Wol stared at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand.
It was a letter delivered earlier that morning from Goo Jung. The handwriting was frantic, the ink slightly smudged, but the message was clear. Goo Yeon, the young sister the Mad Dogs had bled for, had finally opened her eyes.
She was still bedridden and weak, but she was awake. And, according to the letter, she had specifically requested to meet the person who saved her.
The letter was filled with incredibly formal, almost desperate pleading. I know you are busy, but please do not reject her. If it is not too much trouble, please grant us a moment of your time.
Wol let out a long, heavy sigh.
What does he think I am? Wol thought, shaking his head. Some kind of untouchable Sect Leader? He doesn't have to be so formal about it.
Besides, Wol and Jo Mak had another reason to visit the clinic anyway. They needed to pick up the face masks Elder Han had been crafting for their infiltration into Namgoong territory.
The next morning, the two of them walked through the quiet streets toward the clinic. The usual stench of the slums was entirely absent near the building, replaced by the thick, pleasant scent of roasting herbs and heavy medicinal smoke. It was soothing. Wol figured Elder Han was deep into some new research.
When they stepped through the front doors, the first thing they saw was a massive woven basket.
It was almost as big as a person's upper body, overflowing with every type of rare fruit, colorful pastry, and expensive sweet imaginable.
Behind the massive basket was Goo Jung, struggling to balance it.
"Wol," Goo Jung called out, his eyes lighting up as he saw them.
Wol stared at the ridiculous pile of food. "What is all this for?"
Goo Jung let out a bright, unbelievably proud smile. The cold, hardened gang leader from the slums was entirely gone. "Of course, my little sister is finally awake! And I have money now. I have to give her absolutely everything she ever wished for, so I went to the market and bought all this."
Wol looked at him quietly. This is who he really is, Wol thought. It was a stark reminder of how quickly brutal circumstances could twist a person into something dark, and how the lifting of that weight could bring them back.
"Is she going to eat all of that?" Wol asked gently. "She just woke up."
"I can help her with it if you need it to be gone fast," Jo Mak chimed in from the side, eyeing the expensive pastries.
Goo Jung aggressively pulled the basket away from Jo Mak's gaze. "No! She will love it. I didn't tell her yet, it's a complete surprise." His expression softened, turning almost fragile. "She loves to read. Even when she was little, she would always try to find discarded books. Just after she woke up and I told her what happened, the first thing she asked for was something to read."
Goo Jung looked down at the sweets. "It's just... it's been so long since I've seen her smile. Let alone seen her awake. I couldn't help myself."
Wol understood perfectly. He nodded. "Alright. Let's go see her."
They walked toward the back patient rooms. Jo Mak trailed behind, his hands casually tied behind his head.
"Goo Yeon," Goo Jung called out softly before pushing the wooden door open.
"Brother?" a quiet, fragile voice replied from inside.
When Wol stepped into the room, he almost didn't recognize the girl sitting up in the bed. When they had dragged her out of Shin Dae-seok's hidden cellar, she had been a hollow, dying shell—pale, fragile, and completely unresponsive.
Now, her skin was smooth and held the faint brightness of returning life. Her dark eyes were shining and alert.
She looked at the two unfamiliar men standing behind her brother, her eyes filled with quiet curiosity. She looked at Goo Jung, clearly waiting for an introduction.
Goo Jung, completely absorbed in holding the giant basket of sweets, completely missed the cue.
Wol sighed quietly. He stepped forward. "I am Wol. And this is Jo Mak. It is very good to see that you are recovering well."
Goo Yeon's eyes widened slightly in recognition.
Wol glanced over his shoulder, expecting Jo Mak to say something. Instead, he found the older boy standing completely frozen.
Jo Mak's face was flushed a bright, violent red. He was staring at the girl, completely blanking out.
Wol stared at him. Is he serious right now?
Wol let out another sigh, leaning over and shoving Jo Mak hard with his shoulder.
Jo Mak jolted out of his trance, stumbling a half-step forward. He scrambled for words, completely forgetting whatever smooth greeting he usually used. "I-I'm Jo Mak! H-How are you?!"
Wol was laughing internally at the sheer absurdity of it, but he managed to maintain a perfectly flat, stoic face.
Goo Yeon let out a soft, genuine chuckle. "It is very nice to finally meet you both. My brother told me everything. I wanted to thank you in person for saving me and my brothers from that merchant."
She placed her small hands on the mattress, trying to push herself up to bow her head in formal gratitude.
Wol immediately raised a hand. "There is no need for that. Your brother helped me just as much. Rest."
Goo Jung quickly set the massive basket down and rushed to her side, gently easing her back against the pillows.
Wol looked around the quiet room. "Where are the other guys?"
"I sent most of them to help Nari at Yeonhwa Ru," Goo Jung answered while tucking the blanket around his sister. "A few others went to the market to carry medicinal ingredients for Elder Han."
At the mention of the physician, Jo Mak finally snapped out of his daze. "Where is the old man, anyway?"
Goo Jung pointed toward the deeper section of the clinic, where a thick wooden door was tightly shut. The intense smell of herbs and smoke was heavily concentrated there. "He's been in the large furnace room since yesterday."
Wol nodded. "We will go check on him. I will see you guys later."
Goo Yeon smiled softly at them, nodding her head.
Jo Mak smiled back, an incredibly awkward, stiff grin on his flushed face. Wol literally had to grab the back of his coat and pull him out of the room.
The hallway was dark. Wol approached the thick wooden door and pushed it open.
The inside of the furnace room was sweltering. It was almost pitch black, the only source of light coming from the roaring flames of a massive iron furnace in the center of the room.
Elder Han stood near the fire. He was rapidly scribbling something onto a piece of parchment, then tossing it aside to grab a handful of dried roots and throw them into a bubbling iron pot resting over the flames.
He didn't even turn around.
"Did you meet the girl?" Elder Han's raspy voice echoed in the dark room.
"Yeah," Wol replied, stepping inside the stifling heat. "She looks completely fine now. Thank you for the help, Elder Han."
"I only helped her body recover," Elder Han said dismissively, still staring into the bubbling pot. "You are the one who actually gave her life back. Don't waste your thanks on me."
He finally paused, wiping sweat from his wrinkled forehead. "The masks you asked for are finished. They are in the boxes on the table."
Wol glanced at the wooden boxes, but his attention was drawn back to the intense, almost manic focus the old physician was pouring into the boiling iron pot.
"What are you making?" Wol asked, his curiosity piqued.
Elder Han didn't blink, his tired eyes reflecting the orange flames of the furnace.
"It's a medicine I've been trying to recreate for a very long time," the old man muttered, his voice carrying a heavy weight of frustration. "Even after reading through my master's personal manuals a hundred times... I still can't fully grasp the core idea of how he made it."
Wol stepped closer to the fire.
"What is it?" Wol asked.
"It is for the Namgoong Patriarch," Elder Han said, his voice lowering.
Wol's eyes narrowed slightly. "A cure?"
"No," Elder Han shook his head, the frustration clear in his tight jaw. "It is not a final cure. I do not have enough of my master's knowledge to reverse the damage completely. But based on my speculations over the last five years, this concoction should withdraw the effects of the poison slightly. It will buy him a little more time."
The old physician turned away from the fire and walked over to a small wooden table, picking up a heavily sealed letter. He held it out to Wol.
"Take this with the medicine," Elder Han said, his eyes meeting Wol's. "I cannot leave this clinic, and sending it through normal merchant routes is impossible. Since you are infiltrating Namgoong territory anyway, deliver this for me."
Wol took the sealed letter, feeling the weight of the old man's desperate loyalty.
"We will," Wol promised.
A week later.
Two young, entirely unremarkable men walked down a busy dirt road leading toward the massive stone gates of the Namgoong clan's central territory. They wore rough, ordinary clothes. One carried a heavy burlap sack in his hand, and the other had a woven travel basket strapped to his back.
"This is unbelievable," the man with the basket muttered. He vigorously rubbed his own cheek. "Hey, Wol. Seriously, look at me. Is my face moving naturally when I talk?"
"It's Chung Mu," the other man replied, not even glancing at him.
The man with the basket blinked. "Uh... right. Chung Mu. My bad. I have to get used to these new names." He frowned, scratching his head. "But why the hell is my name Da Sung? It sounds like some old gramps' name."
Wol—now disguised as the ordinary mercenary 'Chung Mu'—didn't reply. He just let out a heavy sigh.
"Anyway," Jo Mak—now 'Da Sung'—continued, lowering his voice as they approached the city gates. "Are we going to deliver the medicine first?"
"Yes," Wol said quietly. "Once that is done, we can focus entirely on our own mission. We need to see how the Patriarch is actually doing. It is the least we can do for Elder Han. He seemed deeply worried."
"Yeah, I get it," Jo Mak agreed, adjusting the straps on his basket. "He really made these masks to absolute perfection, though. Even knowing it's a mask, when I looked in the mirror this morning, I couldn't tell the difference. As expected of the Thousand-Faced Physician's technique."
Wol couldn't help but agree internally. The mask melded seamlessly with his skin and muscle tissue. Even minor emotional twitches around his eyes and mouth showed clearly on the fake face. It was a terrifying, flawless disguise.
They reached the massive city gates.
"Halt," a guard in the pristine white and blue uniform of the Namgoong clan barked, crossing his spear to block their path. "State your business."
Wol kept his head slightly lowered, acting the part of a weary traveler. He showed the guard the mundane travel supplies in his sack, carefully keeping the sealed box of medicine hidden beneath a layer of cheap clothes.
The guard barely glanced at the sack. He looked at Wol, then at Jo Mak, and rubbed his thumb and index finger together in a universal gesture.
Jo Mak gritted his teeth but said nothing. Wol calmly reached into his pocket and placed three silver coins into the guard's waiting hand.
The guard's bored expression vanished. He pocketed the silver instantly and waved them through. "Move along."
As soon as they were out of earshot, Jo Mak spat on the ground. "Those bastards really are rotten to the absolute core. They weren't even trying to hide their greed in broad daylight."
"As long as we get inside without drawing attention, it's fine," Wol said flatly.
Elder Han had given them very specific instructions. They were not to approach the main Namgoong estate directly. Instead, they were to find a man named Dong Pil, an old contact who ran an antique art store in the outer district. He was their bridge to the Patriarch.
The third shop down from the Heavenly Root Medicine Shop, Wol recalled.
They navigated the crowded, bustling streets, asking a few local merchants for directions to the medicinal shop. Once they found it, they walked exactly three buildings down and stopped.
The shop in front of them was small and slightly run-down, smelling faintly of old paper and dust. A faded wooden sign hung above the door.
Wol pushed the door open. A small bell chimed.
Inside, the shop was crammed with dusty paintings, cheap calligraphy scrolls, and wooden trinkets. An old man with a messy beard was fast asleep in a bamboo chair in the corner, snoring loudly. Near the front counter, a young boy—around sixteen years old—was aggressively dusting a stack of paintings.
The kid looked up as they entered. "Welcome. What are you guys looking for?"
"We are here to meet Dong Pil," Wol said calmly.
The kid immediately stopped dusting and let out a massive, exhausted sigh. "How much does he owe you?"
Wol frowned slightly. "Owe me what?"
Jo Mak looked around the dusty shop, equally confused.
"You aren't here for the money he borrowed from you?" the kid asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No," Wol said. "We are here to meet him."
"That's weird," the kid muttered, shaking his rag. "Normally it's the other way around. He owes someone money, and they come in here threatening to break his legs to get it back."
"You little runt!"
A loud, booming voice suddenly echoed through the shop. The old man who had been snoring a second ago was now sitting straight up, his eyes glaring daggers at the boy.
"Is this how you do business?!" the old man yelled, scrambling out of the bamboo chair. "By completely ruining the shop owner's reputation in front of customers?!"
The kid simply shrugged his shoulders, completely unfazed. "It's not a lie."
The old man clicked his tongue loudly, glaring at the boy before turning to Wol and Jo Mak. He dusted off his messy robes.
"I am Dong Pil," the old man grumbled. "Who are you guys?"
Wol didn't waste time with small talk. He reached inside his coat, pulled out the letter Elder Han had given him, and placed it directly on the wooden counter in front of the old man.
Dong Pil picked it up instinctively. The moment his eyes registered the specific wax seal on the envelope, his annoyed, grumpy demeanor vanished instantly.
A heavy, dangerous seriousness washed over the old man's face.
"Brat," Dong Pil ordered, his voice dropping an octave. "Look after the store. I'll be right back."
The kid nodded, noticing the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
Dong Pil turned to Wol and Jo Mak. "Follow me."
The old man led them out of the back door of the shop, navigating quickly through a series of narrow, twisting alleyways that seemed intentionally confusing.
As they walked, Dong Pil didn't look back.
"How is he?" Dong Pil asked quietly over his shoulder.
Wol understood immediately who he meant. "He is doing good."
"Good," Dong Pil grunted. "Are you guys his disciples?"
"No," Wol replied, keeping his voice steady. "We are acquaintances. He helped us greatly in the past, so delivering this is the least we could do."
Dong Pil let out a light, breathy laugh, finally stopping near a hidden stone door at the end of a blind alley.
"I see," the old man chuckled. "That sounds exactly like him."
Dong Pil placed his palm flat against the heavy stone door and pushed.
There was a deep grinding noise, and the massive stone swung open smoothly. He had done it with just one hand, using minimal effort.
Wol noticed it immediately. He's a martial master, Wol thought, his eyes tracking the old man's casual posture. But Wol didn't react visibly. In a place like this, reacting to hidden strength was a surefire way to draw unwanted attention to yourself.
They stepped inside.
The heavy stone door shut behind them, plunging them into absolute darkness. It was darker than the night itself, a suffocating, pitch-black space without a single sliver of light.
"Keep up," Dong Pil's voice echoed in the dark.
The only thing guiding Wol and Jo Mak was the steady, rhythmic sound of the old man's footsteps echoing against the stone walls. They walked in complete blindness for about five minutes, navigating a long, descending tunnel.
Finally, the sound of Dong Pil pushing against stone echoed again.
The door at the other end swung open. Brilliant, piercing sunlight flooded the tunnel.
Both Wol and Jo Mak winced, raising their arms to shield their eyes. After five minutes in absolute blackness, the sudden light was blinding. It took them a moment for their vision to adjust.
When Wol finally lowered his arm, he stopped in his tracks.
Through the tunnel, they had bypassed the towering outer walls and the bustling inner city entirely. They were now standing on the very edge of the Namgoong clan's private estate.
It was breathtaking.
The contrast was jarring. Just an hour ago, they were in the chaotic, cramped, and noisy outer streets. Here, the air was crisp and incredibly fresh. Lush green bamboo forests swayed gently in the wind, completely drowning out the noise of the outside world. It felt like a sudden, violent switch from chaos to absolute peace.
Directly ahead of them, nestled at the base of a massive, imposing mountain, sat a grand but secluded manor. A crystal-clear stream flowed in front of it, crossed by a sturdy, beautifully crafted wooden bridge.
Dong Pil didn't stop to admire the view. He kept walking, crossing the wooden bridge with practiced familiarity. Wol and Jo Mak followed closely behind.
They reached the main doors of the secluded manor. Though the doors were shut, Dong Pil didn't knock or wait for guards. He simply pushed them open and walked inside, moving with the authority of someone who had done this a thousand times.
The interior was quiet, carrying a heavy, somber atmosphere.
Down the wooden hallway, a young woman was walking toward a set of closed doors at the far end. She looked to be around Jo Mak's age, dressed in elegant but practical silk robes. She was carefully carrying a large wooden basin of water and a folded wet cloth.
She paused, hearing their footsteps, and turned around.
"Grandpa Pil?" she called out, surprise flashing in her eyes.
"Little Soso," Dong Pil replied, his grumpy demeanor softening into something resembling a grandfatherly warmth. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked toward her.
Wol and Jo Mak followed silently.
"How is the Patriarch doing?" Dong Pil asked, his voice dropping.
The young woman—Soso's—face instantly dimmed. The exhaustion in her eyes became obvious.
"The same. Or maybe worse," she said quietly, gripping the edge of the wooden basin. "Nothing the clan's physicians try is showing any promise. My second brother is taking care of him day and night... he is also in a terrible state without proper sleep."
Dong Pil let out a heavy sigh and gently patted her on the head. "Don't worry. He is a stubborn man. He will be fine. Where is Jinsong?"
"Guard Jin is inside with brother," she replied. "He also refuses to leave my father's side."
Soso suddenly shifted her gaze, looking past the old man. She tilted her head slightly, her curious eyes landing on Wol and Jo Mak. They were dressed in cheap mercenary clothes, looking entirely out of place in the pristine manor.
"Who are they, Grandpa Pil?" she asked. "I've never seen them before."
"They are couriers," Dong Pil answered simply. "They came to deliver a medicine from Han."
Soso's eyes widened, her face instantly lighting up with desperate hope. "Uncle Han? Is he here?!"
Dong Pil slowly shook his head.
The sudden glow in her face vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a deep, crushing disappointment. But then, she remembered what Dong Pil had just said. She looked at the woven basket on Jo Mak's back.
"The medicine..." Soso stepped forward, her voice trembling slightly. "Is it to treat my father?"
Before Dong Pil could answer, Wol spoke up.
"He said this is not a complete cure," Wol stated, his voice calm and grounded. "But he promised that it will resolve the most dangerous symptoms and provide your father some relief from the pain."
Soso stared at Wol for a moment, her eyes searching his calm face. The sheer certainty in his voice seemed to anchor her. She let out a shaky breath and nodded.
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. "For coming all the way here to deliver this. Anyone who is an acquaintance of Uncle Han is considered a friend of the Namgoong family. If you need anything, please tell us."
"There is no need," Wol replied evenly. "We owe Elder Han a debt, so don't worry about it."
Jo Mak nodded in agreement from the side.
Hearing this, Soso bowed lightly to both of them.
Wol watched her, a faint sense of surprise registering in his mind. It's rare, he thought. He knew how these large clan and sect children usually were. They carried their pride and ego like armor, often looking down on common mercenaries. To bow her head to strangers in cheap clothes—to be thankful without being hung up on pride—was not something you could force. It showed the true depth of her character.
"I will take you inside," she said, turning toward the double doors.
Dong Pil placed a hand on her shoulder. "Wait here, Soso. I will bring them in."
She hesitated, her grip on the wooden basin tightening, but she finally stepped back. "Please... save my father."
Dong Pil pushed the heavy doors open.
The smell hit them before they even crossed the threshold. It wasn't the clean, herbal scent of Elder Han's clinic. It was the heavy, stagnant odor of rotting blood and failing organs.
The room was vast and dimly lit. Tapestries bearing the proud crest of the Namgoong clan hung on the walls, but they did little to mask the grim reality of the sickbed in the center.
Lying there was the Namgoong Patriarch.
Wol's eyes narrowed. In his previous life, he had read descriptions of the Patriarch's legendary strength—a man whose sword could split waterfalls. He also remembered what had happened in his past life. The Patriarch had died, and the next head of the Namgoong clan had not been someone from the direct lineage. Wol hadn't known the exact details back then, as he had been a traveling mercenary in his mid-twenties. It had just been a rumor. But looking at the man now, he knew those rumors had been the truth. The Patriarch looked like a withered husk. His skin was gray, pulled tight over his cheekbones, and his chest barely moved with each shallow breath. Dark, unnatural veins crawled up his neck, pulsing faintly.
Beside the bed sat a young man in rumpled silk robes. He had the same sharp features as Soso, but his eyes were sunken, framed by dark circles of absolute exhaustion. This was the second son.
Standing near the window, entirely still, was a tall man in a guard uniform. A sword rested at his hip. His posture was steady and calm. Guard Jin.
"Grandpa Pil," the second son said, his voice sharp but tired. He stood up and looked at the two unfamiliar faces. "Who are they?"
"Young Master," Dong Pil said, bowing respectfully. "These couriers come from Han. They brought medicine."
The second son's head snapped up. Guard Jin shifted, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword.
"Uncle Han?" the young master's voice cracked. "He finally found something?"
"He said it will alleviate the symptoms and buy time," Wol stepped forward, speaking before Dong Pil could. "But it must be administered immediately."
Jo Mak quickly unlatched the woven basket on his back and pulled out the sealed wooden box. He handed it to Wol.
Guard Jin stepped into Wol's path. The air around the guard grew heavy with suppressive Qi.
"I will take it from here," Guard Jin said, his voice deep and flat. "Hand it over."
Wol looked at the guard. He didn't flinch under the pressure.
"The physician gave specific instructions," Wol lied smoothly, his face an emotionless mask. "The medicine is highly volatile. It must be mixed with pure Qi as it goes down his throat, or it will burn his internal organs. I was told to do it."
Guard Jin's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You expect me to let an unknown mercenary feed something to the Patriarch?"
Behind Wol, Jo Mak clicked his tongue. He was already annoyed by the guard's intense arrogance. Jo Mak glanced at Dong Pil and noticed the old man's expression tighten in a similar, quiet irritation. Jo Mak knew something was wrong with this situation, but when he looked at Wol, the boy was completely unbothered, his face as blank as ever.
"If you wait any longer," Wol replied coldly, looking past the guard to the dying man on the bed, "you won't have a Patriarch to protect."
"Let him do it, Jin," the second son ordered, standing up. "If Uncle Han sent them, I trust them. We have no other options."
Guard Jin stared at Wol for a long second before slowly stepping aside. "If his condition worsens by even a fraction, you will not leave this room alive."
Wol didn't reply. He walked to the bedside.
He opened the wooden box, taking out a small clay vial sealed with wax. He popped the seal. The smell of bitter roots and sharp iron filled the air.
He carefully supported the Patriarch's neck with one hand and brought the vial to the man's dry lips. As the liquid flowed, Wol channeled a tiny fraction of his own refined Qi through his fingertips, guiding the medicine safely past the throat and into the stomach, just as he had claimed.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
The room was completely silent. Everyone held their breath.
Then, the Patriarch's body violently convulsed.
He lurched forward, his eyes snapping open—blind and bloodshot. He leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited a mouthful of pitch-black, foul-smelling blood onto the floor.
"Father!" the second son yelled, rushing forward.
Guard Jin drew his sword halfway, the steel singing in the quiet room.
Wol remained perfectly still. He let the Patriarch fall back against the pillows.
The violent heaving stopped. The gray pallor of the Patriarch's skin didn't vanish, but the dark, unnatural veins on his neck began to recede slightly. His breathing, previously shallow and ragged, deepened into a steady rhythm.
The tension in the room broke. The second son dropped to his knees beside the bed, burying his face in his hands as he let out a choked sob of relief.
Dong Pil exhaled a breath he had been holding.
Wol wiped the remaining medicine from the vial and stepped back. His task was done.
But as he moved away, his eyes casually swept the floor where the black blood was slowly pooling.
The smell and the characteristics of it.
He had read about it before. Not in this life, but in the archives. A poison that disguised itself as an illness, systematically shutting down the meridians while feeding on the victim's internal Qi.
Black Lotus Venom.
It was notoriously hard to treat, made from a rare flower that only bloomed once every hundred years. It was an incredibly expensive poison. And more importantly, a poison that required continuous, daily exposure to reach this level of toxicity. It wasn't administered once. Someone had been feeding it to the Patriarch slowly, over months.
Wol's gaze shifted from the blood on the floor to the people in the room.
The exhausted son. The worried daughter outside. The loyal old merchant.
And the vigilant guard.
Wol looked at Guard Jin. The man was still staring at the Patriarch, his hand still on his sword. But Wol noticed it now—the subtle tension in Jin's shoulders wasn't relief.
It was disappointment.
Wol's eyes drifted down to the guard's hands. The calluses on his knuckles, the specific way he stood, keeping his weight perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet.
It was a stance meant for quick, silent escapes. Not defense.
Wol turned away, his expression entirely blank, but his mind raced.
The mission was supposed to be a simple delivery and observation. But now, he knew the truth.
The Patriarch wasn't just sick.
He was being murdered.
As Wol turned to leave, Guard Jin was the first to speak, his gaze sharp and probing.
"Do you know what happened to him?" the guard asked, his voice low. "Why is his condition like this?"
Wol looked at him and slowly shook his head. "I don't know," he replied, his tone perfectly flat. "I only did as Elder Han instructed. I think his condition is severe. The Qi paths are barely there, and his body is a mess. I can only hope the medicine works."
Wol didn't show a single flicker of emotion. Nothing in his demeanor suggested he had caught on to what was actually happening.
Satisfied with the mundane answer, Guard Jin finally took his hand off the pommel of his sword. Wol noticed the subtle relaxation, but he didn't let his gaze linger.
Dong Pil stepped forward, breaking the heavy silence. "Let's hope it goes well," the old man said with a tired sigh. "I shall take you two to the guest house to rest."
"Okay," Wol replied simply.
He nodded respectfully to the second son, who was still watching them from the bedside, and then gave a short nod to Guard Jin, who returned a serious, guarded expression.
Dong Pil turned and walked out of the room. Wol followed him.
Jo Mak trailed closely behind. He knew exactly what Wol was thinking because he felt the exact same tension. This was supposed to be a one-day mission. If everything was fine, Wol would have immediately said, 'We will leave, our job is done.' But Wol had agreed to stay at the guest house without a second thought. Jo Mak knew Wol had realized something in that room. He didn't know the reason yet, but he trusted Wol. He kept his mouth shut and followed.