing his face to redden.

Realizing the negative force was stronger than anticipated, Myosin intensified his efforts, rising to his feet and placing his right hand, formed into a specific mudra, on the sect leader's throat while continuing his chant.

Before he could complete the incantation, however, the door to the chamber slowly creaked open. The sudden interruption caused several of the red threads Myosin had set up to snap, scattering silver coins across the floor.

In that moment of distraction, a powerful force suddenly repelled Myosin, sending him flying backward. Just as he thought he might crash into the wall, someone caught him from behind.

Startled, Myosin turned to see who had grabbed him. To his surprise, it was a young man with strikingly handsome features – none other than Mok Gyeong-un. The sorcerer, momentarily struck by the youth's appearance, was about to berate him for the interruption when he caught sight of Gyeong-un's eyes.

The young man's gaze was utterly still, devoid of any flicker of emotion – more akin to the eyes of a corpse than those of a living person. Myosin felt a chill run down his spine as he wondered, 'How can a living human possess such eyes?'