Chapter 16 - 15: Emerging Ripples
The soft creaking of old wood filled the air as Jinmu shifted his weight on the roof beam, his arms folded behind his head, gaze locked on the night sky that had already begun to pale with the hints of dawn. The room beneath him remained silent, untouched by the chaos of last night, yet his mind refused to rest. The fight. The mask. The kill. The name — Do Giseon. It all echoed inside his head, looping like a slow-burning ember.
I should be sleeping, Jinmu thought, though his lips twisted into a faint smirk. But what’s the point? It’s not like sleep will untangle what just happened.
He sat up slowly, arms resting on his knees, staring out the narrow window at the still-dark courtyard. A flicker of wind stirred the tattered banner hanging from the gate, the one that had welcomed him with warmth just days ago. Peaceful Blossom Inn—it really lived up to its name. Except now he was no longer the nameless youth taking a stroll through Hwagok.
"Now I’m the bastard in the mask," Jinmu muttered under his breath. "The masked lunatic who just killed off half a Crimson Flow squad and knocked out their Peak Master."
He chuckled dryly, shaking his head, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. He could still feel the blood on his blade, the weight of the man he carried to the cave. A Peak Master, no less. And yet, it wasn’t guilt that bothered him. Not really.
What am I doing? he asked himself again, this time not out of hesitation, but reflection. This isn’t something the young master of an inn should be doing. This is the path of a blade, a shadow, a player in the Murim’s bloody theatre.
And yet, he didn’t flinch.
He stood up from the roof beam, brushing his clothes off. "No... this is part of it. Whether I want to or not, the moment I drew that sword, I stepped onto the stage. I just didn’t think my debut would start with blood."
He walked toward the far end of the roof, landing silently in the courtyard with a soft thud. The inn remained asleep—no footsteps, no creaking floorboards, not even the faint echo of a boiling kettle. The city outside had yet to stir. It was the perfect time to move.
"I guess I should check on my guest," Jinmu muttered. "Wouldn’t want him waking up and wandering around."
He left the courtyard quietly, cutting across alleyways, staying in the shadows like a natural instinct. Every now and then, he adjusted his mask even though there was no one around. It was made of the same materials as Yeomhwa—strong, refined, and slightly warm to the touch. It wasn’t just a tool for concealment anymore; it felt like a second face.
The path to the cave wasn’t long, but every step echoed in his mind louder than his footsteps.