Hyeon-seok had nearly broken his head trying to distract Mu-in somehow. But the damned demon didn’t even seem to need the latrine like normal people. The councilor had drilled the boy too well: always alert, never drunk, never letting go of his sword.

  Hyeon-seok was sure that one day this silent, terrifying man with his translucent eyes would become one of the commanders of the councilor’s personal guard, but he still remained merely the personal bodyguard. One could not disrespect him, yet he obeyed no one but his master. And what the master commanded him to do… it was better not to think about.

  And now, it seemed, he had displeased the master somehow, since such an order had been given. Or perhaps he had learned something he shouldn’t have?

  So much for serving nobles faithfully your whole life — in the end they’d decide to get rid of you over some trifle. To them, people were no better than dogs: first they trained them, took them hunting, boasted about them, and when a dog began to limp or happened to drag off a shoe for fun, it was stabbed or thrown in the river. Hyeon-seok shook his head and sighed. He didn’t like nobles, but he had a family, and a family had to be fed. Did he have a choice?

  Before they were sent out again to search for the survivor who’d escaped at the port — couldn’t that fool just die like all the rest — he had been summoned straight to the master’s room and given a very unpleasant order. He had to pour the contents of a small vial into Mu-in’s drink.

  Hyeon-seok tried to object, claiming he feared Mu-in and wanted to live, but the councilor snapped at him and reminded him that it was not the dog he should fear, but the hand that fed that dog. He was introduced to two other mercenaries who were in on it — whether to help poison Mu-in or to make sure Hyeon-seok himself didn’t lose his nerve — and strictly forbidden speaking of the order.

  Oh but sure! Hyeon-seok understood very well that if Mu-in suspected anything, none of them would survive.

  But they had been riding across forests and mountains for two days already, and no convenient moment arose. Hyeon-seok was already preparing excuses for the master, ready to throw himself into deep bows and loudly wail about his incompetence, when in a roadside tavern Mu-in simply got up from the table, angered by some drooling slave.

  While their terrifying companion was outside killing (what else would he be doing?) the poor fool, the conspirators exchanged glances, and Hyeon-seok pulled the precious vial from inside his robes. His hands trembled slightly. Mu-in hadn’t finished the drink in his cup, and a dash of the clear liquid was completely invisible.

  A short while later Mu-in returned, shook rain from his sleeves, sat down again, and placed his sword beside him. Then he reached for his cup. Hyeon-seok held his breath.

  “Is that not a gisaeng’s fan?” Mu-in asked suddenly, looking at one of the tables. “Over there.”

  Hyeon-seok turned. His companions even stood up a little to see better.

  “No, just some rag,” one mercenary said in disappointment. Indeed, a fan could have been returned and earned a pretty girl’s gratitude. But a rag — well, a rag was a rag. Who would’ve wanted it?

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  Apparently Mu-in thought the same, for he nodded with disappointment and added:

  “Oh, is it so?”

  Then he finally drank his wine in one swallow.

  Cold sweat broke across Hyeon-seok’s forehead; he cast his eyes away. How much time was left before the poison took effect?

  Mu-in frowned and shifted uneasily about a minute later — a minute that felt like an eternity to his companions watching him closely. He stood again, took his sword, and muttered something about the latrine. Hyeon-seok would have gladly sent him off to die there alone, but the other two mercenaries exchanged glances and jumped to their feet.

  So they had to go together.

  The rain still continued, though the thunder seemed weaker. Mu-in took a few steps into the downpour. Then, in a lightning movement, he drew his sword, spun around, and struck the first mercenary in the throat. The man didn’t even manage a scream and collapsed silently into the mud.

  Hyeon-seok hiccuped and froze — the blade was now at his own neck. Blood drops mixed with rain and ran down his collar.

  The second mercenary also had a sword, and Hyeon-seok managed to wonder why Mu-in threatened him and not the swordsman. Perhaps it was an accident, a mistake, and now he would come to his senses, slash him across the neck, and continue fighting the armed man. But the mercenary kept creeping toward them, stepping around the body and pointing his blade at Mu-in, while Mu-in kept his own sword angled directly at Hyeon-seok’s throat.

  “When did you receive the order?” Mu-in asked without taking his eyes off the mercenary.

  The man burst out laughing clearly without any intention of answering. He swung his sword, coughed, his eyes went round with surprise, he dropped the weapon and fell to his knees, clawing at his neck and chest with crooked fingers. A trickle of dark blood ran from his mouth, he toppled onto his side and lay still, staring glassily at nothingness.

  Mu-in gave a short nod to the spirit of his mother hovering behind the attacker. It was she who warned him about the poison in the wine, and he had managed to switch cups with this unlucky one.

  “When did you receive the order?” Mu-in repeated, turning to the trembling Hyeon-seok.

  “S-s-spare me, please!” Hyeon-seok chattered. “I have a family, my grandmother is sick…”

  “Answer,” Mu-in said with a frown.

  “B-b-before we left,” Hyeon-seok confessed, saying goodbye to life. “When the m-master said to hunt him.”

  So it was after he had failed to kill the prince. And after the councilor had assumed Hwan was already dead along with the Paks. Mu-in ran a hand over his face, wiping off the rain.

  “Take them and leave,” he ordered Hyeon-seok.

  “You won’t kill me? They won’t believe me, but I always knew you were a good man, Mu-in!” Hyeon-seok started backing away from the blade.

  “Hm.” Mu-in narrowed his eyes again. “You’re right, Hyeon-seok. The councilor will not believe you.”

  He lunged quickly. Hyeon-seok folded over, clutching the red slash across his chest.

  “And now — run,” Mu-in advised, jerking his chin toward the stable’s back door. Stumbling and glancing back, Hyeon-seok ran toward the horses.

  Mu-in looked once more at the corpses. He still had to dispose of them somehow… The indifferent rain streamed over his head, his shoulders, his sword. Mu-in exhaled and turned toward the tavern entrance.

  The door stood open, and on the threshold the same peasant who had been dozing earlier was frozen in place. His eyes were wide, staring at what lay before him. Mu-in did not know how long the man had been standing there, but it did not matter. Acting on instinct rather than thought, Mu-in grabbed the unwilling witness by the shoulder and dragged him outside, pinning him against a wooden support pillar.

  “Stop at once,” said the peasant. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  For a village simpleton he pretended to be, the boy was surprisingly fearless. Mu-in raised his sword so the blade was hidden between their bodies, edge turned toward the prey, and leaned to his ear.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing, prince,” he whispered, his breath burning against his skin. His prey gasped in terror. “Do you?”