Chapter 2: An Opportunity (1)

In Jungrang County, a crowd gathered in the marketplace. From street vendors selling snacks to men carrying water jugs and children playing with friends, everyone's attention was drawn to the same sight. A procession was making its way through the center of the village. The creaking of wooden wheels could be heard as a cart with thick wooden bars rolled by. Inside, surrounded by a military escort, were prisoners with their hands and feet bound.

"Look at that."

"My goodness, they're covered in blood."

The prisoners' faces were haggard and scarred, showing signs of harsh treatment. Their white prison garments were stained red with blood. The atmosphere in the village was tense as people watched the procession pass. Suddenly, someone picked up a stone from the ground and threw it at one of the prisoners inside the cart.

"You vermin!"

The stone struck a prisoner who couldn't dodge due to his restraints. Seeing this, other onlookers began to grab whatever they could find and throw it at the prisoners.

"Scoundrels!"

"Take that, you bastards!"

"Die from this!"

None of the guards escorting the prisoners made any move to stop the crowd. Instead, they watched with smirks on their faces. This public display was intentional - to announce the prisoners' crimes to all.

From the second floor of an inn overlooking the scene, a middle-aged man sat watching while sipping tea. Across from him sat an official in government robes who asked curiously, "What's the matter?" These were criminals, after all. The man across from him didn't seem the type to easily feel sympathy for prisoners.

The middle-aged man's gaze fixed on one particular cart. Unlike the others, it held only a single prisoner - a young man whose prison clothes were stained red across the chest and abdomen.

"He's young," the middle-aged man remarked. The prisoner sat upright, his unkempt hair obscuring half his face. But even at a glance, it was clear he was just a boy, likely no more than sixteen or seventeen years old. 'He's about the same age as the young master,' the middle-aged man thought, suddenly reminded of the youth he served. He shook his head. What did age matter when it came to crime?

The official across from him spoke seriously: "Until the sentence is carried out, we can't say much. But despite his appearance, he's committed the most heinous crime among them."

"What do you mean?" the middle-aged man asked, puzzled.

"That boy you called young - he's the most vicious of all the prisoners being transferred."

"The most vicious?" The middle-aged man couldn't hide his surprise. How could such a young prisoner be considered vicious?

"Did he... harm someone?" For the government, the worst crime was treason against the state. But traitors were always publicly identified during transport, so it couldn't be that. The next worst crime was murder.

"That's right," the official confirmed. The middle-aged man let out a soft sigh. For ordinary civilians, murder was a serious crime. But for martial artists like himself, killing and being killed were not uncommon occurrences.

Seeing his reaction, the official clicked his tongue. "Tsk tsk. As expected of a martial artist - it doesn't seem to faze you much."

"In our world, death is commonplace," the middle-aged man replied.

"I suppose so. But if you knew this boy's true identity, even you would..."

Before the official could finish his sentence, a stone struck the young prisoner squarely on the head. The crowd stirred. Blood began to flow from the boy's head. Unlike the other prisoners, however, the boy didn't make a sound or show any sign of pain.

"What a tough kid."

"Doesn't he feel pain? With his head like that..."

Even the middle-aged man's eyes widened at this sight. Those trained in internal energy cultivation or martial arts could endure a certain degree of pain. But this boy was supposedly an ordinary civilian. Yet he didn't even flinch after taking a direct hit to the head strong enough to crack his skull. He was undeniably tough.

As blood flowed down his face, the boy tilted his head back as if annoyed, revealing his features. The onlookers closest to the cart gasped. Even the official was taken aback.

"My word..."

Though covered in blood, the boy's striking good looks were unmistakable. His face had a unique charm - tall and handsome, with fine features that somehow made him appear kind.

"How could someone with such a face commit such deeds?" the official wondered aloud. The middle-aged man stared intently at the young prisoner, a look of shock on his face.

"What's wrong?" the official asked.

The middle-aged man shook his head. "It's nothing."

"Nothing?" Though he tried to act nonchalant, his expression a moment ago had clearly been one of shock. As the official was about to press further, the middle-aged man stood up.

"The tea was good. I'm afraid I have urgent business to attend to," he said.

"Oh come now, it's been so long since we've met..."

"I'm truly sorry, but I must go. Next time we meet, I'll treat you to a fine meal at the Wolhyang Pavilion."

"The Wolhyang Pavilion? Ahem..." The official's lips twitched at the mention of the most luxurious pleasure house in the county. What man wouldn't be pleased at the prospect of such an invitation?

Around the end of the Ox hour (1-3 AM) in the underground level of the Geumok building at the Jungrang County office, most of the imprisoned criminals were asleep, and even the guards watching over the jail were nodding off, leaning against the walls. Amidst this, there was only one who remained awake. It was the young prisoner with disheveled hair.

Locked in the cell, the boy stared blankly at the wall. Four days had passed since he woke up, having thought he had died. Many things had happened in that time. It was fortunate that he had miraculously survived, but when he regained consciousness, he found himself imprisoned as a criminal. Moreover, the date for his public execution had already been set. The sentence was quartering - a method of execution where the limbs are tied to four different carts and torn apart.

'I suppose it's a fitting punishment,' he thought. He had killed many people brutally enough to earn the nickname "Grim Reaper." Regardless of the method, it would have been difficult to avoid the death penalty. Despite this, the boy's eyes showed no signs of regret or anxiety. Instead, his mind was preoccupied with other thoughts.

He recalled the words of a fellow prisoner during their transfer: "What? Martial arts? Hey kid, did you run into some martial artist or something?" This had helped the boy solve some of the questions he'd been pondering.

'Martial artists...' He had occasionally heard about them when visiting villages with his grandfather. It was said they could run as fast as horses and cultivate something called 'qi' to surpass the strength of ordinary people. What he had only heard as rumors turned out to be true. That man had cornered him in the blink of an eye. 'Even if we met again, the result would be the same.'

No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't think of a way to kill that man. Would ambushes or traps even work? From the start, that person was a monster in human form. 'Are all martial artists that strong?'

If so, avenging his grandfather might be a distant dream. No matter how hard he tried, he might never be able to kill such beings. After pondering for a while, the boy suddenly realized something.

'Martial arts.' The only difference between that man and himself was one thing: One had learned martial arts, and the other hadn't. That difference had led to such a result. If that was the case, the conclusion might be simple.

'I need martial arts.' Given the same conditions, the outcome could be different. It seemed he had finally found an answer. But there was a problem.

'No, two problems.' First, he needed to get out of here. If he stayed put, he would be quartered and die. Second, how could he learn martial arts?

'Who would teach me?' He needed to find someone to teach him martial arts, but even finding such people seemed vague. Moreover, even if he managed to escape, he was still a criminal. If he broke out, there would undoubtedly be a warrant for his arrest. In that case, who would be willing to teach martial arts to a fugitive?

'It's a real predicament.' His head became complicated again. He now realized his grandfather's advice had been right. No matter how much it was for revenge, he shouldn't have easily revealed his hidden nature.

'Did I dig my own grave?' Even though he realized it now, it was too late. The consequences had already unfolded. The only fortunate thing was that the man seemed unaware that he was still alive. Or perhaps he knew but left him alone since he was scheduled for execution anyway.

As he was lost in these thoughts, a faint sound came from somewhere. The boy turned his body. Feeling something strange, he held his breath and focused on the sounds around him.

'What is that?' Just as he was wondering, something caught his eye. A faint, haze-like substance was spreading from the bottom right of his cell. The boy's eyes narrowed.

'Is there a fire?' He wondered if the jail building was on fire. But soon that doubt disappeared. For a fire, it was too quiet and there was no commotion.

Then-

Thud! Thud! Sounds of something falling over could be heard. Judging from the direction, it seemed to be coming from where the guards were stationed.

'This is...' The haze-like substance was now spreading into the boy's cell. A faint scent tickled his nose, bringing to mind several herbs.

'Sanbaichu... Angelica... Valeriana... Datura...' He had been gathering and cultivating herbs with his grandfather for nearly 10 years. With his unnervingly sensitive nose, the boy immediately recognized the herbs mixed in the faint smoke.

'...A sleeping agent.' Valeriana and Datura were herbs that induced sleep. With this combination, anyone who inhaled this smoke would likely sleep for about two hours. But the boy was different.

'The mixture is amateurish.' Unless it was his grandfather's blend, the boy had built up immunity to various herbs since childhood, so this level of sleeping agent wouldn't affect him.

'Hmm.' The boy judged that something was happening. A sleeping agent being released in the jail at this late hour when everyone was asleep was suspicious. He leaned against the wall and focused on the sounds. Soft footsteps, barely audible to most people, reached his ears.

'Who is it?' They had spread the sleeping agent and entered. This meant they had come with a purpose. Very quiet footsteps moved back and forth through the jail.

'What are they trying to do?' He couldn't understand who had infiltrated or why. Then, the footsteps approached his cell. He lowered his head and pretended to be asleep. The footsteps stopped in front of his cell and didn't move.

'Could it be?' The sound of the cell's lock being opened followed.

'...It was me?' The target was clearly the boy himself. Several thoughts ran through his mind. Perhaps that man had come to finish him off, realizing he wasn't dead. But was there any reason to come after someone scheduled for execution?

'It doesn't matter.' Whatever the purpose, it was clear they were after him. He breathed as evenly as possible, trying not to reveal that he wasn't affected by the sleeping agent. Again, the sound of someone carefully entering could be heard. The intruder cautiously entered the cell. Even with his eyes closed, the boy could sense the person right in front of him.

The intruder lightly kicked the boy, seemingly checking if he was truly asleep. The boy remained motionless, keeping his body relaxed. Convinced that the boy was asleep, the intruder suddenly lifted the hair covering the boy's face. The intruder's steady breathing momentarily stopped. The boy, who had learned to read people's emotions from his grandfather, could sense the intruder's emotional turmoil through their expression, actions, and breathing.

'This is my chance.' Such emotional disturbance was an opportunity to strike at an enemy. The boy swiftly raised the wooden restraints binding his hands.

Thwack!

"Ugh!" The unprepared intruder stumbled backward after being hit in the chin. Not missing this chance, the boy tried to bring the wooden restraints down on the intruder's head. At that moment, the intruder kicked the boy's abdomen.

Thud! As the boy was pushed back, the intruder quickly struck several acupoints on his chest.

Tap tap tap tap tap!

Suddenly, the boy's body stiffened, and he couldn't move. As he wondered what was happening, the intruder muttered in disbelief:

"How are you not asleep?"